She was only somewhat familiar with the lyrics, but that didn’t stop her from snapping out the words, or some words, at the top of her lungs. The shrill of inhaled helium filled the air. With the windows open and the warm breeze blowing through her hair, she basked in her newfound freedom.
A man on a motorcycle kept pace beside her, tossing a glance. A spark of sunlight bounced off his blinding white teeth, causing her to squint. She gulped in a blast of air and rolled up the window, staring straight ahead. Clutching the steering wheel, she slowed the car. What if he’s one of those Hells Angels, trying to lure me off the road to rape me? When he slowed, she sped up, and he kept pace. She pressed her foot to the pedal and shot forward. With her heart racing and sweat clinging to her body she pulled off at the next rest area.
Vacationing families filled the parking spaces. Safe. She found a spot next to a trash container and pulled in. A small child sat crying after having dropped his ice cream cone. Poor little guy. He was about Tyler’s age. The mother scooped up the cone from the pavement and tossed it into the trash, causing the little toddler to wail.
She found a vacant picnic table and unwrapped her chicken salad sandwich. A handsome man in a black leather jacket approached.
“Hi. My name’s Calvin. The guy on the motorcycle.”
“Oh” she stuttered, fumbling with her sandwich and dispensing globs of chicken onto the table. “I’m Shade. Nice to meet you.”
“Mind if I sit?”
“Sure. I mean—I guess.”
“Where you headed? Beautiful day for a drive.”
“Ohio. Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I should get going.”
“Aren’t you gonna eat your sandwich? You just sat down.”
“Um—er—right. My sandwich. I didn’t realize the time. I’m running late.”
“Well, I wanted to introduce myself and thought maybe you’d like to hang sometime.”
“Hang what?”
“You know, hang out.”
Intense heat burned her cheeks; she worried her hair would catch on fire. No one had made a pass at her since she’d met Stan, and she wasn’t sure how to react.
“I—I’m flattered, but I’m married.” She feigned a smile, gathered her lunch and stood up, her legs catching between the bench and the table, causing her to stagger. She freed herself, straightening her blouse.
“Well, I’m married too. If you change your mind, here’s my number,” he said, handing her a card.
“Thank you.” Shade took the card and hurried back to her parking spot, her legs moving faster than she expected. She tripped, flailing hands waving wildly in the air and sprawled headlong into the trash can. The container tipped, scattering garbage everywhere. She recovered and sprang into a perpendicular position with melted double-dip chocolate ice cream dripping from her new hair design. She raced to her car and sped out of the rest area, gravel spraying from her tires. In her rearview mirror she spotted Calvin sprinting her way, blurred in a cloud of dust. What an idiot I am. Despite her antics, a flame of flattery flickered. Calvin was, without question, a good-looking man. And interested. A newfound confidence settled. She continued on her road trip, dabbing ice cream from her hair.
Welcome to Ohio. A sharp tug of nausea ripped through her gut as she read the sign. She feared what she might learn.
After settling in her room at the Holiday Inn, she went downstairs to the front desk and asked for directions to the Vital Statistics Office and the Public Library.
Stan claimed both his parents passed away by the time he turned eighteen. Arriving at Vital Statistics, she requested the birth and death certificates of his parents, Hazel and Henry Lane. The clerk provided a copy of both documents.
Settled in her car, she examined the paperwork:
Henry Lane of Spring Hill, Ohio, born in 1918, passed away in 1976; Hazel Lane of Spring Hill, Ohio, born in 1920, passed away in 1994.
Her heart galloped as she sat staring at the documents. His father died the year she married Stan. His mother passed away two years ago. Visions shuffled through her mind like an animated flipbook. Why did you lie Stan? What other secrets are you hiding?
She kept digging. At the Public Library, she found the obituary archives and located his parent’s records:
Henry Lane, July 31, 1976. Beloved husband of Hazel Lane. Loving father of Caroline (Lane) Baskin and Stanley Lane.
* * *
Hazel Lane, March 30, 1994. Beloved wife of the late Henry Lane. Loving mother of Caroline (Lane) Baskin and Stanley Lane.
The hairs on her arms stood tall. Stan had a sister? Caroline? Stan must have been younger. The relentless thudding of her heart vibrated in her ears. It was too much information for one day. She needed a good meal and some rest.
After washing up at the hotel, she went for a bite to eat. She had never eaten in a restaurant alone. A first. She ordered the daily special and picked at her food.
Thoughts exploded. Maybe his parents did something horrible to him, and he ran away. But why not tell me? And why didn’t he talk about his sister?
Back at the hotel, in bed and exhausted, she pulled out her Bible and opened to the daily reading—Psalm 61:2. “From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” She drifted off to sleep meditating on the Rock that doesn’t move. Her Savior.
She got up early, showered, and then packed her overnight bag for the drive home. At the checkout desk, she asked for a copy of the White Pages, hoping to find the address for Hazel Lane or Caroline Baskin. Nothing appeared for Caroline, however, she found a listing for Hazel Lane in Spring Hill. She jotted down the address, 682 Cardwell, and asked the hotel clerk for directions.
The modest houses stood clustered together on the narrow tree-lined street. She spotted the address. The house appeared vacant—a ‘For Sale by Owner’ sign leaned askew in the overgrown grass.
She walked up the short driveway and rang the doorbell. No answer. Cupping her hands around her eyes, she peered into the front window. Empty. Deprived of all furnishings. She walked around to the side and raised the gate latch leading to the fenced-in yard.
“Hello. Can I help you?” said a voice from the other side of the fence.
“Hi. My name is Shade. I was looking for Hazel Lane, but I see the house is vacant?”
“Did you know Hazel?”
“She’s a friend of the family. I was in town and thought I’d stop by.”
“Well, Hazel passed away a few years ago. Such a shame. We were neighbors for twenty-two years. She lived here over fifty years.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I see the house is for sale by owner. Who’s selling the house?”
“Her daughter, Caroline. She took it hard when her mother passed and didn’t have the heart to put the house up for sale until now. I see her occasionally. I can tell her you were here if you’d like. Do you know Caroline?”
“No, I never met Caroline but would appreciate it if you gave her my phone number. I live in Michigan. I’m heading home today.”
“I’d be happy to,” she said, taking the scrap of paper from Shade.
“Thanks. Well, I better get going. It was nice talking to you.”
She opened the car door. The woman called out.
“I didn’t get your last name?”
Shade waved goodbye, jumped in her car and drove away.
One last thing to do. Return to the library and search the newspaper archives to see if she could find anything related to Stanley Lane.
At the computer terminal, she searched on ‘Stanley Lane’ and ‘682 Cardwell’ with a date range of 1940-1976. Several results appeared. A birth announcement for Stanley and the obituaries for Henry and Hazel Lane. And a news article, dated October 12, 1956:
Teen Charged with Sexual Assault Gets Time in Juvenile Detention Center–Spring Hill, Ohio–Police arrested a sixteen-year-old male for the sexual assault of a nine-year-old female. The victim was at the home of
the accused at 682 Cardwell while the accused’s older sister babysat. The victim later revealed the assault to her parents, who contacted the police. The accused was convicted in juvenile court and sentenced to two years in the juvenile detention center. A hearing will be held when the perpetrator reaches the age of eighteen to determine if further incarceration will be imposed.
Shade collapsed in her seat, struggling to breathe. A thickness formed in the back of her throat, choking her. As she was gasping for air, a library assistant rushed over.
“Do you need me to call an ambulance, Miss?”
“No. I—I’ll be okay,” said Shade, panting. Gasp. “Just need air.”
The assistant helped her outside. Her bones felt like they were out of joint. She sat on the concrete step.
“Wait here, and I’ll get some water.” When the woman returned, Shade had gone.
The five-hour drive home was a blur. Images of Stan molesting the young girl and Stan molesting Addy exploded in her mind like popcorn. Devastation turned to anger and anger to extreme hatred for the man she once loved. The man she slept with and idolized. A child molester. Her thoughts crushed down. For twenty years, he pulled my strings and watched me dance. Why God? Why did you let me marry a monster? Why didn’t you stop me?
She pulled into her driveway, bitter bile rising in her throat. The thud-thud-thud of her heart tormented her. After opening the door, she paused in the foyer, staring ahead. A den of horrors. Everything appeared distorted. Soiled. Defiled.
The overnight bag slipped from her grip and onto the floor. She wandered down the hall toward Stan’s office. At the computer terminal, she pressed the power button. The screeching static sound of the modem searched for intelligence. A heightened level of fear shrouded her. The hum brought back memories of Stan “working” in this room. She didn’t want to know more. She needed to know more.
The screen lit up. She discovered his AOL account. Scrolling through his emails, she noticed nothing unusual. Employee names from the car dealership, a few advertisements. Stop. Lolita? She clicked on it. The sender appeared to be a teenager using an alias. The message was sexual. X-rated. Her skin tightened. Excessive saliva formed in her mouth. She moved on to his online file folders and opened one. Inside were photos of nude or scantily clad teens in various poses. Her blood churned. A battle raged inside. Her brain darted from fact to fact. Oh God, no. Make it stop.
With nostrils flaring, she stormed down the hall into their bedroom, tossing his possessions into trash bags. Clothes. Toiletries. His watch. The gold chain with a cross. Anything she could find belonging to him. She bagged it up and chucked it into the trash container.
Back in his office, she noticed a binder—Elder Notes, Holy Grace Baptist. Garbage. She found his Bible and with a deep guttural cry, hurled it at the wall. You are nothing but a fraud, Stan. I hate you!
Each step fueled her rage as she tore through the house. In the bedroom, her head snapped from side to side, searching. The bed. She grabbed hold of the queen-size mattress and dragged it from the room, bashing over tables, knocking pictures from the wall. She crashed through the front door, dragging the mattress to the curb. Her neighbor stood on his porch; his mouth slung open. He offered a tentative wave.
Back inside, she flung photos, jewelry—anything reminding her of Stan—into trash bags. Mission accomplished.
She sat in the kitchen, gasping for air. Tears puddled on the table into small ponds, the rims of her eyes red and raw. A glint of light bounced off her ring finger. The simple wedding band, now a dog collar. She stood, sending the kitchen chair flying across the linoleum and ran to the front door like a cheetah. Out on the lawn, she screwed herself into a pitcher’s windup and heaved the wedding band at the blackened sky.
Floating through the fog, she emerged in her bedroom. Little relief. Her mind trailed back in time. Searching. Dissecting memories of their life together. The missed signs. Addy’s bedroom door. Saturdays with Stan.
Shame folded over her. The pain would still be there in the morning, taunting her. She pulled herself into a fetal position atop the knobby box spring and locked her thoughts away, drifting to the happy place she’d so often gone to as a frightened little child.
Chapter Six
And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.
1 Peter 5:10
I’ll get through this. I’ll make a new life for myself. Start fresh. Focus on raising Tyler. And make use of the insurance money—the only good thing left from him.
Stan. A living paradox. A pendulum. Swinging from lightness into dark. A man of God. A pedophile. No one must know. She would bury his ugly past with him.
Shade had one burning question. The time had come.
On the second ring, Addy answered. “Hi, Addy. It’s Mom.”
“Hey, look, I’m sorry I laid that on you the other day, but it’s time you stopped living a lie.”
“I—I’ve been so blind,” said Shade, grief surging with every gasp. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have taken you and left him.”
“He threatened me. Said I would end up in foster care. But it’s in the past. It’s time to move forward.”
“I wish you would have come to me.” Shade blew her nose into a tissue. “Addy—I need to ask you a question. Tyler. Is he…?”
“Tyler is Scott’s son. Without a doubt. I left home long after that slime ball laid his filthy hands on me.”
She heaved a sigh. “I don’t know how to ever apologize to you. I could tell you I’m sorry forever, but it’ll never be enough.” She sobbed. Raw emotion.
Addy waited until the crying stopped. “When do you wanna pick up Tyler?” she asked in a calm voice. “It’s been over a week. He keeps asking for his Gamma.”
“How’s Friday?” she asked, wiping her eyes. “I can keep him overnight.”
“Sure. And don’t beat yourself up, Mom. It’s over.”
She returned to work the following day, determined to shut down the misery nipping at her heels.
“Hope you had a nice couple of days off,” said Bonnie. “We missed you. Sally and I were pretty busy.”
“I’m glad to be back. What do you need me to do?”
“I have the recipes in the kitchen laid out. Why don’t you get started on those?”
Shade worked efficiently, humming to herself, ticking off each of her tasks. When visions of Stan darkened her thoughts, she went to the happy place in her mind, focusing on Tyler or work. She would not let this beat her.
She cleaned up the kitchen prep area and set up for the next day. Before leaving, Shade approached Bonnie. “Do you have a minute?”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve been thinking. Have you ever considered adding cheesecakes to the menu? You could promote three to four different flavors each week and sell them by the slice. I’ve made several cheesecakes for the church, and they’re always the first thing to go. I could help with the recipes.”
“That’s an interesting idea. Let’s talk tomorrow when you get in.” Bonnie touched Shade’s arm. “I wanna tell you how happy I am to see you in better spirits. I worried about you last week. Not sure what was going on, and I don’t expect you to tell me, but please know I’m always here if you need to talk.”
“Thanks Bonnie. See you tomorrow.”
After arriving home, she prepared a small salad and settled at the kitchen table. She looked around at the dated interior of her home. The place could use a fresh paint job to liven it up. And some new furniture—void of plastic covers. Things needed to change.
The phone interrupted her decorating thoughts.
“Hi. Shade? This is Caroline Baskin, Hazel Lane’s daughter. You left your number with my neighbor on Cardwell Street. She said you were a family friend.”
“Caroline,” Shade stammered. “Thanks for calling me back. When I mentioned I was a fam
ily friend, I was referring to your brother, Stanley Lane.”
“Stanley?”
Shade heard a gasp. An awkward silence lingered. When Caroline spoke, her voice seemed small. Cautious.
“Stanley left home at eighteen, and neither I nor my parents ever saw him again. How do you know Stanley?”
“I am, or was, Stanley’s wife. We married in 1976. Stanley passed away a few months ago of a heart attack.”
“Oh,” Caroline uttered, seeming impervious to the death of her brother. “How did you two meet?”
“I lived in a home for unwed mothers. In Michigan. We met at church. After my baby arrived, we got married, and he adopted my daughter, Adeline. We were married for twenty years.”
“What did he tell you about his family?”
“He said he was an only child, and both parents died when he was eighteen.”
“So, you know he lied.”
“Yes,” said Shade, her voice trembling. “After Stanley died, I learned he wasn’t the man I thought I knew.”
Shade revealed all she had learned about Stanley, including Addy’s abuse and the article she came across regarding the sexual assault.
Caroline remained quiet, clearly gathering her thoughts before speaking. “It must have been quite a shock. Do you want to know about the assault?”
“Yes, please.”
“Well, from an early age, maybe fourteen, Stanley exhibited an attraction to young girls. There were complaints around the neighborhood. Inappropriate touching. Kissing. Things like that. My parents got him counseling, and he seemed to improve, until that day when I was babysitting. The girl was nine, and Stanley was sixteen. My parents were out with the young girl’s parents. I put her to bed in my bedroom and watched TV in the living room. Stan was doing homework in the basement. I fell asleep on the couch and awoke to the sound of whimpering. When I went to check on her, I saw Stanley walking out of my bedroom, and I asked what he was doing. He told me he heard crying and went to see if she was okay. I believed him. When I asked Jackie—that was her name—if she was okay, she said she’d had a nightmare. She was shaking and sobbing. It wasn’t until the next day, when the police came to our home and took Stanley away, that I learned what happened. He got convicted in juvenile court and served two years. It broke my family. Our friends avoided us and treated us like criminals. My parents were good, upstanding people. They raised him the best they could. But there was something about him that wasn’t right. It was as if he had no conscience. I think that’s why he got a vasectomy at such a young age. He either didn’t want to bring another person into the world carrying his genes, or he wanted to continue his shameful lifestyle and not worry about unwanted pregnancies. Anyway, when his two-year sentence ended, he tried moving back home, but my parents told him he would have to find someplace else to live. That’s the last we saw of him.”
The Essence of Shade Page 5