Page 12 of Exile & Lula
As Clint walked next door to his parents’ place, I followed my parents inside their two-story brick-and-shingle house. My uncle sat in a chair in the oversized family room, watching a soccer game on the TV perched over the stone fireplace.
Ford’s gray hair hit his shoulders, and his gray beard was thick. Unlike Pax, my uncle didn’t look so wild, but he remained an impressive and intimidating man.
Right now, Ford gestured toward the couch, where Dillon was curled up asleep.
My daughter had hit that often awkward age, locked between child and teenager. At eleven, she had begun wearing the tiniest bit of makeup, yet she was also obsessed with TeeTurtle plushies. Her favorite was the Patrick Star doll that Pax bought her on her last birthday. He kept doing his impression of the “SpongeBob SquarePants” character all day until she basically glued herself to him.
Right now, the Patrick Star plushie was pressed against her chest as she slept. Her silky brown hair partially covered her face. Waking her gently, I pulled the blanket back. Dillon’s brown eyes popped open, and she bounced up.
Despite being startled to find us staring down at her, she instantly demanded, “Let me see your feet.”
“We’ll move to the guest room and talk there,” I whispered since my parents’ two foster kids were likely asleep in their rooms. “I need to clean up. Can you help me?”
“Should I come?” Bebe offered in a way that made me think she’d cry if I said no.
Soon, I was washed up and cuddled on the guest bed between Bebe and Dillon. I held my daughter’s hand and stared into her sleepy eyes.
Dillon was a tough, no-nonsense kid. When Jarred and I divorced, she decided she liked the idea of having two bedrooms. When Jarred married Alani Savo, she was happy to have a fun stepmom who cooked well. When her siblings were born, she never suffered any jealousy toward the younger kids.
I was the same way as a child, always rushing to prove I wasn’t scared or bothered by things that ought to scare or bother me. Inside, though, I had felt every bit of pain I hid from others.
“I was scared,” I told Dillon as her eyes grew heavier. “I only showed fear to the assholes when I knew it would help me. If they viewed me as weak, they’d lower their guard. I wanted to escape and be the hero. But in the end, I was still tied up in a bed when those bikers saved me. Sometimes, even the best plans don’t work.”
Dillon nodded, thinking about how much she also wanted to be right about everything.
Behind me, Bebe stroked my back. My mom had been willing to admit her weaknesses and endure Pax’s early failed attempts at romance. If I’d been in her place, I would have walked away from something great because things didn’t immediately fall into place.
Dillon dozed off first. Bebe was still playing with my hair when I followed my daughter into sleep. I dreamed of movinginto a new home with a leaky roof. I kept screaming and flipping out. I couldn’t dial my phone to call a roofing company. Everyone around me only laughed at the problem. Just before I woke up, Exile strutted into the leaking house, wearing only a cowboy hat and a work belt.
I woke up startled and embarrassed. My horror only deepened when I found Dillon staring at me.
“You were moaning in your dream,” she whispered. “Are you in pain?”
“No, it was a scary dream.”
Dillon nodded and then looked at her phone. “Should I go to school today?”
“Probably not,” I whispered while stroking her cheek. “We need to make sure everything is safe before we go back to our usual routine.”
“I can log in to class and keep up that way.”
We left my mom to sleep a little longer. In the bathroom, Dillon checked over my bruised body. She sounded a lot like Jarred when she spoke about my contusions.
By the time we left the bathroom, Bebe was sitting up in bed. I smiled at her messy hair and hugged her.
“Visiting hours start at ten,” I told Bebe.
My mom didn’t say a word, but she feared I couldn’t handle seeing Cher and Stevie. Though she was likely right, I couldn’t avoid the pain. The only way for me to cope with what happened at the garage would be to face the aftermath.
Bebe, Dillon, and I emerged from the guest room to find Pax and Ford talking outside on the back deck. I toasted bagels for Dillon and me.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked my mom while she watched me slather cream cheese on the bagels.
Bebe shook her head and watched me. I knew she needed more reassurance. Wrapping my arms around her body, I whispered how much I loved her.
“Those men hurt you,” she whispered back.”
Bebe was clearly struggling with more than what happened yesterday. She still nursed guilt over painful memories from decades ago.
