Heart Of Marley (23 page)

A few years ago, the innocence of it all changed. We were stuffing the chests of our dresses, wearing high heels, and posing in a provocative manner. Most girls had no problem with it. If I didn’t endure what I had at an early age, I probably would have enjoyed these pageants, too. Most of them do offer us girls a chance to do something constructive. I love dancing. I love singing. I love the community service that is attached to the pageants. But I don’t love people judging my body. I feel objectified, but I don’t have a choice.
Sex sells. Sex wins.
Those were my aunt’s exact words when I questioned why I had to wear a bikini during the swimsuit portion, and why I had to wear a gown with a slit in the side that went from Florida to Maine. And she didn’t even blink twice when she said it.

Sex may sell and sex may win, but sex destroyed me.

And it still destroys me. Every day when I look at Doug, I see his hesitation around me. I can only take so much more of it before I crack. I’m at my breaking point. Cutting has helped. Of course, carving
Ruined
over and over again wasn’t enough. I needed fresh blood. I now sport a nice new “tattoo” on the inner thigh of my other leg. I tried to stop, but I just couldn’t. The demons inside me were shouting and the only thing that could quiet the voices and dull the pain was more cutting.

This morning, as the homey smells of pumpkin and cranberries wafted through my house, I sat in front of my vanity, doing all I could to make it stop hurting. No matter how deep I cut, nothing was working. Tears streamed down my face, ruining my makeup, but it wasn’t enough.

Taking a deep breath as I stared back at my reflection, I wondered how much longer I was going to have to feel like this. Wondering if I’d ever have the courage to draw the one line that could end it all.

“Marley!” I heard my aunt’s voice shout, bringing me back from my thoughts. “We need to go.”

“Coming!” I said, placing my razor in its case and throwing it into my purse. I hesitated, wondering if I had time for one last cut.

“Marley!
Now
!”

I resisted the urge and quickly fixed my makeup before heading downstairs to see my aunt standing by the front door, her face fixed in the irritated expression that I had come to expect from her.

“W
HY
DO
YOU
THINK
Aunt Terryn is letting us spend the weekend at Mama’s?” Marley asked after the parade as I drove from Myrtle Beach toward Columbia. “And agreed to no more supervised visits?”

“I think she’s finally coming to terms with the fact that Mama’s served her sentence and is trying to move on with her life.” I didn’t tell her that the reason probably was due to her husband’s role in permitting Marley’s abuser to roam free. She’d have been considered quite the hypocrite if she still held a grudge against our mama for her part when her husband was the reason Buck was now a free man.

She reached from the back seat and squeezed Brianna’s arm. “I’m glad you’re coming.”

“Me, too,” she replied. “I haven’t met your mother yet.”

“You’ll like her,” I said. “And she’ll love you. What’s not to love?” I winked before glancing at Marley in the rearview mirror. “Did you invite Doug?”

She leaned back against the seat and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “No, I didn’t.”

“Marley…” I said, my tone cautioning. “You’ve got to stop.”

“So does he, and that’s all I’m going to say on the topic.”

I shook my head before turning up the music. After a quiet drive, we arrived at Mama’s house. She greeted us all warmly as we walked inside, the smells of Thanksgiving surrounding us. It reminded me of all the Thanksgivings we had when Dad was still alive.

“Gosh, look at you kids,” she said, hugging me and Marley. “Every time I see you, I swear you grow another inch, Cameron. And you, Marley Jane… You’re becoming such a beautiful young woman.” She pulled back and stared fondly at the two of us, her chin quivering. “You two look so much like your father. He would be so proud of both of you.” We shared an intense moment before Mama broke her gaze from us.

“Now, you must be Brianna!” she said enthusiastically, pulling her in for a hug. “Cameron has told me so much about you but, I have to say, you’re much prettier than he’s been letting on.” She winked at her.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bowen. Thanks for having me.”

“Are you staying the weekend, dear? You’re more than welcome. I have plenty of room.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bowen. I hope it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.”

The afternoon flew by as we all sat in the living room watching Christmas movies, the smell of turkey growing stronger and stronger with each passing hour. Finally, by the time my stomach couldn’t handle it any longer, Mama called us into the dining room.

My mouth watered when I saw the feast that she had prepared for us…turkey, cornbread stuffing, sweet potato pie, green bean casserole, and her homemade cranberry sauce.

She handed me a set of carving knives that I remembered from my childhood. “Cameron, baby, since you’re the man of the house now, you get to do the honors.”

“I’m not the man of the house, Mama. I’m not eighteen yet.”

“Oh, my sweet boy,” she said, placing her hand affectionately on my arm. “You became the man of the house the minute you began to look out for your sister when no one else could. Now, carve that turkey.”

“Yeah, Cam,” Marley piped up. “I’m staaaarving over here.” Her voice was dramatic and I couldn’t help but grin.

I stepped up to the turkey and grew slightly nervous. “I’ve never really done this before. I hope I don’t fuck it up.”

“Cameron Michael!” my mother exclaimed, whipping her cloth napkin at me. “Don’t swear like that in front of a lady.” She leaned toward Brianna. “I taught him better than that, sugar. I assure you.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Bowen. I’ll make sure to teach him a lesson later.”

We all erupted in laughter and my mama fanned herself. “I like this one, Cameron, baby. You better keep her around.”

“I hope to,” I responded, my eyes meeting Brianna’s. As I gazed around the table at the three most important women in my life, a warmth spread through me. I was finally able to have a real Thanksgiving with my mama…something I hadn’t had since we were seven.

I refocused my attention on the turkey in front of me and heard a soft sob. Looking up, I saw tears falling down Marley’s cheeks. “What? Am I doing this wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s not that. It’s just… You look so much like Dad right now, Cam. Seeing you standing in front of a turkey with his old carving knives… I just miss him. I always see him in you, but I really do today…” She took a deep breath as she attempted to get her emotions under control. “So do him proud and cut that bird like he would have.”

“Marley, your father was absolutely horrendous at carving a turkey,” Mama commented.

She laughed in response. “I know. But what fun is Thanksgiving if the turkey isn’t good and butchered?”

“One completely butchered carved turkey coming up then. I’m glad Dad set the bar so high.”

“Oh, he did, baby,” Mama said. “But I think you’ll live up to his standards.”

After carving the turkey and dishing out servings to my small family, we gorged on the decadent food. Once we were all stuffed from the feast and had cleaned up, a knock sounded on the door.

“Marley, sugar, can you answer the door for me?” Mama said as we were relaxing in the living room.

“Okay, Mama.” She got up and went to the front door, pulling it back.

I was surprised to see Doug standing there. I think Marley was even more so.

“Doug, what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Marley, don’t be rude,” Mama scolded, a satisfied expression on her face. “I invited him.”

She spun around, her eyes on fire. “Why?”

“Because, baby girl, Thanksgiving is all about being with the people you love and that you are thankful to have in your life.”

“Fine,” she huffed, plopping down on the couch and crossing her arms in front of her chest, her irritation loud and clear.

“Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Bowen,” Doug said politely, hesitantly sitting next to Marley, his eyes awash with compassion as he surveyed her.

Out of nowhere, as Bing Crosby sang
White Christmas
on TV, Marley screamed, “Stop looking at me that way! Just stop!” She hovered over Doug, her chest heaving in rage.

“What way?” He was clearly taken aback by her outburst.

“The way that makes me feel like…” She trailed off, her chin quivering.

“Like what?”

“Like a helpless victim that’s still living in the past! I know I am! I don’t need your eyes reminding me of that!” She ran from the room, her footsteps heavy as she flew up the stairs and slammed the door to her bedroom.

He turned to us, his eyes wide. “What did I do? I don’t understand. She’s been pushing me farther and farther away for weeks without so much as an explanation.” His voice became contemplative. “I miss her.”

“It’s the way you were looking at her,” Brianna offered.

“What? What’s wrong with it? I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

“This is exactly why she was hesitant in telling you about everything,” I explained. “You want to know what set her off when we were at that home, waiting for the court to grant guardianship to our aunt and uncle? The way people would look at her. All the caseworkers and social workers looked at her as if she was a helpless victim, and for someone who felt helpless for years, it’s the worst feeling in the world. She is not a helpless victim, Doug. Yes, she’s a victim. More importantly, Marley is a survivor. So treat her like one. Please.”

He shook his head dejectedly as he processed my words. “I’m sorry. I never…”

“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “You need to treat her the same way you did before you knew. She’s trying to shed her past. Now whenever you look at her and she sees the changed expression on your face, she’s reminded of the worst time in her life. She doesn’t need that. She needs someone who will look at her in a way that makes her want to fight for a future.”

“I’m trying. It just seems that no matter what, she’s pushing me away.”

“The thing that you have to understand about Marley is that she has highs and lows. Before the Halloween party, she had been on a high for so long that when the bottom dropped, it fell far.”

“What makes the bottom drop?”

I shrugged. “It could be anything. Reminders of her past, of having her trust betrayed. Marley doesn’t trust easily, but she trusts you. I know she does.”

“Go talk to her, Douglas,” Mama interjected. “Staying down here and toiling over the situation won’t give you any answers. The only person who can give you that is sitting up in her bedroom. She’s probably beating herself up over her behavior, but she’s too proud to admit that she made a mistake. Go remind her of what’s at stake if she keeps pushing you away.”