Christina (Daughters #1) (6 page)

“I didn’t know you thought those things.”

I had no idea they worried about me or imagined such things. It makes me straighten up on the couch to show I’m listening, and they have my undivided attention. I don’t want to repay them for their goodness with my misery. Noah nods as if he understands me. He, more than everyone else, understands me. He gets my need for quiet. Calm. And oblivion.

“We think a lot of things. We also understand you came to us after horrible shit happened to you. We can’t undo the past. We love you. I think you finally believe that about us, but we can’t totally understand what fuels your need for fighting. But I do believe, at least right now, it’s what you need. I’d rather see you do it in a controlled environment where you could also use it to learn discipline, respect, rules, sportsmanship, and honor. Right now? You’re no more than a thug, who is going to get arrested for assault or murder if something goes wrong. That is what we sit around fearing.”

“I never considered…” That was usually my problem, I didn’t always consider whether or not they’d care about, or be hurt by my actions. Thoughtless or not, I really didn’t know better. While I was growing up, no one cared about what I did. No one really cared what happened to me.

Lindsey sighs and shakes her head. “I didn’t either. Those are the things we worry about, but what Noah is talking about… I mean, I don’t get anyone’s compulsion to fight, or the reason anyone would want to purposely take a punch.” A tremble travels over her body and the guilt rips through me. I know her history. I know Lindsey was tortured for five years by her first husband with domestic violence. I’ve seen some of her scars and assume it was more like she survived a war. My actions remind her of her own abuse. I don’t want her to think about being hit. She and I define being “hit” very differently. Tragically differently. Helpless now, I don’t know what to say to undo the carelessness of my actions. I seek to continue the very thing that torments Lindsey.

Lindsey glances at me before her face softens and she smiles. “Oh, Max, don’t. I actually meant it more generically. More men than women enjoy and get turned on by watching either two men or two women fight. I just don’t get it. I didn’t mean because of my own history. I know you’re not like that. Okay?”

They could kind of read me, so our conversations often went that way. My infrequent responses somehow helped us get somewhere.

“But I guess, Noah’s right. You should learn all that stuff they claim they learn from fighting. Discipline… honor… whatever. Not my thing at all, but as it’s been five years, and you still can’t help
wanting
to fight, I’d be willing to try what Noah’s suggesting now. I won’t be a bitch about it.”

My lips tip into a half smile. I don’t mean to, but she’s so real. She won’t support it, but she always tries to support me. Not bitching me out is her way.

I have no clue how to reply to anything they say. I am literally shocked. As shocked as most people regard my need to fight and bloody others, and as shocked as many would be to know my childhood, I was astonished that these two people would suggest I think seriously about fighting as my future. I have no idea where to take this, or how to begin.

Noah starts to chuckle. “Well, you have Lindsey’s ringing endorsement, at least, she’ll try not to bitch you out about it. What do you think, Max?”

“What if I say no and just keep doing what I’m already doing?”

Noah lets out a sigh and rolls his eyes. “Then we keep lecturing you. No more with the tests, okay? We’re not going to kick you out. And I don’t believe for a second you’re going to willingly leave us anymore. We’re just going to keep at you because we think it’s dangerous, and even worse, I consider it plain, dirty fighting.”

I nod. He’s pretty good at calling me on my bullshit. Better than Lindsey. She worries that I’ll leave them. She agonizes over how I’ll accept their authority. Noah doesn’t. He sees inside me, and I like that. I need his authority. I respect them because they try, even if I have no idea what to do with that, or about it.

“I guess, yeah. I can think of worse things to do next year than fight.” A weird ripple goes down my spine. I almost don’t recognize it. Interest? Excitement? Anticipation? Whatever. A warm feeling spreads through my blood and into my limbs. “’Cause I’m not doing the college thing.”

“We know,” they both say as one. They don’t really want to argue with me. They don’t really have expectations of me that I can’t keep. But they told me I have to do something come next fall.  I can’t be sitting around there, doing nothing. A job. An internship. Something. I had to find something I wanted to do, or try, or pursue. I know I’m lucky for even getting to take some time to find those things. Imagine someone caring whether or not I’m happy or interested with my job! Jesus! As a little kid, my own parents didn’t care if I starved; and these people worry if I’m
happy.

“Okay, then this summer we’ll look further into it. No more hustling. That’s a direct request. Can you respect that?”

“I can respect that.”

Noah nods; and that easily, he believes me. Because he so readily trusts me, I want to start trying to make my actions worthy of their approval.

I go to bed and feel like I ran a couple of miles uphill. I’m exhausted. But I keep thinking of Noah’s shocking idea. Perhaps I hustled these college kids, which I guess wasn’t very honorable, and maybe I should try and do it in a real way next year. Like what? Professional training or something? I have no freaking idea. I’ve never looked into anything like that. I fight to feel better, and that’s the only reason, ever. The ripple of interest for finishing high school is new for me. I don’t love school at all. I merely tolerate it. The only reason I learned to do that was because Christina was there, and it means so much to the Clarks that I get a high school diploma. My brother too. He never had the chance, and has been working his ass off for the last few years to compensate for that setback. So, apparently I’m fortunate to even have received the chance. I think I’m the first guy in my family to get a high school diploma. Real high achievers, we Salazars.

I feel better at not having to lie to my parents, but my stomach feels queasy. Now I’m wondering how Christina will react to me.

~Christina~

I LICK MY LIPS as I stare almost speechless at my dad. Do I dare ask the obvious? The truth? The thing I now do not want to know? Now, it makes sense. It all makes sense. The things I saw between my parents that seemed like they shared some kind of intimate secret or knowledge, and the episodes when my mom seemed so weird. That unidentifiable something that always lurks just on the edges of what otherwise appears like the perfect family.

“You don’t mean Gretchen, do you?”  My voice is soft and hesitant. It’s a really stupid thing to ask. My dad was married before he met my mom to his high school girlfriend. She also happens to be friends now with my aunt, Lindsey, and my mom. In fact, Gretchen is the link that brought Max to us, and indirectly, into my life.

Dad’s head shakes while holding my gaze, and his expression now appears bleak and full of sorrow. “No. I don’t mean Gretchen.”

“Mom? You mean, this happened to…
my mom
?” I whisper softly as if it will lessen the damage of what the words mean. And the significance they have for me.

“Yes, I mean your mom. My wife.”

I start to shake. My entire body trembles and I bite my lip as tears, big ones, roll down my cheeks. These are not like the earlier, selfish kind I tried to shed because I felt a little bit hurt by Max. Now, real tears are falling, the kind that ensue after spilling your guts. They spew out of my eyes, accentuated by plaintive sobs. My entire body shakes and trembles with every sob.

Dad swears and slides across the truck seat before pulling me against his chest. At his touch, I start to cry harder and try to imagine what he pictures. But the images I conjure up repel me and I taste bile sliding up my throat as I try to envision how it must have been for my mother. I strain to accept it as real while knowing the victim was not just some faceless stranger. This was about
my mom
. And that changes everything. Yet, I don’t know exactly why, or where to start. I have a thousand questions crowding my brain, but my mouth can’t even formulate a single one.

“I shouldn’t tell you this. But the time will come when you will find out. That you haven’t yet is some kind of miracle. It’s not unpublicized. To be honest, if we were on the east coast, I think you’d have heard about it from the rumor mongers years ago. Being out here… well, we never advertise our pasts or history. Most don’t know. Lacking the Army presence here, we are spared most of the gossip.”

“What do you mean? Other people know about this?”

He sighs and I feel his head nodding against the top of my head. “It made a terrible situation a lot worse for her.”

I am overwhelmed. I am crying, gulping for air, and scrambling for the words to ask everything. I need to ask and to know everything.  I feel like he’s released me into the sky without giving me wings, or a hang glider to carry me safely to the ground. Usually, that’s all my dad does: makes sure I’m safe. Now? He cuts me loose and I can’t find my direction. I don’t know my mom. Apparently, I know nothing.

“Shh, Tiny, calm down, honey. It’s nothing new for her. You don’t have to cry.”

“I don’t have to cry?
” I scream at him. “You just told me you watched my mother getting gang-raped!”

“I know what I told you. I’ve relived it every day for over twenty years. I even dream about it. I envision it. I watched her almost destroy herself. I lost her because of it, and somehow, got her back. So…  I know what I told you, honey. I just want you to keep it in perspective. It’s not your pain, it belongs to your mom and me. It’s something I’m going to tell you about now. But you can’t turn it into your issue. Do you understand the difference? I need for you to recognize the difference. She didn’t want you to know for fear you’d take it on as your own. As you often do. And she doesn’t want you to know the kind of pain she endured. Not for a day. Neither of us wants that for you. But… you naturally have a lot of questions. I know you do. I know the confusion you must feel from our lack of honesty. I decided a while ago that you were ready to hear the truth. I mean, no one is really ready. But at some point, you need to know answers. I can’t change how bad they are. I can only give you some of them.”

His words. Oh God! They hurt my chest.
Dream about it. Destroy herself. Lost her.
Pain. It overwhelms me and makes knots in my chest. I can’t stand knowing this happened to my mother. Her smile flashes through my head. Her sweet, engaging smile and laugh. The way she makes fun of my dad because he’s so serious sometimes. The way she makes fun of me because I’m so dramatic. The way she is so wonderful, and I never knew, not even a fraction, how amazing and strong and absolutely stunning she really is. I love the way she always comes to me and wraps me in her arms and tell me how much she loves me. Always.

“S—she knows you’re telling me?”

“She knows I plan to; yes. She can’t. Okay? She cannot sit down and out of nowhere tell you that thing about herself. It just seemed like tonight… maybe you deserve to understand the source of my obsession and overprotection with your safety.”

I nod and nod. I do. I get it now. I cringe at my own behavior over the years. “You must both think I’m the worst, most spoiled, awful brat in the world. I’ve never wanted for anything. Nothing. You are the best parents to me and I can be such a brat. Such an ungrateful, horrible—” I start to choke on my tears. My dad’s smile is soft and almost amused as he pulls me into a bear hug.

“Tiny,
you
are everything we could ever want. You are smart and focused and fun and dramatic, brazen, and emotional and funny; and yes, sometimes a little bratty. Don’t you understand? All we ever wanted was for you to be all those things. To be eighteen years old without experiencing the terrible kinds of things we had to endure. She lived. We’ve never wanted anything like what happened to her for you. We want you to be grateful to us for simply becoming a normal teen.”

I shake my head. “All those times I got mad at her…”

“You don’t think she ever, not even for a moment, held that against you, do you? She understands. More than anyone else in your life, your mother understands you, Christina, every moment of the day.”

I can’t stand to remember all the horrible things I’ve given her grief over. I hate knowing I failed to realize there was something like this in her past. Isn’t that a testament, however, to her abiding strength?

Dad leans back and touches under my eye with his thumb, smiling gently. “You look just like her. It completely stuns me sometimes. Your hair is lighter brown and a lot longer, but other than that, you could be her twin sister for how she looked when I first met her.”

“It must be horrifying for her… and for you.”

“No. I love what a clueless, innocent teenager you will be. One who gets mad at her dad for being too protective. Because it lets me see who she might have been if she’d ever gotten a chance in this life. A little love. A lot less misery.”

“What happened? What happened to her?”
I cry out, needing to know and wanting to understand her.

Dad leans back and releases me. “Do you want to go inside?”

“No.”

He nods his face stoically and I know it’s to keep his own emotions in check. I take the tissue he hands me and dab at my eyes. I sniff and finally calm down long enough to listen to him.

“You have a lot of questions.”

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with whatever you want.”

“Do you love her?”

“Oh, God. Yes. Yes, Christina. I love her. I’m in love with her and I have been for over twenty years. Your life hasn’t been a lie. I didn’t marry her and have children with her just to save her, or because I felt guilty.”

“How then? How did you guys get past all of that?”

“Not easily. When I dropped her off at her house right afterwards, I intended to never, ever see her again. I got drunk and hoped the images of her would vanish from my mind and never come back. I wanted to forget what I saw, what I witnessed, and what I felt. Only… I don’t think, even if we hadn’t clicked, I could ever forget any of it.”

“How did you even see her again?”

“She had a complicated home life. Let’s put that on hold, okay? That’s an entirely different conversation. Just for now, try and understand that your aunt and she were pitted against each other for many years by the man who Jessie thought was their dad. So home was hostile territory for her. She had troubled teens, to say the least. And long before this even happened to her. She acted out pretty severely. People didn’t understand anything was wrong with her. No one suspected what happened to her, and strange to me at the time, she refused to tell anyone the truth. All the brutality she suffered. She disintegrated the longer she stayed home. She reached out to me in a number of ways and on a number of occasions. I was not real receptive at first. I still wanted to forget. I had never seen anything like what she suffered. You have to understand, being a soldier is not like being a cop. I didn’t train in how to help victims. And certainly not victims like she was then.”

“She was really only twenty?”

“Yes, really.”

“How did she go on?”

“You can’t imagine… so much. Don’t try to imagine it, okay? It won’t do any good. Just try to understand. Try to have compassion. Try to understand it wasn’t something she just walked away from and got over. She learned to live with it. She had to find happiness. But there are times, and certain triggers that put her right back there. She has…”

“Episodes.”

Dad smiles at me a kind of wavering, sad smile. He nods. “Yes, sometimes, she has those episodes.”

“They used to seem normal. I wasn’t supposed to bother Mom sometimes. It was always that way, so I didn’t mind. Then it started to make me mad; like, why did she get to do that?”

“I know. We talked a thousand times about telling you. Or trying to explain it to you. But it was so awful, we didn’t think any explanation would help you. We decided it was better you were a little pissed off and in the dark than knowing about the things that no one should ever envision about her mother.”

“Then, sometimes, I saw things. Those times she’d kind of space out and it was like she wasn’t here. When she would cry and cry and cry over what seemed like nothing. It always scared me when things like that happened.”

“And now you have an inkling of why they happened. It’s not often anymore. She sometimes just can’t control her emotions. Literally. It isn’t her being lazy or difficult. It’s simply your mom having a tough day. Things happened to her, so many things, that you have to realize the woman is made of steel to have ended up the kind of mother and wife she is now. Becoming a doctor in her own right. She’s like no one you will ever meet again, Tiny. Everyone used to think I was the strong one; but I am nothing compared to her. She is the real superhero. To survive what she did, and then go on and build a happy life. The episodes as you call them, were pretty minor in the over scheme of what her life could have become if she’d been weaker or, at any moment, given up. She kept fighting it all. Everything that tried to destroy her. She’s a fighter. Everyday. Always.”

I drop my head down until my chin rests on my chest. I feel so tired. It’s like wine has flowed through me and depleted all my energy. I try to imagine what her life was like. I try to imagine it, but I can’t. I feel exhausted thinking about it. It fills me with unspeakable sadness. I don’t think so much sadness has ever arisen in me for someone else’s history.

“Has she ever really been happy?”

“Yes. She has. She has been happy more often than not.”

“How?”

“That steel in her spine.”

I think back to our life and realize he’s right. I never thought it was anything all that deep or serious that made her withdraw from us sometimes. I assumed it was laziness. I thought it was her just not being able to deal with a busy life. I never dreamed, not even for a second, she had so much pain inside of her.

“How did you two end up married? I mean, what took you there?”

Dad stretches his legs out and leans his elbow on the door handle. “Long story. But us? We’re mostly a good story, Tiny. Your mom and I are mostly all good. For now? That’s not what I need you to understand.”

“How many men raped her?” I whisper
rape
. I can’t even comprehend the enormity of it in talking about my mom. My mom who sings when she’s cleaning. She dances around with the mop, listening to music that is way too young for her. She keeps up and loves the music I listen to. She sometimes ruins her cool factor by singing and dancing to it while she’s doing an innocuous house chore. She says it makes it more fun. I roll my eyes and sigh at her, while secretly feeling glad she does it because it’s so
Mom
. But now? It all feels so tragic.

“I can’t be honest about that. For now? Three. While I was watching that day. Three.”

“What do you mean, you can’t be honest?”

“There is always more to her story. But not yet. Take it in. Let’s just take it a little bit at a time. It was enough to be horrifying.”

“Did anyone ever get punished for it?”

He doesn’t respond at first. His head turns and he stares out the window for long, pregnant pause. Then he glances at me and away. “Would it help if someone did?”