Perfectly Flawed (60 page)

“Don’t make me go back there,” I whisper
quietly, my tiny hands gripping the sleeves of his shirt. “He wants
to hurt me. Please, please don’t let him hurt me.” I’m begging.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nana starts. She grabs my
hand, yanking it away when I refuse to take hers. “That won’t
happen again.” Nana begins to pull me away with such force, every
move makes me cry out in pain, and I look to the man, begging for
help with my eyes.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he calls, walking until
he can stop Nana. “Why are you forcing her to go back there when
she obviously doesn’t want to go?”

“Because she needs to see her father,” Nana
explains, not lying this time. She stands her ground, crossing her
arms across her chest. This is a woman who won’t back down and she
likes to get her what she wants. I learned that the hard way.

The man’s eyes search the tables in the room,
spotting the one in the far back Nana is taking me to. Something
seems to dawn on his face, some recognition as he looks back to
me.

“Is her name Josephine Lucas?” he asks, but
he already knows the answer.

“No,” Nana says, knowing she screwed up, as I
blurt out, “Yes.”

“Now you want to talk, little brat?” Nana
snaps at me.

“There’s no need for that, ma’am and I’m
sorry but you can’t take her back there.” The uniformed man pries
my hand away from hers and leads me to a back office. I smile up to
him, happy that he’s here, happy that he’s the one holding my hand.
His grip is soft and tender, not tight like Nana’s.

“I can do whatever I want,” Nana tells the
man, fighting to reach my hand. “She’s my granddaughter.” She
speaks like it means something, but it’s only words. Useless words
pouring from her mouth like bile.

“I don’t even know how you got her in here,”
he mumbles, taking me into the back office and setting me in a soft
chair. A chair softer than any other I’ve ever sat in. The cushions
seem to swallow me whole, tugging me deeper within the plushy
comfort, and I allow it, I allow it until I can’t see the room
anymore, the guard is gone, my nana’s gone, and so am I.

“Joey?” Grammy asks as my eyes adjust to the
light streaming through the window. The blinds pulled back
revealing the cloud covered sky. As I look, I can tell that the sun
is setting, the clouds growing darker and darker as I blink. “You
okay?” she asks. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me. I can see
the concern etched within her porcelain features.

I nod, not ready for words yet, sending her
the only sign I’m reasonably okay.

“Okay,” she answers, looking at me before she
walks back into the kitchen. As she reaches the doorframe, she
takes one long look at me before disappearing into the bright
yellow kitchen.

I’m lying on the couch beneath an old afghan,
the television is flickering with a rerun of
Gilligan’s
Island
, and Grandpa is snoring in his favorite chair. I must
have fallen asleep after we got home from the cemetery.

My phone vibrates on my stomach in the pocket
of my baggy sweatshirt, tickling my stomach.

Zephyr:
So, I’m assuming you made it to
Texas safely. I haven’t seen anything on the news about a plane
going down.

Crap! I knew I forgot to do something when I
walked off the plane. As I read his text, I tug the afghan over my
chest to make myself more comfortable.

Me:
Sorry! I’m safe, I’m sound, just a
typical basket case. Well, that, you already knew. I miss you,
Texas sucks with you in Washington.

Zephyr:
I’d expect that :) I tend to liven
up your life.

I can count on him to be a bit cocky I just
never expected for it to put such a giant smile on my face when I
tried to picture the look on his face. I can picture his half smile
and his hand running through his hair. If only we used Snapchat,
I’d use less imagination if I could just see his face, even for
only ten seconds.

Me:
I wouldn’t say that exactly…

Zephyr:
What would you say then?

Me:
Hmmm, let me think about that. I’ll
get back to you on that.

I might actually have to think of something
to tell him, something snarky to text back but nothing comes to
mind. My wit and sarcasm seems to be dwindling the more I’m in
Texas.

Zephyr:
I’m counting down the days until
you’re in my arms again
.

Me:
I’m counting down the days until I’m
in my own bed.

Not exactly true, but it should make him
laugh.

Zephyr:
Will I be in it with you?

Or not. He might not laugh at all.

I snort loudly, dropping my phone in case
someone heard me and wants to investigate without my knowledge.
Better to be safe than sorry in this house.

Me:
I’ll text you later.

Zephyr:
I love you :)

Me:
I love you, too!

I sigh as I drop my phone on my chest,
feeling happiness surge through me, heating me. I feel it coursing
through my veins, warming me as I remember his goodbye kiss. I wish
for us to have more kisses like that, but I’d be staying.

“And how is Zephyr?” Hilary asks as she drops
onto the couch next to me, a playful smile tugging at her lips.

“What?” I ask, caught off guard and feigning
innocence. There’s no way she can know what I was texting. I know
she doesn’t but she does know to notice about me. I’m hiding
something. It’s the easiest thing to discern.

“That smile.” Hilary points toward my mouth,
leaning forward to tug on my lip with her thumb. “It can only be
caused by one person.”

Oh.

She knows me too well.

“He’s fine.” My smile beams brighter and I
feel my cheeks heat in a flush I feel trail down to my chest. It’s
mimicking his hands, heating the same trail he’d lead if he could
touch me right now. I miss his electric touch, the fire coursing
through my veins as he lazily searches my skin with his fingertips.
I just miss him. This is going to so much harder. Harder than I
thought.

“Okay.” Aunt Hil stands away from the couch,
a knowing smirk touching her lips. “Just remember, no sexting,” she
warns. My smile quickly falls from my face.

“
Aunt Hil!
” I whine loudly, the shrill
sound shaking Grandpa from his nap in the recliner. “Come on.”

“What?” she demands as she walks toward the
kitchen. “I draw the line on that, Joey.”

As expected from any guardian

“Like I’d ever tell you,” I call after her,
watching her disappear into the kitchen.

Her orange head pops back through the
doorway. “I would confiscate your phone so fast, Joey.” She tells
me, her finger pointing in my direction. “Don’t test me on this.”
Hilary looks so serious that the fierce change practically slaps
me.

I raise my arms in surrender, knowing this
isn’t a woman to be messed with when she’s creating parental rules.
She’s such the Momma Bear that it’s not even funny.

Grandpa is still watching television—he woke
up at some point—trying not to laugh at me and my aunt, but he’s
failing as he bites his lip to conceal the chuckling. The least he
could do is try to hide the smirk growing on his face, but he
fails.

***

“Good night, Grammy.” I wrap my arms around
my grandmother before I head out the kitchen, heading up the wooden
stairs to the guestroom that becomes mine whenever I’m here. I
click on the light, letting it illuminate the purple painted walls.
It was my mother’s room when she lived here before heading out to
college.

I take a seat on the bed, placing my laptop
in the smooth space in front of me. I promised Zephyr that we’d
Skype tonight. While it’s eleven at night here, it’s only nine back
home. I’d think that Zephyr has more important or fun things to do
than talk with me through a computer screen but he insisted,
practically begged me for this minute connection.

“Hello, there,” a pixilated Zephyr says
through the computer screen. His dark hair is tied away from his
face and he’s shirtless.
Damn, he’s shirtless
. Now I really
wish I hadn’t left.

“Hi.” My voice is a nervous squeak, like a
mouse, and I don’t understand my nervousness. I’ve talked to him
plenty of times, most while staring at his bare abs. How is this
different? “How is everything since I left?” I’ve been gone for
four days now, I doubt anything big has changed but I’m into small
talk at the moment as I stare at his abs when he moves to adjust
the light on his nightstand.

“Dull and lifeless.” He leans back,
showcasing his abs again. Holy shit, his abs look better than
before I left. It hasn’t even been a week, what has he been doing?
“How is Texas?”

“It’s Texas.” I tell him about what happened
at the cemetery and my reason to stay away from town. By now, I’d
usually have made several candy runs but I don’t need any run ins
with Kathryn or
Nana
. I can see when he takes interest
because he’s no longer lounging back on the pillow displaying a
body that looks like it was sculpted from marble, he’s leaning
forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, his eyes dark
and intense as they stare into the camera.

“Fuck,” he murmurs when I finish. “Are you
okay after what that psycho bitch said?”

I shrug before shaking my head. I can feel my
ponytail swaying against the bare skin of my upper back. “No,” I
answer quietly and honestly. He deserves the truth from me even
though I want to lie to make this conversation happy. We don’t need
to delve into my problems or my issues. I’m trying to put some
distance between that and myself, the large the distance, the
better I’ll feel.

“Don’t listen to her,” he tells me. He looks
like he wants to crawl through the screen just to hug me. I want to
do the same thing. I want to crawl into his lap and never leave his
side. “She’s scared.” He couldn’t possibly know that, not for
certain, but his words make me feel better.
She’s scared
.
That woman is terrified of something and I’ll never know
what
.

“I’m trying not to.” I avoid looking at the
screen; avoid his eyes staring back at me.

I don’t want to listen to the woman I know I
hated when I was a little girl forced to live with her. I learned
that much from my dream. The one thing I really want to know is why
I lived with her when I had other family, nicer family that loved
me despite my father. I don’t ask Zephyr what he thinks, I just ask
him more questions about his days and what’s been keeping him
busy.

The gym is his answer.

The answer explains the body and why he’s not
wearing a shirt right now, he wants to show me the effects, he
wants to show me what I’ll be coming home to. And I don’t mind one
bit.

We continue to talk until I can’t keep my
eyes open any longer. It gets to the point where I’m leaning my
head on my pillow, the soft sound of Zephyr’s voice slowly lulling
me into a nice, comfortable sleep.

“Joey.” Zephyr’s voice startles me awake. I
jump up, practically springing from the bed.

“I’m up. I’m awake,” I say. “Promise,” I
blurt, my palm flattening against my forehead. My glasses are
crooked on my nose and I right them before completely tugging them
from my face and rubbing my eyes, crusty with sleep.

He’s laughing as he stares at me, his eyes
soft. “You were snoring,” he tells me with jest in his voice.

“I don’t snore,” I snap lightly, my mouth
opening in a wide yawn.

“Apparently in Texas you do.” I can hear the
laughter in his voice. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

I don’t want to hang up, but I sort of do
because I’m falling asleep—which is completely rude—but I just want
to be near Zephyr. Even with nineteen hundred miles between us, I
have this deep desire to be near him. “Okay,” I answer, my hand
hovering above the keyboard of my laptop as I wish I didn’t have to
say good night. “I love you,” I tell him quietly.

“Love you, too, Jo.”

Those are the only words that I need to hear
before I fall asleep—which happens just as soon as my head hits my
pillow after I tuck my computer away.

We spend the rest of my week in Texas Skyping
and texting like lovesick teenagers. There are a few long phone
calls, but mostly I spend time with my grandparents. I bake in the
kitchen with my grandmother—or stir batter while my grandmother
handles all of the hot elements to prevent her house from going up
in flames. I play board games with my grandfather; he beats me
every time. He doesn’t even try to let me win. And I don’t blame
him, I gloat. It’s a big problem.

Christmas Eve Eve arrives and the family
starts driving up.

I love Christmas Eve with my family, which we
all literally countdown to. We spend the day eating and enjoying
family, telling anecdotes and tales from the year while making fun
of each other. It’s almost a giant party for just the Archembaults,
and honorary Archembaults. I’ll get to that in a moment.

The first to arrive that morning is Sam, his
large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. He shakes his shaggy
brown locks from his eyes—that he’s proudly been growing along with
a beard since he’s come home—as he wanders through the front door
shaking the cold from his body.

“Mom!” he yells as he wanders down the
hallway. I’m too tired to make any sudden movements just yet but
I’m slowly waking as his voice grows louder the further he moves
into the house. “Dad?”

“In here, Sammy,” Grandpa yells.

Sam walks into the kitchen smelling thickly
of pine and snow. It’s a little weird because it’s not snowing nor
is he a lumberjack. I don’t suspect he’s been chopping down trees
in Minnesota but the image briefly drifts through my mind.

I’m sitting at the kitchen island stuffing my
face with a delicious breakfast—mostly bacon—while Grandpa
continuously tries to sneak a piece away from me. As I turn to swat
at his hand, my uncle steals my toast. I stare at him, my mouth
agape, while he lovingly ruffles my hair.