Page 25 of The Bronze Garza
“Patrick,” Eloise croons in that fixed motherly tone of hers. “I thought you were working tonight.”
“Yeah, there were some last-minute shift changes.” He rubs his palms together with a silly grin. “Which apparently got me here just in time for a proper dinner. If I had to eat another tuna sandwich...” He makes a puke face and I grin.
Appearance wise, Patrick is not the kind of guy that women notice right away. Like neutral tones, he just blends in. Standing somewhere right under six feet, he’s soft in appearance, with a small, pudgy nose and a bulbous chin. But he’s sweet, and caring, and always looks out for me. Though I’m tepid toward Eloise, I do love having Patrick as a brother. I only wish his way of speaking wasn’t as stilted as his mother’s. According to Eloise, she grew up Amish and was taught to speak “proper.” It would seem, for them, “proper” means no contractions ever. Just weird. Even though they’re no longer apart of the Amish community—she took Patrick and fled after her husband died—neither of them seems keen on ditching their annoyingly stilted dialog.
Patrick goes over to Eloise and presses a kiss to her cheek. Then rounds the table to me and presses one to mine. “Hey, Ly.”
Patrick lives in the pool house, but his job as a nurse keeps him busy at odd hours, so he’s rarely here for dinner.
Holly swats him when he tugs on a lock of her short curls as he takes the seat next to her.
As bowls of carbs and meat are passed around the table, I pick at my salad. Feeling deprived. Envious. I might not physically be in that penthouse anymore, but not being able to eat what I want makes me feel as though I still am.
They gab about mundane things. Useless things. And, as it’s been for the past six months, I feel like an interloper. Like I don’t belong here. Like I’m locked in a bubble just watching life happen. Life that had gone on without me.
Some days are so gratingly normal that I feel as though I imagined everything. Maybe all of it had been a bad dream. Then, I’d remember Kristie, pulling the trigger and blowing her brains out...
One doesn’t experience and witness the things I have and just return to living a normal life. There is no “normal” after that. Your entire view of the world is altered. You never feel “safe.” And you realize how meaningless conversations like what’s being had at this table are. Patrick complaining about his work schedule. Holly whining about her new boss. Eloise miffed that the dry cleaner ruined her Chanel dress. Dad carping about all the obstacles with his new venture.
I can’t blame them, though. Even though they’re all aware of what happened to me, they could never fully understand the impact. No matter how deep my resentment, I would never wish this kind of mental anguish on anyone. So I let them be happy with their non-problems. Ignorance is bliss.
“Ly,” Holly says with a full mouth, “I think it’s time you brave the waters. Let’s go to the movies tonight.”
Oh, not this again. “Sure, there’s a movie den downstairs.”
“Yeah, except that it’s notoutsidethis house,” she says.
Knives and forks pause as everyone stops eating to look at me.
I snort. “Considering where ‘getting out of the house’ landed me the last time, I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.”
“You have to fight back, Ly,” she pushes. “Take your life back. This—This isn’t you. You’re the most outdoorsy person I know. It really pains me to see you like this.”
“Yeah well, being abducted, sold, raped, imprisoned, and prostituted changes a person,” I bite out. “The girl you knew is dead, Holly. She no longer exists. Get used to it.”
Dad’s gaze drops to his plate, fingers balling into fists on the table.
“Sweetie,” Eloise starts, “I know none of us here can even begin to imagine what it is like to have gone through what you did—”
“No, you can’t.”
“But,” she goes on, “if you surrender like this, they win. Some of those girls will never get out. You did. You get a second chance not only at life, but at freedom. Why use it to remain a prisoner?”
Holly takes my hand and squeezes. “Even if you don’t want to live for yourself, at least live for Kristie.”
I shift my gaze to my father. “Is this what you think, too?”
A lone tear rolls down his face. “I just want you to be happy, Lyly. And you aren’t.”
I clench my jaw. “And you all somehow think going to the movies is going to make a difference?”
“It’s a start.”
“If it will help to make you feel safer being outside, I can tag along tonight,” Patrick offers.
I glance around the table at all of them, one by one. And it’s then I realize this for what it is. An ambush.
“Fine. I’ll go to the fucking movies if it will makeyouall feel better andcomfortable.” The chair screeches as I shove to my feet. “I’m sorry for being such a morose and burdensome wet blanket for you guys.”
