Chapter Seven
“D o not tell your father,” My mother hisses at me over the breakfast table the following morning, “This is your mistake, and you will fix it, Marly.”
I don’t know how to tell her going to the south side wasn’t a mistake nor was ending up at Sinclair Motors.
“You’re lucky no one saw you,” She continues, curling her lip, “Or that you didn’t get robbed. You’ve been warned about going to that side of town.”
I have to stifle my eye roll. Sure, as a kid I believed the stories, believed it when they told me it was unsafe and little girls like me would never come home if I ever ventured across that invisible line that divides this damn town.
They’re blind if they think it’s the south side that’s the problem.
I move the low-fat yogurt around the bowl, pushing the fresh berries around and watch as it leaves streaks of color in the white. I’d kill for a stack of pancakes or some bacon but if I was caught eating that in front of my mother, she’d force me to throw it back up.
I lift my eyes to her, she’s focused back on her cell, scrolling something, probably a newspaper or magazine searching for her name. A morning ritual she’s done for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been happier knowing her and dad are heading out of town for three weeks, first into the city for business and then it’s their annual vacation to Bora Bora. My brother no longer lives at home, so I don’t have to deal with him either, other than maybe once or twice.
It's my favorite time of year, the only time I’m able to have a little bit of freedom.
My mother places her cell down and glares at me, “Stop playing with your food, Marly.”
“May I be excused?” I grind out.
Her blue eyes narrow, “I’m serious, Marly Della Winchester, you fix this and do not tell anyone.”
“I understand,” I swallow, hating it when she full names me, purely because my middle name is hers. I don’t want to be anything like the woman in front of me. Not cold. Not calculated or manipulative. I am nothing like her.
The resentment for my parents has been growing for some time but I hadn’t realized just how far those roots had grown. They’re in my marrow and all I feel, as I stare at the woman who birthed me, is this intense kind of hatred. And then there’s the guilt for feeling that way. Because I love them, right? They’re my parents.
“You’re excused,” She dismisses me, and I move so quick, you’d think the chair was on fire beneath me. I take my bowl into the kitchen and rush for the stairs, bumping into my father on the way up.
“Woah, Marly bear,” I cringe at the lifelong nickname, “Why are you rushing?”
“I’m meeting a friend for some shopping,” I lie, “Need to get ready.”
“Oh, you’ll miss us leaving,” he frowns.
“I know,” I feign disappointment, “But I promised.”
“Well,” He shrugs, reaching into his pocket to pull out a wad of cash, at least two thousand dollars, and then passes me his credit card. “You’ll need this for when we are away.”
“Thanks,” I swallow down the bile because he isn’t wrong, I will need the money but not this damn much. I keep the cash and card in my hand and accept his hug goodbye and when he’s out of view, I rush the rest of the way to my bedroom, dumping it all onto my vanity.
I’ve no way of earning my own money, my parents would stop me from ever getting a job, even if I went out and just did it, they’d blacklist anyone who tried to give me one and without a college education, who would want me anyway?
Neither of them believed I needed anything more than a high school diploma, even though I begged and pleaded to go. I wanted to major in English, maybe go on to teach but I lost the fight. I’m born to be someone’s wife. Someone’s mother. Born to be pretty and quiet, not smart or successful in my own right.
Closing my eyes, I fight the sting building there and push back the emotion and then I grab a shower, keeping my hair pinned to the top of my head to stop it from getting wet.
I lost my favorite ribbon yesterday at some point and while it’s not a big deal to most people, it is to me. My grandmother gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. She was the only decent human being in my life, and I’ve lost the only thing she gave me.
I have others of course, but none that mean as much.
“It’s just a fucking ribbon,” I growl to myself once I’m out the shower, shaking my head at my own reflection, the curse word feeling foreign on my tongue. I don’t swear often.
Running a hand over my face, I loosen my breath and then begin my skincare routine, choosing to go barefaced today since I don’t plan on leaving the house, even for a second. Neither of my parents will notice if I’ve left or not, nor will they check. Once my skin is cleansed and moisturized, I let my hair out of the claw clip and leave it down and then pad to my bed, climbing into it in just the towel I used after I got out the shower.
Sinclair Motors, South West Rock. I type the words into my search bar on my cell after I pull it off its charger.
The garage is the first one to pop up on the search, listing the opening times, directions and phone number.
It’s open now so I hit the dial button and bring my cell to my ear.
It rings four times before I get an answer.
“Sinclair Motors,” River’s raspy voice greets my ear, “How can I help?”
“River?” I sit up.
“Speaking,” He replies.
“It’s um, it’s Marly,” I stutter out, “I was just calling about my car.”
There’s a beat of silence before he answers, “I said a few days, princess. It’s barely been twenty-four hours.”
A blush warms my cheeks, “Oh, right, of course.”
His chuckle sends goose bumps rising over my skin, “Did you miss me that much, Marly?” He purrs into the line.
“What?” I blurt, “No! I mean, of course not!”
He laughs again, “This the best number to reach you on?”
“Yes,” I swallow.
“How about I call you when it’s ready?”
“Okay,” I breathe.
Silence crackles between us but I know he’s still on the line since I can hear his steady breathing, but he doesn’t speak. This goes on for a while, enough so that my palms begin to get clammy.
“There’s a race tonight,” He eventually says, “Nine PM at the track.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“In case you want to get lost again.” He says and then the line goes dead.
My heart does a little flip inside my chest. I hold the cell to my ear for the longest time, listening to the static of the disconnection and contemplate whether I go. Zara isn’t here, I don’t have her safety. Would I be confident enough to go alone?
There’s nothing stopping me and I’m good at blending into the background. I could hide from him and just watch; he’d never even know I was there, and I can’t deny that I am curious to see him race.
I contemplate the decision for most of the day. I don’t bother leaving my bedroom and I listen as I hear my parents pack up and leave and then watch the silver Bentley as it drives further from the house and then disappears through the gates. They have staff that come and go so I’ll never be truly alone, but I don’t have their prying eyes on me now and when the clock strikes six that evening, I make my decision.
Pulling out a pair of denim shorts and an oversized tee I’d never be allowed to wear if my parents were still here, I get dressed. I pull my hair into a ponytail and slip my feet into my sneakers before I escape out the backdoor of the house in case there are staff that’ll report back to my parents. I sneak down to the gate and walk a block before I call a cab on my phone.
I debate calling the number again, to let him know I’m coming but then decide against it, unsure if I want him to know I’m there.
Nerves bubble in my stomach as the cab weaves through the streets of the town and before I know it, we’re stopping at the track.
I give him cash and then climb out, standing awkward and alone while a party rages on ahead of me.
Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.