CHAPTER FIVE
AUBREY
FOR A MONTH AFTER THE FIRE, I woke up in that sleepy fog, the one in the valley between unconscious dreaming and reality. The mind can’t be bothered with pain or traumatic events in those few moments. For just seconds, I didn’t remember the loss, the fear, the loneliness. But like a hurricane, reality would roll in and push the fog out. It invaded and emptied my soul at the same time.
I willed myself to sit up and look around. I took in the soft sheets and the sun shining. Beautiful, expensive trim lined the walls and door to the bedroom. I felt like an outsider in a perfect home with a perfect family. None of it was mine. Even if they kept saying it was. And yet, everything I used to wish for when I came to visit, now seemed to be mine.
No more screaming or fighting. No more hiding or lock-ins.
No more mother. No more father.
I breathed in, hoping to suck in some energy to get through the morning, but nothing felt right. So, I got ready for a jog, knowing that would be the only thing to center me. Then, I went searching for the one person that made me feel like I could cope.
It should have been Jay. Or even Mrs. Stonewood. They’d both welcomed me into their home. Jay had always been the friend who’d known what to say to make me laugh or knew when to shut up when I cried. He knew how to handle everything—except this summer, except me and Jax, except the fire. Over the past month, Jax and I had formed an inseparable bond that no one really understood.
That morning, I didn’t admire how the hall opened up to the second-floor view of the entryway. I wasn’t focused on the marble staircase, the sleek banister, the dome-shaped ceiling, or the humming outside the two oak front doors.
I just looked for him.
Except instead of Jax, I saw a newspaper lying on the table near the front doors.
The Stonewoods had been very quiet about the scandal my family made. They’d kept the TV off and told me not to go on the internet. I’d listened for practically the whole summer.
That day, with the start of school nearing and knowing I would have to face the world soon, something in me couldn’t stay away from it. I needed to know what people were saying. I was pulled to that newspaper so quickly I didn’t even remember running down the stairs.
I remembered the headlines though.
I remembered the picture of my father, my mother, and me, posing so elegantly in all white, imitating the picture-perfect family. What a contrast that picture made to the charcoaled, burnt frame of our house next to it. What a contrast to the headline that read, “Whitfield Husband Charged with Attempted Double Homicide.” Under the headline, in smaller lettering it read, “Wealthy Stonewood Family Fights for Custody of Whitfield Daughter.”
I stared at it as if I could make my mother real again. Her long black hair, her wide smile, and the way she leaned into my father and me like we were her world, she looked like the happiest wife. Her sweetness permeated onto that paper. Her love for us was a reminder of what had made her so blind to him. My father’s head was turned toward us, as if not even a professional photographer could sway his love for us toward the camera.
Little did that photographer know my mother was bruised underneath her white dress and I smiled as wide as she did for the picture so my father wouldn’t lose his temper when we got home.
The start to the article had me holding my breath as I read:
The Whitfield family home, owned by Frank Whitfield, CEO of Whitfield Candy Company, was set ablaze by Whitfield himself two months ago. Authorities confirmed that Tala Whitfield, wife of Whitfield, suffered fatal injuries. Frank Whitfield suffered minor burns. Aubrey Whitfield, their daughter, was rescued by neighbor, eighteen-year-old Jax Stonewood, before emergency responders arrived on the scene.
Today, forty-five-year-old Frank Whitfield has been charged with murder, attempted murder, conduct endangering life, and arson. His trial is to take place in the following months.
These charges are being made by the state and have the Tribal Nation’s full support. Tala Whitfield was a Native American tribe member when she married Whitfield. She held charity events for multiple causes within her reservation. “She was always quiet and humble with him. I only met her once in passing because she never came to the charity events. Now we know why,” a source ...
That page had me shaking, wanting to rip everything to shreds, to scream. My emotions were overloaded and I didn’t think through my actions, I just went to open the door when the bell rang. Opening the door to a ringing doorbell had been automatic as I took in my whole life written objectively in just black and white.
I realized my mistake with the screaming of questions and the flashes of light that went off.
Before, coming from the Whitfield family, I would have smiled and answered every question. I was properly trained in handling this type of attention. That day, each camera flash shined light on my terrifying reality.
Newspaper reporters were camped outside a home that wasn’t mine, waiting for me.
Flash! Flash! Flash!
All I could do was wonder if their camera lenses picked up the text from the newspaper article I was holding.
Each flash turned into another headline later that week. I knew because, after that day, the Stonewoods figured they couldn’t hide it from me anymore.
What got the most attention was my “rescuer” rushing in again. Each news outlet caught the look of determination on Jax’s face when he yanked me back into the house before slamming the door.
They didn’t catch the rage in his blue eyes when he spun me around and gripped my upper arms though.