Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Lou
“The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.”
Alice Walker
The parts others don’t get.
A foreign concept for me, really. I’ve been what everyone gets. What everyone needs. A chameleon that morphs into whatever she needs to be to sell whatever needs to be sold. That is exactly what the people in my life wanted.
But not Grady. Or Paige.
They only want me. The real me, the woman, the flesh and blood. Not the two-dimensional version of me.
It fills holes in me I didn’t know were there. Deep, dark ones that touch my inner child. They’re healing ancient wounds with little effort. Yet, it’s more than has ever been given to me before. Except for Juliet, who always offered more than I could accept.
My dad always liked jazz. One song he would play me often was “What a Difference a Day Makes” by Dinah Washington.
Though it’s a rock song playing around us, it’s her lyrics I hear.
The ones that talk about flowers where there was only rain.
It means something different to me now than it did when I was a kid.
It’s hopeless to fight. I’m hopelessly in love.
Grady and Paige have my whole heart. Well, minus the part that’s reserved for this quirky small town hidden on the coast. The town full of people that embraced me without question.
Except for the bartender who sent me side-eye glances full of jealous rage, all night.
That only worsened the longer Grady and I stayed.
After about an hour of dancing, I asked him to take me home.
And instead of letting him follow me into Irma’s, I told him to go spend time with his family.
We have another date today, anyway, as I’ll be meeting him at the station. He and Jerry are going to teach me more self-defense techniques. Jerry has more experience, as he used to teach community classes when he lived in San Francisco. He wants to teach me eye-gouging and ear slaps.
After finally checking my phone and briefly browsing social media, this morning, I’m going to enjoy getting some aggression out.
My story was all over the tabloid media.
Regardless of how expected that is, it’s jarring to see my bruised face plastered everywhere for public fodder.
I restrained myself from looking through comments.
There isn’t anything there for me. Strangers’ support is nice, but as meaningless as the inevitable comments from people who will say I deserved this, that I’m probably whoring around, and that I’m not all that.
None of what I saw online surprised me. What did was the email I received from an account I’d never seen before: LouIAmYourFather. I couldn’t stop the laughter at his chosen address. I used to think my dad loved Star Wars more than he loved me. Now, I’m not so sure.
Louisa,
I don’t know how to say all the things I need to say. I’m not sure where to start, but I know I should have before now. Before it took seeing what he did to you.
I didn’t know. I should have. I should have listened, I should have heard you. I should have seen what was happening.
You were always quiet, but it was different when you were with him.
It isn’t just him who’s treated you badly, though, is it? Your mother and I failed you, too. I’ll never forgive myself for that, baby girl. But I’ll die trying to deserve your forgiveness.
When you’re ready, give me a shout. It may not mean anything, but I love you.
I’m sorry,
Dad
Tears fall relentlessly. My dad has never been a man of many words.
I’ve always believed that the ones he did say were carefully chosen to mean more.
Even though he overlooked my mother’s cruelty, I wanted his love.
My little self wanted him to be my hero in the moments that mattered.
He only ever was in the moments she wouldn’t see.
This might be another of those times, I can’t say.
But I hope. With a consuming need…I hope.
It’s not enough for me to reply back. Not just yet. This needs to settle before I can let myself trust it or believe that it may lead down a path we’ve never ventured before. The rejection, if it’s not real, will hurt too much.
Along with my father’s email is one from Christine, the photographer from the shoot the other day.
Hey babes,
Thought you’d like a sneak peek, they turned out so well.
She’s attached some of the shots. We’re able to look at quick proofs on set, but they always look better once they’ve been manipulated with the right filters. These are no exception.
The five photos she’s sent are of me in an ethereal bloodred lace gown in a cloud of mist and damp hair, like I’m a mystical creature that just walked out of a Scottish loch on a dusky morning. Fierce and powerful. Fearless.
Fearless is what I need to be today. And every fucking day going forward. Especially, until I know Pierre is no longer going to be plaguing my life.
After a long shower, a short cry, and a hot cup of coffee, I get ready to go learn how to poke out eyeballs.
Sam suggested I get my concealed-carry permit, but that’s not how I want to live life.
Not in fear, not anymore. A handgun would be a heavy reminder with me, all the time.
I want lightness. I want to be the light.
Soft and airy, fluttering through my days like a feather.
I crave the calmness of normality. Of days spent grocery shopping and meal planning, rather than a calendar full of events.
How happy would I be to sit on a sofa with Grady, Paige between us, watching the latest superhero movie over a shared bowl of popcorn?
I expect I’d be deliriously happy with that.
With mornings helping to get her ready for school, making sure her lunch is packed and shoes are tied.
Waiting for her to get off the bus at the end of the school day.
Another small wave of tears overwhelms me as I realize another thing I didn’t know I wanted. Motherhood. A family of my own. A chance to do things the right way, instead of however I was raised.
All through my workout with the men at the firehouse, the thought stays at the forefront. Every time I practice a move on the punching bag, it’s not myself I’m protecting. It’s what’s mine.
“Are you ready for some sparring?” Jerry’s been thorough and patient in his teaching, pointing out different techniques I could use depending on the situation I hope to never find myself.
“Yeah, absolutely,” I say.
“I’ll go easy,” he says.
“Please don’t. I can take a hit,” I say, and he cringes until I laugh.
“Fucking hell, Lou. That’s not funny,” he tells me, but his lips turn up.
“Too soon?”
“You’re morbid,” he says, and somewhere behind me, Grady chuckles.
“A little,” I concede, but I think I’m just healing all those soft wounds that lingered inside. I curl my fingers toward him in a taunt. “Come at me.”
Jerry rushes at me unexpectedly, and I flinch before shifting my weight and bringing my hands up. I’m too late.
“Try again,” Grady says. We do, but I’m not much better, this time. Or the next.
“You’re thinking about it,” Jerry says. “I need you to react.”
“Again,” Grady says, like he does every time we work out together. “Muscle memory, remember?”
Over and over, Jerry moves quickly toward me.
He switches it up so that I never anticipate, only react.
It takes…a long while. I’m sweaty and my veins are gushing with energy, but I finally get it.
When he comes at me headfirst, I go for the eyes or ears.
If he’s standing tall and towering over me, I aim for the groin, then the neck.
A call comes in—a frantic mother who was taking the trash to the curb when her toddler locked the door behind her. Jerry tells Grady to go so we can keep working. We’re still going when he gets back. They switch places. Grady attacks, now, and Jerry coaches me.
“You’ve gotten stronger,” Grady tells me when we finish nearly an hour later.
“I hope so,” I tell him. Truthfully, I don’t feel physically stronger.
Emotionally, on the other hand, I am leaps and bounds from where I was a couple months back.
“Hopefully, I never need to use any of this. I like the peace of mind, though. Maybe I’d be able to shock and awe so I can duck and run. ”
“That’s the goal,” he says, placing a hand on my hip as he peers at me intently. “You never take it again.”
“Never.”
The word tastes strong and true. He pulls me closer. If I wasn’t hot from the workout, I’d be from our proximity. From the heat that sears me from the inside when he looks at me the way he is now. Like I’m precious and I matter. He doesn’t have to speak the words for me to hear them.
Grady is as hopeless in this as I am.
“Good. You fight back, you get safe, you come back to me.”
My location was leaked.
Vivian called to let me know that the story is out and she wasn’t able to convince the tabloid that bought the picture to not publish the story. The picture is of me dancing with Grady at the bar last night.
Immediately, I knew it was the bartender. January. I’ve dealt with enough jealous women in my life; I should have trusted my judgment about her. But honestly, I would have expected this from a random tourist before someone that lives here in Stowaway. In my safe haven. My home.
It’s been twenty minutes since I ended the call with Vivian. I haven’t moved from this spot. I was washing dishes. A normal, menial task. Living in my own little world. I forgot.
It’s easy to do here; to let all the pain and guilt vanish. To move on. Here, I was starting to find a new normal. No, more than that. I was finding myself and my future. My footing has been more stable, my heart more content, my mind less frantic.
I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
I should have known.