A.K.A. Read online

  Rob hands me his empty cup.

  “Thanks.”

  He nods.

  I proceed to break the Styrofoam into small pieces, placing them into Rob’s empty cup. It’s a routine we started after the first meeting. It’s something that’s become more important than it should be.

  “Have you heard from Jane?” I ask Ron.

  He shakes his head.

  “Did she come last week?”

  “No. I think she moved back to Jersey, or wherever she’s from.”

  “I don’t see her going back there after everything she’s been through.”

  “Do you think that…?”

  “What?”

  “Do you think she was telling the truth?”

  I frown but not for the reason he thinks.

  “Sorry. I know that sounds terrible. We’re not here to judge or to be judged. It’s just that I got an odd vibe from her.”

  “What kind of vibe?”

  “I’ve been coming to these meeting for years, and I’ve learned that it’s not unusual to give a false name or to elaborate a little, but there seemed to be something almost…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t really know. Vindictive, I guess.”

  It’s not a word I would use, but I agree with the odd vibe. But before I can respond, Karen, who sits to my right, says, “Hey, girlfriend, missed you last week.”

  “Had to work.”

  “Sure you did. Word is you have a new man in your life.”

  “What? Whose word?”

  “God, girlfriend. Chill.”

  “Sorry, I just…”

  “Donna ran into you at the market. She told me.”

  I look over at Donna who is talking to Amy. “Yeah. I forgot. We’re just….”

  “Friends.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, whatever you’re ‘just’ doing or not, Donna said he was mighty fine.”

  “I guess.”

  She frowns. “Bri, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to—”

  Brenda, the counselor and organizer of the group, stops Karen’s and all other conversation with a clap. “Okay, everyone, let’s get this meeting started,” she says and sits directly across from me.

  I smile her way in greeting, and she replies with her own smile.

  As Brenda starts the meeting like she always does, with an encouraging poem or inspiring phrase, I scan each face around the circle. There are a couple of new faces. This isn’t unusual. Many attend a meeting or two, and then disappear. As I note the presence of what I call “the original seven” my shoulders relax a bit.

  I’ve been coming to these meeting for almost a year. And although I’ve never shared my scripted story, I’ve listened and offered my help and friendship whenever possible. I care deeply for this group, and I feel bad for snapping at Karen. I’m not trying to keep my relationship with Ethan a secret; I just don’t know where I stand with him or with anything right now.

  Brenda continues the meeting by introducing herself and her role in the group. Then she asks everyone to join hands and pray with her. After the prayer, each of us introduces ourselves.

  Following the introductions, Brenda looks covertly my way, and I shake my head telling her not today.

  She hides her disappointment behind a smile, as she always does, and then asks if anyone would like to share.

  Amy raises her hand and the sharing of humiliation and pain begins. I say this because that’s how these women and one man feel. They believe they are to blame for their abuse. They’ve been brainwashed by their abusers to believe their behavior or lack of it was what brought on the abuse. It’s a cycle of self-hate and shame that’s hard to break. A pattern that often starts from the abuse of a parent or an older sibling. This abuse by someone who is supposed to be your protector skews a victim’s reasoning and judgment. They begin to see or believe that abuse is a normal and acceptable behavior.

  It’s difficult and heartbreaking to hear their confessions and stories. But as I sit and listen to Amy, I find comfort in the knowledge she and the others are here and safe for a time, and that sharing and admitting are the first steps toward healing.

  One of the new comers, Amanda, shares her story. Sadly, it’s all too familiar. Mentally I begin the process of separating parts of her story that can be used to put the perpetrator, her husband, away and what parts are better left out. It’s a method as ingrained in me as abuse is ingrained in them. I’ll never stop being a prosecutor, even if I can only do so in my head.

  The two hours are over all too soon. Everyone says their goodbyes, adding words of encouragement. A few phone numbers are exchanged, and then everyone is gone with the exception of Brenda and me.

  “Will we see you next week?” she asks

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure? Are you going somewhere?”

  “Maybe a weekend of sailing with my friends from the pub.”

  She smiles. “That sounds like fun.”

  I smile in an effort to cover my nervousness over the trip. I’m still having nightmares about the last time I was on a boat, and Tad, and….

  I’m anxious about the trip, but there is more to it. A knot has joined the other knots in my stomach. It’s been there since my arrival two hours before. It’s telling me something is about to happen. Good or bad, I just didn’t know. I want to talk to Brenda about it, and more, but I don’t think I can, or should.

  My smile doesn’t fool her. “You’re nervous about it?”

  “I get sea sick,” I lie.

  “But you kayak all the time.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Can’t you take something for it? Or wear some kind of band around your wrist.”

  My smile is genuine this time. “Those bands don’t work. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  She lays her hand on my shoulder. “I do worry, you know. I worry about everyone, but you especially.”

  This surprises me. “Why?”

  “You’re not like the others, Bri. You have a strong sense of self. I can’t help but wonder why you never share with the group. It could be that your story is too horrific to share, or it could be that you don’t have one to share. Not one of abuse anyway.”

  “I…”

  She pats my back. “I’m not a threat, Bri. For whatever reason you come to our meetings, I’m glad for it. Your care for this group is genuine, and your advice is spot on.” She pauses as if thinking. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “When you showed up a few weeks ago with a broken arm, it shook me. I thought that even if your story had been too difficult to share, you’d never put yourself in a position—”

  “I told you the truth. It was an accident.”

  “But there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

  I remain silent. It’s the best move when you can’t find the right words.

  She removes her hand and begins to pick up used coffee cups, stirrers, and empty sugar packets.

  I grab a garbage bag and join in.

  “I don’t need to know everything, Bri. I just need to know that this new man of yours isn’t the reason for your broke arm.”

  “He’s not. But…”

  She pauses mid-sugar-packet toss. “Go on.”

  I chicken out and say, “He’s complicated, that’s all.”

  She ties her bag and sets it down. “Who isn’t?”

  “True.” I pause to think if I should go on. It’s risky, but I decide to go for it. I really do need to talk to someone. “Ethan and I, we were good. Real good. Then…”

  She raises a brow. “Then?”

  “He went to Seattle for a class reunion.”

  She frowns. “And he hooked up with someone. And old girlfriend?”

  I shake my head. “No. He has an ex-wife and a daughter who live in Seattle. And he did see them, but I don’t think anything happened between them.”

  “Okay. So what do you think happ
ened?”

  I tie off my bag and pick up hers. “I guess that’s the problem. I don’t have a clue.”

  “Okay. Maybe you can start by telling me how he’s changed.”

  “He’s exhausting me.”

  She smiles. “And that’s a bad thing.”

  “In that way, no.”

  “Okay, then in what way?”

  “It’s as if he’s clinging to something he knows will end.”

  “Are you planning to break up with him?”

  “No.”

  Our conversation is going in the wrong direction. I need to pull it back in. “Do you believe in destiny?”

  “I believe you make your own.”

  “I used to think the same thing. I’m a very logical, fact-believing person. But when I look in Ethan’s eyes, I see a connection to something bigger. Something that…” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Something that hasn’t happened yet or something in the past.”

  She frowns.

  “You think I’m crazy?”

  We walk to the back door. “No, I don’t. I think you need to talk to him. Get him to tell you what’s bothering him. Until then, you’re just grasping.”

  I am grasping. Why or for what, I don’t know.

  “You’ll figure things out, Bri.”

  I nod and open the door. She steps out onto the landing with me. “If you ever need a friend, I’m here for you. No questions asked.”

  I smile her way. “Thank you, Brenda.”

  I begin to make my way down the concrete steps.

  “Be careful this weekend.”

  I turn and face her.

  “Trust in your gut.”

  I nod as she turns, opens the door, and disappears behind it.

  I turn and trot down the last five steps before making my way to the dumpster to toss out our garbage. When I get there, I push up the lid like I always do, then look down at the trash like I always do. Every time I do this, I imagine Tara’s nude, mutilated body lying on top of the trash, except this time I’m not imaging it.

  I let go of the lid and it crashes down, just missing my hand. I can’t seem to think or to move. It’s as if time is suspended and I’m floating between reality and insanity.

  I look around the parking lot. I see nothing unusual or out of place. I think about going back into the church and getting Brenda, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

  I release the bags I forgot I’m holding and place them to the side of the dumpster. My hands shake as I reach for the lid. I have to look, but I’m terrified. If her body is there, it will be a conformation of insanity.

  My hand seems to float as it connects with the lid. I blow out a breath and slowly open it. I peek inside. Then I let the lid fall and step back.

  “Oh my God.” I’m losing it.

  I stand and stare at the dumpster, for how long, I don’t know. After I shake off the fog that seems to be surrounding me, I walk the short distance to my car. I open the door, get in, and shut the door.

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hands continue to tremble like the leaves on a Quaking aspen as I reach for my handbag, open it, and remove my phone.

  I bring up my contacts and press the icon next to Ethan’s picture. Then I press Speaker and listen. Ring. Ring. I press Disconnect. What the hell can I say to him? I just saw my dead half-sister in a dumpster. I stare at the phone for several minutes, thinking.

  “You have to do it,” I tell myself. With phone in hand, I get out of the car and walk to the dumpster. I lift the lid, pushing it up and over. It hits the other side with a bang.

  I ready my phone to take a photo. With phone in hand, I reach over the dumpster’s opening and snap a picture.

  I turn the phone around and look at the screen. “What the hell?”

  I look in the dumpster. Only trash is in it. Just as there was every other time I’ve looked.

  I pick up the trash bags and toss them inside. Then I walk to my car and get in.

  My shaking turns into sobbing. Tears run down my face like a river. I haven’t cried like this in years. I haven’t cried like this ever. I’m losing it, and I don’t know what to do.

  After several minutes, tears slow to a trickle. I start my car and pull out of the church parking lot, then onto to Highway 101. There’s one person I can talk to and the sooner the better.

  The drive seems to pass in a fog. Before I know it, I’m pulling under my carport.

  I turn off the car, get out, lock it, and make my way to the side door. When I get there, I realize Ethan’s Jeep is gone. I sigh as relief washes over me. I don’t want him to see me like this.

  I open the door and set my handbag on the kitchen counter. Then I walk to my bedroom and open my closet door. I slide boxes of clothes and shoes over, kneel, and pry up a floorboard. I set it aside, reach in, locate a bag, and remove it. Then I open it and take out one of three emergency burner phones.

  I put the bag back, replace the floorboard, and slide the boxes back where I found them.

  I walk back into the kitchen, grab my cell, and put it into my hoodie pocket next to the burner phone. Then I walk out the back sliding door and shut it behind me.

  It takes me less than ten minutes to reach my log. I sit and look out at the gray ocean and gray-blue sky. It’s the beginning of September; the cool rainy season is almost upon us. It seems fitting, matching my mood.

  I remove the burner phone from my hoodie and punch in the “only in an emergency” number. I let it ring three times, hang up, put it back into my pocket, and wait.

  Twenty minutes later, it rings. I remove it and press Accept.

  “Beautiful? Is that you?”

  “Yes.”

  He sighs heavily. I hope in relief. “What wrong?”

  “I—I don’t know?”

  “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  I tell him about my state of mind or lack of it. I tell him about Tad and Ethan. I tell him everything, leaving out only minor details.

  There’s a long pause, then he says, “I’m coming to get you.”

  “No. You can’t. I just… I just needed to talk to you. I needed to know I haven’t imagined you and who I once was.”

  “You do know how crazy that sounds?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You know what you must do. You have no choice.”

  I do know. I just don’t want to. “I know.”

  “And soon.”

  “I know. It will be soon. Give me a few weeks to settle things.”

  “I don’t like this, beautiful, not at all.”

  “Neither do I. Just hearing your voice has brought me clarity.”

  “Did you contact your dad?”

  “No, and I’d appreciate if you’d keep this between us. I don’t want him to worry.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  “I read online his next book just finished editing.”

  “I read the same thing.”

  “Well then, you know what that means. He’s sailing and partying.”

  “I still think you should contact him.”

  “I will after I get resettled.”

  There’s another long pause, and then he says, “If I don’t hear from you in three weeks. I’m coming to get you.”

  “We’ll talk soon, I promise.”

  “Watch your back.”

  “Always.”

  “I’m going to look into this Jane.”

  “Okay. If you find out anything before we talk….”

  “I know the drill, beautiful. I’ll make contact.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You don’t need to thank me.”

  “You’re wrong about that.”

  “If it weren’t for me, none—”

  “None of this is your fault. All of it is my doing.”

  “Be careful,” he says and disconnects.

  “I will,” I say to the wind.

  After sitting for several more minutes, I break the phone
with a rock and put the pieces in my pocket. I’m not ready to head in, so I decide to go for a walk. I need to think. I need to plan.

  I walk just over a mile to the pull out where I spoke with Dad and Peter that first day in Pine Rock. It was the first day of my new life. It looks exactly as it did then. It hasn’t changed, but I have.

  I divide the phone pieces and toss them into the same three receptacles. Then I walk back toward the water, finding the same log.

  I sit and look out at the ocean. The ocean used to calm me, bring me clarity, but it isn’t happening. The longer I sit, the more confused I get. I’ve come full circle, but the circle isn’t intact. Sections are missing, my mind for one.

  “Bri?”

  I look up. “Why are—how did you find me?”

  Ethan frowns as he sits next to me. “You texted me.”

  “I did?”

  He removes his phone from his hoodie pocket and shows me. Not convinced, I remove my phone and go through my text messages. Sure enough, I texted him.

  “What’s going on, Bri? I’ve been texting and calling you for hours. Then I get a text saying you’re going for a walk down the beach. I waited at the restaurant for over an hour.”

  “The restaurant?”

  A worry wrinkle forms between his dark brows.

  “Oh my God. I completely forgot.”

  The wrinkle deepens. “Bri, what the hell is going on? And don’t tell me nothing.”

  I don’t know what to tell him. “I’m tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  “I know that. I’m the one next to you almost every night. But there’s more to it than the lack of sleep, isn’t there?”

  I hate lying to him, but I have no choice. “It’s the added responsibilities at work. I just want to be a bartender and go home. I’m not management material.”

  His expression remains neutral, but Ethan’s eyes tell me everything I need to know. He isn’t buying it.

  I stand and hold out my hand. “Let’s go home. Maybe we can still make that movie.”

  He takes my hand, and we walk back toward the cottage in silence.

  I can’t tell him I’m losing my mind, so it’s best to say nothing. He must feel the same; it’s better to say nothing than to say he knows I’m lying.

  The movie house in town was built in the fifties. Its lobby, snack bar, and seats are clean but clearly original. It features movies that have been out for a few months, but we don’t care. Going to dinner and the movies has become our thing whenever we have the same Friday off.