8. Laney
I stand outside the trailer that has been my home for most of my life.
It doesn’t look any different. The bubblegum pink paint my mother used is cracked and peeling in the bright sunlight.
The windows are dirtier, the corners strung with cobwebs.
I’m relieved none have been broken, though, and the door appears intact.
A part of me had been worried I’d return to squatters, and I don’t have the energy—emotional, physical, or otherwise—to deal with that.
We always left a key hidden beneath a plant pot, and I pray it’s still there, otherwise I’m going to have to figure out a way to break in.
The plant itself is long dead, just a dried-out twig in cracked dirt, but I maneuvere the pot and exhale in relief when a glint of silver flashes at me in the sunlight.
“Bingo.”
I pick up the key and go to the door. My stomach flips with nerves, and I steady my breath. I’m not sure why I’m so anxious. This is my home.
My mind conjures the morning when my whole world changed, and I picture my mother’s body still sitting on the toilet. I know it’s crazy—she was taken away more than a month ago, and there’s no possibility I’ll find her still sitting there—but my heart pounds.
I wish I’d taken the men up on their offer to come with me.
Why had I decided I needed to do this on my own?
Then I give myself a mental slap. I need to know who I am without them.
I have to stand on my own two feet. I’m an adult now.
I want to learn how to be a grownup in my own right, to be an equal player, not someone who can’t even do a simple thing like returning to her home on her own.
Placing the key in the lock, I turn it and open the door.
A wave of stench smacks me in the face, and I turn away from the trailer and grimace. “Jesus Christ.”
It’s clear no one has been here to clean the place out.
The stink of rotting trash overwhelms my senses, and the air is alive with the buzzing of flies.
They’re crawling over everything—the windows, the kitchen surfaces, the ceiling.
I’ve grown pretty used to bugs after living in the cabin for so long, but it still freaks me out.
The thought of my mother’s body enters my head again, and I push it away.
The flies are here because of the trash, not because of her.
I almost turn around and get the hell out of there. I’m going to need to bleach every single surface to even begin to make it livable. But then, what the hell else have I got to do?
The phone the airline bought me beeps, and I check the messages. It’s Reed.
How’s it going?
I type out a reply. Place needs a clean, but otherwise fine.
I want to put a kiss, or say ‘miss you,’ but I’m paranoid. What if a reporter hacks his phone, or he’s in public and someone is reading over his shoulder? It’s not worth the risk.
The phone beeps again. Sure you don’t want some help? Many hands and all that?
I’m good, but thanks.
I slip the phone back in my pocket. I can do this. I’m a woman now. I’ve survived a fucking plane crash and lived in the wilderness. I can clean a goddamned trailer.
The first thing I do is go around opening all the windows to let the flies out and get some air circulating. I’ve also left the trailer door open as a way for them to escape. I pick up a hand towel and flap it around, trying to drive the flies out.
I open the refrigerator door and almost gag.
It’s not as though we ever had a huge amount of groceries, but what little we did have has turned to moldy soup.
I can’t even recognize the fruit or vegetables the sludge might once have been.
I check under the sink for some cleaning products and large trash bags.
I wish I had a mask to wear, or even a bandana to wrap around my face.
I get to work, tossing stuff out and scrubbing what remains to within an inch of its life.
I take out all my anger and grief on the surfaces, cleaning until my back aches and my arms are stiff.
I strip what was once my mother’s bed, and what will now be mine, and wash the sheets on the hottest setting available.
When they’re clean, I pin them up outside to dry in the hot sun.
I go back inside and open the small closet.
It’s still full of Mom’s stuff, as is the tiny bathroom.
Seeing her belongings brings tears to my eyes, and my throat constricts.
She’s never going to wear any of it again, and it’s definitely not my style—too hippy-dippy for me—but I can’t bring myself to get rid of it. Not yet, anyway.
A light knock comes at the door, and my heart lurches. Stupidly, I hope to find Reed, or Darius, or Cade there, but instead it’s a guy I vaguely recognize. He’s around my age, maybe a couple of years older, casually dressed in a tee and jeans.
“Can I help you?” I’m defensive, but for good reason. “You’d better not be a reporter, because if you are, you can fuck off right now.”
The smile falls from his face. “Err…no. I’m your neighbor. I live a couple of rows over. I saw you were back and wondered if you needed a hand.”
A neighbor. That’s why I recognize him.
“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bitch.”
“It’s fine. I get it. You’ve been through a lot. It’s understandable that you’d be paranoid about random guys coming calling on you.”
I experience a flash of heat. What does he mean by ‘I’d been through a lot’? For a second, I think he’s talking about the assault and rape, but then I realize he means the plane crash. It’s like my brain directs every incident back toward that event.
“Yeah, thanks. I need to be careful.”
He gestures at the trailer. “Is there anything I can help with? Anything you need?”
I don’t want to let anyone in. I don’t trust anyone, no matter how nice they seem. “No, I’m fine.”
He nods at the black trash bags piled up outside the front. “I can get rid of those for you.”
I hesitate. While I don’t want to accept help, the bags are heavy, and they stink, and they’re going to smell even worse if I leave them in the sun for much longer.
“Okay, yeah, that would be good.”
He touches his hand to his chest. “I’m Sonny, by the way.”
“Laney,” I tell him.
He offers me a cute smile. “I know who you are.”
He bends to pick up the closest of the trash bags, and then walks away to carry them to the communal trash cans located on the outskirts of the trailer park. Quickly, I back up and shut the door, my heart beating hard. I don’t want any attention, especially not from a male.
All I want is to be left alone.
I’m grateful the power and water were never switched off, though I imagine there are some outstanding bills by now. Not that it matters. I have money to pay them, so I’ll just add it to the list of jobs I have to do.
I have to do this , I remind myself. As much as I want to run back to the comfort and security of the men, I need to learn to be myself again, or at least a new version of myself.
Besides, I have to think about how it would look to the outside world if I continued to live with Reed and his sons.
I no longer need to be under his guardianship.
I don’t want anyone to question the nature of the relationship between us.
In time, the heat will die down, and the newspapers will move on to something else, but right now it’s just too dangerous.
When the sheets are dry, I make up the bed again and climb onto it.
I curl up on my side, exhausted, my muscles aching from all the hard work.
I’ve done a good job, though. The trailer is livable now.
I don’t have anything to eat, but I can order something in, if I want.
Right now, though, I don’t have much of an appetite. I’d much rather sleep.
Tucked down the side of the bed, between the bed and the side table, a corner of pink knitwear catches my eye.
I reach down and take hold of the soft material and pull it out.
It’s a knitted sweater my mom liked to wear when the evenings grew cooler.
I lift it to my face, bury my nose into the material. It still smells of her.
Something inside me cracks. The dam of tears behind my eyes breaks, and I swallow against the painful lump in my throat. A bark of a sob erupts from my throat, and I hold the sweater tighter. My shoulders shake as I cry.
I cry for the loss of my mother, of the loss of any possibility of her ever changing to become the parent I’d so desperately wanted.
I cry for myself, for the person I was before the cabin, before the assault.
For the way it’s changed me and how I feel about my body—how it no longer truly belongs to me.
My sense of safety has been torn from me.
And I cry for Reed and Darius and Cade. For missing them, and wishing things were different.