Heart Of Marley (4 page)

Her mom stayed at home and made everyone else’s business her business. I was fairly certain that most of the rumors regarding the adults in my town started from her lips. From what I knew, she divorced Brianna’s father when Brianna was just six years old. She was happy to continue collecting those alimony payments until something better and more fruitful came along…like a judge that seemed to have more money than sense. As I turned and stared into her bitter eyes, I had to remind myself to play the nice, genuine southern boy that I was brought up to be.

“Are you ready to order?” I smiled my most charming smile at them, absently wondering how such a spiteful person could raise a daughter with as caring and beautiful of a soul as Brianna.

After scribbling down their order, I excused myself and went behind the counter to drop off the ticket at the kitchen. As I was about to round the corner to go check on a few of my other tables, I nearly bumped into Brianna, surprised to see her standing in front of me.

“Hey, Bri,” I said sheepishly, attempting to readjust my composure as I ran my hands through my sandy hair.

“Hi, Cam.”

“What are you doing? Your parents…” I looked around her, trying to determine if they could see us from behind the brick pillar where we were standing. I could faintly make them out sitting side-by-side at their booth, her mother’s expression that of disgust. Apparently, Renaldo’s was not up to her too-good-for-everyone-else’s standards.

“I just wanted to come and apologize for my mother’s behavior. I don’t know what came over me when I thought that she would actually act like a decent person for once in her life. I guess I was wrong. I was just hoping she would put her arrogance aside for one night for me. I’m sorry for what she said about Marley.”

“You don’t need to apologize for her, Brianna. You shouldn’t have to.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “But I wanted to.”

“Why did you want them to bring you here?”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and rolled her eyes. An irritated expression crossed her face, which was completely at odds with her pleasing and delicate features. “They wanted to celebrate me starting my senior year of high school. Well, they mostly wanted to celebrate me being selected as a finalist in the Jessamine Pageant this fall. I think my mother filled out the application and forged my signature, though.” She gestured with her head back at her table. “And Bryant’s on the committee so I think it was a given that I’d be selected. I don’t want to be around for the fallout that will happen when I don’t win.”

I could sense her unease with the topic. The Jessamine Pageant, named after the state flower of South Carolina, was a local event that happened each spring in Myrtle Beach where high school senior girls vied to be crowned Miss Jessamine so they could go on to compete in the Miss South Carolina Pageant. It was more a competition between the parents than the actual girls involved.

“Why don’t you think you’ll win?”

“Because I’m not the prettiest, most perfect, most talented girl in school.” She looked down at her feet. “Your sister is. She’ll win this thing, hands down.”

“I don’t know if she even put in an application, to be honest. I think she’s been a bit pre-occupied lately.”

“Cam!” I heard a voice call out from behind the counter. “Your order’s up at table forty-one.”

I met Anita’s eyes and nodded in her direction before returning my attention to Brianna. “I’m sorry. I need to get back to work.” I shifted nervously from foot to foot, reluctant to leave her presence.

“It’s okay. I should get back to my mother before she accuses me of trying to sabotage their meal or something else ridiculous.” She began to head away.

“Brianna!” I shouted abruptly.

She halted in her tracks and looked over her shoulder at me.

“I get off at ten. There’s a bonfire down at the beach tonight. Meet me there?”

A wide grin crossed her face. “I’d like that. See you soon, Cameron.”

I watched her sway her hips as she walked back to her table, my entire being alive at the way my full name rolled off her tongue in that sensual, but endearing manner. I was falling hard for that girl, even though I had yet to kiss her or even ask her out. I had a feeling that was all going to change tonight.

I
SHOULD
BE
HAPPY
. I should be thrilled. I have been selected as a finalist in the Jessamine Pageant, Myrtle Beach’s most disgusting display of conformity that exists. I’ve watched this pageant for the past few years. I’ve had friends who were chosen as finalists and they were always so excited about the opportunity. Not me. I feel like a puppet up there, smiling because it’s expected of me. I’ve learned to simply go through the motions, but that’s not who I truly am.

I wish I were a normal teenager. I know that I appear to be one on the outside, but that’s a front. Even Cam’s begun to believe it. I think I’ve put on an act for so long that he believes the Marley he sees every day is the real Marley. Part of it is. There are moments of happiness and joy that I feel, especially when I see how content Cam is. His successes are my successes. His failures are my failures. His moments of absolute joy are my moments of absolute joy. And that’s enough for me.

I hate to admit it, but some days I miss my mama…my real mama. The woman she was when my dad was still alive. We were so happy when we were a family. Dad was a mechanic. I remember sitting for hours in the garage at our modest house on the outskirts of Columbia, South Carolina. To this day, I still miss the smell of oil and grease. That smell feels like home. It feels safe. It feels pure.

He loved cars. We had a half-dozen old cars sitting in our yard that he wanted to fix up and make road-worthy. When he wasn’t at the shop fixing someone’s BMW or Mercedes, he was at our house, working on his own Mustang or Charger that he just had to have. Mama loved it, too. They met at a dirt race track, and their love for cars and all things fast was the pinnacle of their devotion.

Dad’s family never approved of his profession or his choice in life partner. It still irritates me when I’m sitting at our fake family dinner and I hear Uncle Graham speak about him and how it was his choices that led him to his untimely death. His own brother. Dad came from a long line of lawyers, judges, politicians, and pastors. As a Bowen, you followed the law or God, nothing else. Dad was a bit of a rebel, and I think that’s why I admired him so much, even when I was just a little girl.

“When can I learn how to drive, Daddy?”
I remember asking him when I was barely seven years old.

“You’re too small, pumpkin. Your mother would kill me if I let you drive before you’re sixteen.”

I huffed and plopped down on my hot wheels.
“That’s not fair. I want to go fast like you, Daddy!”

He took a sip of his beer and gazed down at me with the love that only a father could give a daughter.
“You will. Don’t worry. I’ll take you driving long before you turn sixteen.”
He winked and I wish I had taken a snapshot of that image because I would fall asleep with it underneath my pillow just so I could feel love.

Don’t get me wrong. Cam loves me. For the past nine years of our lives, it’s been him and me against the world. Even when Uncle Graham and Aunt Terryn took us in and treated us as if we were their own children, we still had trust issues. Cam got over those fairly quickly once he was reminded of the happy times that we spent together during holidays with Dad’s side of the family.

That’s the thing about Cam. He’s always been quick to forgive and forget, but that’s not me. I remember. I remember the pain. I remember the horror. I remember the shame. I still feel all those things, even though I know I’m not supposed to. Having a niece with emotional problems is not the way to win pageants.

They do care about us, but I know taking us on has been a burden to them. Not a month after they agreed to take guardianship of us, Aunt Terryn found out that she was pregnant with Meg. The ladies here in town came over to tell her what an amazing thing she was doing. We became their charity case. Cam never saw it, but I did.

I started to get entered into pageants, Aunt Terryn playing the “Her mama can’t raise her, and she’s had such a rough life so she should win” card. And I usually did win, but Aunt Terryn never thought of the emotional repercussions to me from being paraded around like a sex object…

A sex object…

A sex object…
 

That’s how I felt all those years ago. And that’s how I still feel to this day.

I wish it would stop.

I wish I didn’t feel this way anymore.

But I do. And I have no one that I can talk to about this. Or maybe I just don’t want to talk about it. I could tell Cam anything and everything, but I worry that this would put a damper on his relationship with Aunt Terryn and Uncle Graham, and I hate the thought of that. I love how desperately he wants a healthy pseudo-parental relationship. We kind of have that with Mama, but we only get to see her once a week. I know that Cam craves more, and I can’t bear the thought of taking that from him.

I guess I shouldn’t complain. We could have ended up in the foster care system and been separated eventually, but that didn’t happen. Aunt Terryn and Uncle Graham gave us food, something we hadn’t had on a regular basis for years. They put a roof over our heads. They gave us stability. They gave us family. They gave us love. But sometimes I wonder whether it’s all an act for them, too. Did they just do it so that all the parishioners at church would think that Pastor Bowen was such a humanitarian? Did they just do it so that Aunt Terryn could pull the sympathy card during pageants, ensuring that I won so that she, essentially, won, too?

I’m so sick of having to brush everything under the rug. Everyone here does it and no one says anything. This is normal. This is what is expected. I don’t know how much longer I can forget and hide my past. I feel like I’m on a boat that’s sprung more and more holes over the years. Every day that I’m forced to be someone I’m not is another leak in my boat. I fear that, one day, it’ll be too much and I’ll no longer be able to save myself from the raging storm that will pull me under.

Part of me is looking forward to going away to college so that I can finally be me again. I miss the real me, even though she comes out to play once in a while, normally when I’m on the roof with Cam. He’s the only one that understands and loves me unconditionally. I don’t want to think about not being at the same college as him. I’ll go wherever he goes. I have no direction in life. He does. I can find a course of study anywhere. Anywhere that I feel safe and loved, and that’s with Cam by my side. Cam is my normal, and I need normal.

Tonight was one of those moments of normalcy that I’ve begun to look forward to and crave over the past several years. I felt as though I didn’t even have to put on an act. I could be me and not be judged.

I left the house shortly after Cam did and headed to my job at a clothing boutique at the mall.

“Hey, Aunt Terryn,” I said, flying down the stairs, noticing that I had spent too much time figuring out what to wear and was now running late. “I’m off to work. I’m going to the bonfire at the beach after, but I’ll drop my car off at home first and walk.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Do you think that it’s a good idea for you to be walking alone at night?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s only a few blocks. If it makes you feel better, I’ll have Carla pick me up.”

She raised herself off the floor where she was engaged in a rather intense arts and crafts project with Meg and Julianne, and walked toward me. Planting a kiss on my forehead, she said, “As long as you’re comfortable walking, I’m comfortable with it, too.”

Nodding, I began to head out the door.

“Oh, darling, what did your letter from the Jessamine Committee say?” she asked, although she probably already knew. She was one of the chairpersons of the committee, after all.

I plastered on my best appreciative smile. “I’m a finalist!” I squealed with fake enthusiasm. It was expected of me to want to participate in these pageants just like all of the teenage girls of Myrtle Beach who came from well-to-do families, like I now did. It’s a bit ironic to know that it was these pageants that taught me all the skills I needed to pretend to be someone else. I learned how to smile wide for the judges. How to answer a question with the response that would earn me the most points. And how to be the girl everyone expected me to be.