I pour a healthy dollop of whiskey into my tumbler and add enough cola to make me feel better about the fact that I’m drinking before noon. My daughter has switched schools three times since she finished her last semester at home. She needs normalcy and space. Staying inside the four walls was agonizing for us both. It felt like Brooks had won. Despite his fugitive status, we were the ones being persecuted. Stuck virtually in hiding to escape extreme scrutiny, we felt trapped. In the end, we made the decision to slowly return to regular life.
After four months of apartment hoping on month to month leases, we’ve settled into a rental close to the school she’ll finish out her high school career at, under an alias. I snicker. I went from a million dollar home to a two bed, two bath condo rental.
It’s pitiful. I know what a failure the in-laws think I am, but the low profile is the only way to escape the media hounding us. They dogged our every step seeking an exclusive interview and photos of the poor family torn apart. I sneer as I think of the way they’ve painted me. The poor pitiful wife. I take another sip. I spend the majority of my time pretending to be okay for Whitney. Then she leaves, and I’m left alone with my demons. I have nothing to show for the past six years other than a beautiful, intelligent, and well-adjusted daughter. Unfortunately, you can’t list that on a resume, and given everything that’s gone down, well-adjusted might be pushing it.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I moved to part time Physical Therapy work when Whit hit ten and got heavily involved in activities and advanced academics. Brooks was never home, I was stretching myself thin, and I couldn’t stand the thought of having her raised by a nanny. After three more years, I left the field altogether. It’s been six years since I had a client. I haven’t kept up with the advances in the medical field or gained any new skills. I’m lost and struggling against the tide like a salmon trying to swim upstream. Every day is a trial. I peer down at my sweatpants and cringe. I’d put on a good fifteen pounds since everything happened. That’s what happens when you’re not following a strict diet and exercise plan.
It takes all I have to wake up, dress, cook breakfast and play happy for Whitney. A knock on the door makes me tense. I’m not expecting anyone. Dear, God. Have they found us again? I push myself up from the chair and cross the living room to the door. I peer out the peephole, and my heart jumps into my throat. I choke on a sob as I rip the chain of its slot, twist the lock, and open the door. I launch myself at the curvy brunette with hair big enough to defy gravity, ripped jeans, and a white tank top. She smells like roses and clean air, and her arms around me are the sweetest gift I’ve been given in years.
“Oh, B. Why didn’t you tell me you needed me? Come on, sugar, let’s get inside.”
I sniff, as I swipe at my eyes, unable to stave off the waterfall of salt water rolling down my face.
“Inside now. The neighbors don’t need to know our business.”
I give a strangled laugh and step back inside. She follows me in with two massive black suitcases.
“What are you doing here, Jesslynn?”
“Checking on you, and not a minute too soon by the look of it. I knew you were selling me wolf tickets when you swore up and down you were fine on the phone. No one goes through all that and comes out smelling like roses. I wasn’t here but a hot minute when I flew out after it happened. I woulda been back here sooner, but everyone was shopping for Derby, and I couldn’t see leaving the shop.” Jesslynn shakes her head. She’d gone to school for design and business and managed a popular shop back home. Posh sold clothing and accessories that would make any Southern Belle swoon. She worked hand in hand with local designers and crafters, to present unique, fashionable, and affordable merchandise.
“I’m here now for the rest of the summer and if I’m not satisfied with your state of mind before I leave here. I’m taking you back home with me. Whitney will be in college by then, and you won’t have any ties to this place.”
My lower lip trembles. I’ve never been so grateful for her aggressive personality and almost obsessive planning in my life.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Jess.”
“Honey, you’re my sister in everything but blood. Where else would I be right now?”
I shake my head. I’d forgotten what true friendship looked and felt like. My girlfriends in California had all abandoned me like rats on a sinking ship after the news broke. As if my tragedy might somehow rub off on them. I always knew our relationships were shallow. We ran in the same circles, but I never felt truly close to them. The girls I knew from nursing were different, but I’d neglected those connections like I did so many others in my life.
“I love you, Jess.”
“And I love you too, B. Which is why I’m going to tell you this sweatpants chic look is not working for you, honey. We need to take you out for some new clothes, a bit of spa time, and a haircut. It’ll work wonders.”
I touch my hair. Since I’d stopped straightening it, I’ve been at a loss at how to handle the thick, unruly kinky coils.
“You’ve done your mourning. Now is about remembering how to live.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper.
“Now that I’m here it will be. We’ve got an appointment at—” she glances down at her watch. “Oh, twelve-thirty with a top salon. So I suggest you go spruce yourself up. Don’t bother arguing, because you know I’ll win.”
I open my mouth and close it. I have no fight left, and the thought of downtime with my sister is a break from the hell I’m living. “I’ll go get ready.”
She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We’re going to get through this together you and me. I promise you that.”
***
I’m a newborn colt trying to walk on wobbly legs as we step out of the SUV and head toward the BLVD bar. After being exfoliated, waxed, pampered and made-up, I no longer recognize the woman in the mirror. Dressed in a brand new pair of blue jean cutoffs, and a gray tank top with a rose. Short brown boots with fringe, round out the outfit. It’s the most casual I’ve gone in years. The big curls I was once known for while growing up are back.
They surround my head in a cloud of fluffy spirals that reminds me of my roots. I’m more me than I’ve been in a long time. I should be excited, but I’m terrified because I’m out of touch with that woman in a way I never imagined I would be. It’s shameful how caught up I was in an ideology. The perfect family with the big home, amazing car, and expensive clothes.
I never cared much about any of it, but I knew Brooks did, and I wanted to please him. That’s what good southern girls do, support their husband with a smile, well-cooked meals, and pretty packaging. It was the way my mother did it, her mother, and her mother before her. Some traditions and beliefs die hard, especially in the small town where I was born. It burns my biscuit, thinking of how good he had it. Home cooked meal, a pretty wife at home who adored him. He was my first love. The only man I’d ever slept with, and for a time, all my dreams come true.
Until the cracks in his carefully sculpted façade began to fade. I made excuses for him over the years. Pride was a poison I administered to myself in order to remain in denial. We approach the building, and I nibble the inside of my cheek.
“You nervous, B?”