Waking Up Joy Page 22

  “Now,” the villain said, adjusting his zipper. “While my boy is sleeping, me and you are going to take a little ride where no one can find us.”

  I turned, pulled my knees up, fresh fear shooting through me like a shotgun shell. Faces of missing girls on TV scrolled through my mind, girls and even boys whose bodies were found years later, if at all.

  I sat up, thinking that if my head stopped spinning, I could run.

  God. Please. Help.

  When the villain leaned to snatch up his discarded ball cap, I saw Jimmy. His eyes were fierce as he rose up behind his dad, stealthy like a panther.

  Oh, thank God.

  *

  Even though I’d later be brave enough to tell my siblings the same story and marvel at how supportive they would be, the reaction of the Tulip House girls was the closest I would ever feel to being understood. Our common troubles—some of them had been abused in the same way made me realize that my being drawn to Tulip House was no accident, although I couldn’t have admitted my own need for help back when I made that first call to see how I could help them out.

  When the girls dispersed, house mom Barbara asked me if I wanted to press charges for rape against Jimmy’s dad. The question confused me, at first. I’d never even considered reporting what he did to me for a myriad of reasons that I couldn’t tell Barbara. I hadn’t even gone to the hospital after it happened, but, of course she had to suggest it, didn’t she? It was her job.

  “It was a long time ago,” I said, still somewhat breathless from the emotion of telling my story. “I don’t even remember all the facts.”

  “But you just told them to me and my girls.”

  Well, shoot. Why hadn’t I expected this?

  I reached a shaky hand to touch Barbara’s, truly grateful. “Thank you for helping me tell the truth. I feel so free, like you said I would, but—I’ll never cooperate with the police on rape charges. They would never be able find Jimmy’s dad, anyway.”

  She seemed unfazed by my words, as if she’d heard the reasons not to report a crime many times before from a hundred others girls. She then made a gallant effort to convince me to go to the police station with her, but I didn’t.

  You see, I knew why the police would never locate Jimmy’s dad, but even without that knowledge, the word around town had been that he left his family decades ago and never returned, and then, everyone had just stopped talking about it. Nobody missed him, and nobody wanted to find him.

  “Joy, I’m sure the police could—”

  “Please, no,” I said. “I don’t want to.”

  She had looked doubtful, but nodded.

  “This,” I said, motioning to the walls around us. “This house is what I needed. It has saved me, and I’m so glad you don’t have to close it down.”

  “Thanks to people like you,” Barbara said, and she gave me a hug that for a moment made me miss Momma who had always hugged us kids, whether we thought we needed it or not—and I had always needed it.

  The thought that I’d had a small part in helping the Tulip House stay open made me smile, but the experience had turned out to be so much more meaningful than pleasure of raising money for a good cause. At first, I’d thought I would be a big help to The Tulip House for Girls, but in the end, the Tulip House girls had been the ones to help me, and—I hadn’t even needed to tell them what happened to Jimmy’s dad in order to finally feel free. Besides, after what he did to me, who would care what happened to him?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

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  It would sure make a nice ending if I told you that after I told the truth, first to the Tulip House girls and upon arriving back home, to my family, everything worked out like a fairytale, but that’s not exactly how it happened. No matter Ruthie’s fantasies about Prince Charmings and happily ever afters, we all know life isn’t really like that, especially if you are a Talley.

  As for my friends, I had to tell them something. Despite their imperfections, I was stuck with them, and them with far-from-perfect me, so I decided to tell the truth—most of it. I left the saddest parts out, but they got the gist of it and were sad anyway. Suddenly, they were inspired to confess and apologize for things I didn’t even know they’d said about me, which strangely made me laugh out loud; and while they could never be expected to give up their gossip, I knew they wouldn’t be spreading this bit of news around.

  “Why didn’t we hang out like this before?” I asked one night as I sat with them in my living room. Since our work for Tulip House had turned out so well, we started meeting weekly to perform small acts of kindness in the community, not just for Tulip House. This night we were busy crocheting scarves and mittens for children in need, while my brothers, Jimmy, and my quiet brothers-in-law were out in the back tearing down the old barn.

  “Because you never invited us,” Peter said. “And I was your best friend in high school.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Peter continued. “I loved Bess as much as everyone, but we all knew she didn’t want to share her house, like she was hiding something.”

  “Maybe she was,” Ruthie said, and I winked at her.

  “Well,” Mary Sue said. “I always supposed that whatever she put in those teas might have been what she was hiding.”

  “And those chocolates,” someone said.

  “Hey,” I said lightly. “This is slightly off topic, but speaking of Momma, have I ever mentioned that I heard y’all talking about me at her funeral?”

  “I knew it!” Peter exclaimed, and I loved him for it. “I didn’t mean anything I said. I was just so nervous, crossing myself like a Catholic and everything.”

  Mary Sue, not looking surprised at the news, either, said, “We were so sad about Grandma Bess and there you were, our best friend, in a coma, kidnapped by your crazy brothers and sisters.”

  Your best friend?

  “Crazy?”

  “Well,” Peter said. “They were acting crazy.”

  Thelma motioned with a curled wrist to her chest. “Meeeee? I was just meeean.” And then, she laughed.

  “You sure are, Thelma.” Peter leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, but I was already there. If nothing else, that lady was honest and I respected her for it. No secrets, ever, where Thelma was concerned. Her stroke had not changed anything about her personality.

  Carey lay down her scarf. “You aren’t as mean as Nanette, Thelma honey; and now she’s even a jailbird!” She playfully swatted Nanette’s shoulder.

  Everyone giggled. Carey was referring to our sister’s recent night in jail. Who in the heck would’ve ever thought that a nice lady like Nanette would spend an evening in the same jail that had held her son overnight for drugs?

  “The sheriff was lucky you weren’t carrying your gun, but he rightfully deserved you running over his foot,” Carey declared.

  “Here, here. That’s what the old bugger gets for selling drugs to a child,” Peter said. “And it’s not the first time it’s happened, as everyone knows. Too many crooked cops in this county. Only a few good ones, like Officer Gray. I hope we get more like him.”

  I went back to my crocheting, thinking about how glad I was that Bobby was getting a second chance at a good future, thanks to his mom’s foiling of his pot smoking habit and the crooked police who were selling it to kids. Course, I was getting a second chance at mine, too, and I’d let everyone know about it. The last time Reverend Wilson did the altar call like he did every Sunday with lots of bravado and encouragement, I even left the balcony and walked down to the front. It was nice not being stuck in a wheel chair for this one; and I admit it, I squeezed my cheeks together a little bit this time. There wasn’t any reason to let what happened at Momma’s funeral happen again. Reverend Wilson, who developed amnesia about such things, took my hand. Afterward, I sat in my regular seat instead of hiding up in the balcony. Jimmy did that little fist tapping his chest thing, which sent my butterflies to fluttering, and I didn’t even have to feel guilty about it even mor
e.

  “Joy,” Nanette nudged me. “The men are back. Should we set the dinner out?”

  I set down my crocheting. “I reckon we should.” I eyed Jimmy as he walked in. He held a hungry look in his eyes that I didn’t think had anything to do with food.

  Lord have mercy. Will I ever get used to this hunk of man?

  Somehow we all managed to squeeze around Momma’s big farm table and spent the next hour handing bowls of mashed potatoes and grits, green beans, platters of pot roast, and baskets of bread around the table. We followed dinner with three kinds of cake and two pots of coffee. I loved having so many people together in Momma’s house, and I loved the way Jimmy kept casting me meaningful looks across the table. Out of habit, I glanced down at his left hand and lo and behold, his wedding band was gone. I blushed like a teenager on her first date.

  *

  When all the friends had gone home, and Bobby and Ruthie took the kids out front to play Frisbee, I surprised the men by producing one beer each from the fridge.

  “Joy,” Carey said. “Do you really think we need to promote alcoholism in this family after all the trouble Bobby’s been in?”

  “Don’t be dramatic. I’m not promoting alcoholism,” I said. “I’m promoting taking a break after these men have been working hard tearing down a century-old barn for free.”

  “It’s our barn,” Rory pointed out.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “You still deserve a beer.” I held one of the ice cold cans out to Jimmy, but he waved it away.

  “Don’t drink,” he reminded me, and then, I recalled that he never had.

  “I didn’t know you didn’t drink,” Nanette said. “Can I have yours?”

  “Jimmy’s the church music leader,” Carey said. “And the mayor. Of course he doesn’t drink.”

  “That’s not why,” Jimmy said, stepping to the fridge for a Pepsi. He grabbed a few extras and handed them out to the rest of us who weren’t really beer drinkers. “I don’t drink because of my old man. Alcohol and drugs turned him into a crazy son of a . . .” He paused.

  “Gun?” I asked.

  “A crazy son of a gun.”

  Rory nodded. “Makes sense.”

  A silence that wasn’t altogether uncomfortable, but just empty, settled around the room. I knew my brothers and sisters were thinking about the things that’d happened to Jimmy and me. After telling my story to the Tulip House girls, telling my family about Jimmy’s dad was easier, but they still needed a little more time to get used to it.

  Thank God, they don’t know the whole story.

  I was about to change the subject when River spoke up, asking a question that came completely out of nowhere. But River was never one to mince words.

  “So, whatever happened to the son-of-a-gun, anyway?”

  “I’ve always wondered the same thing,” Rory said. “He disappeared a long time ago, right?”

  Jimmy nodded, his eyes never leaving mine. It had been no secret in the community that his dad was not a good man, that he’d left his family numerous times, and that the last time had never come back.

  “You ever hear from him?” Carey asked.

  “He’s dead,” Jimmy said, shifting his gaze to the floor, and I couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped into the room.

  “I don’t remember hearing about that,” Nanette said. “When did you find out?”

  Everyone stared, River pinning me with his gaze. He looked back at Jimmy, then back at me.

  “Yeah, when did you find out?” I could tell River suspected more.

  Darn it, River.

  He was always the best at getting the truth out of people. All of a sudden, I felt like the ceiling was coming down on top of my head. River’s voice was quiet, but clear in the abruptly quiet kitchen. Not even a clink of ice against an iced tea glass broke the silence when he spoke next.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “Joy never really finished the story about that day. You kicked the shit out of him after what he did to our sister, right? And then he ran off?”

  Jimmy’s lips tightened, he stared harder at the floor. Nobody bothered to correct River’s bad language.

  “River,” Nanette said. “Why are you asking these things?”

  “Cut it out,” Carey said.

  River laughed, the sound scraping across the room. “I mean, if it were me, I would’ve killed him.”

  Rory leaned forward, his elbows on the table now, his eyes narrowing. “I would’ve killed him, too. Hell, I wish you would’ve.”

  My heart felt like it would burst through my chest. I stood, thinking about saying something to make them shut up, but Jimmy motioned for me to sit. I couldn’t, so I started pacing, aware that my sisters were looking at me oddly.

  River shrugged. “Please, tell us you killed that bastard.”

  Rory uttered the Lord’s name in vain, which his wife opened her mouth to correct him for, then thought better of. Everyone else just looked at Jimmy, waiting for an explanation—a denial.

  Jimmy’s eyes locked on mine, and I was swept back in time.

  “I did,” Jimmy said, and the tornado that slammed the chimney into the ground not so long ago was back swirling in my head.

  “No,” I said, but then Jimmy was beside me, squeezing my hand, his eyes piercing mine, his head shaking almost imperceptibly. His lips brushed my ear and I heard him whisper, don’t.

  “I fought him,” Jimmy said, “and in the struggle, he was stabbed. He died.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Would they stay quiet? Or would someone—maybe self-righteous Carey—feel like they needed to report a crime?

  The tornado in my head grew louder. I imagined Jimmy in an orange jump suit.

  “That’s not what happened,” I whispered, but no one was listening. I spoke loudly, drowning everyone out, which isn’t easy to do in a crowd full of riled-up Talleys.

  “That’s not what happened.”

  The panic in Jimmy’s eyes broke my heart. “No,” he whispered.

  But these were my brothers and sisters. I told them the truth—all of it.

  *

  I would never forget how the sun beat down on us as we stood on the banks of Spavinaw Junction Creek that day.

  “Are you okay?”

  I looked down at my bare feet, the rocks pressing into their soles, fresh memories of the attack in my mind blotting the beauty of the scenery that surrounded us. What was I supposed to say? That no, I had bruises where he couldn’t see?

  I peered at Jimmy, hoping he might see what I couldn’t say. He gave me a long look, his eyes moving across my face and then he took in my appearance. His eyes darkened and I shrank at his gaze, ashamed. His glance moved to his Dad, to the evil villain, who lay where he had landed after spinning around and trying one last time to choke the life out of Jimmy.

  I was afraid—could barely get myself up off the ground—but when Jimmy’s eyes had rolled back in his head and he’d dropped the switchblade he was brandishing, I knew he was going to die.

  I didn’t think. I just grabbed the open switchblade. I thrust it into his dad’s side, pulled it out, and dropped the knife.

  Afterward, when Jimmy was okay, except a deep bruise developing along his neck, we stood helplessly facing each other, his dad’s body ominously still on the rocks. I trembled, hugging my sides, as he turned away and emptied what seemed like everything he’d ever consumed. He wiped his mouth and I wondered if he would ever be able to look at me again. When he turned back, I saw a tear slip down his cheek.

  “I don’t know what to do.” He choked.

  He looked at me then, as if awaiting my instructions, but of course, I didn’t have an answer.

  “I don’t know what you need,” he repeated.

  We stood staring at each other, worn out, as tattered and bloodied as our clothes. Images of all that had happened flashed across the sky, as if I was witnessing somebody else’s nightmare. My legs were so tired. I felt the spontaneous strength that had been pro
pping me up wane while my body swayed. Jimmy caught me and scooped me up in his arms. I remember feeling safe, because I knew the son of the villain in this story was a hero.

  Jimmy stood cradling my exhausted body, turning in a circle, as if not knowing the way back to his truck anymore. I wanted to point him in the right direction, but it was all I could do to hang onto his neck. I remember being afraid I was hurting his bruised neck, but he never even flinched.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, again. He shifted, to get a better grasp on my body, and carried me up stream away from the body, across the bank, and ultimately, down into the cold water that wrapped itself around us.

  My feet found the bottom of the creek and Jimmy began scooping handfuls of water and washing the blood off my face. I closed my eyes, letting the flow of the water wash away the filth from my skin, but not from the place deep inside where nothing could reach.

  “Your dad,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. “I’m sorry. It’s just—he was choking you. I didn’t meant to—”

  “Sh-sh.”

  I closed my eyes against Jimmy’s sad gaze. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  I breathed in, a tiny bit of relief seeping into my heart, but when I opened my eye, I saw a large water moccasin slide out of the water and slither up a partially submerged tree. It coiled itself in the fork of a branch and then its slick, black body fell perfectly still, waiting, I imagined to strike.

  It occurred to me that the snake must have swam right past as we stood in the water, perhaps looping around our legs even as it swam across the creek to find its waiting place. I was mindful of how it could have easily bitten us, so distracted we were with washing away the blood, but to tell the truth, we probably wouldn’t have even felt it in that icy water anyway, poisoned as we already were.

  *

  My sisters tried to press close after I finished our story, wanting to comfort me, but I didn’t want to be touched right then. I gently pressed them away. Strangely, I was okay. I was fine, in fact. Even the idea of going to prison didn’t bother me. I’m not saying it’d be easy—I look awful in orange—but I would do it.