Authors: Maggi Myers
“No,” I sigh. There have been countless times I have wished he was. ”He’s just a really good family friend.”
“Wow.” The girl is surprised by my answer. ”He must really love you a lot.”
I look over my shoulder toward the area I know he’s seated. I don’t see him, but I find the pennant still swaying proudly among the rest of the families.
***
In one swift motion, Fred wraps a beefy arm around me and shuffles me through the crowd, through the backstage door. No one hesitates when they see him coming, they just move out of the way. Once I am back in my office, Leslie and Cyn surround me. They are hovering over me, clucking like nervous hens.
“Where’s Steve?” my voice stops their chattering instantly.
“Andrea’s still with him.” Cyn answers and squeezes my shoulder.
“Beth,” Leslie speaks as she and Cyn squat before me. They look at one another and then Leslie addresses me again. “Who is Tommy?”
Hearing his name breaks something open inside me. The cry that pours out of me is feral. Tears burn my eyes as I weep for the man that mattered most. Cyn squeezes my hand and Les rubs my back; they have no idea. At the time, the evolution seemed natural. Once I moved to North Carolina, I stopped spending my summers in Iowa. When I have visited, the trips are short and Tommy never made it out east to see me. I think he understood that I needed the space to make my own life, and not wanting to impose, stayed away. So I used the space and built my life, leaving out the inconvenient parts. Guilt punches a whole in my gut at what I did, erasing my past essentially erased Tommy. I look at my friends and shake my head; I don’t know where to start or if I even should.
“I want to go home,” I sob.
I grab my wallet out of the top drawer of my desk and sit down at my computer. The longer I sit here under a microscope the worse I feel. My instinct to run has my knee jackhammering the floor.
Cyn lays her hand on top of the hand I have over the mouse. “Beth,” she whispers, “honey, who is Tommy?”
I stare at the computer screen trying to think of answer that won’t hurt her feelings.
”Someone important from back home,” I choke out.
Someone important I couldn’t share with you.
Cyn nudges me out of my seat, taking over at the computer.
”I will find you the first flight I can into Des Moines. Is there someone I can call to meet you at the airport?” Her forehead is creased with concern. I hurt her and her willingness to take care of me despite that only breaks my heart further.
“I need to call Uncle Rob back, I’ll ask him,” I mumble, staring at my phone’s fractured screen. Another missed call from Uncle Rob and three from Pops and Gran. I touch Uncle Rob’s name and hit send, and a moment later Aunt Melissa picks up the phone.
“Beth, honey, I’m so sorry. It’s so awful,” she sobs. She tells me how Tommy was on his way to his dad’s in Cumming when a drunk driver ran a four way stop, broadsiding him on the driver’s side. Killing him instantly. The words all make sense. It just feels like it’s happening to someone else. I can’t connect to what she is saying—my brain won’t accept it.
“When are you coming home? What time does your flight get in?” She keeps asking me, but I just sit there in stunned silence. Cyn takes the phone from me and relays the flight information to Aunt Melissa along with her phone number. Cyn looks at Les and then eyes me warily. I don’t blame them for not trusting me. We’re best friends who’re supposed to share everything, and I clearly have left out some critical pieces. A fresh wave of shame washes over me; I can’t look them in the eye while we gather our things and head home.
Chapter 30
Illusions can be very convincing. No one has any reason to suspect that I am anything less than what I appear. I don’t fit the typical victim profile. I may have some intimacy issues but those could be caused by a lot of things. There’s no telltale sign that would lead anyone to believe I was sexually abused for most of my childhood. With some smoke and mirrors, I’ve managed to evade the parts of myself that I wanted to hide. I convinced myself it wasn’t lying but a lie by
omission is no less deceptive.
Where only a fool would build a house on shifting sand, the same goes for those who would build their lives on a lie—eventually, it is going to crumble. I spent so much energy on cutting and pasting together the person I wanted to be that I forgot who I was. I neglected the person who knew me the best and loved me the most. Now he’s gone, and I will never have the chance to tell him what he meant to me.
***
“Do You Love Me” by The Contours streams through the speakers in Gran and Pops’ basement and Tommy holds out his hand to me. He pulls me to the center of the makeshift dance floor and spins me around.
“Show me what you got, baby girl!” Tommy’s blue eyes twinkle with anticipation. As the music cues us, we grind our feet into the floor and do The Mashed Potato. I laugh at Tommy who’s lifted his foot in the air and is now dancing on one leg. When the lyrics change we swing our hips in unison and do The Twist. “Tell me baby! Do you like it like this?” Tommy sings.
We go through several records as we practice each of the dances he’s taught me—The Pony, The Monkey, The Jerk and my favorite, The Hand Jive. Fighting to catch our breath, we flop down on the couch to rest. I love these impromptu dance lessons with Tommy. I still can’t picture him being my age, dancing with my mom and Uncle Rob this way.
“Woo!” He cheers while wiping sweat from his brow. “Your mama ain’t got nothin’ on your moves, baby girl.” He winks and gives me a warm smile, sending me into fits of giggles.
***
Cyn and Leslie drive me to the airport the next morning. The ride is eerily silent, as they have given up talking to me. There isn’t much to say when I won’t answer them about Tommy. I know they just want to understand and help but I just can’t. The words “Tommy” and “gone” are still battering my skull, I can’t tell them why he has never been a part of conversation. They deserve an explanation. I know they can handle it—they’re my friends. They deserve better. Tommy deserves better.
When we pull up to the terminal, I grab my suitcase and face my friends who are waiting for me on the curb. Their pained expressions are battery acid on my already broken heart.
“I love you guys.” I whisper as I pull both of them into a hug. ”I am so sorry.” I give them a sad smile and head through the doors.
“Beth!” I look over my shoulder at Cyn’s call. “We are here when you’re ready to talk. We love you, too.” Les nods her
agreement and blows me a kiss.
I don’t deserve them, I really don’t.
***
Pops and Gran have a full house as they usually do on Saturday afternoons. In an unspoken rule, their home is where everyone flocks. One Saturday, as a joke, Gran said, “I don’t mind the company as long as they bring something with them.” So began Potluck Saturday. Friends and family descend on the house with covered dishes, cakes and cookies while we catch up with each other.
I hold my breath and hope it keeps me from crying in front of Gran and her friend, Rose.
“You just don’t look anything like Casey when she was twelve, it’s uncanny.” Rose comments, “Does she favor John’s family, Ellen?” Gran gives Rose a stern look that goes unnoticed.
“She’s a combination of them both. I think she’s got all of their loveliest traits.” Gran smiles at me apologetically.
Rose shrugs at her answer like she isn’t quite buying it. I know I don’t have my mother’s stunning good looks, but having my face rubbed in it stings. I excuse myself and head out the front door before Rose can say something else about what a misfit I am. Once my feet hit the porch, the tears come. I cover my face and blindly turn toward the porch swing, hoping I can hide out here for a while.
“Hey there! Whose ass do I need to kick?” I jerk at the sound of Tommy’s voice. My hands fall to my sides and I swipe at my tears. Tommy is perched on the porch swing with his guitar in his lap.
“I didn’t know you were out here.” I sniffle.
“Clearly.” Tommy raises his eyebrow when I avoid his question. “So?” he draws out the word while he pats the seat.
I climb up next to him and rest my head on his shoulder. “Rose.” I giggle. It’s pretty funny picturing Tommy duking it out with a little, old blue haired old lady.
“What?” he laughs. “Rose? What did she say?” He rubs my back and hands me a hankie from his back pocket. He always has a handkerchief tucked in his back pocket. Not just any kind, he only carries the red ones that come in a 5-pack at Hy-Vee. The best thing about them is they are always baby soft and threadbare. I wipe my face and am comforted by Tommy’s familiar scent of the leather seats in his pickup truck and cinnamon. He’s addicted to Red Hots, so he always smells a little like cinnamon.
“She wouldn’t shut up about how much I don’t look like my mom when she was my age. She kept saying, ‘Casey is just so lovely,’” I whimper.
Tommy lets out a frustrated sigh as he sets his guitar down. Turning to me, he lifts my chin from where it rests on my chest. “Just because your hair isn’t blond and your eyes aren’t hazel doesn’t meant that you are not every bit as lovely as your mama.” I try not to start crying again, but the harder I try, the more my chin trembles. ”Rose is an old fool, I wouldn’t put any weight behind what she says.” Tommy squeezes me in a big bear hug before picking up his guitar.
“Thanks, Tommy.” I give him a watery smile.
“Besides, you got the best of all of your mama’s traits, baby girl,” he strums his guitar as he talks, “her smile.” He serenades me with Van Morrison and before I know it, my tears are dry and my hurt forgotten. “You’ll always be my brown-eyed baby girl.”
Chapter 31
“
Dear Tommy
,” I’ve been staring at those words for the last twenty minutes. They’re mocking me.
I miss you
. Too lame.
I’m sorry
. Too little, too late.
I love you
.
Always.
I’m stalling. I know exactly what I need to say but I haven’t been down that road in a long time. When you’ve spent all your time hiding from your past, the last thing you want to do is jump in and go for a swim. Reflecting on it won’t bring Tommy back. It’s tempting to just throw away my scribbling and pretend that it’s okay. God knows I’ve gotten good at pretending; I hate the coward I’ve become.
The pen shakes as I force it to connect to the paper through my memories. I upend every emotion and lay it out in detail, how he believed me without ever doubting me and how he fought Drew to keep me safe. The way he confronted my parents for me. For eight years, I waited for someone to stand up for me, and Tommy was the one who finally did. As I seal the envelope a thought occurs to me—all this time, I never thanked him.
I have been through more in my life than most people, but I’ve never lost someone close to me. For all of the horrific things I was forced to deal with in my childhood, death was never one of them. I thought I knew pain. I thought I understood it.
Nothing
I have ever experienced can come close to this agony. Now I understand “died of a broken heart.” I’d welcome death to come swallow me whole.
The wheels touch down in Des Moines, shaking me from my reverie. Everything looks the same, but nothing feels the same. People are bustling around me as I drag myself through the concourse when my phone chirps in my pocket. A quick glance shows that it’s my mom.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth? Are you there? Are you ok?” she batters me with a hundred questions all at once, making my head spin.
“Mom, slow down,” I say.
“Oh, honey. I wish I was there right now.”
“When do you fly in?” I sniff.
“We’ll be there later on today,” her voice is tense with worry, “who’s picking you up?”
“I don’t know,” I wince, knowing she’ll lecture me on that next. “Uncle Rob or Aunt Melissa, I assume.”
“Beth, really?” She chides. “I’m calling Pops.”
“No, Mom, please don’t. Everyone knows my flight information, someone will be here, and if not, I can catch a cab.” I reassure her.
She scoffs in my ear, “I know that, I just don’t like that you are there alone. Honey, I am so sorry. I know how much Tommy meant to you.” Her words cause my throat to clench. “He was such an important part of your life, and the thought of you alone in that airport just breaks my heart.” I hear shuffling in the background and then my dad’s muffled voice. “She isn’t even sure she has a ride from the airport, John,” she tells him. “I know how old she is, I’m not hovering.” She continues to argue with my dad who is grousing about how overbearing she can be. Today, it’s kind of nice to have her fussing over me, and I’m grateful that our relationship is good because I need all of the moral support I can find.
“If you two need to work this out, I can talk to you later.” I use the distraction to get off the phone before I start to cry again. “I love you, Mom.”
“Love you, too, baby. I’ll call you when we land,” she promises.