No Ordinary Life (39 page)

97

I
t's been four weeks since I chose to do nothing, and every day I thank my lucky stars that I did not drop that envelope into that mailbox. As if Christmas never ended, our life has settled into an exquisite rhythm that is almost normal. Molly, Tom, and I work hard during the week, spend our evenings with Griff, either at his house or at the condo, and on the weekends, Molly and Tom go to Sean's, giving Griff and me some alone time.

There's talk of Molly being nominated for an Emmy. An Emmy! The thought fills me with incredible pride. She would be the youngest actress ever to be nominated for the honor. Tom is also doing amazing and is now the third most popular character on the show, right behind Molly and Jeremy. Kira did not take the bump well. Caleb didn't care. Each week, Tom's part grows, and with it, his confidence.

We are, aside from the Emily factor, happy—really, really happy.

Especially me. It's almost ridiculous how happy I am. It sounds cliché, but in the English language, there's only one worn out, overused way to say it:
I am in love
, and I am incredibly grateful I didn't ruin it.

Though Griff and I have only been together a couple of months, already we are thinking of a future together, which is the main reason I've stayed living with my mom. Though I can now afford a home of my own, a fact that is utterly astonishing, I have not begun looking for a house because I'm not sure if I should be looking for a home for just us, for a home for an “us” that includes Griff, or not looking at all because we will be moving into Griff's house and will become an “us” there.

These wonderful, distracting thoughts swirl constantly in my brain, making it difficult to focus on anything else. Like, at the moment, I am supposed to be reviewing Tom's homework because he has his state tests on Monday, but instead of reading over his math worksheets, I sit at the table sipping a glass of wine and daydreaming about getting married in Griff's backyard, Bo walking me down the aisle, Helen being my reluctant, stunning maid of honor.

The dream is so wonderful that when the phone rings, I ignore it, reaching to hit the off button so I can silence it. Then I see the caller ID and my heart lurches.

“Em?”

Tears tremble through her tiny voice, driving instant panic into my heart. “Mom?”

“Baby? What's the matter?”

“Will you come get me?”

I'm already pulling my shoes on. “Of course, baby. Where are you?”

“I don't know,” she sniffles.

“Okay, baby, deep breath, look around you. Tell me what you see.”

98

T
he thirty minutes it takes me to get to her are the longest of my life, my heart racing at such a frantic rate that it nearly collapses when I finally spot her sitting on the curb in front of a club called The Vault, loud music thundering from its walls.

She wears the sparkly dress and stilettos from the premiere, her eyes streaked with makeup, her lips bruised. Gingerly she climbs into the car, and a wave of nausea washes over me with the realization that more than her lips were violated.

“Baby?” I say.

“Please go,” she rasps, not looking at me, her body curling into itself as she leans her head against the glass.

I drive away, her silent tears and trembling body wrecking me, the putrid smell of alcohol and vomit filling the car.

“You're going to be okay. I'm just going to find a place to pull over so I can call the police.”

“NO!” she screams.

“Baby, we have to.”

Her mortified sobs and hysterics trump my civic duty and I drive on. “Okay, baby. It's okay. You're okay. I'll take you home.”

“Not Grandma's,” she croaks. “I don't…please…Molly can't see me…don't take me…” Her voice is swallowed by her shame.

“Where's your dad?” I manage, my own voice a hair trigger away from breakdown.

“Out with his girlfriend.”

I feel the pulse of blood throbbing behind my eyes, a seizure of anger so strong that it's difficult to see straight.

“Just take me home,” she mumbles.

“So you do want to go home?”

“Dad's house,” she clarifies.

Over my dead body.

99

G
riff looks in on us, his face worn with worry. We are in the same room Molly slept in after the airport fiasco. I sit beside Emily on the bed, stroking her hair. She is showered now, but soap and water could not wash away the redness around her mouth or the sausage-size finger marks on her arms from where she was held down, and each time I look at them, sickness like a fist rises in my throat. Twelve years spent protecting her dissolved in this single night of failure, and my hatred for myself—my selfishness, my cowardice, my weakness—is so overwhelming it's a struggle to draw breath.

When she was a baby, I used to watch her sleep like I am doing now. I would lie beside her and breathe her in, dewy and pink, marveling that this tiny person was mine. I could not believe how much I loved her, and at the same time how much a stranger she was, this small alien being with emerald-green eyes not at all like my own—the mystical oneness of pregnancy cleaved into two separate beings the moment she took her first breath, a new bond forged by her utter dependence on me to care for her and my overwhelming desire to do just that, knowing I would give her my last breath.

Kissing her gently on the temple, I walk into the living room and fall into Griff's arms.

“We need to leave,” I say.

“Not tonight,” he says, pulling me close.

“LA,” I clarify. “We need to leave LA.”

His muscles tense, his arms wrapping a little tighter, holding me in place.

“You can't leave, that will only make things worse.”

“Worse? How can it be worse? Did you see my little girl?”

He kisses the side of my head and rubs my shoulder. “We'll figure it out. Somehow we'll get through this, but leaving isn't the answer. I know you're upset, I'm upset too, but what happened isn't the show's fault…”

“How can you say that?” I pull away, putting space between us. “She was with Caleb and Gabby. Caleb invited her, and Gabby got them into the club.”

His nose flares slightly though his voice remains calm. “They forced her at gunpoint to dress the way she did and sneak out to go with them? They poured alcohol down her throat?”

“You're saying this was her fault?” I hiss, my skin burning.

“I'm saying you can't blame the show.”

“Maybe not directly but indirectly. If we weren't on the show, none of this would have happened. She would have never even gotten into that club. She's twelve. Caleb is only thirteen. Gabby sixteen. But because they're famous, no one blinked an eye at the three of them hanging out and drinking at a club that's supposed to be for people over twenty-one. This world is warped, don't you see that?” But even as the words leave my mouth, I know he doesn't, and I soften my tone. “I need to save them.”

“Then save them, but not by quitting the show. That's not the answer.”

“Tell me another way.”

He holds out his arms for me to return his embrace, but instead I stand. “I need to go.”

“Please, Faye, don't.”

“I mean I need to go for a walk, clear my head.”

He stands. “I'll go with you.”

“No, you stay. One of us needs to be here in case Em wakes up.”

He pulls me into a gentle kiss then releases me. “I'll be here. I'm always going to be here.”

The night is cool and clear, my steps certain. I open the mailbox and drop the envelope inside.

100

S
ean called this morning frantic, entirely unaware that Emily had been missing from her bed since last night.

I told him what happened then told him to go to hell.

He called again. I didn't answer.

Last night was one of the hardest of my life, guilt and worry making sleep impossible, my exhausted brain plagued with so much regret that nothing else existed. Several times during the night, Emily startled awake beside me, bolting upright with a cry before looking around, realizing where she was, then curling back into a ball, shivering until she slipped back into unconsciousness. I tried to comfort her, but each time she pulled away from my touch and my words, making it clear that, through it all, she still hates me.

This morning she agreed to let me take her back to the condo under the condition that we didn't tell Molly and Tom the truth. Our story was that Emily's mouth was bruised from getting hit with a soccer ball. Molly believed the story but Tom didn't, and throughout the day, his eyes have repeatedly slid to the closed door of the bedroom where Emily hides.

It is evening now, and we are having dinner. Emily didn't want to come out, so I brought her a plate and set it on the table beside her. She did not look at me or the food. She lay curled on her side, her eyes staring at the wall. I did not force her. Nothing will be forced on her.

The door pounds, causing all of us to look up from our meal.

“Damn it, Faye, open up,” Sean bellows through the wood.

“Daddy,” Molly says, climbing from her chair.

I leap up and pull her back.

“Mom, please take them to your room.”

My mom herds Molly and Tom away, and with a deep breath, I go to face their father.

His eyes are wild, the stench of alcohol and sweat rising from his skin, his jaw clenched and his nose flared. I watch him inhale—pot roast and potatoes, one of his favorites—and for a flicker, I wonder if the girlfriend he was out with last night while Emily's life was being destroyed cooks, and I decide, based on his pained expression, that she doesn't.

Stepping toward him, I force him back into the hallway, then close the door.

“I'm here for the kids,” he says. “The weekends are mine.”

I shake my head.

“Get the hell out of my way, Faye.”

My pulse kicks up a notch. Sean's never hit me, but impulse control has never been his strong suit, and considering the state he's in, I don't put it past him to lash out now.

“Sean, please,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm, needing him to hear my words, not my emotions. “You don't have to do this. You want the money, that's fine. I'll send you half each month, no strings attached. I'll even pay the taxes. I don't care about any of that anymore.”

“What the hell are you talking about? You think this is about money? They're my fucking kids, Faye. What happened to Em isn't my fault.”

I feel his desperation to believe it, the same desperation I feel when I think about what happened, an intense need to off-load the guilt to Caleb or Gabby or rotten luck or bad circumstances. But regardless of how hard we wish it, the fault is ours—she's our baby, it was our job to protect her, and last night we failed.

“Sean, you need to go. The kids aren't going with you tonight.”
Or any other night.
I don't add the last part.

“Bullshit. You can't put this on me. I should be able to leave a goddamn twelve-year-old to watch out for herself without thinking she's going to go to a bar to get laid.”

My fury hits like a cyclone, my hand flying toward his face.

He catches it, his grip clenching my wrist so tight that it hurts. “Watch it, Faye.”

Emily walks from the condo. “Daddy?” she says, her voice small.

He releases me. “Hey, baby,” he says, his expression transforming from rabid to devoted in a heartbeat. “You ready to come home?”

She nods.

“Em, no,” I say.

“I just need to grab my things,” she says, her eyes on the ground as she pretends she doesn't see me.

“Get your brother and sister too,” Sean says.

With her shoulders rolled forward, her body curved protectively around her heart, she shuffles back into the condo.

“Please, Sean, don't do this,” I plead, my anger wiped out by my desperation to stop what is happening. “She needs to stay here. She needs to heal. You know that. I know you do. You're her father, a good father.”

His eyes flicker, the smallest glimmer of the man I used to love flashing for an instant until he shakes it away. “That's right, Faye. I am their father, and it would be best if you remember that.”

“This is ruining her.”

“She's already ruined.”

My temper flares again. “She's not. Don't you dare give up on her. A single mistake does not define a person.”

“It defined me,” he shoots back, his eyes locking on mine.

“You didn't have to marry me.”

He blinks rapidly like I've stunned him. “My mistake was leaving,” he says. “That was my mistake. The best thing I ever did was marry you.”

And like a pin puncturing a balloon, his words destroy me. So much has been lost so quickly. A year ago, we were together living in Yucaipa, struggling but getting by, our kids healthy, our family whole, Emily unharmed.

Our broken dreams between us, the tears I've held for the past twenty-four hours flood from my eyes and my chin drops to my chest. Too much. It's all too much. Everything Emily was, everything I was, everything we were…gone, the loss overwhelming.

“I'm ready,” Emily says, appearing with a shopping bag of her things over her shoulder, her eyes still cast on the floor. “Grandma won't let Molly and Tom go with us.”

Sean's voice cracks, a hitch in his words as he says, “Yeah, change of plans, M&M. I need to cut out of town for a while, so you need to stay with your mom.”

My face snaps up to look at him, but it's too late. Already he's walking toward the stairwell, his posture relaxed except for his hands, which are clenched in fists at his side, revealing the courage it is taking for him to walk away. And in this moment, he is the man I loved, the man I knew that no one else saw.