by Tia Souders
AFTER LOCKING THE DOOR behind Sienna, Lexie returned to the living room, where she hovered over the coffee table, staring at the pregnancy tests. She held her arms tightly against her sides, angling her body slightly away from the plastic sticks as if they were a bed of coiled snakes.
Her skin pricked, and the hairs on her arms stood up. Something about the tests bothered her. Or maybe in the deep-seated recesses of her mind, it was intuition.
The scattered boxes beckoned her. On a hunch, she picked one up with a trembling hand and stared at it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had her period. Then again, much of the past two months were a blur, a fog of pain and fear, much like this afternoon with Sienna—one agonizing day blending into the next.
Before she could think, she sprinted to the bathroom. Ripping the test out of the box, she took the lid off and then dropped her pants. She squatted over the toilet, peeing on the plastic stick, dribbling a small amount of urine on her hands in her haste. She put the cap back on, then placed the test on the back of the toilet.
With quaking hands, she retrieved the box and read the directions—probably something she should have done first—then glanced at the clock, noting the time. Three minutes to wait. Three minutes and the fresh fear that brewed in her gut would be assuaged. A single blue line. That was the result she wanted. One blue line and she could confirm she wasn’t pregnant.
She tossed the empty carton in the trash, gripping the sides of the pedestal sink while she stared at herself in the mirror, looking more like the crypt keeper than herself. Her once lustrous mahogany hair, the envy of all her female friends and co-workers, hung limp and lifeless below her shoulders. Her skin was pale, and purple crescents shadowed her eyes.
“It’s not possible,” she whispered to her reflection. But her inner monologue contradicted her because a voice inside her said it was possible. A thought that collided with the superstition Sienna was meant to come over today, to bring those tests with her and leave them.
Lexie glanced at the clock once more. Only two minutes had passed, yet she found herself inching toward the toilet to retrieve the test.
Eyes closed, she took a deep breath, allowing oxygen to fill her lungs, her bloodstream, and calm her. She tilted her head down, ready to face the truth, whatever that may be.
On the count of three, she opened them, blinking until her vision cleared and comprehension dawned, a sledgehammer to her heart. Two pink lines.
Positive. The test was positive.
Over the next couple hours, she drank everything she could get her hands on. Like a madwoman, she downed countless glasses of water, juice, and coffee, taking test after test, slowly depleting Sienna’s supply and filling the bathroom wastebasket with the same ominous result.
It can’t be...
But it was, the proof right in front of her
She gripped the final stick in both hands, her knuckles turning white and let out a gut-wrenching scream. She snapped it in half, then flung the broken debris across the room. Her chest swelled as she puffed air from her lungs and gripped her hair in her hands. With a wild yank, she screamed again, even louder than the last. Turning, she ripped the shower curtain aside. Her hands tore at her clothing until no part of her was covered.
She stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on full blast, the temperature as hot as it would go, scalding her skin, turning her pale flesh into a soft shade of scarlet. Only then did she take the bar of soap and washcloth, scrubbing herself raw.
She scrubbed until her skin burned and puckered with goosebumps. Even as the hot water turned cold, she scoured her body. But no matter how long she washed herself she didn’t feel clean. She couldn’t erase the memories, the rough rope that bound her wrists, cutting into her flesh, his hard fist smashing into her face, or his body, heavy on hers, violating her.
Sinking to her knees, she moaned. Pain radiated where her kneecaps met the tile, but she welcomed the pain. It was no match for the agony inside.
And as her tears mixed with the water, pooling around her legs and swirling down the drain, she cried for the woman that died the night of her rape. The one she felt for certain she wanted to get back but couldn’t.
CHAPTER TWO
GAIL DODSON WAS AS practical as she was headstrong. She lived by the land, her boots never without a dusting of fresh soil and her skin with a year-round kiss from the sun. Farming ran through her blood. Other than her family, she thrived on days of planting and harvesting, while relishing all the days in-between where her amazement at the beauty of the transformation from seed to sprout never ceased.
Her hair, the color of an eastern seashore, was pulled tightly back into a ponytail, leaving no opportunity for loose strands or inconvenience. She wore a pair of old blue jeans, covered with permanent stains from the earth, and a green flannel shirt.
Outward appearances lent the impression she was years younger than her fifty, and even though her bones sometimes ached and the long hours of running a farm took their toll, nothing kept Gail Dodson down. Certainly not physical labor. Hard work was merely a way of life. One she loved and one she was used to.
She grabbed the hammer from her tool belt and took the nail from between her teeth, holding it in place before driving it into the board. A quick reach into her tool belt brought another, and she did the same.
Moving to a stack of lumber, with her son Phillip by her side, she lifted another board from the top of the pile and ignored the throbbing ache of arthritis in her joints. They worked in harmony—synchronized. Both were skilled at most any laborious project and knew, without corresponding, what needed to be done next.
Despite the echoing sounds of pounding, when the music to She’s a Brick House—muffled, but nevertheless obtrusive in the atmosphere mostly devoid of conversation—rang out, Gail pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and answered it. Phillip, grinning, seized the opportunity of his mother’s distraction to get a cup of coffee.
Scowling at his retreating form, Gail removed her gloves and held the phone to her ear. “Hello.”
She squinted into the sun, her forehead and brow creasing in deep lines, the caramel tan of her skin in stark contrast to the pale blue of her eyes and her shocking white smile.
“Hey Mom, it’s Lexie.”
Gale’s smile was instantaneous. “Well, hi there, honey. What’s got you calling me so early?”
She turned around, her gaze moving to where Phillip disappeared. She spotted him standing in the entryway of the building, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. Waving to him, she whispered, “Go get your daddy. Tell him Alexis is on the line.”
Scowling, Phillip quickly finished his coffee, crushed the cup in his fist, and threw the demolished remains on the ground. He left, shaking his head, while Gail pretended not to notice his annoyance.
“So, how are you, honey? Daddy’s been out plowing the fields and getting the rows ready to plant more strawberries. You know how he is this time of year; he’s giddy as a kid on Christmas, all hyped up for the season. Phillip and I have been out here working on the new store. It’s almost finished. You should see the job your brother’s done, Lex. The new market is gonna be real nice. It’ll have the usual section for produce, but he also designed a new department for baked goods, homemade jams, sauces, and we even have a section for prepared seasonal items like strawberry ice cream, blackberry shakes, or even pumpkin bread. There’s so many things we’ll be able to do with the addition. It’s really shaping up, and when we’re done, we’ll have a beauty of a place on our hands.”
“That’s great.”.
Her daughter sounded tired, Gail mused. More than usual. Probably all that city smog. What she needed was some good ‘ol fashioned country air.
When Ed’s tall, lanky form manifested around the corner of the shop, Gail held the phone away from her mouth and said, “Hey, Ed. Our Alexis is on the phone.” Putting the phone back to her ear, she said, “Your daddy’s coming along now...”
“Mom,
” Lexie said.
“Oh, he’s here. That ‘ol face of his is smiling ear to ear.”
“Mom—”
“Maybe if you didn’t wait so long to call us, he wouldn’t get so excited over something as little as a phone call from his only daughter.”
“Mom!”
Gail winced, and her smile vanished. “What, Alexis? Why are you shouting?”
“Mom, I’m coming home,” Lexie said.
She froze, nearly dropping the phone. Her mouth opened to speak, but it took several seconds for her voice to work.
Could she have heard correctly?
“You’re coming home?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving today, this afternoon.”
“Alexis is coming home,” she said, grabbing her husband’s arm and squeezing. She could hardly believe it. “What’s going on, honey? Is everything okay out there?”
A few seconds passed before Lexie responded and when she did, Gail’s stomach twisted. “Yeah. Everything’s fine. I just wanted a visit, that’s all.”
Something was off. Call it a mother’s intuition, but Gail sensed Lexie’s coming home was about more than a simple visit. She knew moving out to that city had been a bad idea, and her gut told her Lexie was hiding something, but now was not the time to pry.
“You need a break from the city sometimes,” Gail placated. “You should come more often. Don’t eat anything on your way. We’ll have supper here tonight. Phil will be here too, and I’ll have him swing by and pick up Heather and the kids.”
“Great, Mom. That would be nice,” Lexie murmured.
Gail said goodbye and hung up the phone. Turning out toward the fields, she gazed out into the horizon, at the ethereal glow of the early morning sun over the cornfields. Growing up, Phil and Lexie used to joke her intuition for her children’s lies were like a barometer. And right now, her weather index registered a storm brewing in Lexie. Everything was far from fine. She could feel it.
But her baby girl was coming home. That’s what mattered now. The rest she could figure out later.
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