At school, I stayed away from most people. Not sure I could control my anger, I kept my words to a minimum, only nodding when one of my friends talked to me. We ate lunch in silence for the first week or two. I guess my friends didn’t feel that laughing or even talking about normal things was appropriate with me hurting so badly. And though I said nothing, I was grateful for their concern.
I was walking through the hallway, heading to my fifth period class, when a familiar scent hit me. It was my dad’s scent. I would recognize the scent from his aftershave anywhere. I eagerly scanned the crowd around me, frantically searching for the scent as I followed it through the hall. It led me to an empty classroom with the words Guidance Counselor on the door. I was confused as I stepped inside the room, still searching for the scent’s origin. It grew stronger as I entered the center of the room. Just then a tall man, possibly in his forties, stepped out of a closet from across the room and turned.
“Oh, hello,” the man said. “May I help you?”
Reality hit me again as the realization that this man might smell like my father, but he was not my father. My father was dead, and he wasn’t coming back.
“Umm, Miss, can I help you?” the man asked again.
I visibly trembled as my eyes filled with hot tears. I didn’t know what to say in response. “Oh, umm, no I don’t think so,” I mumbled, stepping backwards and out into the hall.
“Hey, wait!” the man called, but I took off down the hall and out of sight.
Within weeks my grades began to slip, my sarcasm was growing, and I was changing. The pain and anger were strong, and I could feel it seeping into my soul, tainting my outlook on everyone and everything around me. I had now become that girl who didn’t give a rip-roaring rapid what people thought about her—and somewhere deep inside, that realization saddened me. Also, the fact that the scarred man the police called Jason Franco was still out there somewhere was only adding to my growing anger and anxiety.
I even had a run-in with that girl Bunnie in the bathroom one day. It was during lunch and my friends were talking about our annual masquerade dance. I just couldn’t handle thinking about something as normal as a dance. I left the table and headed for the bathroom, passing Bunnie on my way there. Bunnie must have watched me enter the bathroom and thought she could take advantage of my vulnerable condition. Boy was she wrong. I was having an anxiety attack of sorts, my first of many, in one of the stalls when she entered. She immediately began laughing and taunting.
“Boy, it must be hard to lose a daddy,” Bunnie began. “I’m so glad I still have mine. I heard your daddy was asking for it too.”
I burst from my stall without thinking and slammed her body against one of the bathroom sinks, scaring her senseless. I stuck my face in hers and clenched my teeth. “If the topic of my father ever exits your mouth again, I’m gonna shove something so far in it that it will change your life forever! Do you understand?”
She swallowed and nodded slowly, her eyes wide as saucers. I guess she hadn’t expected that from the girl who cowed away from her stare-down weeks earlier. But that sweet and innocent girl was now gone—and she wasn’t coming back.
I backed away and slowly left the room. From that moment on, I no longer avoided her like before. I almost welcomed the idea of cleaning her clock. I knew one day she would get what was coming to her, and as fate would have it, she got caught with a bag of marijuana in her locker and had to repeat the ninth grade. Bummer. She denied it was hers, of course, and insisted that someone had planted it there, but it was never proven.
My mom took notice of my changes as well and began taking me to a therapist. I guess talking my feelings out with Dr. Ferring helped some. At least I was able to get out some of my built-up emotions for that day, but I didn’t talk much about the details of my dad’s death. I couldn’t. It was too painful to relive. So I kept the details of that horrid night to myself, not even telling Ashley, but she seemed to understand me completely. She got that I was forever changed by the events of that night, and she accepted me. My other friends seemed to catch on as well.
No longer was Delaney the leader of our little eclectic group, but somehow, and without my permission, I had risen as the leader. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t seem to muster up enough concern to change it, and so things evolved and we all just went with it.
Something else was happening. As the weeks slowly and painfully passed in a blur, I began to notice that my mom was regularly flirting with a man in the waiting room of my therapist’s office. Apparently this man my mom called Frank, also came to see Dr. Ferring, and they became friends while waiting for my appointment to end and his to begin. She said it was refreshing talking to him and that he seemed to like her. She said he was funny and they were always laughing when I exited from my appointment. This upset me more than most anything else. My dad wasn’t even dead going on a few months and she was showing interest in someone else? This wasn’t good.
On the flip side of that dirty coin, it was nice to hear her laugh again…
Chapter Eight
One Saturday morning, I was in my room reading when the doorbell rang. I pulled on some sweat pants and headed downstairs. My mom was cooking breakfast in the kitchen. She peeped into the hall as I approached the door.
“Remember, Annabelle, don’t open the door if you don’t see anyone.”
I grimaced at the pain that simple statement brought back, but I nodded as I peered through the peephole. “It’s the detective, Mom.”
“Oh, good. Let him in.”
I opened the door to see the older man, probably in his fifties with gray thinning hair and glasses smiling at me. I tried to return the smile, but I knew it looked forced, because after all—it was. He walked behind me in silence, and I ushered him into the kitchen where my mom waited.
“Good morning, ladies,” he said as he spotted the table decorated for breakfast.
“Well, good morning to you, Detective. Would you like some breakfast?” My mom’s voice was cheerful, something that was both pleasing and disturbing all at the same time. I knew this guy, Frank was to blame for her new cheerful self, and it irked me. I didn’t like the guy. Besides being in the wrong place at the worst time, he gave me the creeps. I didn’t like the way he looked at me. I couldn’t quite put my dirty left foot on it, but I felt like he had bad intentions toward me. I knew I would definitely have to watch him.
“If it’s not too much, I’d love to,” the detective said in response to my mom’s invitation as he took a seat at the table.
Mom served us heaping helpings of eggs, bacon, and toast with butter and jelly. I hadn’t had a breakfast to match it since my dad…
“Actually,” the detective began, “I came by to warn you both to be careful. We have just received word that Jason Franco has been spotted in the area.”
“What?!” my mom squealed. “I thought he had fled.”
“Yes, well new reports have spotted him here. Just be careful and keep your doors locked. We don’t have the extra man power to have someone keep watch on you, but don’t worry, we’ll catch this sorry loser.” He then peered at me. “Don’t do anything stupid. Like go looking for him or anything like that.”
I nodded and lowered my head. The thought had occurred to me before. Dang it! Was he reading my mind? Creepy.
“Here,” he finally said as he pushed from the table, stood, and reached behind his back and into his pants. He then pulled out a shiny black handgun. “Take this. It’s my personal gun from home. Just be careful.” He handed the gun to me and not my mom.
My mouth fell open in surprise. “Seriously?” Then a slow smirk inched across my face.
By my mom’s expression, she wasn’t pleased at all. Her crystal blue eyes narrowed as she pointed to the gun. “Um, Detective, I’m not so sure that I’m comfortable with my fourteen year-old daughter having that thing.”
He shrugged. “It’s fine. Your daughter is made out of tough stuff, Mrs. Bell. She practically took o
n those robbers by herself. I mean that one man may never see right from that eye again. She reminds me so much of my own daughter, Haley.” Then he turned to me, his expression turning serious. “This gun is only for precaution. But, just so you know, if this man breaks into this house…aim for his chest. That’s the biggest target. Once we have this guy in our possession, I’ll take the gun back.” He turned to my mom. “It’s just a precaution, Mrs. Bell. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. We’ll get this guy ourselves. You can count on that.”
My mom sighed, her relief evident as the frown on her face lightened. “Okay, if you say so, Detective, and thank you for stopping by.”
He grinned. “No problem. And thank you for the delicious breakfast. I’ll be in touch.”
Then he was gone.
My mom reluctantly allowed me to put the gun in my bedroom.
That night, my mom invited Frank over to have supper with us. After she informed me of the wonderful news, I stomped around in my room for the rest of the afternoon. This man was ruining my already ruined life—and I hated him for it. And once he arrived, I was ripened for rudeness. I hurried and beat my mom to greet him at the door only to turn my back on him once the door was open. He was handsome enough, in a plain sort of way. He was a normal build, nothing impressive; his hair was dark and swept to one side; his eyes seemed to be a dark color, but his smile was creepy. He reminded me of one of those stalker guys you see on the show, America’s Most Wanted; handsome enough but weird and demented somehow.
I ate my supper ignoring them mostly. When my mom got up and went into the kitchen to get dessert, Frank tried to talk to me, but he asked me things like, “Did I have a boyfriend” and “Did I prefer girls over guys?” What a jerk! Who asks things like that, anyway?
I was still trying to recover from his wacked out questions and think of a really nasty comeback when my mom came back into the room, but not before I caught his secret inspection of my breasts. Sure, I was developed more than the average fourteen year-old girl, but come on! I knew then and there that I would have to do whatever it took to stay away from this guy. Being alone with him again was not in any future plans of mine.
By the way my mom studied Frank while eating his dessert like a cannibal, I could tell she was in love with him already. Did she not love my dad after all? How could she fall in love with this demon so quickly and easily?
I tossed and turned in my sleep that night thinking of those very questions–fueling my already growing irritability.
Sunday evening, I decided to talk to my mom about my feelings. I was nervous. I didn’t want to hurt her, but this Frank was bad news, and she needed to know.
“Mom?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen as she prepared supper.
“Oh hey, Annabelle. What’s up, honey?”
I pulled up a seat at the bar. “Can I talk to you a minute?”
“Of course. What’s on your mind?” She seemed interested although she kept her eyes glued to her task.
I picked up one of the carrots she was about to chop and took a bite. “How you do feel about this Frank guy?”
She stopped then and peered at me, and the silly expression that took control of her face told me that she was already too far gone and that I was in trouble.
“I like him a lot, Charity. I know I shouldn’t—but I do. Isn’t he great?”
I shrugged slightly. “Well, to be honest with you, I think he’s a little creepy.”
“Creepy?!” she squealed, her eyes going wide in surprise.
I took a deep breath and jumped right in. It was now or never. “Honestly, Mom, I don’t like the way he looks at me. It makes me uncomfortable.” I then told her about his weird questions.
She laughed. “Oh honey, he has an odd sense of humor. He was just messing with you.”
“No, Mom. I don’t think so.”
She sighed and sat her knife down. “Honey, I know this is hard for you. I really do, but you have to give him a chance. I know Frank can never replace your father.”
With those words, I jumped off the stool, my face turning a blood red. “Don’t you ever put that man and my father in the same sentence! He is half the man my father was! And you should remember that!”
I ran from the room like a lightning bolt with my mother calling after me. Once in the safety of my room, I walked over to my shelf and knocked a row of books to the floor, then another, and another, until all of my books were in a heaping pile on the floor. And that’s where they stayed.
That evening, Frank came over for dinner again, but this time I opted out of eating. Later, when I was so hungry I couldn’t stand it anymore, I snuck down the stairs to grab a snack. After heating up a ham and cheese Hot Pocket in the microwave, I was headed back toward the living room when I overheard a conversation between Frank and my mom.
“I’m sorry, Frank,” my mom began, “but my daughter is the most important thing to me. All of this has been so hard for her. If she feels uncomfortable with you, I can’t be with you.”
My mouth fell open in shock. Was I really hearing what I thought I was hearing? I inched further toward the living room.
“But, baby, I love you so much. How am I supposed to live without you?” Frank was saying.
I almost vomited in my mouth, actually I did a little. He was pouring it on thick for her, that was for sure. And sadly she was buying it. He pulled her into his arms and they began kissing. With that, I left the scene and sulked up to my room. That was it, I thought. He wormed his way in and my mom was too weak to stop it.
That night I slept restlessly. I kept hearing Frank’s words in my head, How am I supposed to live without you? But it wasn’t those words that startled me awake. It was the sound of creaking. I sat up and listened intently. There it was again! Creaking on the stairs and heading right toward my room. My heart pounded and my mind raced. What should I do? What should I do? Then I glanced over to my nightstand, thankful for the light from my seashell nightlight, and spotted the gun the detective had given me only days before. Without further hesitation, I grabbed the gun tightly and rolled to the other side of my bed. I knelt down behind the bed, clicked off the safety button, and aimed the gun straight at the door. I tried to slow my breathing, but my heart was beating so hard and fast that I felt like my chest was about to erupt. My eyes grew wide as my doorknob turned and the door inched open.
The dark figure stood in my doorway. I could make out his deep breathing. When my sight adjusted on the figure clear enough to realize it was indeed a man and not my mom, I aimed the gun toward the upper chest area just like the detective had instructed and tried to make myself pull the trigger, but I couldn’t do it. After what seemed like forever, but in truth was only seconds, I lowered the gun slightly, closed my eyes tightly—and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Nine
“Ahhhhh!!” the dark figure yelled and fell to the floor, along with what I assumed was his weapon. With shaking hands, I kept the gun aimed at the figure as I climbed on the bed and turned on my bedside lamp. What the light revealed gave me a start and relief all at the same time. Jason Franco both cussed and groaned in pain as he lay covered in blood in the entrance of my bedroom, grabbing his upper leg. I heard my mom’s frantic calls as footsteps echoed up the stairs. But just when I eagerly expected to see my mom’s beautiful face, it was Frank’s surprised reaction that I spotted instead.
I glanced down at Jason Franco just as he reached for his fallen gun, but Frank was faster, punching him in the face—one, two, three times until he fell fully unconscious to the floor.
My heart flooded with relief as my mom burst into the room, phone in hand and screamed. But as she observed the scene before her, it was Frank’s arms she fell into. My heart squeezed with grief yet again. She told me later that she had asked him to stay overnight, allowing him to sleep on the sofa since hearing the news of Jason Franco’s reported appearance in the area. I guess it made sense, but I still didn’t like it.
The police quickly
arrived, taking Jason Franco with them. Justice was served and my father’s killers were now all behind bars. Jason Franco would end up serving ten years for his crime, but I had still lost something irreplaceable—my dad—and now my mom. Just when I thought my mom was going to pick me over Frank, his heroic deed was enough to ensure his place in her heart—and whether intended or not, I would take a backseat, something I would learn to accept—with bitterness and heartbreak.
* * * * * *
The next day, during my last period health class, I was looking toward the chalkboard but not listening to the teacher’s words when Kevin Hayes did something I once longed for him to do. He turned around and spoke to me.
His voice was a whisper, “I’m sorry about your dad, Charity.”
I was slightly surprised. He had never even acknowledged my existence before, and my dad had been gone for months.
I shrugged but didn’t respond.
After class, Kevin approached me as I was stuffing my book in my backpack. “Umm, Charity, I was wondering if you would like to go to the dance with me?”
I glanced up at him, suddenly feeling sick. “I’m sorry, Kevin, but I’m not interested. In fact, I’m not interested in guys—period. Make sure you spread the word.” And with that, I left the room without a backward glance or regret.
Ashley observed the conversation and ran down the hallway after me. “Why in the world would you turn Kevin down?” she asked, stopping me in the middle of the hallway. “You’ve been wanting to go out with him all year. Please tell me it’s because you weren’t thinking clearly and that you’re gonna go back there right now and tell him you changed your mind.”
Charity's Storm (Charity Series Book 4) Page 4