Pitcher's Baby (8 page)

Frank pulls the lever beside his seat and
it falls forward, making enough room for me to escape. I climb out and stretch
my arms as high and wide as they will go. A tired yawn escapes, even though I’m
not actually sleepy. I bend over and touch my toes, loosening the cramped
muscles in my thighs. I don't know how long we have been driving, but according
to my body, it's been a while, which, depending on certain conditions, could
mean anywhere from five hours to five days. I’m leaning more toward five days
at the moment, but that could just be a result of the constricting conditions I’m
forced to ride in.

Mom didn't have time to pack this time,
deciding it was best to leave as soon as possible. Frank had dropped me off at
the motel, and after strict instructions to lock the door, he left, returning
thirty minutes later with my mother in tow. The first look at her beaten face
left me standing there, jaw agape. I felt a small satisfaction and then quickly
chastised myself for feeling that way.

She limped into the room, avoiding me
altogether, and got busy, grabbing our things from their scattered places all
around the room. I stood near the bathroom door, tucked into a small corner,
and watched until all of our things were shoved into the car. She had left me a
small amount of space in the backseat, and if I wiggled just right, I could
almost lie back. It wasn't comfortable in the least, and that probably
explained the reason my legs hurt so bad right now.

“Here, kid. Run inside and grab you something
to eat. If I have to hear your stomach growl one more minute, I might just
shoot myself,” Frank says, tossing me a balled-up five-dollar bill he pulls
from his front pocket. I run straight across the dirt parking lot and in
through the worn red door. The door jingles as it closes, and an old man with
skin the color of leather steps out from behind the counter. I turn down the
first aisle, searching for the treasure trove of little Debbie snacks.

“You hungry there, miss?” The old man asks
as I set my armload of snacks on the counter. My stomach lets loose with a
growl right at that moment. He laughs loudly, shaking his head from side to
side. I offer him a small, shy smile and look around the counter while he rings
up my breakfast. My hand brushes along several keychains, making them clank
together. I pull one of them closer and read
West Virginia
across the front.

“That'll be three dollars and twenty-three
cents,” he says, watching me closely. I pass him the now flattened five-dollar
bill and hold out my hand as he counts out my change. Grabbing my sack of food,
I head back out the noisy door, but not before stopping to look at the
keychains one more time. Just as I thought, they all say something about West
Virginia. Guess I finally know where we are.

Frank smirks at me on his way inside to
pay for our gas, but I barely notice. My stomach is starting to feel sick. I
feel like bubbles are rising in my throat, and I try to burp to make them go
away, but it doesn't work. I crawl back inside the car and open my bag, digging
for the honey bun I just bought. If I don't eat something soon, I think I might
seriously die.

Fifteen minutes after leaving the gas
station, we pull into the driveway of a beautiful Victorian style house. A
young lady meets us outside with a warm, welcoming smile. Mom jumps out of the
car as fast as her bruised body will allow her and rushes toward the strange
woman with arms stretched wide. They embrace. A middle aged gentleman walks out
the front door moments later and gently places his hand on the woman's
shoulder. She pulls back, releasing my mom, who turns back toward the car and
motions with her outstretched hand for me to join her.

Climbing out of the backseat is easier,
since I have only been riding in cramped quarters for about fifteen minutes
this time. I stare at my feet as I shuffle forward, counting the steps I take.
My hands are tucked deep into my pockets, one hand wrapped around my dad’s
silver coin. Mom grabs my chin between her thumb and forefinger and squeezes
slightly while lifting my face up, forcing me to look at her. The strange man
and woman stand there, smiles plastered on their youthful faces. Why are they
so happy? Don't they know who these people standing in front of them really
are? Don't they know she will just infect their lives too?

I want to warn them.

I want to tell them to turn back, go
inside.

Don't trust her.

But I can’t.

“Charlee, I want you to meet a dear friend
of mine. This is Wendy and her husband, Mike. We are going to be staying here
for a little while until we find a place of our own.” Mom interrupts my inner
thoughts.

“It's so nice to finally meet you,
Charlee. I've heard so many things about you,” the woman, Wendy, says.

I've always been taught to not lie, no
matter what the situation, but somehow, I doubt saying, ‘Well, it's not nice
meeting you. I don't know you or like you, and I want to go home,’ would really
go over well. A shadow passes over my face as I fight back the memories of what
I have lost. Then I force a small smile.

“It's nice to meet you, too.”

“Are you hungry, sweetie, or tired? I've
got a room all made up for you. Come on. I’ll show you,” Wendy says. Taking my
small hand in hers, she leaves the others standing in the driveway chatting.

Cool air hits me in the face when the
front door opens, carrying the smell of warm baked bread. My stomach churns as
I take in the warm shades of ivory and oak throughout the home. Wendy kicks off
her shoes by the front door and waits for me do the same. My sneaker sticks to
my heel as I use the toe of my other foot to hold my sneaker in place while
pulling my foot free and then repeat for the other foot. A sour, wet mildew
smell fills the air. I tilt my head down, hiding behind a curtain of greasy
hair. My cheeks warm with the blush rushing to them. I wait for her to
reprimand me for smelling up her beautiful home.

She holds out her hand, waiting patiently
for me accept it. I peek at her and see her eyes glistening with fresh tears, a
faraway look in her gaze. I take her hand and follow as she leads me up the
straight, narrow staircase, turning left when we've reached the top. She pushes
open the first door on the left and steps inside. I stop at the threshold and
stare into the room, taking in everything. The walls are a pale gray trimmed in
bright white. There is one window surrounded by thin yellow curtains that match
the large bed in the middle of the room. There has to be over a dozen pillows
on it, all different sizes and shapes. All mine, I think to myself. Wendy opens
a door next to the large white chest of drawers and shows me the spacious empty
closet, and then she walks to the other side of the room and opens another
door, gesturing for me to look.

I step into the room, my feet sinking into
the fluffy cream colored carpet with each step I take until I reach her side.
The other door leads to another room about half the size of the bedroom, just
enough room for the small sink and toilet and the shower. My very own bathroom.
No more worrying about walking in on Mom or Frank when I have to pee in the
middle of the night. Tears fill my eyes. I turn, wrapping my arms tightly
around this new strange woman who has been so kind and thoughtful to me. I
stand there squeezing her as she gently rubs circles on my back. The tears turn
to sobs, soaking her shirt. I can't explain why I am crying now, of all times,
but I can't stop it either. The tears just flow uncontrollably, only stopping
when I hear voices downstairs. I pull away, wiping my snotty nose on the end of
my t-shirt. I want to say something, anything, but no words come.

“Go ahead and run some bath water,
sweetie. I’ll grab you a towel and some clean clothes, okay?” She doesn't wait
for an answer. Turning on her heel, she walks out of the bathroom, wiping tears
from her cheeks as she goes.

There is no trace of her crying when she
comes back in carrying a fluffy white towel and wash rag. She changes shirts,
and in her arms, I see she has another, along with a pair of black leggings.
She sets the towels on the back of the toilet and the clothes on the bathroom
sink. The tub is almost full, the hot, steamy water filling the air. She pours
some liquid from one of the bottles in the cabinet into the water, and the air
fills with sweetness. It reminds me of my Granny’s flower beds.

“Come to the kitchen when you're done and
I'll make you some lunch. Take your time, and don't forget to wash behind your
ears.”

I nod my head, silently wondering why I
need to wash behind my ears.

Chapter
Thirteen

Lucas

I haven’t been to this zoo in over six
years. It holds so many great memories for me, some that are almost too good to
relive, but when I was trying to think of somewhere to take Charlee today, this
is the first place that popped in my mind. It just felt
right.

Every time I glance at her, I see a
beautiful, brilliantly passionate girl who’s hiding deep inside her own
sadness. She covers it well, but being as I have spent my fair share of days
miserable and hiding from the world, it’s easy for me to spot. I want to grab
hold of her and never let go. There is an undeniable urge to protect her from
anything in this world that could think to harm her. I want to be her savior, her
Prince Charming.

Her face lit up with excitement when she
realized where I was taking her, and the amount of pure joy I have witnessed
since walking through the gate proves this was the perfect decision. I can’t
think of a time I have ever seen someone enjoy the zoo as much as she has
today. My only thought when we set out to leave is when I can bring her back. I
want to see her smile every day of her life. She deserves that. I want to be
the one to make it happen.

Over and over and over again.

I want to be the only person to ever do
that again. I want every smile she has to be meant just for me. I know it
sounds crazy, considering I literally just met her, but there is something
about her that is just right.

Chapter Fourteen

Charlee

I'm not sure exactly when, but sometime
over the last three hours, this day has gone from feeling like a first date to
something more. We laugh and joke together with such ease, if you didn't know
it, you could easily believe we had been together for months, if not longer. He
keeps his hand in mine the entire day, only letting go when I run forward,
excited to see something new. It feels good. It feels scary as hell. It feels
right.

Every time he looks at me, my heart
flutters in my chest and I have to remind myself to breathe again. There is
just something about his eyes. They hold so much emotion in their stormy gray
depths. He looks at me, focusing solely on me, and the entire world melts away.
No matter what I try, I can't break contact. He holds me prisoner. I am his
willing captive. Truthfully, it scares the living hell out of me, but I refuse
to run away from whatever the future holds for us. I deserve this.

“Have you ever ridden a camel?” Lucas asks
me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“A what? A camel? No.” Saying I am
confused would be an understatement. He sees the perplexed look on my face and
laughs a deep, throaty laugh that causes chills to break out along my skin
despite the hot as Hades temperature outside.

“Come on. You have to try it! And then we
can go and get some dinner.” I am still peering at him speculatively when he
pulls me through the gate labeled
Camel rides
. I can't believe this is a
thing. Like, people actually climb up on the backs on the camels and ride them?
Seriously? He pulls me forward, tossing two tickets to the attendant at the
booth, and then we wait as the camels are brought forward.

“Together or separate? The attendant asks,
and Lucas looks at me questioningly. I shrug my shoulders, even though I am
about to crawl out of my skin I am so nervous.

“Together,” he states, and I don't know if
I am relieved or worried. I guess a little of both, really. I'm relieved that I
won’t have to be up on one of these things alone, but I'm really worried
because I won't be up on one of these things alone. I'll be with Lucas. Close.
Too Close. I don't know if I can handle this.

The attendant carries a ladder in his
hands, setting it next to the camel the other attendant is holding the reins
to. He gestures for me to come forward, and I do on shaking legs. He explains
that I need to climb to the top step and then put my left foot in the stirrup
and sling my right leg over. I follow his directions perfectly, and before I
know it, I am sitting seven feet off the ground . . . on a camel's back.
Moments later, Lucas swings up directly behind me, and all thoughts of the
camel disappear, replaced by other much more delicious thoughts. Like how his
chest feels pressed against my back and how his arms circle my waist, cocooning
me in his embrace from both sides as he holds the reins. I feel his legs brush
against mine, and I think I am going to faint. I squeeze Everly closer as the
camel shakes beneath us, and for the first time in I don’t how long, I pray.
Please,
God, don’t let me faint
.

Breathe, Charlee.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The guy on the ground moves the ladder out
the way, and the camel takes a bumpy step forward, followed by another. I rock
back into Lucas. I can feel the warmth of his skin burn through my clothes and into
my skin. My breath is coming in shallow pants that I can't seem to control.

“This is fun, right?” His breath tickles
my ear as he whispers against it. I glance down at my hands, sure that they are
shaking. They aren't, but I am. On the inside, my whole body is trembling
uncontrollably.

“Yes. Yes, it is,” I reply breathlessly.
What is he doing to me? I am not this person.

He reaches forward and brushes a loose
hair back away from my neck. His finger barely touches my skin, and yet I feel
like he just electrocuted me. My body is on fire. His hand curves around
Everly’s head, caressing it gently before trailing down her soft cheek. That
sweet gesture is my undoing. It’s one thing to make me feel wanted and desired,
but to see him take the time to show my baby the love and attention she has
been missing from her own father these last three months, that touches a part
me so much deeper.

Our five minutes ends, and the attendant
brings the ladder back around. We stop next to it, and then he explains the
steps for dismounting. Lucas climbs down first, and then it's my turn. I grab
the horn in front of me and slide my leg over. Before my foot touches the
ground, I feel his hands on my waist. I know they are his without even looking
just by the shock vibrating through my system. He helps me to the ground and
holds on to me while my legs readjust to the hard ground below me. Little does
he know, I will never be ok as long as his hands are still touching me—if I'll
ever be okay. Honestly, it's just too early to tell.

Lucas keeps his word, and when we finish
our camel ride, we head back toward the front gate. It still takes almost forty
minutes, because I keep seeing things that I didn't see on our walk back here
and stopping to snap pictures like a tourist on vacation. I can't help it. I
want to document this day. I never would have guessed it when we first pulled
up here almost five hours ago, but the zoo has quickly become my new favorite
place in the world. I can't believe I am just now visiting it for the first
time at twenty-two. It seems blasphemous. There should be some law that states
that you have to visit the zoo—like the one saying you have to get vaccinated.
Better yet, they should give out free passes to the zoo after you get your
shots. At least then, the poor little kids get something out of it other than a
sore thigh and a SpongeBob Band-Aid.

Thirteen years earlier...

Several weeks have passed since we first
arrived at Wendy and Mike’s. I hardly ever see my mom anymore. She and Frank
got a job together painting the interiors of houses somewhere in the city. They
come home every night covered in speckles of paint and head straight to their
room across from mine. I hear them up all night long most nights. Sometimes
they are laughing and playing, and sometimes their shouts fill the empty space.
I hoped Mom would get better, now that we have someplace to place to call home,
but every day, she seems to lose even more weight. Her face holds deep shadows
cast by jutting cheekbones.

Last week, I overheard Mike and Wendy
talking about her. They believe she is on drugs and not trustworthy. Mike was
worried about leaving her here in the house without someone home. I listened as
he tried to reason with Wendy. “We need to ask them to leave, Love. I don't
want them doing drugs here anymore. We are only enabling them, and you know it,”
he said.

“They are not leaving, Mike. If they go,
then Charlee goes. We can't send her out there with them. She’s just now
gaining weight back and looking like a healthy little girl. Shit, Mike. I've
just now gotten her to quit hiding food in her room! We can't do that to her,”
Wendy stated. Her mind was made up, and there was no way Mike or anyone else
was going to change it.

I stormed up the stairs after hearing
them, my blood pulsing rapidly under my skin. My face felt hot, and my arms were
shaking uncontrollably. I clenched and unclenched my fist repeatedly until I
reached their bedroom. Without thinking, I shoved the door open. Mom’s head
snapped toward me, her eyes wide. Frank dropped the needle he was holding and
then tried to hide it under a pillow. I couldn't take it anymore. “I HATE YOU!”
I said, jabbing my finger toward my mother. “You only care about yourself and
whatever is in that nasty needle.” My chest was heaving as I screamed at her.
“My daddy was right. You are a worthless piece of trash.”

I barely caught the movement out of the
corner of my eye. Her hand flew through the air, heading straight for my face,
and then pain erupted along the side of my jaw. My hand flew to my face,
covering the space she just slapped as tears filled my eyes. I glanced back at
her, hate filling my eyes. “I hope it kills you, you selfish bitch.” I repeated
the words I had heard my dad say over and over, and then I fled to my room
across the hall and locked the door. I threw myself on the bed and cried myself
to sleep in the cocoon of pillows.

That morning was the first time I ever
prayed for death. I begged God to take me away, rescue me from the hell I was
living. I would do anything to escape the woman who called herself my mother.
Anything.

When I wake again, the house is quiet. I
creep down the stairs after looking in through Mom's open door. I find a note
stuck to the microwave in the kitchen telling me to keep the doors locked and
make a sandwich for lunch. I glance at the clock on the stove and see it's just
after eleven. Mom and Frank are at work, no doubt high as a kite. I pull the
makings for a sandwich from the fridge and then take my plate to the living
room. I've just sat down when the phone rings. Usually, I wouldn't even think
about answering it, but something pulls me toward it today. Maybe it's Wendy
checking on me, I rationalize. A man speaks in the other end, asking for Mr.
Moore. I tell him he isn’t home and then press end, disconnecting the call.

I sit back on the couch and pick up my
sandwich, but now I've lost my appetite. A thought keeps sneaking its way back
into my mind, and before I fully realize what I am doing, I have picked up the
phone and dialed my Granny’s phone number.

My dad never had a phone turned on at our
house. He always claimed it would be pointless, and since my Granny lived just
over the hill from us, if we ever needed to call anyone, we used hers.

I wipe my palms down the leg of my pants
while the phone rings in my ear. I hear a click followed by a soft, “Hello?”

I suck in a mouthful of air as I try to
find my voice. My whole body is shaking. I hear my aunt ask hello again, and
then in the smallest voice, I whisper, “Is my daddy there?” My voice breaks
halfway through my question. I hold my breath while I wait for her answer.

“Pumpkin, is that you?” she asks. Her
voice sounds like I imagine an angel's voice would sound. Calm and soothing.
Loving. I never want her to stop talking.

“Mmhmm.” I mumble, “I want my daddy.” The
tears start falling down my cheeks then, a silent waterfall.

“Oh, baby! We have been looking everywhere
for you. Your daddy just walked out the door. Hold on, pumpkin. Don't hang up,
ok baby? I'll go get him.”

I hear her run through the house, her feet
slapping against the hardwood floors in Granny’s house, and then her scream
pierces the air.

“EDDIE! EDDIE! ITS CHARLEE!”

And then the stomping through the house is
coming back closer, getting louder as she makes her way back to the phone.

“Charlee, are you still there, baby?” she
asks when she returns to the phone.

“Yes, Ma'am.” I hiccup.

“Oh thank God! I’ve missed you, baby girl.
Do you know where you are?”

“In West Virginia, I think,” I say,
remembering the keychains at the gas station. I haven't been allowed out of the
house much since we arrived, so I can’t know for sure. “Aunt Cindy? I want to
come home. I want my daddy.”

“I know, baby. We are going to bring you
home now, okay? Don’t worry.”

I hear someone come in the house through
the phone line. The back door slams, and then my dad’s voice is yelling
something unintelligible toward my aunt moments before his rough, ragged voice
fills my ears. He is breathing rapidly, like he just ran a mile, but just the
sound of his voice on the other end fills my heart with hope.

“Charlee?” He asks cautiously, like he is
afraid it's some kind of sick joke the world is trying to play on him.

Sniffling to keep the snot from running, I
sob into the phone. “Daddy! Daddy!” I cry unintelligibly. My own voice sounds
distorted. “I want to come home. I miss you.”

He asks a question, but I don't hear him,
because a noise at the front door pulls my attention away. Someone is jingling
their key in the door. “Daddy, I have to go. Someone’s home. I love you,” I say,
and then I hang up and toss the phone to the other side of the couch and wipe
my eyes with my shirt. I pick up my sandwich, and I'm stuffing a bite in my
mouth when Wendy walks in, followed by Mike. I'm trying to chew the bite in my
mouth, but my mouth is too dry and I can't get it to go down. Wendy looks at me,
immediately noticing the red blotches across my face. My heart is beating out
of control in my chest. I'm terrified of disappointing them, and I know they
will be mad when they find out I made a long distance call to Alabama. I start
to cry again right as the phone rings, its shrill sound breaking the silence.

Mike answers it while Wendy comes to
comfort me. I feel her arms wrap around me and hear her speaking in my ear, but
I can't take my eyes off Mike. He turns to me, all color draining from his
face. “Charlee?” He asks, and I know I'm about to be in a crap ton of trouble.
His tone breaks through to Wendy, and she pulls back, looking from me to him
and back to me, before reaching for the phone in his hand.