“They can’t be any worse than your cleaning skills.” Ginjer gives me one of her southern, socialite smiles and leads us to the waiting group.
“When did she get so lippy?” I try to encourage a smile from Genny when she exits the car. Forging through a room of dead dogs, discovering a woman who committed suicide, and being taken hostage only to end up willingly at their camp has to be the definition of a bad day.
“You know this could go very badly?” Genny asks, holding my hand as we walk, needing the touch of reassurance.
“If it does,” I slip the car keys into Genny’s purse with my words, “you get out of here.”
“Why do all of your plans involve me leaving you?” My daughter turns to me with an annoyed expression over a question I think the answer to is rather obvious.
“Because you are my daughter and nothing is more important to me than your life, but the next time I say we are skipping a store, we are skipping the damn store.” I touch my forehead to hers with our private conversation, hoping to share a smile. It is a brief flash of a grin, but I will take it. Beggars can’t be choosers and right now I am begging for this to turn out right.
Terrence’s son has a long gash on his left calf. His pants have been cut up the seam to expose the wound that lies bleeding into the once white towels that brace his leg. The flesh is jagged and torn framing a wide, perfect arch where the pieces have been removed. The skin around the wound shows signs of scraping with thin ribbons of blood beading along the lines. His skin tone is grey and pale from the pain and nausea that he is suffering. His blonde haircut is in the typical teen windblown bowl look that many young stars brought back to popularity. Strands of his bangs are matted and stuck to his forehead with his moist perspiration. Terrence clutches his son’s hand in a white-knuckle fist, pulling it to his chest. He whispers words of encouragement, trying to soothe the teenage boy while staring at Ginjer with hopeful eyes.
Ginjer swallows against the sight of the wound, blanching for a moment, but when she feels the many eyes staring at her, the curtain rises. Her perfect socialite smile pulls her lips up at the corners. Her head cocks and she begins to make soothing noises as if she were suddenly possessed by Mother Teresa herself.
A woman, who has admitted many times to hating kids, sometimes wishing them brutal harm for their antics, now stands examining a wound that stains her elegant fingers. Her brow furrows with the medical concerns I know she is lacking. I find myself forgetting her admitted secret as I watch her and wonder what else she has hidden from us. Her flip from the demanding and pampered to this resolved survivor with all of her social trappings stripped from her today makes me wonder who is the real Ginjer.
“We have the stuff for stitches, but nobody here knows how to do them.” Terrence hands what looks like a battered tackle box to Ginjer. Inside are many different compartments and tiers that have been converted for medical needs. They are segregated and sectioned into areas, clumping together items depending on the needs they would best serve.
Bandages, gauze and paper tape room together in one tier. Prescription pills with their amber-colored plastic bottles rattle against one another on a higher tier. A collection of fishing hooks that have been stretched and converted into needles with the matching twine nestle in the last compartment. My stomach flutters realizing what she is going to have to do.
“We will need to clean it. Stitching a wound that has been open this long can become infected. Who knows what bacteria are already in there.” Ginjer’s voice is steady and secure in her knowledge. Once again, I have to stare at this woman, wondering who she really is.
“We are running short on water. Is there any other way?” The look that Ginjer gives one of the townsfolk with his question is not a kind one.
“Genny, I think we might have something in the car.” I let the words drag, hoping she catches my meaning without revealing too much information about our supplies. These people look worn and haggard. I don’t really want to get into a fight over dog food. My bullshit meter is filled already today.
When Genny returns with an opened, misused, half-filled bottle of water, I have to bite my smile. She caught on perfectly and understood the risks of returning with anything that might gather more suspicions.
Ginjer smiles when she sees the bottle, but quickly masks it as one of appreciation.
“This will do perfectly,” she tells Genny, exchanging our secret with her smile.
Ginjer has rubbed a packaged alcohol prep swab over her hands and dragged the needle she selected to use with the fishing twine through another. The kid’s eyes roam from the needle waiting on the swab to Ginjer with unmasked fear.
“This is going to hurt.” Terrence pulls his son’s upper body against his chest to help brace the boy. It does nothing to settle the fear in the boy’s eyes.
Without a word spared, Ginjer begins to pour the water over the wound. It may as well have been molten lava by the way the boy clenches his teeth and exhales his misery. She alternates between pouring the water and pressing against the wound, releasing new blood to flow with hopes of expelling anything that may set an infection. Terrence’s arms bulge, defining each muscle with the act of holding his son still. We are all lost in his misery, forgetting the risk his loud moans may present.
Pinching the wound together so that the edges are aiming outward, Ginjer pushes the needle through. The thread appears to be connected to the boy’s stomach. With each puncture, he hisses in pain and with each pull, he gags with the length of the thread that is sliding through his skin. She pulls the thread just tight enough to hold the wound’s edges together with each steady stroke and ties a knot on one side of the wound, never on top, repeating until the wound is closed. With the final knot in place, she and Terrence both exhale the breath that I bet neither of them were aware that they were holding.
With the leg stitched and bandaged, both the boy and his father start to regain their normal coloring. Ginjer accepts the smiles and pats on the back with extreme grace, never letting on to the truth. She is calm and collected, appearing as if she never had a doubt the outcome would be positive. Glad one of us didn’t.
“Beth?” The voice only proves that today is full of surprises, and I spin to be sure of what I am hearing. I return the shocked smile of the woman who has been my “partner in crime” for the past many years.
“Aunt Alicia?” Genny’s nerves have hit their brick wall and this new discovery frees all her tension that has been building with today’s events in an explosion of emotion. She forgets her teen dignity with its perfect aloofness and runs into my sister’s arms. They stand, rocking with their embrace, celebrating in a rare moment in this new life: happiness.
“Who is that?” Ginjer asks of me, unhappy that she is no longer the center of the attention she had gained.
“My Guardian Angel.” Is the only response that I seem to find fitting at this moment.
“Who?” Ginjer misses both the point and the moment with her cold eyes gazing at whom she perceives as a threat to her imagined crown.
“My sister. She’s also Genny’s God Mother. We even went to college together.” She is many things, and I stand patiently awaiting our moment letting Genny take all the comfort that she needs.
“You went to college?” The shock in her voice does not dampen my mood as I realize the show is over and the woman I have come to know is back.
Her flippant demeanor will not take this moment from me. I watch my daughter lost in her joy. She has lost her father, her friends and her way of life, but she has never given up. She has fought and killed to survive to stand here today. We have spent nights huddled together, our stomachs a pit of dread and starvation, praying to make it through to the morning.
We have watched houses burn and people kill each other for something as simple as a box of crackers. Never, never has she given up though.
My cheeks grow wet with my tears as I watch them whispering and embracing, lost in the miracle of finding each other. Alicia
and I had become better friends in college than we had our whole lives. We were both lost and out of our league at the local university. For both of us, college was something of a dream for our family. It was a fantasy and a threat of bankruptcy to our middle class life-style. We had both earned scholarships and worked part time jobs to make our dreams come true, determined to live better lives than our parents. With as much as we had in common, we also had a part.
Alicia, with her cluster of Daddy issues, seemed to like men who were unobtainable. The harder the romance was to reach, the harder she burned for it. Whereas I, a Dear Diary of my own ‘Daddy’ issues, preferred men who were safe and secure and ones who were almost boring. It always started the same for me. A few romantic dates would soon simmer, resulting in us reaching the ‘friend zone,’ before finally ending with our false promises that we would keep in touch. I never kept in touch and the colder my flames became the hotter hers burned.
We stayed close after we crossed that stage. She was my Maid of Honor when I married Charlie. She was the first person in the hospital room after Genny’s birth. She was the supplier of cookie dough and chick-flicks when the divorced was settled. There has not been a day when I have not prayed that she was safe somewhere. I guess someone is still listening, after all.
Their eyes turn to me and I go to them. We don’t speak. We just embrace in our gratitude for finding each other, a small part of our souls heal from the suffering we have faced.
“All this time…,” Alicia’s voice is soft with wonder, “I kept hoping I would find you. I kept looking, but after all this time. After all this time I just gave up.” Her voice cracks. The guilt and grief she has been holding inside of her is too much for her to not convey. “I went by your house,” she continues, “but it was all gone. The whole street looks as if it fell to madness or bombs. Hell, maybe both. Houses were burned or gutted; just destroyed. It was unbelievable.”
“I was hoping you had stayed on your trip far away from here,” I say to her. “Maybe on some tropical island with a nice umbrella drink. Dancing with the dark-skinned, male natives.” I smile at her but my resolve is breaking with my sister’s strength faltering beside me. I’m not alone anymore and that realization tears down the false strength I have been hiding behind.
“I wish.” She tries to smile but her face slides back into the creases her frown leaves. “I came back the day it happened. If you think flying was bad before, you should see how long check-in lines become when people start dropping.” She means it as a joke, but the laughter doesn’t reach her eyes.
“How did you find us?” Alicia asks. She is still clutching Genny to her, refusing to release her, too afraid of her vanishing like the ghost of a dream. It is evident in the way she strokes Genny’s hair, leans her cheek against the top of Genny’s head and whispers soothing words to her in-between our conversation. Which is why when Genny tells her how we made it here, she explodes.
“He tried to kidnap me,” Genny volunteers. All of the energy is gone from her voice. Like the eyes belonging to a painted doll, her eyes stare blankly from today’s stress at the man who helped cause it. A man who just happens to be unfortunately standing across from us, Collin.
Alicia pauses for a moment, unsure of what she heard before turning to me to confirm the story. Knowing my sister well, I reluctantly nod and brace for a heat wave of anger.
“It was a misunderstanding,” Collin volunteers and accepts the blame for what has happened. He is either very brave or just wishing for his life to end. I know the wrath of Alicia. With as much as his actions anger me, I almost pity him for what is to come.
“You. Did. What?” Each word is clipped and short, her anger, and the target for it, evident with her teal-green eyes glaring. Her arms bind Genny closer to her, protecting her now from what she was not able to before.
“I didn’t know who they were. I didn’t know what to do,” Collin pleads his case, but when Alicia’s eyes are this green, the best thing he can do is cower and apologize. Alicia’s anger is the perfect example of why men are taught to just answer “Yes, Dear,” and walk away, slowly.
“You didn’t know that a teenage girl and two women couldn’t overpower you and Terrence? That says a lot about you, don’t you think?” Alicia’s words are biting and he winces from the verbal slap.
“I didn’t tie her up.” Collin tries to better his story while pointing to Genny.
“He had me put the tape on Mom and Mrs. Ginjer after dragging me through the store to make them follow us.”
I don’t know if my daughter is seeking some form of payback, or if she’s just not aware of how well she is stirring the pot now with her answers. Watching Alicia’s face, we are all very aware. The pot is stirred and boiling over.
If anger had a shade, it would not be red. I have seen enough red to know what the shade belongs to and why we fear that shade. No, if anger were a shade it would be the color of Alicia’s eyes, because looking into them now there is no question about her thoughts. The peaceful teal-green has slowly deepened into the color of a green so dark it almost appears black with her anger.
I watch all of Collin’s bravery slip from him with a sigh. I have a sense that he has seen this side of her before with how easily he gives over to her anger. Watching her mood deepen, he has switched to the gear of self-preservation instead of defending his actions. His head bows sideways as he waits for her verbal explosion like a child knowing they have done wrong and their punishment is coming.
“We have rules in this group. Rules Peyton has made to keep ourselves safe and any others that we may find safe. One of those is that we do not hurt innocent people to further our causes. We especially do not take advantage of children! It’s bad enough you left your own children to die, but now you have to harm another’s, too.”
Her words are like heat-seeking missiles and they find his heart like the weapon they were intended to be.
I don’t know the man’s story, or what his real relationship is with Alicia. I do notice by the spasms of emotions on his face that she knows him well enough to know exactly what to say to wound him mortally. The whispering murmurs around us shame him further with his hinted backstory.
“Who’s Peyton?” Genny resembles a china doll with her pale skin tone and blank wide eyes. Hiding in the security of Alicia’s arms, she seems just as fragile.
“I am and I’d like a hint as to what is going on here.” Peyton is leaning on the side of the Jeep watching their little domestic show-and-tell and at the sound of his voice the crowd around us disperses. It’s as if they all suddenly are remembering something very important they have to do. Something that they have to do that will allow them enough distance to be out of the way, but still close enough to pretend they are not listening.
Peyton’s stance seems to be relaxed as he stands beside the sleeping teenager and his father, but his face is all for us. His pale colored eyes, showing his age with the slight wrinkles at their edge, pause on each of us as he waits to see which one will speak first. He is wearing a thick flannel shirt with hopes it will reduce the bite of the wind when it blows. The winter’s icy fingers are gaining strength as the afternoon sun begins to lose its power.
His jeans are as stained and worn as the rest of ours, showing he is more than battle friendly and well versed in what could be waiting for us at any moment. Yet, with all of this sternness, there is a kindness about him. It is a kindness that comes from understanding and seeing every facet of human nature from having had to shoulder the heavy burden of being a leader.
“Ginjer. With a ‘J’.” Never missing the chance to be the center of male attention, Ginjer extends her hand to him, forgetting where they just were.
Peyton’s eyes flick to her hand before an amused smile becomes his face. His eyes darted to me standing behind her before coming back to Ginjer. Ginjer had tried to clean her hands the best she could after stitching the teen’s leg, but there are still smears of blood dried in the crevices of her nails. It is proba
bly not the best seduction technique she has ever planned to date.
“Well Ginjer, with a ‘J’, I see I have you to thank for Kent’s leg.” Peyton doesn’t take her extended hand, but lets his words explain as to the reason why before she can become offended.
“Yes, sorry, I’m still a bit messy from the surgery.” Ginjer doesn’t even bat an eye at the exaggeration. “I’m just happy I was here to save him.”
Once again, Peyton looks to me with an amused smile from her antics while waiting on my introduction.
“This is my sister, Beth, and her daughter, Genny. Who Collin here thought would be a good idea to try to kidnap and tie-up.” Alicia adds honey to her voice, but it’s as sweet as acid and burns another layer of dignity from Collin’s face.
Ginjer becomes very put-out, almost delicate with her whisper of a voice, “He tied me up, too.” She stares at Peyton, waiting on his sympathy with lowered eyes and pouting lips.
“I didn’t tie them up. I used tape. Well I had Genny use the tape…” Collin’s words stall discovering that each one only makes his side of the story bury him just that much deeper into the anger of Alicia.
“Where were you when all of this happened?” Peyton looks to Terrence, avoiding Ginjer and trying to gain more insight of the events that unfolded.
Terrence has remained still, like an animal hiding from a hunter while the conversations have centered around the store run-in. Holding his son’s resting body, only the movement of his eyes followed the discussion as if he was watching a verbal tennis match between Collin and Alicia. He never once volunteered any support to his friend, a negative strike in my book, but Collin never threw his name into the fray either. That does say a little something about the type of man Collin might be. Now that Terrence has been directly called out, his mind searches for the right words that may save them both.
“I came in after he discovered them. They were able to free themselves and were on the way out when I asked them for help. They came here on their own accord. I think they knew Collin never really meant them any harm, even with as scared as the girl was.” His words are slow with his hopes that each one is the right one as he continues his explanation. “I think Collin was just worried that they weren’t alone. We don’t normally come across a group of women out on their own. We may not have started out on the best foot, but I am very grateful for your help with my son.”
The Risen Series | Book 3 | Remnants Page 6