Authors: H.M. Ward
"
A
aaand we're rolling
. I can't believe you're making me do this, Lori. For anybody watching out there, this is my sister's idea, NOT mine. You realize I'll never have another girlfriend after this, don't you, Lori? Oh, whatever. Okay, here we go. Wait! Lori! Where did you go? Get back over here! I'm not doing this without you. Stand over there and wait for your cue. Hi, Mom! Lori wanted to put on a little show for you on your birthday. I hope you like it because this is embarrassing. Ready Lori?"
"Weady, Gwaham!"
"Hit it, baby girl!"
Pop music plays off-screen, and three-year-old Lori pops onto the screen wearing neon pink tights, a clashing orange superhero t-shirt, and a skirt made of what looks like dishtowels pinned around her waist with laundry pins. Her two curly pigtails bounce up and down with every bouncy step, while lanky nineteen-year-old Graham sways from side to side, snapping his fingers to the beat. The backup singer starts to sing, and Graham silently lip syncs along. When the lead singer takes over, so does Lori, singing loudly and off-key, the words slurred by toddler speech.
I tap my phone, pausing the video. The paused image on the huge TV screen shows Graham looking down at his little sister with a huge grin while she appears to wail out the lyrics passionately, her hands over her chest, over her heart. Even at the age of three, she was melodramatic.
I stare at the screen in front of me. The best part is coming up. It's the part where Graham picks Lori up, spinning her around in the air as she giggles, then setting her down only for her to fall to the ground on her tiny bum, too dizzy to stand. It's at one minute and thirty-three seconds in. This video is my favorite.
After my talk with Lilah, I came home and did some research on the Internet. I needed to confirm what she'd said. Everything was there. Articles about how Elise Parker founded the center, about her suicide, about the horrible way society persecuted her after her death. There were a couple of interviews with Graham, who defended his mother with all the love and conviction a son could show his mother, never once blaming her for his loss and his sacrifices. I also stumbled upon a series of vlogs Graham and Lori created. They start when Lori is two, just after her dad's death. The videos from that first year are heartbreaking. Mostly sad, tear-filled messages. This is the first happy one. In one of the early videos, Graham explains to Lori that Heaven has WIFI—which means that her dad and their mom can receive their messages. I've been glued to my TV screen for days.
I've come up with a plan. I don't know if it'll succeed, but I have to try. In between work shifts, I've attended meetings with bankers, financial planners, accountants, lawyers and a psychiatrist.
Lilah was right. I was in desperate need of a mental reboot. My therapist suggested I start by cleaning out the toxic waste in my life. I already cut ties with Mindy. Next on the list are my parents and my job, but those will take strategic planning and timing. Until I'm prepared for that phase, I'm skipping ahead to the next one— confronting my past and forgiving myself.
M
y trembling fingers
brush across the engraved letters on her tombstone. I haven't been here since her funeral. I was too scared to come back—scared my guilt would conjure her ghost to haunt me. If I had only known staying away would be more damaging, I would never have abandoned her here, all alone.
I lean my back against the stone and let myself slide down to sit on the cold ground below. I rest my head against the hard surface and look up to the sky, sighing.
"Hey, Aly, it's me. I'm sorry I haven't come to visit you. I miss you something crazy, but I didn't think you wanted to see me after what I did. That's why I wanted to talk to you. So much has happened since you left and I don't want you to hate me."
I hug my knees closer to my chest and hold on tightly.
"I'm in love, Aly, and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve him. He's such a good man, and he makes me smile and laugh. Not that it matters. I was a bitch to him, and I threw him away."
I let out a sarcastic laugh. Mixed with the tears, I sound like a croaking frog. Sadness becomes anger as I yell in the cold, "I don't know if I'm strong enough to do what I have to do. I'm scared shitless, and you're not here! You were always here to help me before. Dammit, Aly! You and I were a team, and I feel lost without you."
Blinding anger and frustration rip through me. Anger at Alyson for leaving without letting me explain, anger at life's cruelty for taking her away from me, anger at myself for my past actions, anger at not being able to go back and change any of the actions I regret. I cry for what seems like hours, holding my legs tightly to my chest, trying to hold on.
"Why didn't you let me explain? I didn't know Alyson. He lied to us both. He played us. I promise I never purposefully deceived you. If I had known who he was, I never— I never would have slept with your fiancé."
Alyson doesn't answer. I trail my fingers through the grass. There's only silence and cold. With the back of my hand, I wipe the tears from my eyes and regain my composure.
"I've made a decision, but I need your forgiveness. I never deceived you, and I want to be happy again. Can you be happy for me?"
"
M
iss Delacroix
. So kind of you to visit. Are you here on behalf of Mayor Dougherty? Has he changed his mind?" Ms. Leone gestures to a chair in front of her desk and takes a seat. I accept her invitation and settle into the offered wooden chair. I rest my black leather satchel on my lap.
"Unfortunately, no. I'm here on my own. However, I do have a proposition I hope will stir your interest."
Her face drops at my initial announcement, obviously disappointed. She leans forward, resting her joined hands on her desk. "I'm listening."
"I've been reading up on EPYC, and I've seen firsthand how well cared for the children are here. I know things are hard right now, and I'd like to help in any way I can, starting by giving my time. I would like to work full-time for you. I'm sick of spending my time working for the wrong people. I want to make a real difference and help these kids."
I open my bag and pull out the first of several documents. I slide it across the desk toward her. "Here's my resume. Feel free to place me where you most need me. I'll gladly take whatever position you offer."
She lifts my resume and reads it, turning the pages. She raises a single eyebrow at certain elements, nods her head at others. She places the paper on her desk and taps a single finger on top. "You have an impressive resume, Miss Delacroix. The center would be honored to have you on our team, but you do realize it would be volunteer work without a salary. Since we didn't get the city's donation, we can't give the raises promised to our paid staff, and even had to cut some paid personnel. Times are hard for everyone, and there's only so much volunteering people can do without jeopardizing their families."
"I'm aware of that. I would like to volunteer. I don't need the salary. But I do come with a catch." I bite my lip, take a deep breath and count to three. The open admission is still hard, but my therapist says that I shouldn't be afraid of the words. "How do you feel about taking on a volunteer who suffers from major depression and suicidal thoughts? If you don't feel safe putting me in contact with the kids, I'll understand, but this is something I need to do."
I let out a liberating breath. It's embarrassing to admit out loud, but it no longer feels degrading. The support groups have helped a lot.
"That's very brave of you, Miss Delacroix, to openly admit something like this. We would never discriminate against someone with depression. You are as welcome here as anyone else. If you don't mind my asking, what exactly have you been doing to help with your symptoms? "
"I've recently begun counseling, medication, and exercise, but mostly I'm focusing on awareness. It's all very new to me, but being able to talk about it is reassuring."
"Well, it sounds like you're on the right track, Miss Delacroix."
"Please, call me Kienna."
"All right, Kienna. Let's get back to business. Based on your resume, I'd like to try you out in the administration offices at first. Your resources could be very helpful, and you have exactly the type of experience we need right now to aid our financial situation. All this is conditional, of course, on the survival of the center. We're still waiting to hear from accounting to make sure we are still viable."
I shift in my chair and pull out a set of documents I had the accountant and financial planner prepare for me. "That's the next thing I want to discuss with you, Ms. Leone. I'd like to become a benefactor. Would this amount be sufficient?"
I hand her the documents. She puts on her glasses and studies the numbers, her eyes widening.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, I'm certain. The money is waiting for you in a bank account. I want to make sure this place is running and fully staffed for the next few years."
"I can't ask that of you, Kienna."
"You don't have to ask. I'm giving this to you—under two conditions."
Her expression morphs into a look of cold skepticism. "Ah, I see. Go on, then. Tell me."
I tell her my plans one by one, detailing amounts, services, resources and my conditions. Her eyes light up, and I know I've done something good.
"It looks like you have a volunteer position, and we have a new benefactor. We have a lot of planning ahead of us. When can you start?"
"For this to work, I need to be in charge of timelines and announcements. This request isn't for me, but for Elise's daughter. I know it sounds crazy, but I need you to trust that I have her best interest at heart."
"Of course. May I ask you something personal?"
"Sure. My life is pretty much an open book now."
"Are you Lori and Graham's Kia?"
I nod, smiling. I'm still their Kia in the eyes of others. Maybe there's hope for the final step of my plan, after all.
"That's what I thought. I've heard many nice things about you, Kienna. Elise would have loved you, too."
T
he events
of the past few weeks have all led to this day. Every minute detail is in place, and, as soon as the press conference gets underway, the clock starts ticking.
My parents are going to disown me, but they can’t call the shots anymore. Not when it comes to my life and happiness—and I deserve to be happy. If I can help someone else in my situation, if I can save one life, it’s worth the impending backlash. I sip from the glass of ice-cold water waiting for me at the podium. Lilah, who's standing on my right, takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
People never cease to amaze me. Where I thought I had a rival, Lilah turned out to be my fiercest supporter. She's picked me up off the ground when I'd crumple into tears. She's spent sleepless nights on the phone, talking to me when I thought I was losing my mind. She never asks for anything in return, but she's the first to offer tough love when needed. She doesn't let me wallow. She's kicked my ass when I need it, but she also knows when I'm too weak to take an ass kicking. She's taught me the value of spending time alone with myself. I never like being alone. Why would I? It's been ingrained in my head since I was a little girl that being myself was wrong, that I was an embarrassment, never good enough. I'm discovering I may be an okay person after all. I'm making peace with the demons in the silence, their voices becoming soft whispers instead of deafening screams.
I've also learned how to cook. I have this huge-ass kitchen with professional-grade appliances I never bothered using until now. I'm chopping carrots and peeling potatoes—and they are the best carrots and potatoes I've ever tasted in my life.
Ms. Leone stands to my left and taps the microphone, making sure it’s on. She clears her throat and looks out at the audience in front of her. Kids are sitting cross-legged on the floor in the first couple of rows. Lori’s beaming with pride and waving at me. I want to take her into my arms and hug her until she tells me to stop, but I only wave and blow her a kiss. She bounces on the floor in acknowledgment. I've been avoiding the playground and the kids as much as possible. I wasn't ready to see her yet. I wasn't brave enough. This is my first time to see Lori since the morning after the Trystan Scott concert two months ago.
Standing near the back of the crowd, Graham leans against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Never has anyone invaded my every thought as he does. I don't expect him to forgive the way I treated him, but I do need to make peace with this last inner demon. I just hope he doesn’t leave before I’m finished saying what I have to say. Lilah has maintained the barriers between her friendship with me and her friendship with Graham. She reassured me he wasn't destitute on the street and was able to quickly find a new job. She let me know I shouldn't worry about him, and that was that. Whenever I'd pry for more information, she'd change the subject. It was the best thing for me. She's the best crutch-kicker a friend could ask for.
Today, I get to test my new resolve. My hands twist the pack of notes I prepared for my speech.
Ms. Leone greets everyone, and my new life begins. “Ladies, gentlemen, people of the press and, most importantly parents and kids, we have exciting news! The Elise Parker Youth Center has just gained a new benefactor. Thanks to the tremendous generosity of Kienna Delacroix, we will not only be able to keep our doors open, but also expand our services."
The crowd cheers and reporters respond immediately with a barrage of camera flashes. This is the easy part: the public exposure, the spotlight, the easy smiles for cameras. The tough part is still coming. After a few moments, Mrs. Leone signals the crowd to quiet down.
She recites her well-practiced speech, praising the work of the center's volunteers and thanking all donors, big and small. Her part in this press conference is coming to a close. "At this time, I would like to invite Miss Delacroix to the microphone.”
More applause, more flashes of light. I close my eyes and take in a deep breath. I can do this. “Thank you. Before I get into the details of the new developments at EPYC, I want to tell you a little bit about myself and why this is so important to me. I, like Elise Parker and so many others, suffer from depression. A few months ago, I almost took my life. With the help of a friend, the excellent services of a local crisis call center, and the magical healing powers of a child, I was granted a reprieve. I thought I was better, but depression is an illness. Like all illnesses, it comes back if left untreated."
I swallow the painful lump in my throat and take another sip of water. I don’t try to find Graham in the crowded room. If he’s already left, I won’t be able to go on, and I must push through with this. “It took losing the most important people in my life to realize I was sick. I don't want anyone else to have to battle depression alone. Even the mightiest superhero needs support team behind them. That is what I offer to all of you today—a sidekick, a company of people trained to aid you in your personal battle. Effective immediately, EPYC will provide counseling services to parents and children suffering from depression. We'll promote depression awareness and ensure access to professional help is accessible and affordable in a discrimination-free environment. I don't want any more children orphaned by this illness."
More applause, more flashes of light. I chance a peek at Lori, who stretches and cranes her neck to find her brother in the crowd. I follow her gaze, but I can't see Graham anywhere. He's no longer standing where he was. I bring the glass to my mouth again, trying not to lose it. I knew this could happen.
I place my palms flat on the lectern in front of me, flattening out my notes. “Reading more about Elise Parker, I recognized a kindred spirit in her. I, too, come from an abusive family, both physical and emotional. In addition to the depression support center, we are also opening a shelter for victims of domestic abuse."
I explain the services we plan to offer. Journalists jot down notes, photographers take more pictures, parents hug each other. I've just exposed our family's ugly side to the world, and there is no going back. This is either the end or the beginning. I conclude my speech with trembling hands and back away from the podium, thanking everyone for their time.
Journalists and reporters hound me, pushing microphones and cameras in my face. They don't ask questions about the center or the good we'll be doing. They want dirt on Frederick Delacroix. They want details. They want to know how he beat his daughter. It's overwhelming, but I use the tools my psychiatrist taught me to maintain my composure without reverting to my alter ego. I knew this was going to be a tough hurdle to jump, but this time, I came prepared. I dismiss them politely, not offering anything more than what I said in my speech.
People are all around me, pushing and pulling, trying to get me to speak. I feel a strong hand wrap around my wrist, pulling me away from the crowd. When I’m free of the media mob, the hand holding my wrist releases me, and two hands cup my face. Soft, familiar lips press against mine. The taste of him, the smell of his dorky superhero cologne, the feel of thick-framed glasses pressing into my cheeks as he kisses me. That’s my Graham.
I wrap my arms around his neck and return the kiss. Flashes of lights explode around us. Another public exposure, but who cares? He’s here, and he’s not pushing me away.
Graham doesn’t break the kiss, but I feel his lips break into a smile. He starts to talk, his lips still stuck to mine. “I’m so proud of you, Kia. That took so much courage.” He starts to kiss me again, but I pull back. Time is running out. He scans my face and his smile fades. “What’s wrong?”
This is the next big hurdle, the last obstacle in my way.
“Can we talk, alone?” I’m bouncing on the balls of my feet, nervously. I'm fidgeting, not at all the ladylike composure I should have in public, but I simply don’t care anymore. My fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s gotten a bit longer, curling at the base.
Graham looks around the room and nods. He signals to Lilah and points to Lori. She moves toward the group of kids and takes her hand, pulling her away from the crowd. He brings my hands to his lips and gives my knuckles a brief kiss before pulling me through the crowd.
“Follow me.”
We make our way through the halls of the center, practically running, checking behind us to make sure we’re alone. He opens a door to a small room with only a desk and two chairs. He closes the door behind him and locks it. Graham and I each sit, and he’s quick to take both of my hands in his. He seems as desperate to make up for lost time as I am. If he still wants me, in all my glorious fuckedupness, I am never letting this man go, ever again.
“Graham, we don’t have much time. I don’t know how long it’ll take for my parents to hear what I’ve done or what I’m about to do. They’ll try to stop me, and I doubt my father has disposed of his CPS evidence, so please hear me out.”
Graham’s face pales and the grip he has on my hands tightens.
“I am so sorry for how I treated you.”
“Kia, you had every right to be angry with me. I should have told you I was Parker from the Call Center when you were on that ledge, but we’re not supposed to intervene in person or interact with the callers. Afterward, I kept trying to find the right way to tell you.”
"How did you know I was Anna?"
Graham’s thumbs stroke the backs of my hands, the way he often does when he tries to comfort me. His eyes lock on mine. His gaze is intense behind those glasses.
“I recognized your voice not long after you moved in. Remember how you realized I'd delivered your room service many times before but you'd never noticed me?" I nod. "Well, it wasn't just the room service. I’ve been your waiter at the pool and in the lounge and in the restaurant. It's impossible not to notice you, Kia, but the way you talked, your inflections, your expressions.” He shakes his head, smiling like he’s remembering a pleasant memory. “Even before that night on the ledge, there was something about you, about your tone, about the connection we had over the phone that drew me to you. I should have handed you over to another volunteer when I started to care about you. You weren't simply an anonymous caller to me. I saw you every day, and you kept asking specifically for me on the phone.”
I look at the clock on the wall. Time is ticking away much too quickly.
“Okay, so that’s a tad stalkery, but it’s also flattering knowing you've been looking out for me for so long. How come I never recognized your voice? You sound different on the phone at the crisis center. When I talk to you on the phone as Graham, your voice is normal, like the one I hear when you're in front of me, but when I talk to you as Parker, it’s much deeper. What gives?”
“Voice modulator app. Not everyone uses it, but I do. One of the most important things when volunteering at the center is anonymity—for both the callers and the volunteers. I had to make sure my work wouldn’t put Lori or me in any danger if an unstable caller recognized me. I keep my focus on my sister and make sure she's always safe. I owe it to our mother, and I owe it to Lori. I’m the reason she's an orphan in the first place."
"Don't say that! Your mother was sick without proper treatment. It's not your fault."
Graham throws his head back, tension lining his beautiful features. "I was a sorry-ass seventeen-year-old loser when my mother took her life. I was too self-absorbed, wrapped up in my little world, my head too far up my ass to see the signs. On the night she killed herself,” Graham shifts his eyes to the side and takes in a shaky breath. He’s reopening an old wound. I hate doing this to him, but I need to know every little detail. I can’t leave anything to chance. We’ll lick our wounds together afterward, but for now, I need to rip that scar open and clean it out. I give his hands a gentle squeeze, prompting him to continue.
“I was at Stark’s house. I’d taken off in an angsty fit of hormonal frustration. Mom wanted me to stay home and help her with the baby and household chores all weekend because my stepdad was out of town on a fishing trip. She said she needed me to be the man of the house for a couple of days. I didn’t want to be the man of the house. I wanted to be an irresponsible kid playing games with my friends.” He laughs bitterly. “Pathetic. She yelled, and I yelled back. Lori was just a year old, so she cried. I'd had enough of all that baby crap. I was seventeen for Christ’s sake! All I cared about was hanging with my friends, jerking off to porn, and dreaming of the next time I would get laid. I packed an overnight bag and took off without telling her. The following morning, Stark’s parents woke me up to tell me the police were there to take me home.” A tear rolls down his cheek. He lets go of one of my hands only long enough to wipe the tear off but quickly brings it back down to mine. My heart breaks for him, and I want to make it all better, but I know that I never will. That kind of wound stays with you forever.
“If I'd done as she’d asked me to, she’d still be here today. My stepdad tried his best, but, in the end, it was too much for him. Stress-induced heart attack. My selfishness cost Lori both her parents. How’s that for guilt?”
I get off of my chair, move over to sit on Graham’s lap and hold him tightly in my arms. He rests his head on my chest, sobbing. His body shakes and my shirt grows wet with his tears. I don’t care. I just hold him tighter.
My fingers stroke his dark, thick hair, trying to soothe his pain. “Her depression wasn’t your fault. You were a teenager who didn’t know any better. You’re not guilty of anything. She needed help—professional help."
"The rational part of me knows this, Kia. But getting this," he points a finger at his heart, "to understand and accept that knowledge is not as easy."
I don't have the answer for that and I don't pretend I do. I simply do the one thing I can. I hold him tight.
"That's why I've been working at the crisis call center. For every person I help, I feel a little more forgiven. I give the callers the attention I should have given my mother.”
"I wish she could see what an amazing man you are, what an amazing father—I mean—brother you are to Lori. Speaking of which, how come I didn't know Lori is your sister?”