Accept Me (6 page)

Nerves are a funny thing. My experience with anxiety is limited. I’ve never had the luxury to be scared or apprehensive until recently, really. It was always do or die for me, which left no room to be timid. Being timid was a good way to be targeted by someone with less than good intentions. Being timid would have meant being too weak to take what I needed when I needed it. I trained myself to be brazen and for the most part, it has been my favorite character trait, but right now I’d pay top dollar for some gumption to navigate this disaster. Loving people has given me anxiety, I think. I have people to disappoint now.
How am I supposed to tell him? Should I tell him? How’s he going to take it? What would he do to Noni? What would he do to Edward?

When I turn off the main road and into the driveway to our new place, my mind is still reeling with what Noni has revealed to me. No amount of preparing myself could have prepared me for
that.
Noni is fragile right now but my own sense of morbid curiosity has me wondering how she must have felt during her pregnancy with a child who was a product of her rape.

Before tears over Damon’s violent conception surface again, I extinguish any thought of it. With one deep, cleansing breath, I switch off my SUV, scoop up Hemingway, and slide out of the driver’s seat. Damon’s truck is parked right in front, so I’m sure he’s here unless he took his BMW today. A tiny part of me hopes that he isn’t here. I’m not quite ready to face him knowing what I know.

Once inside, I walk straight through the house and out the back door. Grams apartment is a short trip down a walkway made from decorative pavers. Her personal quarters like a miniature version of the main house, matching exterior paint and all. I set my eyes on the small front porch and hurry to it. I need to see Grams. I ring her doorbell and shake my head, remembering how tickled she was to have a doorbell. She’s a wonky old bat.

“Come on in!” I hear her chime from inside. I open her door and come to a stop when I see Grams sitting in her La-Z-Boy with a roll of utility tape, a flashlight, and her walker, her reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

“What in the world are you doing?” I can’t hide the amusement in my voice.

“I need a headlight on this thing,” she answers as she peers over the top of her red reading glasses at me. “Grab some scissors, will ya?”

I hurry to her kitchen and scoop the poultry shears from the utensil caddy beside her stove. “Here.” I thrust them towards her.

She juggles the roll of tape and the flashlight precariously while trying to get her wrinkled fingers into the handle of the scissors.

“Here. Let me,” I insist. I lay the walker down on the carpet and kneel down on the floor to help her. “Why exactly are we putting a flashlight on your walker?” I ask as I wrench a segment of tape from the roll.

“The walkway is dark at night. I need a headlight so I can see where I’m going.” It’s a simple enough explanation, so I just shrug in concession. I have to admit, the woman is as practical as they come.

“That’s a good idea, but I think Damon was going to have the walkway lined with outdoor lights.”

“This works just as well. Why waste the money?”

“I’ll let you discuss that with the Big Man,” I suggest with a smile, knowing Damon will get a good laugh out of Grams’ new invention.

“I will,” she assures me. “Though I might patent the thing if it works out well. I can give you a cut since you did the real work.”

Someone knocks lightly on the door. Speak of the devil. Damon swings it open and takes one look at the shit on the floor then at the two of us and shakes his head.

“Might I ask what you two are up to?”

“Pimpin’ Grams’ walker,” I answer just as plainly as Grams explained to me.

“I see.” He nods and holds back a smile, stuffing his big paws into the pockets of his pants. Damn, he’s beautiful. It’s the greatest kind of irony looking at my Big Man. He’s beautiful in every way, charming and driven and generous, yet he was born out of pure evil.

I’m quick to chase away that train of thought. I eye the tape closely as I wrap it carefully around the flashlight, fastening it to the front rail of Grams’ walker and tucking down all the sticky pieces. Two more strips and it’s done.

“There.” I smile at Grams and set her walker upright in front of her. “Now you’ve got a headlight.”

“Beautiful!” Grams declares. “I’ll call it the One-Eyed Beast.”

“Please don’t,” I quickly respond, choking down a giggle.

Grams smiles slyly and sits back in her chair thinking up better names, no doubt. I look to Damon, who is leaning against the wall casually, looking like typical Damon. Sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, top two buttons undone exposing that delectable dip at the base of his neck, gunmetal gray slacks clinging deliciously to the hips that I so frequently have my legs wrapped around.

“It’s a good idea, Grams, but the groundskeeper will be installing lighting down the sides of the walkway,” Damon explains.

Grams’ scoffs and looks up to my Big Man. “Well, that’s just a waste. Cyclops will work just fine. No need for extra lights.”

“Cyclops? That would be a great name if you two would have just gone with a headlamp versus…
this.
” Damon eyes our invention speculatively.

“What? And mess up my hair? Never,” Grams explains, waving off Damon’s suggestion.

Laughter erupts from Damon; it’s a beautiful thing. I love seeing him so carefree and happy. It’s a reminder that he deserves to laugh. He deserves to be happy. He deserves so much and I plan on seeing that he gets it.

He takes a few steps my direction and pulls me to him as his laughter slows. “Thank you for helping her with everything.” His whisper is feather light on my ear, causing goosebumps to pepper my skin. My eyes slip shut and I breathe in his incredible scent. Soap, and laundry, and
Damon
. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” I whisper, feeling flush and a little dizzy on my feet.

His cell phone rings from within his pocket, breaking the enamored trance I was in. He fishes it out and screens the call. “I have to take this.” He swipes the screen with his index finger and turns to walk away. “Mike, what do you have for me?” he asks into the phone as he shuts Grams’ front door.

“Who’s Mike?” Grams asks the same thing I’ve been wondering.

I shrug dismissively and get to my feet, flopping down into her new couch. This is the time to talk. I know it, but I struggle with finding the right words. “I’ve got a question for you, Grams.”

“I’ve got an answer,” she quips, setting Cyclops to the side.

Spit it out,
I admonish myself inwardly. I have to get this over with. “What would you say if I told you that I found Damon’s mother?” My voice is small. Much smaller than I’ve ever heard myself. My anxious eyes meets Grams’ crystalline blue ones and all joking, jibing, and wit has abandoned her.

“What?” she whispers.

It’s a rare occasion to see her so serious, but this is one of those times. I shrink marginally into the couch.

“You found her?”

A nod is the only response I can offer.

“Have you met her?” Grams’ voice hasn’t gone above a whisper.

“That’s the… complicated part,” I confess, wishing I could take it all back, wishing I could go back in time and forget seeing that birth certificate. But even if I could, it wouldn’t change the fact that I’ve known Noni for years. We’d all be connected in some twisted way or another regardless of whether or not I learned the truth. Life can be one screwed up bitch.

“Pray tell, Jo,” Grams chides sternly, tapping her foot. She’s edgy now and I can’t blame her. She raised Damon for the most part and he’s always been hers to protect, and here I go searching out his real mom.

I inhale deeply and ready myself for the difficult story waiting to be told, but before I can say anything, Grams eases out of her seat and shuffles to her door. She cracks it open and peeks out into the backyard, looking toward the house.

“I think he’s inside, but if he touches that doorknob, mum’s the word. Got it? I mean it, Jo. He can’t hear anything about this. He isn’t ready.”

I nod. She makes her way back to her recliner and settles in then looks to me expectantly.
Here goes
.

“I know her,” I admit quietly, looking at my hands. “It turns out I’ve known her for years.”

Grams watches me carefully, nodding for me to go on.

“Grams, my friend, Noni, the one I hired, is Damon’s mother. I saw his birth certificate and I thought that finding her would shed some light on things, but I’ve known her all along. She met Damon when we first started seeing each other and recognized his name right away. I didn’t know who she was until the day he proposed. Her real name is Beverly Da—”

“Child, hush!” Grams orders.

I snap my lips shut and arch my eyebrows, shocked that she would talk to me like that.

“I know who she is, Jo. I’ve always known. I’ve kept tabs on that girl since she came to my front door pregnant with Damon. Beverly Wynona Davis. I
didn’t
know that you knew her, but I knew the rest. I’m old, not daft.”

For the second time today I’m rendered speechless.
She fucking knew?!
“I-I thought you said you knew her first name and that was it?”

“I lied,” Grams hisses. “I did a lot of that to protect Damon.” A look of dismay mars her wrinkled face and I feel terrible for what I have to tell her next. She takes a deep breath before she continues. “When a little boy asks why his daddy hates him, you’d be surprised how easy it is to lie rather than tell the ugly truth.” The expression on Grams’ face speaks a million truths. I can only imagine how difficult it has been to be sandwiched between her grandchild and her belligerent son all these years. “Eddie hated him from the moment she handed him over to me,” she says, shaking her head. “That sweet baby was the straw that broke the camel’s back where his marriage was concerned, so I know part of the reason he’s always resented Damon was because in his twisted way, Eddie blamed him. For the breakup, I mean. I just never understood why he resented him
so much
. It never added up for me.” She clicks her tongue, still shaking her head. “It’s not the child’s fault that Eddie cheated on his wife and impregnated someone else. Poor Damon is as innocent as they come. Sins of the parents and all that.”

“There’s more, Grams.” The weight of knowing is heavy. The weight of having to be the one to tell Grams what her son did to an innocent girl is unbearable.

“Of course there is.” She shakes her head, obviously exasperated. “There’s always more to every story, now isn’t there?”

“I want you to come with me to the store tomorrow to talk to her, but not before you hear what she told me.”

“Okay…” Grams says tentatively, clearly waiting for me to go on with my story.

“It wasn’t her fault,” I start. “Noni—S-she wasn’t given a choice. He-Edward did something unthinkable, Grams. He-he…” I can’t even bring myself to say the words. I watch her realize where I’m going with this sordid tale.

Her weathered hands go to her mouth, astounded by what I’ve just told her. “He didn’t,” she mumbles from behind her hands.

“He did,” I affirm.

“Oh my God.” Grams shakes her head in disbelief. “Are you sure? How do you know?”

“Grams, she told me everything. She told me every horrifying detail. And the way she looked—the way she sounded—what he did to her…” I trail off, shaking my head and fighting back the lump in my throat, fighting back the tears. “It’s primarily why she gave up Damon. She wasn’t in a position to care for him physically or emotionally.”

“Oh my God,” Grams repeats, still wrought with shock. “I’ll go with you to the store in the morning. I have to see her. That poor girl.” Grams looks at the floor and I can see the tears pouring down her face.

I nod in understanding. I knew that Grams would want to see Noni. She’s going to want to make it right. She’s going to want to try to clean up after Edward like she always has.

“I told her that you were the safest person to talk to first, so please be easy with her, Grams. She’s… she’s fragile. And she doesn’t know much about Damon’s childhood. I don’t know how to tell her. I don’t know if I ever can.”

It’s the first time that I’ve thought about the other side of the scenario. I’ve been so consumed with keeping her identity a secret from Damon that I haven’t even thought about what I have to keep secret from Noni. If she knew what Damon has gone through, what Edward has done to him, it would devastate her. She would feel even guiltier, like a monster instead of a victim, and Noni is not a monster. Not even close.

I stand and walk over to Grams, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodnight, Grams. See you in the morning.”

“I wish I had done more for her,” Grams whispers, not looking up.

I don’t quite know how to respond to that, or if I’m supposed to. “You did what you could, Grams,” I say softly. “You were there for Damon.”

She shakes her head, no doubt recalling what we learned from Damon’s personal notebooks. “It’s all in the past now, I guess,” she says, patting my hand. “You’re a good girl, Jo.” She looks up finally and gives me a sad smile. “Night.”

I leave Grams’ apartment and walk up the path towards our house, wanting nothing more than to see Damon and loathing it just the same. Noni is guilty, Grams is ashamed, and I’m so damn scared of it all that I hardly know how to proceed. Plugging right through like I have been is bound to backfire soon. I have no way of knowing how this is going to play out and that’s the most disconcerting for me. I’ll protect my Big Man at all costs. I’ll keep his heart safe even if I have to lie for a while, and it seems like Noni and Grams need to talk before anyone says anything to Damon.

Dinner is simple and relatively quiet. Damon inhales his food per usual then spends the rest of dinner watching me as close as I think he ever has. He doesn’t say anything, but he never really has to. It worries me to think that he will pick up on my unease. Faking a good mood would definitely give me away. Damon knows when I’m genuinely happy and there’s no faking what knowing what I know has done to my head and heart.