Oppression (12 page)

Her words stung. I felt betrayed and alone. I hated being trapped in this young body with no proof of the years I’d lived. Nobody ever believed a child. I tried sifting through memories to think of something I’d seen or heard over the years that would prove I was around, but they were just memories that only I had witnessed. Then it hit me like a break in the storm.

“Take me to the house,” I requested with a pleading look. “Take me to the house first, and if you still don’t believe me, then I will go to the doctor.”

The thirty-minute drive out to the still desolate town of Chilcoot was a silent one. Betsy’s focus was locked on the road, and her pinched brow never softened. I scanned the open fields littered with sagebrush allowing my mind to wander, slightly on edge at the thought of seeing the house again.

“Turn here,” I reminded her.

We turned in to the nearly invisible driveway that was now overgrown and abandoned. The road was a mile long. It snaked around the uneven surface of the earth following the natural crevices that already scarred the land until the bowl shaped valley emerged. Betsy had been here before, but I doubted the image made her stomach pull in as it did mine. The house was in the center of the valley, as though it had slid to the lowest point it could manage. It would be hard for anyone else to make it out. Trees shot up on all sides protectively as the perfect camouflage.

As we pulled up to the front of the house, Betsy heaved a sigh. I could almost hear her thoughts, they were so clearly visible on her face.

“Do you need me to go inside?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then you have fifteen minutes, and you’re grounded.”

Being grounded was the least of my worries at this point.

“Fine,” I shot back at her as I shut the car door.

I walked quickly, climbing the porch stairs and making my way through the front door before I could give myself time to think. I wasn’t here to reminisce. I had to focus. I pushed on past the kitchen table, resisting the urge to just sit and be home, and headed for my parents’ room.

The door was closed. I had made sure to leave it that way. Being in their room was like putting salt in a wound, and I never went in there unless I had to. The bed was still left unmade and makeup was scattered across my mother’s vanity. Everything was left untouched like the scene of a crime, my proof that they were here. But the place had started to collect dust, which proved in contrast that they weren’t coming back. I allowed myself time to take it in, to smell my mother’s floral perfume and examine things they had left behind. Even their old dusty towels seemed so valuable to me now.

Remembering I only had fifteen minutes, I knelt down beside the bed and ran my hand along the floorboards beneath the mattress. My fingers felt around for the lifted plank and pulled it loose, revealing the golden box that would explain everything. Without looking inside, I grabbed it and closed the bedroom door behind me.

After seeing that I did in fact come back with something, Betsy could not hold back her interest.

“Well?” she asked, forgetting she was supposed to be angry. “Are you going to show me what’s in the box?” Betsy could never stay mad for long.

Her curiosity was not surprising. The box was a beautiful dusty gold color with carved floral patterns running along its surface. It was closed securely with an elaborate latch that held it shut like a treasure chest. A box like this was bound to hold answers to buried family secrets.

The contents seemed ordinary enough—a stack of pictures, love letters my parents had written each other over the years, some jewelry, and old coins.

“Here,” I said handing her the box. “There are pictures in here of me as a baby. I was born in 1923. The images aren’t great, but you can tell it’s me.”

She thumbed through the pictures with a blank expression, and it was unnerving not to be able to guess her reaction.

“See this one,” I continued reaching into the box on her lap. “
Elyse Ellen Adler Summer 1939
,” I read off the back. “I look three here, but I was sixteen.” I grabbed another one. “This one is me and mother down by the creek. I used to play there all the time.
July 1953
,” I read again. “I look six, but I was thirty.”

I grabbed another and another, reading the backs of the photos that proved my story. When I stopped, Betsy collected the photos, returning them to the box, her mind lost in thought.

“I don’t know what to say, Ellie.” She looked at me directly, paying more attention to the person she saw. “This is . . .” Her voice retreated into the silence of her own thoughts.

Fear began to pump through my veins. I felt hot and dizzy. Was it a mistake to tell her, to love her? Trust, it was too deceitful. It was the one thing I had counted on, and it would be the weakness that brought me down.

“We’ll have to leave,” she said certain of the decision. “We can’t stay here. It’s too dangerous. We’ll move from place to place every few years. It’ll be fine.”

The relief of her words poured over me like cool water putting out the heat. I was a fool to think she would betray me. Fear, I quickly realized, was the true deceiver.

“Okay,” I whimpered not noticing my tears.

“Don’t be scared, honey,” she comforted. “Everything is going to be okay.” I felt the soft skin of her hand wipe the wetness from my cheek. “I love you, Elyse. We’ll get through this.”

I scooted as close as I could to her on the bench seat of the Chrysler, folding myself into the crook of her arm, and I wept.

***

I woke up with tears in my eyes, but was quickly pulled back to the present by the sound of Anna in the kitchen and the wonderful smell of breakfast. I dried my wet cheeks and pulled myself together.

“I made your favorite,” she said as I made my way to the table. “Pancakes and eggs.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t remember the last time I had a real breakfast. Since I’d come to the city, I’d been relying on pop-tarts, bagels, cereal, Cearno’s, anything easy. “Smells good.”

“So, I was thinking last night about William. Did you even let him explain himself?” she asked nonchalantly as she flipped the pancakes.

Anna never was one to beat around the bush. Always straight to the point, she never changed.

I would have liked to pretend that a good night’s sleep left me with a clear and refreshed mind, that all thoughts of Kara, Ryder, and William had vaporized with the early morning fog, but that was far from the truth.

“He’s just not who I thought he was,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Yeah,” she accepted, but I realized that I hadn’t really answered the question.

“He betrayed me . . . and manipulated me,” I continued. “I don’t need an explanation.”

“. . . but you still have feelings for him,” she tagged to the end of my sentence. Of course she was right. It was probably written all over my face.

“Well, that’s not really something I can control.”

“Maybe it is though. What if you have your own feelings for him, aside from what he is doing?”

“That doesn’t really matter. I don’t want to love someone who would try and do this to me.”

“So, you never asked him why he did what he did?” she persisted.

“No. I actually haven’t talked to him about any of it yet. I just kind of left.”

“And you’re supposed to be the mature one,” she laughed. “You’re eighty-nine years old. How are you still so naïve?”

“I’ve never had feelings for anyone before,” I defended myself. “I’m new at this, but I’m still smart enough to know when someone is trying to take advantage of me.”

“I’m just saying, what if there was a good reason for it? Did you think of that?” she asked, handing me my plate and sitting down to eat.

“I know the reason for it,” I said through a bite of eggs. “It’s not a good one as far as I’m concerned.”

“Regardless, it is important to let him explain himself.”

She was quiet for a while, letting me consider her point of view as she ate her pancakes. She did make a good case for him, something I was open to. I didn’t want to be right. Then again, she could just be trying to make me feel better.

“You know,” she said breaking the silence, “you can borrow some of Chloe’s clothes if you want to take a shower and get cleaned up.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. Somehow I’d ended up with the young girl’s blood on my shirt and jeans.

“Where
is
Chloe?” I asked, trying to push thoughts of Kara out of my mind.

“School.” She reached for the green pillbox in the center of the table and opened the compartment for today.

“Shoot. I wanted to say goodbye,” I said, noticing the mouthful of pills Anna had swallowed. One gulp of water washed them down like they were nothing.

“It’s okay. You’ll see her at Thanksgiving. You’re coming over, right?” Her voice was overly enthusiastic as she tried to keep my focus off the pillbox.

“Yeah, sure.” I didn’t let the question distract me. “Since when are you taking so many pills?” I asked. Straight to the point, that’s how she was with me.

“I’m old, Elyse. What do you expect?” She tried laughing it off, but I saw through it and waited for an honest answer.

She looked me in the eyes, her brow lifting slightly, as if to tell me without words,
That’s life
.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded.

The question prompted more than I was ready for, and as she tried to bring herself to answer, I watched the strong walls of her built up defenses crumble.

“I have cancer.” Her confession was like a frost, blanketing everything in cold devastation.

“Well, is it . . .” I didn’t know how to finish. I couldn’t bring myself to say the word, to even think it could be terminal.

“It’s stage four breast cancer,” she admitted with tears in her eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay.

“Does Chloe know?”

“Yeah. She knows,” she answered with a defeated sigh.

“It’ll be okay,” I said hopelessly. “Right? I mean, people survive cancer all the time.” My attempt to console her seemed to do the opposite, revealing the dismal truth of it all, and she couldn’t hold back the sobs as they came. “What does the doctor say? Isn’t there a chance?”

Her eyes answered before she spoke. “We’ve tried, but it’s progressed so much. There is nothing else they can really do.”

I couldn’t speak. What could I say? There were no comforting words, because nothing could make it better.

“I’m just so angry at myself. If I’d have just gone in earlier . . .”

“This is not your fault,” I reacted with shock.

“It is,” she cried. “I failed her. Chloe is just a girl. How can I leave her?”

“This isn’t a choice, Anna, it’s . . . unfair. It’s not . . .”

“Does it matter?” she said through angry tears. “Her father left, and when I go, she’ll be alone.”

“I’ll be here,” I said desperately, trying to give her some peace of mind.

She smiled through her sadness. “That’s sweet, Elyse, but she needs her mother. Nobody can ever fill a mother’s shoes. Nobody will ever love her like I do.”

The familiar pain I felt in my heart as she made her final point had been buried deep throughout the years, but the loss of a mother never leaves you. She was right. Nobody could ever fill those shoes. Betsy had been a friend and a parent, but by no means did she ever fill the hole that was formed in me when I lost my mother. Nobody could bring her back. Suddenly that ache was alive in me. I couldn’t bear it, couldn’t stand the thought of Chloe reliving my worst nightmare. Anna looked me in the eyes, apparently seeing my refusal to let it be.

“Some things you can’t heal, Ellie,” she concluded with a need to move on. “Well, I’ll go get those clothes and find you a new toothbrush. You need to get cleaned up before you go find him, and I’ve got a doctor’s appointment so . . .”

I caught her hand as she walked past me.

“It’ll be okay,” I promised.

“I know,” she lied.

“I’ll find a way,” I said, hoping my ability could be the cure. “How much time do I have?”