Safe and Sound (3 page)

 
Lola looked Sebastian in the eye, something
he hadn’t allowed for
close to
a year
. She wondered
what
had changed.
Lola decided it didn’t matter.
“Right.”

 
Roxanne grabbed his arm and tugged. “Come on. My parents are going to be pissed if I’m not home in about two minutes.”

 
Sebastian didn’t
budge,
his
eyes like
laser beam
s
of heat on Lola’s skin
. He pressed his lips
together and
finally
turned away.
Relief and sorrow
simultaneously hit
Lola.

 
With a satisfied look on her face, Roxanne skipped back to the car.

 
Lola watched
him go
, surprised when
Sebastian
turned
back
around and
stopped
beside Lola, his face forward.
She stiffened
, heart racing
.

 
“How long have you been walking home at night?”

 
Lola looked straight ahead
as well
, focusing on a dark building across the street. It was a
gas station
.
“As long as I’
ve worked here, Sebastian,” she answered tiredly.

 
“How long have you worked here?”

 
“
Eight
months.”

 
“That’s…” He broke off. “That’s not safe.”

 
Her skin heated up.
W
hy did he suddenly care?
“Don’t worry about it.
It’s none of your concern
. Besides, nothing bad ever happens in a small town like Morgan Creek, right?” she said bitterly
.
Nothing
anyone wants to know about
anyway.

 
“Se
-
bast
-
ian
!”

 
He let out a sigh. “She is driving me
crazy
,” he muttered.

 
Lola fought an impulse to smile. “
You better go.”

 
Out of the corner of her eye she caught his nod.

 
Lola tried to squash the empty feeling that reared up as soon as the Pontiac’s taillights disappeared ar
ound the corner of the building.
He’d acted like he actually cared about her, about what happened to her. Lol
a shook her head. He didn’t. A year
of silence had proven that. Actions always spoke louder than words. She’d learned that the hard way.
Many times.

 
It was hard to believe they were the way they were now; barely speaking and uncomfortable in each other’s company. They used to be so close. Lola was at his house all the time; his mother and father had been like her surrogate parents; she
like
a daughter to them.

 
A lot had been better just a short time ago. All of it before
Bob
had entered her life and snuffed out all the joy like a dark cloud of doom.

 
When Lola reached her house, cold and beyond tired, she unconsciously turned to the
buttercup yellow two-story
house across the street. She always did that, no matter how many times she told herself not to.
Expecting to find the yard empty, she stumbled when her eyes made out
the tall figure of a man
standing in the grass
.

 
Her heart squeezed. Lola
quickly turned away
and hurried to the door
. She looked
back
one last time as she reached
it
. Sebastian’s hand lifted and
dropped as
he walked toward his house.
Lola
leaned her hot forehe
ad against the cold door
.
A spark o
f hope fought to bloom within her
and she wouldn’t allow it to.

*
**

 
Breakfast dishes washed and put away, Lola went about sweeping the kitchen floor. She’d made pancakes she and her mother both had picked at and
Bob
had complained were too chewy, though he’d eaten six of them. She’d gotten the wrong kind of orange juice too; the kind she
always
got, but
today
it had been the wrong kind.

 
The kitchen was painted a cheery yellow and accented in red checkered curtains and apples galore. It used to be her favorite place to be. She and her mother would bake cookies together and talk about si
lly things, giggling and happy.

 
Lola and Sebastian would do their homework at the table. She and Rachel
, another friend she’d lost touch with,
used to gossip about boys and girls over PB and J’s and milk.

 
Things had been pretty wonderful just a
year
ago. Such a short amount of time, rea
lly, and yet it seemed the year
since
Bob
showed up had been never-ending.

 
Now there was a gash in the cherry wood table from
Bob
’s steak knife from the time Lola had overcooked his steak and burned the potatoes. It had been a small rebellion on her part that had led to food being splattered across the wall, the gash in the table, a broken plate, and her mother’s tears.

 
“What are you doing?”
Bob
demanded from the doorway.

 
Lola jumped, dropping the broom. She quickly picked it up and faced him.
“Sweeping.”

 
He moved into the room and grabbed the broom from her. “You can’t even sweep right.
This
is how you sweep.”

 
Lola watched him push the broom back and forth across the floor. How could there be a wrong way to sweep?

 
He wore a blue flannel shirt with holes in it, only partially buttoned, and gray sweat pants.
Bob
had never been a handsome man, but for a time he’d been groomed and clean; now he was just disgusting in smell and looks. Her skin crawled. How could her mother stand his touch?

 
“See?”

 
She nodded, though his way of sweeping and her way of sweeping looked quite similar. And she’d swept that floor a million times since he’d been married to her mother and he’d never once complained about the way she swept. But of course she couldn’t say any of that.

  Lola
used to. She used to say things.

 
He shoved the broom at her and Lola fumbled to grasp it. “I’m taking your mother grocery shopping. Did you make a list like I told you? With the right kind of orange juice written down?”

 
She nodded.

 
Bob
put a hand to his ear and cocked his head. “I can’t hear you.”

 
“Yes.”

 
“Where is it?”

 
“On the counter.”

 
His eyes drilled into hers and Lola shifted, wanting to run from the room. “Get.
It.”
She didn’t move fast enough and he pinched her arm.
“
Now
.”

 
Lola darted to the counter and plucked the small sheet of paper from it, outstretching her hand with her head down.
Bob
snatched it from her fingers and she quickly pulled her hand away.

 
Bob
feinted toward her with his fist raised and Lola jerked back, her face heating as he laughed. “Not so tough, are
ya
?”

 
Lola stared at the back of his head as he walked from the room, anger and hate burning through her. She could see herself grab a large pot and bash him over the head with it. She could hear the satisfying thud as metal met flesh. She could see him fall to the floor, unconscious and maybe dead. And she was
happy
.

 
She shook the upsetting thought away and swept the floor with renewed vigor.

2

 
Lola zipped her jacket and quietly left the house, clutching a
purple
folder to her chest. A cool breeze blew her hair over her eyes and Lola pushed it away. The sun was bright, warming her where it touched her. The air was cleansing and Lola inhaled deeply.

 
Her eyes strayed to the house across the street, not surprised to find it silent and still. It was early Saturday morning, not even eight yet.
Lola had to work at noon and wanted to take advantage of the hours before then.

 
She turned in the direction of the park. It was a short walk. The park had full green grass, lots of shady trees, and play equipment she and Sebastian used to play on as kids. There was a shelter mainly used for family get-togethers and a basketball court high school boys liked to monopolize.

 
It seemed
almost
every memory she had of her childhood involved Sebastian.

 
Lola found a bench and sat down. She set down her pen and opened the folder. Inside were pages and pages of words, some flowing, others erratic,
some
that didn’t even make sense to her once she went back and read them.

 
Lola found one she’d written
over six months ago
. Her hand paused, and then pulled it from the folder. Her eyes
blurred as she read.

The Truth

Try to convince yourself you’re sane, try to overcome the pain

You may feel like dying, but you can’t stop trying

If you look hard enough, you’ll find a friend

If you pray long enough, you’ll learn to trust again

True, you have been hurt

Yes, you are confused

But you have to face the fact:

You didn’t deserve to be abused.

 
A sob escaped her and Lola put a hand over her mouth, eyes searching for possible witnesses. She didn’t
want anyone to see her weep
.
It was bad enough she had a tendency to do so on a whim these days; it would be worse if someone saw it.

 
Don’t cry. Stop crying. Don’t cry.

 
Her eyes burned with the need to release her pain. Reading those words was like reliving the pain and fear and sense of helplessness of every cruel action or word
Bob
had ever inflicted on her. Lola took a deep breath and shoved the paper back into the folder.

 
Blank sheet of paper before her, pen in hand, Lola chewed her lower lip as she tried to put her current emotions into words.

Acceptance

She’s dead, I thought. How can she be dead?

Then I remembered all the pain she’d endured through her life and I understood.

Physically she was not dead, but her soul was.

She just sat there with a lifeless look in her eyes and lived in her own world.

In her safe haven
, there was no emotion, only
acceptance.

She glanced up in sorrow and…

I gazed at myself through a dusty window.

 
Lola stared at the words. It was funny how almost every poem she wrote started out about her or her mother and somewhere during the process turned out being about the opposite one. Or mayb
e they all were about them both.

 
Their life hadn’t been perfect. There had been clashes of will and temper tantrums
and whatever else was normal between a parent and their child. But there hadn’t been abuse. Her mother hadn’t locked herself in her room all the time and slept.

 
Or had she?

 
She tried to think back. Maybe occasionally her mother had had days like that, but not
every
day.
There had forever been
a sadness
to her mother’s eyes because of the husband she’d lost, but she’d still managed to
function
, to be a mother to Lola.
Now she wasn’t anything.