Coming Home Again (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 1) (7 page)

I jerked away and shook my head in protest.

“No? That’s
not the way a party works,” he said lazily with a crooked grin. He offered the
bottle again. I still didn’t take it.

“Just drink
it, Savannah,” Julia gently urged. I looked over at her, but she still wouldn’t
look at me.

Before I
could refuse again, Evan grasped ahold of my jaw tightly in his hand. While
holding my mouth open, he tilted the bottle up and began pouring the harsh
liquor too quickly. I started gagging and ended up spraying the vile stuff all
over his bare chest. He slid his grip to my neck to hold me in place as he
drained the remnants in the bottle before setting it down.

“Now,
now…we don’t waste, little miss. You’ve made quite a mess on me.” He ran his
free hand over his wet chest. “Now you are going to just have to lick it off.”

I stood in shock
at his words. Was he serious? How could this be happening? I felt like I was
stuck in some bizarre dream I couldn’t escape. My stomach turned with having to
take in anymore of the harsh mess, much less having to place my tongue on him.
He dragged me closer, urging my mouth on his chest and held my head firmly
there. He was nearly smothering me into his chest. I had no other choice but to
do as he said. A combination of liquor and sweat caused me to gag constantly,
but he held me there mercilessly until he was satisfied with my cleanup
efforts.
This man is the dirtiest chore
.

He pulled
me back to my feet and looked me over through hooded eyes. After an
uncomfortable kiss, Evan released me and headed over to Julia. He held his hand
out and gestured for her to join him. “Come on, my sweet Rose. Come dance with
me.”

She stood
stiffly, and that was when I noticed the bruises blooming along her thighs and
back. Confusion cinched my gut as I tried to comprehend why she was riddled
with bruises.
Had he beaten her? Why?
Evan and Rose circled the room in a slow dance. My heart raced as I watched my
sister quietly cry while dancing with that devil. Their dance eventually led
them upstairs, and I was left in the middle of the kitchen alone, in shock and
standing in a large puddle of urine.

I gradually
unglued my feet and shuffled upstairs to my room. I could hear noises that I
didn’t want to identify coming from my sister’s room. I gathered a clean outfit
and dashed to the bathroom across the hall. I locked the door and then propped
a step stool under the knob in hopes of barricading myself in.

After
peeling my soiled clothes off, I showered numbly. I drew a bath after the
shower to prolong the bathroom visit as long as I could. As I sat in the tub
trembling, I watched the doorknob come to life. Evan knocked once he realized I
would not be willingly opening the door for him.

“You’ve
been in there a long time. Are you okay?” he asked through the door as the knob
jiggled again. “Why’s the door locked?”

“I’ll be
out soon,” I stammered. I didn’t move until I heard him walk away. I quickly
dressed and hesitantly peeped in the hall. It was clear, so I darted over to
Julia’s door and knocked.

“Julia.
It’s me. Are you okay? Can I come in?” I asked urgently as I continued to eye
the hallway for any sign of Evan’s return.

“Just go to
bed. Lock your door,” she said in a tired voice. I wanted to be locked in her
room with her, but did as she told me.

I locked
the door before crawling in my bed and hiding under the quilt. I willed the
nightmare to be over, but, oh no, it would not be that easy. Not even an hour
had passed before it began. I lay in the dark room and listened to the doorknob
jiggle around in protest to the lock, followed by a quiet knocking that I
ignored. Then came the rustling sound of a tool being jammed forcefully into
the lock. I jumped as though those knowing sounds had jolted me with
electricity. All I could do was just lie there and wait. The nightmare was
worsening, and there was absolutely nothing or no one to save me from the
inevitable. Nothing.

As the
demons of fear danced around frantically, the door swung open with Evan filling
the space. His bare chest heaved up and down with his excitement. The hall
light filtered around him, and his face glinted in the unnerving nightglow,
adding to the wickedness.

“It’s our
turn to dance, little miss,” he said in a slurred voice as he turned to close
and lock the door behind him. He moved through the dark room and joined me in
my bed.

It was the
first of many sick dances that night. He was like a ravenous beast on the
prowl, in and out of our rooms. His perverted acts continued until the early
hours of the sun began to rise. When his sick pleasures were finally satisfied,
he gathered up our bloody sheets and hid the evidence of the innocence he
savagely stripped away from my sister and me. Innocence that was forever stolen
and normalcy completely lost.

With the
scent of pungent sin tinging the air, I staggered to the bathroom to begin an
unrelenting, unsuccessful quest to scrub the feel of that monster off my torn
body.
It has never come clean.

Julia and I
stayed in bed the following week with the
flu
.
Jean gave us ample supplies of her home remedy elixir after she returned tanned
and rested from her vacation. Never did she mention finding the signs of what
happened, but I have my suspicion she knew. Evan was never asked to come over
again. Thankfully, by the end of the summer, he moved back to Chicago.

Julia
gradually left me too, and sadly, I never got her back.

Chapter Eight

Finally floating back to reality, I
find myself sprawled face down on the floor of my bedroom. The aroma of lemon
furniture polish surrounds me. The panic attacks very rarely escalate to the
point of blacking out, but this one hit me hard. I lie here for a little longer
and try to get my bearings. My bag is sitting beside me, so I dig out a halved
Xanax and gulp it down without water, hoping it will chase the remaining
remnants of the attack away.

As I lay
here waiting for the detached feeling to free me, I notice I have landed on my
rope rug. I run my fingers along the woven material, softened in age. It was my
bed for nearly a year after Evan raped me. I had refused to even touch the bed
and would sleep on the floor every night. I requested an entire new bed and
mattress set for my twelfth birthday and was relieved when it was delivered.
Having that reminder gone helped some.

I finally
gather myself into a sitting position and am contemplating an escape, when I
hear a knock on the door. After another impatient knock sounds, I slowly stand
to answer it. I pull the door open and stare down at one of Jean’s short, pudgy
friends. She is in her late sixties, maybe early seventies, and looks her age
with gray hair and crow’s feet—unlike Jean. My mother is still blonde and
wrinkle free. I didn’t inspect her closely to be sure, but I suspect a nip and
tuck has occurred by now.

This lady
must finally decide I’m not going to speak because she stammers out weakly,
“Sweetheart, I hate to bother you, but don’t you think you need to be making
your way over to the funeral home?”

“Why?” I
look at her confused.

“To make
the funeral arrangements, of course.” She steps away from the door to encourage
me to be on my way, but I just stand here, leaning on the doorframe for
support. “Your poor mother can’t bring herself to do it.
We
all think it’s best for you to take care of it.”

I stare at
her, wondering just who in the heck are
we
?

“And be
sure to go to the florist too.” She bobs her head reassuringly.

I roll my
eyes at her.
Who does she think she is?
Really?

Without
saying a word, I grab up my bag and make a beeline to the front door. I make no
eye contact, and the guests pretty much leave me alone. I do a quick glance around
in the hopes of finding John Paul and roping him into going with me. Of course,
he’s nowhere to be found.

Alone. I
have always done everything alone in this family. I guess this is no different.
I point the car in the direction of the funeral home and set out to begin the
task of burying my father—alone.

The funeral
home director knew dad better than I did, so he made the unbearable task as
simple as he could. I was out the door in less than an hour, after picking a
nice wood carved casket, writing an obituary, and setting the time and date for
the funeral service. His assistant helped to put the memorial cards together.
She had already received a photo from the family. When I saw it, I had to sit
down for a spell. It was a picture of my dad sitting at the end of the Bay
Creek Pier. It was early morning so the sun was rising behind him and sparkling
vibrantly off the ocean waves. His salt-and-pepper hair was dancing in the
breeze, and his grey eyes were squinted from laughing at something. My heart throbbed
as I held it in a shaky hand and wished beyond wishing to have been there in
that moment, laughing along with him. Oh how I wish I could hear that laugh
just one more time. But time is up…

I arrange
to drop a suit off before crossing the street to the conveniently located
florist. I know my dad wasn’t big into flowers, so I keep the choices simple. I
order several beautifully potted beach grass plants and sea oats. I figure
after it’s all said and done, these can be replanted at my dad’s pride and joys—the
restaurant and seafood market. I know Jean won’t be pleased with this choice
because it’s not grand enough, but I know Dad would have approved. And that’s
who I want to please with this choice.

I choose
another route home. I’m in desperate need of some peace. If I can just see her,
I know I can feel better. I know I will be able to get through this. My body is
relaxed from my medication, but my soul is stirring and churning in a way that
I can hardly stand it.

Miss May is
making her way out of her house, wearing her Sunday’s best with her silver hair
freshly curled, carrying a covered casserole dish as I pull up. The sight of
this round, petite woman is instant comfort. I have no idea how I have been
able to bear being away from her for over five years.

“Well… Just
who is this standing before me after all these years?” She wraps her free hand
around my waist.
 

I stoop and
return her hug, as I whisper, “Nobody hoping to see somebody.”

“Nonsense.”
She pulls away to get a good look at me. “This ain’t one of yo’ disappearin’
acts is it? I’m allowed to see you?”

“No ma’am.
Just a visit.” I stand here squinting from the sun.

“I’m sorry
‘bout yo’ daddy, child.”

“Me too.” I
point at the dish in her hand. “I catch you at a bad time?”

“Nope.
Perfect timin’. You can accompany me to my church social.” With this, she hands
me the warm dish and heads over to her car. She starts digging around in her
gigantic purse.

“Miss May?
Don’t tell me you still drive?” I ask skeptically.

“Child, I
may be old as dirt, but ain’t nuttin’ wrong with my eyes.” She turns her
attention to my car. “Fine. You drive us in yo’ fancy Mercedes Coupe.” She
walks over and starts climbing in the passenger seat.

“Since when
do you speak car?” I place the dish in the backseat and then climb in the
driver’s seat. I’ve already made my mind up that I’m only going to drop her
off.

“Since all
my great-grandson wants to talk to me about are cars. As long as that boy wants
to talk to me ‘bout anything, I’m gonna listen.” She buckles her seatbelt.
“Well now, let’s go.”

“I’m not
dressed for church.” I look down at my jeans and plain peasant blouse, which
are wrinkled from traveling and the impromptu
nap
on the floor of my bedroom earlier.

“Long as
you ain’t naked, you dressed right for God.” She knows I’m reluctant about the
whole church-going thing. “I ort to have whooped yo’ folks for not havin’ you
young’un’s butts in church.” She shakes her head and presses her lips together
firmly.

“I... I go
to church some.”

“Just what
kind of church might that be?”

“Methodist.”
I think… Or is it Presbyterian? Lucas goes most every Sunday, but I only agree
to join him every now and then.

“I suppose
that’ll do,” she says with a sassy smile.

I
unenthusiastically put the car in drive and follow her directions to church. When
we pull up, I notice her church brand of choice is Baptist, which is indicated
on the sign by the road. We stow her dish in the fellowship hall and make our
way to the church sanctuary.

“I thought
we were here to eat?” I whisper as we take our seat in a pew near the back—to
my relief.

“We are.
First we get our spiritual meal, then our physical,” she whispers back.

I lean
close to her ear. “I’m just really in the mood for the physical. I think I’m
going to pass on the first portion.” I make to stand up, but that little lady
grabs hold of my blame arm and won’t let go. “Miss May, I don’t have this much
free time. Jean will surely bless me out for this long disappearing act.” We
are playing tug-of-war with my arm, and I wish I could simply disappear right now.

“You takin’
me home. Now stop with all them excuses.” She keeps her vice grip hold on my
arm, so I give up.

The service
opens with us singing who knows how many songs that are followed by a long,
melodious prayer that actually lulls me to doze off until an elbow finds my
side abruptly. I look over and Miss May sits there like she didn’t do what I
know she just did. Rubbing the tender spot on my side, I focus my attention to
the tall, portly man behind the pulpit, but cut my gaze one last time at Miss May.
She still doesn’t acknowledge me, so I try to get comfortable for the long
haul. A quick glance around confirms my suspicions. I’m the only white girl
present with jeans on.
Only
in both
aspects. Great.

I hunch
down as best as I can, but Miss May gives me a less powerful nudge in my side
and says, “Sit up straight.”

Trying not
to sulk, I reluctantly sit up and focus on the preacher as he slides his
glasses on and opens his Bible. Everyone else follows suit with the opening of
the Bible thing when he announces he will be reading Jeremiah 1:5. Miss May
tries to share hers with me, but I just brush her off with a slight nod and
listen. She places her well-worn Bible on her short lap and follows along.

“Before I
formed thee in the belly, I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the
womb I sanctified thee…” He stops here and takes pause as he scans the
congregation. His gaze hits on me, and I know I stick out like a sore, bright
white thumb.

Sorry, preacher man
.
Don’t mean to distract you
.

He moves to
the side of the podium and props his elbow there. “My brothers and sisters,
don’t you realize, God created each one of us. And before we entered this world
and took even our first breaths, He approved of us…
People
! There are no mistakes with
God
!” He shouts with long drawn-out pronunciations of his words and
is rewarded with loud shouts of
amen
.

The
preacher moves back to his spot behind the podium, where he dabs the corners of
his mouth with a folded handkerchief. He goes back to reading more scripture,
but I don’t follow along. I’m stuck on the statement He just declared. I have
always viewed myself as a mistake by God. You know, like he just had an off day
when He thought it was a good idea to stick me in the Thorton family. However,
this man just stood before me and declared me
wrong
.

I stew on
this but the preacher eventually gains my attention after a while. “We as
humans are the ones to make the mistakes. God ain’t made no junk. Oh no,
sisters and brothers! He ain’t in the junk making
b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s
. He in the miracle making
b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s
.” He punctuates each word by pounding the podium
with his fist, exaggerating each syllable. More amens and shouts. “We the ones
who make the mistakes. We make mistakes, and we let others’ mistakes make a
mess of our lives.” Amens roar from the crowd some more. “Oh, but our heavenly
Father gives us the choice. That’s right. He lets us choose if we gonna let
them mistakes haunt us or we can let it go and live this life He has blessed to
us!” The continuous pounding of the podium echoes his statements all around in
the supercharged sanctuary and everyone is nearly shouting now.

My arms are
covered in goose bumps, and I feel the urge to bolt. Miss May must sense this
because she places my hand in hers in another one of her death grips. I glance
down at our interlocked hands and then at her, but she just keeps staring
forward. I try to pry my hand free when I catch a slight shake of her head.
Humph!

“Jesus said
that He came so that we can all have life and have it more abundantly. That
means He desires us to be with great plenty. Of what, you may ask?” People
shout out back, urging him to tell us. They have been having a conversation
with the preacher, and I guess God too, the entire service. “It means He wants
us to have a great plenty of… Peace! Happiness! Love!” More amens. “You live
and love like you should. You lay them burdens down to Him and ask Him in.” He
covers his heart before he proceeds. “You put down them demons haunting you
from yo’ past. And all the good ‘n plenty can be yours!” He is shouting and
walking back and forth across the small stage and is sweating profusely. I’m
sweating too. I watch him enviously as he dabs at his forehead with the
handkerchief, wishing I had one of them dang things too.

Sitting in
this unfamiliar pew, listening to these unfamiliar words, I’m right miserable.
I’m so lost…I’m so confused…I’m worthless…

“Don’t lose
yo’ self in this world. Don’t let the confusion of doubt and past pains make
you feel worthless,” he continues, and I’m beginning to think this sweaty dude
has a direct line to my thoughts. It makes me nervous. He points directly
towards me, and I near ‘bout faint. “God made you and He approved of you and
don’t you dare let anyone, especially that devil, tell you no different!”

~
~ ~

I end up
asking Miss May to find a ride home after the service. I’ve lost my appetite
with everything pressing down on me. I just needed to be alone, and she seemed
to understand. She’s always seemed to know when to push and when to back off
with me. I’ve been taught many a lesson in my youth by Miss May. Whether it was
a recipe lesson or a life lesson, I have always kept them stowed away.