Teaching Willow: Session Four (7 page)

TWENTY-TWO- EBON

I stare at the contract.  Like every other aspect of my life for these last endless weeks, this seems surreal.  But finally, something is surreal in a
good
way. 

I still can’t believe that a publisher wants to pay me for my book.  Granted, it’s not a life-changing amount of money, but just the fact that they want it, the validation of it, leaves me speechless.  Not to mention the fact that if it sells well, I’ll get royalties.  And if it sells well, they might want more.  And if sells well, I might finally be able to make a living at my dream job.

If only the rest of my dreams had come true as well.

I glance up at the calendar.  Tomorrow marks three months since I was served the restraining order.  Three months since Willow took such drastic measures to keep me out of her life.   Three months that I’ve had to hold on to my explanations, to my apologies. I mean, my mother tried to kill her, for God’s sake.  It’s no wonder she wanted to steer clear of me.  But I can’t let her think that I had anything to do with it, or that I knowingly put her in danger.  My conscience demands that I explain.  My heart demands that I apologize. 

I take a pen from the small desk pushed up against one wall of the kitchen and I scrawl my signature across the bottom of each copy of the contract.  At least I’ll have some more money coming in.  Working manual labor on these small construction jobs is paying the bills, but I need to get out of this apartment.  I feel like I’m suffocating.  And this book deal will help me to do that.

When the contracts are in a return envelope, I put two stamps on it and grab the envelope that hangs from the top edge of the calendar. It has been packed up, addressed, and ready to go since the day after I moved in here.  I stare at the name for a few seconds–Willow Masters–before I scoop up my car keys from the counter and head for the door. 

I squint into the sun as I make my way to my car.  For the first time in months, it’s not the only brightness that I can see in my life.

TWENTY-THREE- WILLOW

I flip through my mail as I walk toward my front door.  It’s easy to identify bills.  They are the only items that lack the yellow sticker that indicates when something is being forwarded from Sage’s address.  The only things coming from there are junk, for the most part. 

When I reach the front door, I mentally put the mail on the back burner of my brain in order to enjoy
this
moment
,
the best part of every day.   

I smile as I shuffle my keys for the right one.  This marks the eighth day that I’ve been in my new apartment and I’m not enjoying it one bit less.  Yes, it’s scary to live on my own with no one to help me, but it’s also incredibly liberating.  In one way or another, I’ve lived under the thumb of my parents since birth.  Being on my own, answerable to no one but myself, feels even better than I thought it would.  There’s no one around to criticize my every choice.  There’s no one around to analyze my every mood.  There’s no one around to tell me that I’m getting fat, no one to tell me that my life is going nowhere.  But most importantly, there is no one around to threaten my baby.  Even though she’s not born yet, I don’t trust my parents not to do something stupid and try to take her from me.  I’ve had far too rocky a history with them to take the chance.

So, here I am.  Staring at my very own front door.  I slide
my
key into
my
knob and walk into
my
apartment.  And I don’t stop smiling.

I flip on the overhead light switch by the door.  The only lamp I have at the moment is in the bedroom.  The place is kind of bare bones, but I’m making do. In fact, I’m kind of proud that I’m making it without help or luxury.  Yes, my living room furniture consists of a futon couch, two crates as a coffee table and two more on which the television sits, but it’s home and it’s mine, and that’s all that matters.  I brought my own bedroom furniture.  A guy that worked at the restaurant where I waited tables helped move me.  I played up the “weak little girl” stereotype so that I wouldn’t get stuck lifting a bunch of heavy stuff and risking my baby.  My family has always thought I was the weak one of the herd.  Although they will never know how far I’ve come, I can’t help but think
If only they could see me now!

I drop down onto one end of the futon and resume my perusal of the mail.  My fingers stop when I get to a small padded manila envelope.  I stare at it, my heart beating wildly right behind my ribs, as my focus narrows on the return address.  Ebon Daniels.  4721 Harmony Place, Apartment 1, Jacksonville, FL.

My fingers relax around everything except this one item, letting all the other correspondence I’m holding fall to the floor.  Suddenly, the air feels thick, too thick for my meager lungs to inhale.  Suddenly, my blood feels sticky, too sticky for my racing heart to pump. Suddenly my head…my head is spinning, my solid, comfortable existence instantly turned upside down.

With shaking fingers, I tear open the envelope.  Inside is a thumb drive. No note, no explanation, just the small, black rectangle. 

I slide off the couch, dropping to my knees to fish my laptop out from under one of the two coffee table crates.  I don’t even bother to move back onto the futon. I just open it across my knees and plug the drive into the first USB port I come to.

In the My Computer screen, I click the unnamed drive and see that there’s a single document contained on it.  It’s simply named
Willow. 
With a numb index finger, I tap the icon to open it and I begin to read.

It’s a story.  It’s his story. It’s
our
story.

TWENTY-FOUR- EBON

I trudge through the rain, not really caring that I’m getting soaked as I haul my two grocery bags to the door. My head is down as I search for the blue apartment key.  My muscles move my legs up the three steps in perfect coordination despite my preoccupation. I’ve been here long enough that they remember and could get me to my door even if I was blindfolded.

What they weren’t anticipating, what
I
wasn’t anticipating, was to see a dark form huddled against my front door, very obviously trying to stay out of the rain.

I’m not sure which takes longer–my eyes to adjust, my head to understand or my heart to start beating again.  There, crouching under her dripping hair, is Willow.

Of the thousand and one questions that come to mind, I don’t ask any of them.  I can only focus on two things–getting her inside and how, in the blink of an eye, life seems to have meaning again.

My movements are slow and deliberate.  Measured.  In a way, I feel as though I’m trying not to spook a deer.  Or cause a ghost to disappear.

I say nothing as I step around her to unlock the door.  She straightens beside me, her arms still wrapped around herself as though she’s cold.  She watches me, waiting.  I push open the door and turn to her.

“Can you come in?”  It’s the only question I can ask yet.  I don’t know how I know this, but I do. I can feel it.

Her liquid eyes search mine for long seconds before she nods.  I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I let it out in one relieved huff.

I sweep my arm in front of me, indicating she should go in first, which she does.  As she passes, I inhale her scent, the sweet mixture that’s uniquely Willow.  The sweet mixture that has never stopped haunting me.

Kicking the door shut behind me, I set the groceries on the counter and go straight to the fridge.  I pull out two bottles of Budweiser.  I pop the top on the first one, but before I can open the second, I hear the voice that I’ve missed so much.

“None for me, thanks.”

Wordlessly, I stick the other bottle back in the fridge and head for the living room.  I know I should say something.  She probably thinks I’m being a complete asshole.  The thing is, after all this time, after all the waiting, I don’t really know what
to
say.  I don’t want to risk ruining whatever it was that brought her here.  I suspect it was my book, but I can’t be sure.   I figure, until I
am
sure, it’s best to just keep quiet.

I walk to the couch and look back at Willow.  She’s still standing in the kitchen, her arms still folded protectively over her middle.

“Have a seat, Willow,” I say softly.  Her name feels like honey on my lips, warm and welcome.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever utter it aloud again.

Hesitantly, she makes her way to one of the two armchairs that face the couch and she sits primly on the end.  It’s such a ladylike thing to do, so pure and innocent, that it only makes me ache for the little vixen that I know hides just beneath that innocuous surface.

“What brings you here?” I finally ask when it’s clear that she’s not going to volunteer anything.

She stares at me, her expression anxious.  “Are you upset that I came?” she asks, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I’m glad that you came.  I…I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.”

“Did you
want
to see me again?”

My answer is immediate.  I don’t think I could lie convincingly, or that I should even try.  “Yes, I did.”

On her beautiful face, I see both relief and consternation.  “Then why did you leave?  Why did you just disappear? I tried to find you for weeks.”

“You put a restraining order on me.  There wasn’t much I could do.”

“I didn’t do that, Ebon. I swear. It was my father.  When you’re in the hospital like I was, in the…well, when you’re detained like that, they appoint someone to look after your best interests.  But it wasn’t me. I would never do that!”

Relief.  God, it feels so good.  It even drowns out the frustration that I feel over Willow’s fucking asshole of a dad.

I frown.  “How long have you been out?  Of the hospital, I mean.”

“They didn’t keep me very long.  Once Detective Arnold came and sort of corroborated my story, my doctor realized that I was telling the truth, that I wasn’t delusional or suicidal.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and letting my beer dangle between them.  “What the hell was that all about anyway?”

I see her take a deep breath.  We both know it’s time to show our hand.  No bluffing anymore. 
This
is the gamble.  Come clean and love each other anyway… or die trying.

“When I was fifteen, I fell in love with an older man.  His name was Gray and he was charming and witty, and he made me feel beautiful, something that I had never felt living in Sage’s shadow.  My parents didn’t approve, of course, but I didn’t care. I loved him.  And he loved me.”

“You told me about some of this, right?  When I thought you were Sage.”

Her smile is sad and bitter.  “Even then, I wanted so much for you to know
me,
to see
me,
to understand
me.”

“I’ve always seen you, Willow.  Just you.  You’re the only one I
wanted
to see.  Even when I thought you were Sage, I was seeing you.  Feeling you.”

She bites her lip again, looking down at where her hands now rest in her lap.  “I didn’t know that. I only knew that I…I was falling in love with you.  I never meant to deceive you. It just sort of happened. I was trying to fix things, but then…then…I saw a chance, a chance to be with you and…and I took it.  Ebon, I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her voice breaking as a single tear slips from the corner of her eye and slides slowly down her cheek.

Abruptly, I stand, running my fingers through my shaggy hair and walking to the window that overlooks a drab empty parking lot next door.  I want to go to Willow so badly, to draw her into my arms, to kiss her and hold her tight, to tell her that none of it matters now. I want her to know that the only thing that matters is that she’s here, that she came back.  But I can’t tell her that yet.  I still have too much to confess.  I need to say it all before I get lost in her again.  I owe her that much.

“Finish your story,” I tell her quietly, still facing away, holding onto my control with every ounce of my strength.

“Oh,” she says in a small voice, no doubt feeling rejected.  “Okay. Sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize to me again. You have nothing to be sorry for.  I just…I need to get all this out before…”  I let the sentence dangle, partly because everything after that is merely hope on my part.

When I don’t finish, she clears her throat and continues.  “Well, he…Gray…was my first.  Sexually, I mean.  Being with him was like being awakened.  He showed me that it’s okay to like different things, not to hide behind someone else’s ideas.  So I opened up to him. I was myself with him in ways that I could never be with my family.”

I hate the spike of jealousy that I feel as I listen to her talk about a guy from so long ago. “What happened?”

“He, uh…he liked to take pictures of me.  And, honestly, I liked it when he did.  We would look at them together and then we’d…do things.  Ahem, unfortunately, my father found two of the pictures that I’d hidden in my room.  One was of just me, naked, but the other was of Gray…with me.”

I grind my teeth together, the mental imagery of someone else loving and touching and kissing and fucking Willow nearly unbearable.

I know that I have to listen to this, despite how much I hate it, but the sigh she gives me carries so much regret, so much sadness that I almost ask her to stop. She’s been through so much already.  But, bravely, she continues before I can.

“Dad didn’t ask me about the pictures.  He just took them to the police and filed charges against Gray for child pornography and statutory rape.  I tried to explain that I was willing, I tried to take some of the blame, but no one would listen. Not one person.  In the end, he was convicted on both counts and sent to prison.”

Her words sound as though they’re coming from some place that’s so bruised that it’s numb now, her voice very robotic and detached.  My guess is that it has taken her years to overcome the guilt and heartbreak.

“A man went to prison.  Because of me.  Because I loved him and I wanted to be with him.”  Her pause is long and pointed.  “Kind of like I loved you and wanted to be with you.  I don’t know why I can’t just learn to be alone, to shut off my emotions.”

It’s hard for me to imagine what Willow has been through, and at such a young age, too.  But I know that I don’t want her to regret sharing herself with me.

“Never say that.  Never regret what happened between us.  I don’t.”  When she says nothing, I offer a lame, “I’m just sorry that happened to you, Willow.”

“My parents were so humiliated, like I did it on purpose, like it did it to
them,
to humiliate them.  And that wasn’t all either,” she says quietly.  “It was all my fault.  My decisions.  My weakness.  The blame went on me.  And for a long time, I didn’t know how to carry it.  I was so upset, so lonely.  So devastated at what had happened to Gray and how my family was handling it.  I got so dejected, so depressed that I just felt like I was drowning.  Right on dry land.  I just felt like I couldn’t take it anymore.  So I tried to kill myself.  Twice.”

“Fuck,” I breathe, closing my eyes and dropping my head.  Thinking of her experiencing such sadness, such brokenness that she’d try to harm herself… Thinking of the world without her, of my life without her…

I hear the rustle of her movements, but I don’t turn around.  I can’t face her yet.  Not until she knows.

“My parents never got over it. They never saw me as competent, as anything other than that wounded, scared, tortured little girl who caused them so much embarrassment.  So when all
this
happened, when Sage told them about you and what I did, then the…the stuff with your mom, they drew their own conclusions. They didn’t care what I had to say, what I thought or how I felt.  It was just like before.  They were reacting.  Trying to control the damage before they got splattered with mud from poor little Willow’s life.”

Bitterness.  So much bitterness.  And rightly so.

“In some situations, families can destroy us if we let them,” I mutter, my own demons filling the room around me.

“But that’s the thing, Ebon, this time was different.  Yes, what I did to you was horrible, but I’m not that little girl anymore.  I
know
I made an awful mistake by misleading you.  But I can deal with the consequences. I
am
dealing with the consequences.  That’s why I wanted so badly to tell you that I’m sorry.  I never,
never
wanted to hurt you.  I should never have lied. That was unforgivable.  But I swear, I’ve only ever loved you, Ebon. I swear.”

My heart aches when I hear her crying softly behind me. 

“That was my fatal mistake, too,” I confess.

I hear her sniff before her wobbly voice asks, “What?  What was your mistake?”

“Loving you. I fell in love with you long before your deception, Willow.  I was looking so desperately for hints of you inside Sage that when I found them, loving her–loving
you
–was effortless.”

There is absolute silence behind me, but still yet, I don’t turn.  Because there’s more.