Chapter 24
Grace
Seventeen Years Old
Iinspect my wound in my bedroom mirror and wince.
I’m still reeling from the incident two days ago.
There’s no way I can go to school tomorrow.
I don’t know how I would cover the nasty purple-blue bruise forming around the goose egg on my forehead.
Makeup wouldn’t work, and the area is too swollen for a hat to fit around it.
I gently reach up and touch it with two fingers, lightly pressing down, and hiss in pain.
My head feels like…well, it feels like I was pushed into a brick fireplace.
While there’s a little redness surrounding the wound, it doesn’t look infected.
I won’t need stitches. If I did, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
I’d take the scar over going to a doctor.
Grabbing some petroleum jelly and checking the expiration date, I’m grateful to find it’s still okay to use.
I haven’t needed it in months. As I smooth some over my wound, it feels like I’m starting all over again.
Yesterday, Danny and I didn’t talk at all.
Granted, it was Saturday, so it’s not like I saw him at school.
I asked him to leave, and he gave me my space to stew in my thoughts.
The bruises on my skin will heal. They always do.
It’s underneath the surface I’m most worried about.
Because deep down in the caverns of my heart, I know my best friend’s right.
I shouldn’t accept my dad’s abuse. But making allowances is what you do when you feel trapped.
How else would I tell myself it’ll all be okay?
Excuses aren’t copouts. They’re coping mechanisms.
I told him that I’m not a child, but my dad makes me feel like one. I know I need to give up my ongoing defense of him, but I don’t know if I’m strong enough. When he’s drunk, he’s cruel. When he’s sober, he’s absent.
I’ve been running the household since I was thirteen, getting groceries with the money he sometimes remembers to leave on the kitchen counter. On the days he forgets, I manage until school or go to Danny’s house if he’s not at football.
Sometimes, I don’t eat. But I’d rather be hungry than get hit.
At first, I thought adults might’ve suspected things weren’t right at home, but I quickly learned that the only thing people notice about me is my stutter.
I wonder what my mother saw in him. What am I missing?
Tears threaten to spill over, as they always do, when I think about her. I lick the tears away and taste the salty sadness. If Mom were here, she’d know what to do. Although, if she were here, I doubt any of this would be happening in the first place.
People always talk about what it will feel like to miss a dead parent at big milestones like weddings or graduations. Yes, you experience sadness and nostalgia at those big life events.
But the ugly reality is you feel the impact of their loss much more during the small, unremarkable milestones. Instead of feeling sick with nostalgia, you’re accompanied by loneliness, embarrassment, and frustration.
I think about getting my period and having no one but the school nurse to guide me. I was eleven years old and scared.
I think about staying in the classroom with the teacher during Mother-Daughter Day at school instead of going to the cafeteria with my peers. I was twelve years old and isolated.
And, I think about what happened forty-eight hours ago, and I’m so humiliated. Mortified that Danny saw me like that, embarrassed by my weakness.
But Dad wasn’t always like this, and the memories of him from before keep me from speaking up. During my darkest moments with him, visions of the past surface in my mind and confuse me.
Look at this hair, Dad had said when I was seven, gently touching my curls with reverence. Just like your mother’s spirals, he’d praised as my mom looked on approvingly. My two firecrackers, he’d added with a wink.
I need to stop obsessing over everything. All I see is self-hatred in the mirror, and I force myself to step away.
Looking longingly at the walkie-talkie on my nightstand, I wonder if Danny meant what he said the other day. Cutting through my physical pain are his words, racing through my head, dispensing microdoses of serotonin.
My girlfriend.
Did he mean them?
You’d still be mine.
Am I crazy or had he been about to kiss me?
These thoughts take up an overwhelming amount of space in my brain as I think through my next steps.
Dad hasn’t been back, but that’s normal for him.
He goes to the casino every weekend and won’t be home until later tonight, which at least gives me some time to think about what I should do.
I can’t just report him… It’s not that simple.
The longer I dwell on this, the more I think about asking Danny for help.
We have a good track record of solving problems together, and we could probably brainstorm some ideas.
The doorbell interrupts my thoughts. I’m really in no state to see anyone right now.
On one hand, it could be a salesperson trying to convince me to switch gas companies.
On the other hand, it could be Girl Scouts.
In the end, the possibility of cookies wins out.
I head down the hallway and open the door.
“Surprise, surprise, Queen Bee!”
Oh. My. God.
“Mae?!”
“In the flesh! Bring it in. I didn’t fly all the way from Florida for you to stand there like a trout with your mouth open.”
“I…I can’t believe it!” I squeeze her tight, and she squeezes me back just as much.
“I love you like bees love honey.” Hearing her say those words in person for the first time in years fills me with a kind of warmth only grandparents can provide.
“I love you, too, Mae. Gosh, I’ve missed you.” Tears spring to my eyes. She has no idea how I’ve longed to see her. I’ve never been so happily surprised before.
I break the hug so I can look at her from head to toe, taking stock of any changes since I saw her last. Her silvery hair—now cut into a shoulder-length bob—is held back by a bee barrette.
Her bright blue eyes and red-painted lips are surrounded by more smile lines.
One thing that hasn’t changed are her favorite black and gold earrings with little amber jewels dangling on the end.
“Why are you here?!”
She winks at me. “Can’t a grandma visit her granddaughter without an interrogation?”
“Of course, I’m thrilled you’re here! It’s just so unexpected and I—”
“What happened here, Bee? This looks painful,” Mae interrupts, pointing toward my head injury.
Every muscle in me stills as I debate how to answer her question. I am bone-deep tired of keeping this secret. It’s like I’ve been on a small life raft for years, in the middle of the ocean, trying to weather storm after storm. Barely staying afloat, one swell away from drowning.
My nose starts stinging, and before I can stop it, tears flood my entire face.
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
Would she believe a lie? I'm so used to explaining away his abuse that it doesn't take any effort to drum up excuses.
Tripping, falling, getting hit in the head with a ball…
I have a menu of alibis at the ready. But as I study her, the creases near her eyes, the worried look on her face, it takes me all of two seconds to free myself from the chokehold the skeleton in my closet has had me in for years.
“I have to tell you something about Dad, Mae.”
Her face falls. Ever the hobbyist beekeeper, she says, “Well, I brought fresh Florida honeycomb to snack on.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and guides us both inside to the kitchen table. “Let’s hear it.”
Much like my tears, the words rush out of me in almost one big breath. I tell her everything. Well, as much as she needs to know without going into minor details that would only serve to hurt her.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Mae whispers, eyes glazed with tears. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I’m angry at myself for being away for so long.” She sadly shakes her head. “Your mother…she’d be horrified at my lack of visits.”
“For all you knew, I was with my b-boring d-dad living next d-door t-to my b-best friend. It’s what I wanted you t-to think. D-Don’t b-blame yourself, Mae. Flying long d-distances t-takes a t-toll on you.”
“Well, I’m here now.”
I squeeze her hand, more nervous to tell her this next part than the abuse itself.
“I, um, really like it here. Obviously, things have b-been t-tough with my d-dad, b-but I love living next d-door t-to Danny and hanging out with my friend B-Ben at school. I was wondering if you would b-be open t-to me staying here. I know your life is in Florida. If you have t-to go b-back, maybe we could ask Janie next d-door if she would b-be willing t-to…to t-take me in.”
A flicker of sadness flashes in Mae’s eyes. “Honey, I—”
“And, if not, that’s completely fine, b-but maybe you could just, um, help find my d-dad some support with his d-drinking b-before you go. Like a group or something? It’s just that I really d-don’t want t-to go into the system, and honestly, he really hasn’t b-been this b-bad in a while…”
The sadness in Mae’s eyes remains unchanged. I curve my body inward, staring into the ground. I should’ve known not to ask for too much. I’m so stupid.
“I’m sorry. It was a d-dumb question. I’m so thankful you’re here. It’s okay if we have t-to go t-to Florida. Your b-bees are there. I know how important they are t-to you.”
Mae gently picks up my hand again. She ducks her chin a bit, trying to get my attention, and I cautiously look up at her.
“You are important to me. I was going to say that after everything you’ve been through, it’s not my intention to disrupt anything good in your life. I’m giving you control. If you want to stay, you’ll stay. Not with Janie. With me. He will never hurt you again.”
Leaning forward to pull her into an embrace, I practically sag with relief. Of course she has my best interests in mind. She’d never make me do anything I didn’t want to do, especially if it doesn’t impact my safety. Danny was right, I think, as I hold onto Mae.
We both cry.
A few hours later, Dad comes home from the casino, drunk. Mae shoos me out of the family room area in advance of his arrival.
“You’ve experienced enough hurt to last a lifetime, and you don’t need to hear any more of that man’s nonsense. Let me take care of you now.” She gives me a tight hug and lightly kisses my cheek.
Even though I still feel the invisible, weighted blanket of trauma, a knot seems to loosen in my stomach. I’m not sure when or if these heavy feelings will ever go away. At the same time, while I don’t feel any lighter, I do feel less afraid.
Mae has a whole life in Florida, and leaving all that behind won’t be easy, but I’m calmer with her in my corner.
It’s only now that I can even name the emotion that’s been dominating my psyche at home all these years—fear.
I always thought it was anxiety or hesitation, but no.
I’ve been drenched in pure alarm since the first time he mocked my stutter.
These thoughts set up camp in the back corner of my brain as I walk into my room and collapse on my fluffy pink bed. I grab my old CD player and magenta headphones on my nightstand and turn up the volume of my favorite Dashboard Confessional song.
While my headphones mute the noises of the outside world, they don’t prevent me from seeing the red and blue lights swirling outside my window ten minutes later.
I peer out the window and see my dad ushered by a police officer into their car, handcuffed.
Grandma Mae is speaking with the remaining officer, her hands gesturing.
When she turns around, I gasp. It’s impossible to miss her swollen eye and the dried blood underneath her nose.
She looks my way and gives me a small smile. I manage a weak smile back.
And I wonder if that will be the last time I ever see my father.