True Confessions (19 page)

“I don’t know. I thought if I didn’t say it out loud, it would go away. Yet, I live it over and over again. It won’t go away. It has destroyed my life. Those images, his smell…”

“Sweetie, come home. We love you. We’ll work through this somehow. I’ll personally take you down to the police station. Take some time off from work. We’ll get you into a rape survivor program.”

“No. It’s too late, Taylor. And there’s more.”

“What? You can tell me anything. I’m always in your corner and it’s never, ever too late.”

“Back in January, I didn’t really have the flu. I tried to kill myself. I overdosed on some pills.”

“Oh, Kennedy. I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Tell me, what can I do to help?”

“Now you know. Now you know everything.”

“We can get you through this. You have so many people who love and care about you. People who are in your corner. Drake is sick. What happened has nothing to do with you, sweetie.”

“No, no one can help me. I can’t even help myself. Goodbye, Taylor.”

I disconnected the line, turned off my cell, and continued driving away from everyone who loved me. Around nightfall, I pulled into the parking lot of a motel, right outside Chattanooga, Tennessee. I paid the front desk person for one night, retrieved my key, and walked to my room. I knew what I had to do. For once, everything was all so clear. Crystal clear.

Over at Kennedy’s apartment, the early Sunday morning rays and sounds stirred Dorothy and Taylor. Not that they had gotten much sleep anyway because they had tried to stay up in case Kennedy called back or needed them. They had finally dozed off around day-break, when their minds absolutely refused to function any longer.

Earlier, after talking back and forth with one another, they decided to set up at Kennedy’s apartment. A neighbor was staying over at Dorothy’s home in case she showed up there. The police had been notified, but they were no help. They explained that an adult had to be missing for twenty-four hours before they’d declare them as missing and be able to investigate. Dorothy and Taylor didn’t want to entertain the thought that in twenty-four hours, it might be too late.

Mr. Logan was expected to arrive at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport that morning. A buddy was picking him up and dropping him off at the apartment. That way, no one had to leave the house, or phone duty. He had been informed of the situation and finally told of the chain of the events that transpired at the first of the year.

Even though he was disappointed that it had been kept from him, he put his hurt aside and concentrated on the safe return of his daughter. He held back his intense anger, temporarily, to seek out, find, and murder Drake with his bare hands. For now, they decided not to inform the police of the rape. Their total focus was on guaranteeing Kennedy’s safe return home.

After Taylor’s brief phone contact with Kennedy, they hadn’t heard another single word. Kennedy’s cell phone had been turned off and her voice mail was full of their urgent requests for her to call home. They couldn’t leave any more messages. Calls had been made the previous night to various people, and Taylor had even driven around town checking out hotels and different spots in hopes of spotting Kennedy’s car. All to no avail.

As much as it took every ounce of control she had in her to be civil, Taylor called Drake and asked if he had heard anything from Kennedy. He said he hadn’t. Of course, his arrogant ass was of no additional help. He was clueless. He didn’t even realize what a chain effect his actions had caused. Now, they were simply playing the waiting game. With each passing hour, the tension in the apartment thickened. It was so thick it was almost suffocating.

Kennedy’s presence was everywhere in the apartment. Her books, candles, and her perfume scent were all constant reminders. A couple of times, telemarketing calls came in that they rushed to answer, only to be disappointed by someone trying to sell a product or service.

Both Dorothy and Taylor had fallen asleep in the living room, on the sofas, fully dressed. Light throws shrouded each of them. Neither one wanted to be too far away from the front door. They wanted to be there with open arms when Kennedy walked through it. Also, if they were totally honest and admitted it, they needed to draw on each other’s comfort and silent strength. They were trying to act brave for each other. However, it was only that. An act. No one wanted to think of what could happen to Kennedy in her present state of mind. They refused to consider that viable option. Kennedy was fragile. She always had been emotionally fragile.

Around eight
A.M
. the ringing doorbell awakened them from their fretful sleep. They each dreamed similar scenarios of silent cries for help from a shadowed female and being unable, but willing, to do anything. Their feet strangely cemented in place, they were unable to offer any assistance and could only look on helplessly. The doorbell was a welcomed relief; Dorothy woke up first and raced to answer the door. She hadn’t displayed that much energy and speed since the events unraveled.

She slung open the door expecting and hoping to see her beloved daughter. It never crossed her tired mind that Kennedy wouldn’t be ringing her own doorbell. She’d simply use her key, unlock the door, and walk in.

Dorothy opened the door and came face-to-face with Mr. Logan for the first time in years. His eyes held such sadness and pain. Suddenly, fresh tears that could no longer be contained burst forth in their eyes. Mr. Logan took that first step over the threshold. No words were spoken. Dorothy simply fell into his open and comforting arms. The events of the past didn’t matter. Now, it was all about Kennedy. The one person and subject they totally agreed on. If nothing else, their love for her was true and valid.

“It’s going to be all right. Don’t cry, darling. We’ll find our girl,” Mr. Logan chanted over and over again. “We’ll get through this…together.”

“Come sit down,” he stated, leading Dorothy gently to the sofa because she had totally collapsed against him. His strong presence allowed Dorothy to give in for a moment to her true feelings. She leaned against Robert’s solid chest. He’d always been her foundation, the strength she drew from.

“Hello, Mr. Logan,” Taylor stated quietly, breaking the spell.

“Hey, Taylor. How ya been, baby? I hate that we have to see each other again under these circumstances. Have y’all heard anything else?” he asked, looking from one to the other with expectant eyes.

Taylor’s eyes were red rimmed and puffy from a long night of crying. “No, sir. Nothing.”

“Well, guess what? We aren’t going to have all these sad faces in here. No, sir. Dorothy, Taylor, I want you to gather around in a circle and join hands. We’re going to say a prayer and ask God to protect my baby and lead and guide her through this dark moment in her life.”

Everybody stood up, joined hands, and closed their eyes with bowed heads. Mr. Logan led the powerful, heartfelt prayer.

“Dear merciful God and my personal savior, we are standing here today asking and praying that you’ll protect our daughter and friend. Keep Kennedy in your protective arms and embrace. Guide her, lead her, and shield her. Dear Heavenly Father, help my daughter to understand that you’ll never forsake her. No matter how lonely she may be feeling, no matter how bleak her situation may seem, no matter what life throws her way, you’re there, right beside her. Carrying her when she can’t walk. Being her strength and calm in the storm. Keep her from harm’s way, dear God. Let her feel the strong arms of our love reaching out to her, calling and guiding her safely back to us. Let her know that her family loves her no matter what. That will never change.

“Heavenly Father, protect my baby girl. Let her realize how precious she is to us, our gift. Oh, Father, make us strong, when we are worn down. Give us the strength to get through this storm. Keep us faithful and steadfast in knowing you’ll return Kennedy safe and sound to us. We ask for forgiveness in our hearts against those who have harmed our baby. Cloak her in love and protection, Lord. These things we ask in your name, Amen.”

“Amen,” Dorothy and Taylor stated in unison. They believed in the power of prayer.

Everyone had tears in their eyes. Yet, a powerful force was felt throughout the room. Hope wasn’t lost. Hope was alive and well. In order to keep busy, Dorothy folded the blankets, put them away, then showed Mr. Logan where he could place his belongings and freshen up.

“It’s good to see you, old man.”

“You too, Dorothy. You haven’t changed. Still as lovely as ever.”

Self-consciously, she touched her hair. Linking her arm through his, she stated, “Well, you, old man, need to get a shave and shower so that you won’t frighten our daughter when she walks through that front door and sees you.”

“Oh, I don’t look that bad, do I?” They both laughed. It felt good.

“No, actually you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Dorothy said seriously, gently patting his arm.

“It’s been a long time, Dorothy,” Robert stated, staring into her eyes. Old feelings resurfaced.

“Yes, it has.”

“You go do what you need to. The towels are in the linen closet in the hallway and the bar soap is under the sink.”

“Thanks, Dorothy.”

“No, thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way. That’s our daughter out there.”

“Well, I’m going to start dinner because I know that child is going to be starving when she walks through that door. I’ll fix her favorites and have them ready for her when she comes home.”

“You do that. You always were a good mother.”

“Robert, she is walking through that door, isn’t she?”

“What do you think?”

There was a silent confirmation that Kennedy would return unharmed, physically anyway.

“After you take a shower and freshen up, we need to talk. Our baby is in trouble and we need to come up with a plan to see her through this.”

“I can’t believe you and Kennedy kept her suicide attempt from me. All those times I spoke with her and she pretended everything was okay. I can only imagine the pain she has been hiding and feeling.”

“Kennedy has always been good at masking her feelings, even as a child.”

“I should have been here for her,” Robert stated, hanging his head.

“Well, you are now. That’s what counts. Now, go freshen up.”

“Okay.”

“Robert?”

“Huh?”

“Again, it’s good having you here. I mean that.”

“It’s good being here, with you. I just hate the circumstances.”

“I know, but God will see us through this.”

“Amen.”

Taylor had excused herself to Kennedy’s bedroom so that she wouldn’t interfere with the mini-reunion going on in the living room. She felt closer to her friend there. Taylor was exhausted mentally, physically, and emotionally. She tried Kennedy’s cell phone number, but once again received the voice mail. Kennedy’s voice sounded so happy on the tape. Her laughter was always music to her ears. Taylor even checked her voice mail at home. Nothing. Where could she be? And what was her present state of mind?

As the small apartment took on a life of its own, everyone settled in for a long day. Preparations were being made for when Kennedy walked through the door.

It was early Sunday morning and I had been sitting in my car outside the modest stucco-framed home with blue trim for over an hour. Watching, sitting, and thinking as I sipped soda from a straw. The house sat nestled in an older, quiet neighborhood. So far, I hadn’t noticed any activity within its walls. All was quiet. I’d double-checked the address at least three times; I wanted to make sure that this was indeed the place. The home of my birth mom, Jennifer Coleman.

Over two weeks ago, I had received information on her from the search agency I’d hired. I didn’t tell Mother or Taylor of my find because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it. A part of me longed to know my background and to meet the woman who gave birth to me. I wanted—no, needed—answers.

On the other hand, I was afraid of what answers and truths I might receive and if I could handle them. Or worse yet, if I was rejected again. This Jennifer Coleman wasn’t aware that I was paying an unannounced visit. This entire moment felt like a Lifetime movie of the week. I didn’t realize how nervous I was until I glanced down at my hands; they were shaking uncontrollably.

Yesterday, without my consciously realizing it, I found myself driving toward Johnson City, Tennessee. I was on autopilot most of the drive; my thoughts all over the place. I couldn’t think straight. Too much had happened over the last few days. After checking into a motel on the outskirts of town, I spent the remainder of the night reflecting upon my life. I had turned off my cell phone so I wouldn’t be disturbed. I needed to do some serious thinking and be alone with my thoughts. I made a promise to myself, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. I wasn’t going to run any longer. I had been running my entire life, and it was time to be still and find peace; find that self-love.

Late that evening I ate chili, fries, and a side salad from a Wendy’s down the street. I woke up at the crack of dawn from a restless sleep, and started my journey. It was spectacular to see the sun, in all its blazing glory, rise above the horizon to start another day. I took that as a sign that today would be the beginning of a new start for me. Along the way, I cried some more. I grieved the love I thought I had and then I felt my heart discard it. I deserved better and henceforth would demand better. It’s true; a person will only treat you bad if you let them.

I stopped at a McDonald’s to get a soda and sausage biscuit and continued on my way. I had driven for about two hours when I realized I did need to make another phone call. It was after our song came on the radio. I composed myself after another bout of crying and pulled over at the next rest stop, which was three miles down the interstate, and pulled out my cell. It was getting low on battery power.

I prayed. Prayed some more. Then, I called Drake. Called him for the last time. I slowly pushed each digit of his number like I had done hundreds of times before. The phone rang and rang and rang with no pickup other than his voice mail. It didn’t matter. It was probably for the best.

I wanted to get this off my chest and it didn’t matter if I told Drake face-to-face, over the phone, or in an impersonal voice mail. Who knew when Drake would arrive home; he was probably still out partying from the night before, or laid up with somebody. I listened to his voice. Closed my eyes to commit it to memory. He always had such a sexy, deep voice. One day he would miss me and realize how wrong he was. One day he’d be sorry. One day he would get a dose of his own medicine.

My message, which took two phone calls, went like this:

“Drake, I want to inform you that you are not going to intimidate, harass, or threaten me anymore. Do you hear me? I’m sick of running. I’ve prayed about you. Today, I made the decision to fight. If you ever call me, drive by, or come near my apartment again, I swear I will call the police and report you. Everything will come out. Everything. I have no more to lose.

“One day, you’ll get yours, because we really do reap what we sow. I deserved so much more from you. I loved you. Thought you were the one. The man of my dreams. Now, I just pity you. I pity you. Don’t ever contact me again. I realize you tried to shape me into someone I wasn’t, tried to strip away my self-esteem, take away something that was precious to me. You almost succeeded, but not quite, because I’m still standing. I’m still standing. Good-bye, Drake.”

After hanging up, I felt free. Free like a bird gliding through the sky. I felt like a burden had been released from my shoulders, and when I turned back on the radio, an oldie was playing. “Jesus Walks,” by Kanye West. For the remainder of my drive, I felt confident that no matter what went down, I knew I could handle it. I
was
stronger than I thought. I was humiliated, and had almost sacrificed my soul for a man, but I was still standing. He couldn’t steal my joy. A calmness settled over me and I sensed a shroud of protection and love surrounding me. I was at peace.

It was now or never. It was time to meet my birth mom. Time to come face-to-face with the woman who gave me away twenty-eight years ago. I checked myself in the rearview mirror, opened the car door, inched out, and slowly made my way up the narrow, cracked walkway. Each step I took gave me another ounce of confidence. I arrived at the front door, brushed my hair in place, took a quick breath, and knocked. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was finally ready.

A few seconds later, a middle-aged woman with a pink and white duster on answered with a puzzled look on her face. The smell of breakfast cooking drifted out to greet my nose. There was no question about it, the woman standing before me was definitely my mom. We shared the same eyes, lips, and nose. She had the type of fading beauty where you could tell she had seen a hard life. I blinked back tears.

We studied each other for only seconds before I spoke first, but it seemed liked hours. I witnessed her face go through various states of emotion as she slowly realized who I was.

“I’m Kennedy Logan and I’m your daughter.”

She inhaled and let her breath back out slowly.

“Kennedy. Such a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. I always wondered what they’d name you,” she whispered.

“Are you Jennifer Coleman?”

“Yes. Kennedy, I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. I’ve dreamed about this very second. And look at me. My hair is a mess and I’m walking around in a dirty old duster with holes,” she stated, trying to brush her hair in place.

“Don’t worry, I won’t take up too much of your time. I have a few questions I’d like to ask,” I stated in a flat monotone. I didn’t recognize my own voice.

“Look at you.”

I just stood there, devoid of any emotion.

“May we talk?” I asked in a professional tone.

“Of course, of course,” she cried and burst into tears.

After that, she grabbed me into an embrace. At first, I froze, and then my arms slowly rose to encircle her thin, shuddering shoulders. I held on for dear life and we both cried and cried and cried. We softly sobbed until there were no tears left. We must have been a sight to her neighbors. It was such an emotional cleansing that I didn’t care. I could have stood there all day, locked in her arms.

We finally pulled away and stood back to shyly check each other out again.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much right here,” she said, pointing to her heart.

I realized in that moment that I had as well. “I’ve missed you too.”

“Come on in here. You’re just in time; I was fixing myself some country grits, scrambled eggs, and ham. Sundays are the only morning I get to prepare breakfast for myself. I eat and sit around all day catching up on my reading and watching classic movies.”

I hesitated.

“Come on. Don’t be scared. You didn’t come here for nothing. I have so much to tell you.”

I slowly walked through the door and looked around curiously at my surroundings. The living room didn’t contain many photos or artwork. It was decorated very modestly. As I could tell from the outside, this wasn’t a large home. It was cozy, though, and possessed a warm, lived-in feeling.

“Follow me. The kitchen is right through here. Try to overlook my mess. As I said, most Sundays I just laze around and it’s only me.”

She paused to look back at me. “You know, you look just like me when I was your age.”

“Do I?” I asked, still checking out my surroundings.

“You’re twenty-eight, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

We made it to the kitchen and she immediately went back to the stove and finished cooking while I sat in a chair at the small, well-worn table. I could tell she was glad to have something to do to occupy her hands. With her back to me, I could really look at her. We had the same general build and frame.

“Relax, relax. Later, I’ll show you some photos of your relatives.”

“I’d like that.”

“You are so polite and pretty. I knew you’d turn out fine. I prayed constantly for it.”

I sat at the small oak table and watched her move around the kitchen with a swiftness. A hot plate was soon passed my way. The food looked delicious, but I wasn’t hungry. I wanted answers.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t have any orange juice or coffee, but I do have a can of soda that you’re welcome to share. I know most people don’t drink soda for—”

In spite of myself, I laughed, “Soda is fine.”

She gave me a curious look.

I tried to explain. “I’m sorry. It’s a private joke. Now, I know you really are my mom.”

We ate breakfast in a tension-filled silence. Raw emotions were slicing the air. Not many words were spoken. We knew questions and answers would come later. I ate, but I never tasted the food. Finally, breakfast was finished, plates were stacked in the sink, we moved to the sparse living room, and I received long-awaited answers. I didn’t hold back. I came out swinging. I didn’t have time to beat around the bush. I had waited too many years and beat myself up, thinking I was worthless and not valued.

“Why did you give me up? Why didn’t you love me?”

“Baby, I’ve always loved you. I’ve thought about you every second, every minute, every day of my existence. I wanted you to have a better life than me. I needed you to experience a grander life than I could give you. I couldn’t even take care of myself, let alone a baby.”

“All a child needs is love. That’s all.”

“Did you receive that?” she asked, looking me up and down.

“Yes, I felt very loved growing up, but I could have gotten that from you too. Even with love, I could never get past feeling unwanted by you.”

“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. But, baby, I didn’t even love myself and I didn’t want you growing up in my environment. It was a living hell.”

“Why didn’t you come looking for me?”

“I figured you were better off where you were. Kennedy, I work as a waitress at a restaurant. This tiny house is the only thing I’ve ever owned in my entire life and I’ve scrimped and saved for it. It’s been a struggle. But it’s mine. I never had any more children. I’ve never married. I’m surviving paycheck to paycheck. You didn’t need me back in your life. I figured if you ever wanted to know me, you’d find me. And hopefully, by then, you’d have a reason to be proud of me.”

I looked down at my hands.

“But I never stopped, not for one second, loving you or thinking about you. Please believe me,” she said, looking deep within my soul. And for some reason, I believed her.

“What happened?” I asked quietly. “What was so wrong in your life?”

“It’s a long story. Let me get a smoke and I’ll explain everything,” she stated with trembling hands.

My biological mom retrieved her cigarettes from a worn purse lying on the coffee table, and for the next three hours, I listened to her heartbreaking story. I heard for the first time the tale of a young girl from the wrong side of the tracks who fell for a married, older man who promised her the world, but the girl got pregnant, the man abandoned her almost immediately, and she knew she couldn’t raise a baby in her dysfunctional, drug-infested home. So, she did a noble thing and gave the baby up for adoption, in hopes of her daughter having a better life than she could ever give her or hope for.

I learned about my biological maternal family. My grandparents were dead, but I had one aunt who lived not too far from there. I heard my father’s name for the first time. Supposedly, he was still married with a family of his own. She never heard from him again and never sought him out. Just lived with the heartache and buried a part of herself in the process.

Slowly, I released all the pain; some I didn’t know existed until that very moment. It was a very emotional but cleansing day. Almost like a rebirth. I felt I would never be the same again; I valued myself with a newness I had never appreciated. After exchanging phone numbers and promising to visit again, the first thing I did after walking out the door was to pick up the phone and call Mother. Later, I found out she had her calls forwarded to my house.

The phone rang only once. Mother picked up right away, breathlessly.

“Mother?”

“Oh, thank God. Thank you, Jesus. Lord, you answered my prayers,” she screamed into the receiver.

“Mother?”

“Yes, baby, it’s Mother. I’m right here. Where are you? Are you all right? You didn’t hurt yourself?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m ready to come home now. I’m sorry that I had you worried and upset. I wasn’t thinking rationally. I didn’t even realize I was—”

“It’s okay, baby. Come home, because we’re more than ready to see you.”

“We?”

“Yes, Taylor and your father are here, waiting for you.”

“I’m so sorry that I worried everybody. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t think about that now. Come home, baby. We love you.”

“Okay.”

“Do we need to pick you up from somewhere?”

“No, I can make it. I have my car.”

“Kennedy, I love you so much and just the thought that I had lost you…”

“Mother, I’m fine, better than fine, and I promise I’ll never scare you like this again.”

“You better not. Hold on, your daddy wants to talk with you.”

“Okay.”