Pitcher's Baby (18 page)

Chapter
Thirty

Charlee

When I walk in at the door after class, something
immediately catches my attention. I'm not sure what it is at first. It's just
an annoying feeling in the back of my head. I walk into the living room and see
my mother on the couch. That doesn't bother me.

They're both facing the television,
watching the scene unfold in front of them. That's what catches my eye and
grabs my attention. There is a little girl around two or three years old
running through the grass in front of an old wooden barn. I can see the field
behind it and the cows grazing on the fresh green grass, but what catches my
attention is the man standing before me.

My dad.

I recognize him immediately, and then I
realize the little girl running around is me. There are several blue tick blood
hounds lying in heaps around the yard. I seem to be running in circles around
them.

My breath catches in my throat as I walk
the rest of the way into the living room, my eyes never leaving the screen. I
remember this day. I remember the way the sun felt against my skin and the
grass under my dirty feet. I couldn’t have been more than three years old, but
I remember it all of a sudden like it was just yesterday. I clutch at my chest,
trying to rip it open so I can get a lungful of air in, clawing my skin in the
process. Aaron notices me first and pauses the television. I’m stopped mid-stride
on the screen. My face is so open and carefree, like I didn't have a care in
the world. I guess I didn't.

“Charlee? I didn't hear you come in. Are
you ok?” Aaron asks, coming to my side and easing me over to the loveseat. I
glance at my mother, and for a minute, I just take her in. It's almost like I’m
seeing her for the first time. She looks worried, and I can tell she wants to
rush to my side and comfort me in any way possible, but she doesn't want to
push herself on me. I can't thank her enough for that.

“Press play,” I tell him. I already know
what happens next. I could tell you word for word right now as the scene plays
through my mind. How did I forget this? Why? He looks at me one more time
before picking up the remote and pressing play.

My feet hit the ground on the screen, and
I’m running off again. Then I hear her calling my name. “Charlee. Charlee, come
back over, baby. Come say it again for me.” I remember her asking me over and
over for the same thing that day as she recorded me. I didn't mind. At the time,
it was my favorite word. I planted my dusty bare feet in front of her and
squatted a little as I sucked in a lungful of air before rising and saying,
DOOOOOOG. I pushed the word through my body, starting at the back of my heels
and swinging forward on my legs as it came to an end.

She’s laughing behind the camera. Everyone
thought it was the cutest thing in the world to hear me say dog. I didn’t understand
it then, but now, watching myself on the screen, I can't help but smile. My dad
steps up behind me and lifts me in his arms as he walks toward the camera.

“Did you make Momma laugh again?” he asks
me as we near her. I nod my little head up and down. “I bet I can make Charlee
laugh,” he says, poking me in the side with his fingers, tickling me. I'm
squirming against him, begging Momma to save me. Moments later, she does,
passing the camera to my dad and taking me in her own arms. He turns it and
zeros in on us both. Me and my mother.

I knew what I would see before it quit
playing, but that didn't stop the way my heart leapt in my chest when I viewed
it. All these years, I thought she left me and Aaron in Arizona when we were
babies, yet here was proof that she didn't. I remember the house on the screen.
It belonged to my dad's friend, Pumpkin. We still go by there every once in a while,
or we did before Dad got sick. My mother lived in Alabama.

“How?”

“I don't understand, Char. What do you
mean?” Aaron asks, concerned. I can't help but laugh at that. He thinks he
can't understand? If only he could crawl inside my head for just a minute, then
he would understand confused.

“I . . . I thought . . . I don't know,
Aaron,” I finally say.

“You don't remember any of it, do you,
Charlee?” my mother asks from her seat on the couch. She has been watching me
this entire time. I'm honestly surprised she stayed quiet this long. I'm not,
however, surprised by her accurate intuition. It seems she is just able to read
me in ways no one else ever has.

“No. No, I don't. I remember this now that
I see it, but I don't understand it,” I say.

“Aaron, do you have any of those family
albums?” she asks my brother.

“Yeah. Why?” he asks.

“Can you grab them? I think they will
help.” He doesn't ask any more questions before leaving the room. A few minutes,
later he's back with three large picture albums in his hands. I see him blow
the dust off them, letting me know they have been stored away for a while. He
passes them to her and then sits next to her on the sofa. Since I can’t see
what’s in the albums without moving closer, I get up and sit on the other side
of her.

“How long were you there?” I ask her.

“Not long. I know you remember some of it
now, but the truth is that I wasn’t a good mother for you or Aaron. I was toxic
back then, and the best thing I could do was leave you.”

“And Matt?”

“Matt too. Even if I wanted to have gone
back for him, Granny T wouldn’t have allowed it. I left him once, and that was
enough. I was lucky she let me come through and see him as often as she did.”

“I see.”

We look through pictures for at least two
hours. My brother gets up and goes to cook supper at some point, but we don't
stop. She tells me the story connected to each picture in the books. There are at
least three hundred photos of us in there. Over half of them contain my mother.
The half that doesn't have her in them, she is taking the photo. I can't wrap
my head around it. It's like my whole life has a big fat lie. One my own mind
created for some God awful reason. To protect me? Maybe. Either way, I felt
like I had lost half of my life.

“So if you were a part of our lives, then
why did you kidnap us?” I ask her. Her eyes widen in shock, and for a moment,
she just stares at me like she’s trying to process my question.

“I didn't kidnap you, Charlee.”

“What? Yes, you did. I remember you
picking us up from school.”

“Yes, baby. I did. I picked you both up,
but your dad knew I was getting you. He agreed to it. I had his signed release
at the school the day I checked y’all out.”

My chest is heavy. Sharp pains are
shooting across it under my breast bone. I'm taking normal breaths. I know that
I am. I’m telling myself to breathe air through my nose, hold it for half a
second, and push it back out. It's not enough. My chest is tightening, and even
though I know that I'm breathing in air, it's not good enough. It isn't filling
me, satisfying me. I inhale differently, yawning, trying to suck in a deep,
fulfilling breath this way. It doesn't work. Nothing is working. The back of my
throat is dry, and my jaw aches from clenching my jaw . . . I think.

I can hear my mother yelling for my
brother in the background of my mind. I try to focus on that, to pull myself
closer to her voice, but I can't break the surface. I need a bigger breath. My
brain isn't happy. Everything is getting on my nerves, irritating me. My hair
is falling across my face and I shove it backward. Sweat is collecting on my
brow now. I swipe at it with my hands. My chest is still too heavy. Tears burn
behind my eyes, refusing to be ignored, but I know if they start falling, they
won't stop, and then I'll start hyperventilating, panicking over the fact that
I can't breathe. I close my eyes and try to picture my happy place like my therapist
said. A meadow by the stream, birds flying overhead, but all I see is my mother
standing at the counter of the school signing my checkout form. Funny. This
time, I recognize her.

Stars swim before my eyes, and then I'm
falling backward . . . backward into nothing. My body, having been starved of
oxygen for too long, did the only thing it could to do. It shut down, forcing
me unconscious as a natural reflex.

I faint.

I
wake the next morning before dawn and lie there in bed, debating on whether I
want to go to class. I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll to Lucas’s text
from last night. I told him it had been a long evening with the family and I
was going to bed early. It was mostly true.

After I had come back around from my minor
fainting spell, Mom, Aaron and I sat down and talked about everything. I
learned that my mother was telling the truth about having my dad's permission
to take us. But he clearly didn't say she could keep us as long as she had, and
when he came to South Carolina, he was coming for me and my brother. At that
point, she did run with me. Just me. I still had a hard time coming to terms
with everything I was told last night, and I think at that point, both of them
could tell I needed a break, so we ate dinner and I excused myself for bed.

Me
: You up?

Lucas
: Yes.

Me
: I don't think I wanna
go to class today.

Lucas:
Everything ok?

Me:
I guess so.

Lucas
: Get dressed. We
can hang out together today.

Me
: Kk

An hour later, I'm dressed and waiting for
Lucas to pull the car around in the drive. Twenty minutes after that, we are
pulling up at Everly’s daycare and I’m kissing my baby girl goodbye for the
day. I don’t know what we plan on doing today, but for just this once, I need
some
me
time.

It seems like just seconds have passed and
we are pulling back up at home. My nerves are getting the best of me. The last
time I was here all alone with him, we ended up naked together in the shower. I
wouldn't mind a redo of that, but today I just feel like I need to chill. My
head is pounding in time with my heart, and if I don't eat something soon, I
think I may hurl.

Lucas leads me inside and makes me a comfy
spot on the couch, then he turns on Netflix and passes me the remote. “You want
eggs and bacon, or a bagel and cream cheese?”

“Can I have all three?” I ask sheepishly.
What can I say? I'm really, really hungry.

His laughter fills the air, making me
smile. I don't think I'll ever tire of hearing it. “Yes. Yes, you can,” he says,
leaning in to kiss me softly on the lips. He pulls back before things get too
heavy, leaving me alone with the remote and my thoughts. The logical side of my
brain tells me that I should have gone to class. This morning, when I woke up
with my head pounding, I knew that I wouldn't be able to suffer a day of class.

Last night had been brutal. It was an
emotional rollercoaster that I hadn't bought the ticket for. I had been ripped
open and then jaggedly sewn back together. Nothing fit back where it was
supposed to go. Nothing made any sense anymore. It was like waking up to
realize I had been living as a stranger in my own life. Now I was forced to
question every memory I had, evaluate it and wonder whether I was
subconsciously neglecting something valuable.

Lucas appears with my heaping breakfast,
and I spend the next twenty minutes telling him everything that happened last
night in between bites of food. He listens carefully, never interrupting me,
until I rehash it all and fall silent. I wish he would say something. Anything.
At the very least, tell me I'm not crazy.

He doesn't.

Just when things are starting to become
uncomfortable and I’m questioning the fact I told him anything at all, he pulls
me into his lap and wraps his long, strong arms around me. “I know it may be
hard to believe, but you can overcome anything life throws at you, Charlee. I
know. I’ve had my fair share of stuff to overcome in life too. Up until the age
of ten, I lived in hell on earth. I'm not joking. Not even a little bit.”

“Ten? Why ten?” I ask.

“Because when I turned ten, I became
homeless, and no one could hurt me anymore.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Lucas

Thirteen
years ago

I
turned ten years old today. It's hard to believe. Glancing at the clock on the
top of my tall oak dresser, I see it's 11:56. Four minutes left until my first
double-digit birthday disappears. I have been looking forward to this
particular birthday for a long time. It took me ten years to get here, but now
I am on the home stretch. Eight more years until I can legally leave home, but
I only plan on waiting another five or six at most. The sooner I can leave, the
better.

I
wouldn't regret leaving the least bit. The only person I'd be leaving behind is
my mother, and in her eyes, I don’t even exist. At least, not until she needs
to blame me for something else. She didn’t even say Happy Birthday to me today.
All she did was sit on the couch, smoke something that smelled funny, and drink
her dark brown stuff. It didn't bother me, really. The best gift she could give
me was space and freedom, the same thing she had given me for the last four
birthdays.

Ray,
her boyfriend, got home not too long ago. I heard him screaming at her about
there not being any food in the house to eat. No duh, Ray. She screamed back at
him, lying and saying that I ate it all. This was not true. The last time I had
eaten was two days ago, and that was only half a peanut butter sandwich Molly,
the girl next door, had snuck me. My tummy hurts so bad from the lack of
nourishment, but I know better than to ask her for food. I made that mistake
once and ended up with a huge, bloody gash on my cheek when she slapped me
across the face. Her long, fire engine red nails sliced against my cheek.

“You’d
better start making a plan with that boy, Claire! You know how I feel!” Ray’s
voice thundered through the house. I cowered in the farthest corner of my
bedroom, knowing what was coming next and not being able to do anything to stop
it. I clutch Mr. Winkles to my chest, praying tonight will be different. Molly
gave me Mr. Winkles for my birthday. He was her favorite teddy, but she wrapped
him up in newspaper and gave him to me. She told me he would protect me. I knew
this wasn't true, but I didn't have the guts to tell her that.

Mr.
Winkles can’t protect me.

No
one can.

Molly
is the only person who knows about my punishments. I made her pinky promise not
to tell anyone, even when I secretly wished she would. For just over a year,
Molly has been my best friend—my only friend, since I wasn't allowed to go to
school and meet new people. Mommy says only dumb kids have to go to school. I
don’t know if that's true or not, but Molly goes and she is the smartest girl
I’ve ever known. She knows things I didn’t even know existed. She told me once
that if you mixed blue and red colors, it will give you purple, and she was
right! So maybe school is for dumb kids and they teach you stuff so you can be
smart. I wish I could go to school.

I
clutch Mr. Winkles to my chest tighter, closing my eyes while I pray that Ray
won’t see me here in the corner. I hear his footsteps coming, getting closer.
My door swings open and hits the wall with a loud thud. Although my room is
dark, I can still see him standing in the doorway with his fists already in
balls.

“Where
are you, you little shit?” I try and make myself even smaller, but it’s no use.
He sees me and walks over to me, grabbing me up by the shirt and throwing me
across the room. My head hits the wall, and I see black spots in front of my
eyes. Something wet is running down my back. I try and move my arms, but it
hurts too much. Instead, I just lie still with my eyes closed and take the
kicks like a superhero. I don’t move. I have learned that the quicker I stay
still, the quicker he leaves. After what feels like hours, he walks out the
door. I let the tears stream down my face. Not only because of the pain I am
in, but because Mommy allows him to hurt me like this. Why doesn’t she stop
him?

Quietly,
I crawl to the bathroom to go clean up my face. I don’t want them to see me
cry. There’s blood all over my face. New tears are now falling down my cheeks.
While I clean myself up, Mom and Ray start their screaming all over again. I
leave what’s left of the blood on my face and run back to my room. I grab Mr.
Winkles off the floor and crawl into my bed. I don’t care about the blood on my
pillow. I just don’t want to be hit again.

I
think of Molly as I try to fall asleep. If Molly saw me now, I am sure she
would have told her mommy.

“Wake
up, Lucas. Happy Birthday, son. Come on. We are going for a drive.” Wait. I
must be dreaming. My mom never says Happy Birthday to me, and I never get to
leave the house. I close my eyes again and carry on sleeping.

A
tug on my shirt startles me awake. Ray has his hand wrapped around my wrist,
dragging me to the car. I have Mr. Winkles clutched under my arm, refusing to
let him go. I turn around, searching to see where my mom is. Walking silently
behind us, I see the tears streaming down her face. She has that brown stuff in
her hand again. Maybe it tastes bad. Maybe that’s why she is crying. Ray throws
me onto the backseat, and I scurry away from him to the other side of the car,
trying to get as far from him as possible. I don’t want him to hurt me again.

Mom
climbs into the car and starts driving. Every now and then, I hear a faint
whisper. I think she is talking to herself. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she
repeats over and over again.

It
must be very late, because there are almost no cars on the road. We have been
driving for a long time. I don’t want to sleep anymore. Me, driving with Mommy
somewhere is a new thing. A little bit of excitement is building inside me. My
tummy feels like I have a bird stuck inside it. The wings flap up and down. I
think Molly once said it was called ‘Moths in my tummy’ or was it flies? No, it
was butterflies. I have butterflies in my tummy.

I
rub my tummy in circles, wanting the feeling to go away. “Mommy, where are we
going?” Not speaking for a long time made my voice sound like a frog croaking.
I giggle a little at the thought. Imagine having a frog in your throat. That’s
so gross. It’s all slimy and full of warts. Ew.

“Keep
quiet, Lucas.” Her words are stern, but her voice is soft. I see her wipe away
the tears every now and then.

Holding
Mr. Winkles close to my chest, I fall asleep once more.

*******

Someone
is shaking me awake. My head hurts. The light is too bright. Squeezing my eyes
shut even more, I reach up to touch my head. It stings when I touch it. There
must be a new cut on it. Then I remember how Ray hurt me. I open my eyes slowly,
hoping that his face will not be the first thing I see.

It’s
not. I see trees. Dead trees. A bird flying to its nest. I am cold. So, so
cold. I sit up and look at my surroundings, and that's when I realize no one is
shaking me. It's me shivering from the cold ground seeping into my body. I am
in a park, I think. I look around, searching for Mommy, but she is not here. I
am all alone. The sun is not up all the way yet. I see it peeking over the
hills in the distance. Mr. Winkles is still clutched under my arm, and a thin
blanket lays over me. It’s dirty—very dirty—and it smells like a rotten potato.
I have never seen this blanket before. I quickly shrug out of it and stand. My
legs are wobbly, probably from sleeping on the ground in the park.

From
around a corner, an old man is walking toward me. He smiles when he sees me. I
look around again to see if he is looking at someone else, but there is no one
else here. Walking backward away from the man, I stumble over a rock and land
on my bottom. I feel blood on the back of my leg running down my calf. I hold
onto my new wound and cry again. The old man is now running toward me.

“Are
you okay, son?” He kneels in front of me, pulling my leg into his lap,
inspecting the damage. He reaches in the bag he’s carrying, pulls out a napkin,
and presses it against my leg. I start pulling away, but he holds onto it
firmly.

“It’s
okay. I won’t hurt you.” He wipes up the blood and gives me his hand to help me
up. Hesitantly, I take it. He reaches into the bag again and pulls out a piece
of bread. He breaks it in half and offers me a piece. I shake my head no, but
my tummy betrays me by growling very loudly. With that, I groan to myself and
take the bread from him.

“Who
are you?” I ask him while chewing the not so fresh bread. But it’s the first
thing I have eaten in three days. It tastes like heaven.

“So
you can talk. My name is Henry, young man,” he answers me mid-chew. I stick out
my hand to him for a handshake, the way I remember seeing another man do a long
time ago.

“I’m
Luke . . . Lucas. Mommy calls me Luke. Hey, have you seen my mommy?” Maybe he knows
where she is.

“Umm
. . . well no. I’m sorry. If you want to, I will sit here with you and wait for
her.” Henry is nice. He smells like the blanket and his eyes look empty. Well
not empty, empty, but they look like he is missing the spark in his eyes.

“That
would be great. Thank you, Uncle Henry.” Henry bursts out laughing, tears
leaking from the corner of his eyes.

“Kid,
you can just call me Henry. I might be old, but no one has ever called me Uncle.”
Before Ray became mommy’s friend, she would bring a lot of different guys to
our house. Sometimes, if I was home, she’d introduce me to them and tell me to
call them Uncle so and so. “Why are you crying, Unc—umm . . . Henry? Did I say
something to make you sad?” Henry looks at me and smiles.

“No,
Lucas. Those were tears of laughter. You are such a good kid. I don’t know how
she could do this to you.” As those last words escape his mouth, his head jerks
to the side, trying to see if I picked up on them.

“Who
did what to me?” I may only be ten, but I’m not stupid. Molly taught me a lot
of things from her school, but I also learned a lot from the life I have lived
with my mommy. For instance, I know he didn’t mean to say what he just said.

“No
one, kid. I’m old. I say things that don’t make sense.” I know he is lying, but
I leave it alone for now. I know he will tell me eventually. Besides, we are
waiting for Mom to come get me. Then Henry can tell me.

“Hey,
is that your blanket I slept under?” I know Henry is homeless. I can see it in
his clothes and in the food he brought us. He is kind of dirty, and he smells.

“Yeah,
it is. You were shivering during the night, so I gave mine to you.” He puts his
hand on my shoulder and then quickly pulls it away when I flinch away from his
touch.

“Sorry,”
I tell him, not wanting him to think it's something he did, but really not
wanting to explain why I did it. “Thanks for the blanket. What did you use?”

“Don’t
worry about me, kid. I have my own ways of staying warm. You needed it more
than I did. Winter is only starting now. It’s going to be much colder soon. We
need to go find me a place to stay. Do you want to help me look for a place?”

Mommy
would be back soon. I can’t move from this spot. This is where she left me.
This is where she will find me.

“Nah,
thanks anyway. I need to wait here for my mom.” Henry shakes his head, gets up,
and walks away.

The
sun is starting to set and my hunger pains have come back. I had to pee in the
bush behind me. I didn’t know where the toilets were, and I couldn’t hold it
anymore. Now I am also thirsty. I don’t see any taps where I can get some water.
I haven’t seen Henry the whole day. He left his blanket, so I know he will come
back. My heart is starting to hurt. Where is Mommy? What if something bad
happened to her? Tears are forming in my eyes again, but I swallow them back. I
don’t want red eyes when Mommy sees me again.

It’s
very dark now. The park is silent, and I am scared and cold. I wrap Henry’s
stinky blanket around me again. The shorts and short sleeved shirt I am wearing
are just not warm enough.

Henry
rounds the corner again. I have never been this happy to see a stranger. “Well,
hello there, kid.” He has another bag in his hand. I practically hop up and
down with excitement. He must have something in that bag that I can eat. As if
he hears my thoughts, he sticks his hand in it and pulls out a half- eaten
piece of meat.

“I
know it’s not much, but at least it is something. Eat up, Lucas. You are going
to need it.” He hands me the meat and I eat it as if I haven’t eaten in years.
It tastes so good. Henry watches my every move. Only then do I realize he
doesn’t have another piece for himself. I ate everything without offering some
to him. He shared his food with me, and I did not share mine with him. I hang
my head in shame and wipe my dirty hands on the blanket—again, not thinking
about the fact that it does not belong to me.

“I’m
sorry.” I hiccup the words.

“Why
you worry?” Lines crease his forehead when he squints his eyes up.

“I
didn’t share with you. I’m sorry, Henry. I’m so hungry, I didn’t even ask you
if you ate already.” He pats me on the back again with a smile plastered on his
face.