Stronger than You Know (17 page)

THIRTY-SIX

Transfer

We take Uncle Rob's SUV because it has three rows of seats. Whoever's in the way back seat gets to lie down. Right now it's me.

Uncle Rob got me three sketchbooks and so many art pencils that I'm not sure what to do with them all. I thought all the new stuff would make me feel pressured to draw, but it doesn't. It makes me crave it. I've sketched Daisy in kung fu, the shadows of the people around the fire the night I jumped into the lake, anything that pops into my head.

I've drawn my hand mixed with Justin's hand. I've drawn Lydia with her smirk, the one she uses when she's trying to make me feel better about not taking my crap. I've drawn Tara a bunch of times. I love her cheeks and smooth figure. Trent's been harder, but I've drawn him a few times too. One with him and Caitlynn that he posted on his wall. Caitlynn thinks it's super sweet. He's so different around her. I don't know what changed for Trent earlier this year, and I don't know what changed for him later, but I feel better being around him now. He's more like his dad.

I started drawing house plans, just to try it out. Uncle Rob gave me a list of all the standard stuff like hallway and doorway widths, closet depths, and specs for bathroom spaces. I've drawn three small homes and I love each of them.

These pictures are all my new life. The life I can't imagine not having anymore. The life I want to keep forever. I need to focus on this part of my life to keep me from thinking about all the things that are completely out of my control.

“So our hotel rooms connect.” Aunt Nicole pulls open the door between the two rooms. “We can work this however we want. Kids in one room, us in the other room. We can all sleep in the same space. If Joy needs time”—her eyes wander to mine—“you can have a room, but you can't be alone. Not now. Not for something like this.”

“I'm not that fragile.” But maybe I am. The thought that they don't want to take the risk of me being alone makes me feel good, loved. Not embarrassed like the attention used to. I'm not even sure when that happened or what changed, but feeling this loved is something I couldn't have imagined before now.

“Doesn't matter.” Nicole smiles. “Let's get something to eat. We have a long day tomorrow.”

A long day. I can't even think about tomorrow.

Uncle Rob steps back toward the door. “Joy and I are going out to get food. We'll be back.”

I follow Uncle Rob out of the hotel room. It's not hot this time of year, but the dust and dryness still hit my nose the way they always did.

“Going out okay?” he asks.

I just nod. Being back here is surreal. Like the new me doesn't belong in this dry place anymore.

We climb into the car and even after the long drive down, I don't mind much. A thought hits me. I know this is going to be a hard week but … “I want to drive by my house.”

“What?”

“I—I want to drive by my house.” My heart's pounding hard at the thought of seeing it again—the place that seems to be in my dreams more often than not.

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” he asks.

“Nope.” I pull my legs to my chest.

He starts the car.

“But I want to do it anyway.”

I tell him where to turn. Bakersfield is small so even though I didn't get out much, I know how to get there.

The sign for the trailer park is ahead. I can't go in. But I made it this far. “Stop here.”

“Here?” His eyes scan around us. We're on a dirty street, nothing but brown hills in the background and a trailer park that looks half-abandoned.

“That was mine, there.” I point to a small white and blue trailer near the back.

“That's where you lived?” Uncle Rob's never been here. Never seen this place.

“That's the only place I remember living until your house.”

He rests his elbow on the door and brings his hand to his chin.

We sit in silence.

Sitting in front of the house is not as bad as I thought it would be. It's familiar, but feels a lifetime away. The small home doesn't feel as close as it did even two months ago. Back when I was still barely talking.

I don't even mean to, but I get out of the car and start walking. Uncle Rob's next to me in a minute. Will this be good? Or torture? I don't care.

The mailboxes haven't moved, and one of my best memories of this place floods my mind. We walk up the row of houses, all looking much the same. Did these people know? Did anyone know? I'm not sure, and I guess it doesn't make a difference now.

Uncle Rob's arm goes around me. The smell, the dust. I stop two trailers away. Am I a coward for not going any closer? The same small graying wooden porch slants away from the door. The curtains are different. Someone else is in there now. The door opens and I stare.

A little blond girl bounds out with a pink backpack.

“Watch that bottom step, honey! Until we can fix it!” Her mom steps out behind her and locks the door.

She picks up her little girl and gives her a squeeze before putting her in their car. The girl looks so happy. Her mom looks so … nice.

My chest pounds. Another mom and daughter live there and they look … okay. It wasn't
me
—the things that happened in that house—it was Mom. All of those horrible experiences somehow come back to Mom.

The realization hits me again. Hard. I didn't cause my situations. Mom did. My experiences had nothing to do with this place or our circumstances. Just her. I'll never know why she hurt me, or why she let things happen. Just like I told Trent the other day, the whys would start a spiral I couldn't stop.

The woman buckles her daughter in and waves as she drives past us. I wave back and lean farther into my uncle.

“My life here wasn't fair to me.” I actually feel the words and believe the truth of them. I never realized that part of me felt like I deserved what happened. My history seemed too horrible to deserve, but now that I'm letting my past go, I feel relief. I really, actually, deserved better.

“No. None of that life was fair to you.” He squeezes my shoulder and kisses the top of my head.

I turn toward the car.

He pulls in a long, deep breath. “Food?”

“Food.”

I glance over my shoulder again and keep walking. That's not where I belong. Never was. Never will be again.

The Xanax keeps me from having dreams, but it doesn't help me sleep. Not tonight.

Tara, Trent, and I are all in one room, but the door between our rooms stays open. Uncle Rob comes in several times throughout the night. Checking on me. Making sure I don't slip away.

I'm still here. Still breathing. And still dreading tomorrow.

Uncle Rob, Aunt Nicole, and I have a ridiculous conversation on who will and won't be in the courtroom. Am I comfortable with them there? Do I want them there? Uncle Rob finally tells me to pretend I'm in a world where I'm a completely selfish girl. Now what do I want?

I still want whatever makes them most comfortable.

We come up with a compromise.

They'll sit in the courtroom unless I look at them and shake my head. Then they'll leave. I'm allowed to ask the bailiff to bring them back in. This way, if I have to talk about things I don't want them to hear, they won't. Aside from that, they'll be there.

Tara and Trent will stay at the hotel. I'm relieved. They don't need to know the horrid details of my past. The fact that they're staying in an old Super 8 in Bakersfield is enough.

I wring my hands as I'm led to the stand—nerves twisting inside me as I stare at the floor. I have to be careful about where I look because I'm not sure how I'll react to seeing Mom. I'm separated from the people in the room by a step up and a small wall that's chest height when I sit. I try to make myself feel that separation. My barrier. My safety.

Tension has such a hold on me that my legs ache and I'm trying to remember to breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

There's some talking that I don't catch because I'm counting breaths. I watch the judge with her tight bun and the bailiff and the attorney. Mom's in here. I tighten my hands around each other to stop them from shaking. My heart stops every time I catch her in my peripheral vision.

I mumble my way through promising to tell the truth and trying to focus on the prosecutor. She's short and thin with a friendly face and dark blond hair. She's in a plain navy suit, which almost blends into the background.

Her first questions for me are easy. My name, my birthday. Where I go to school, where I live, how long I've lived there. I'm speaking, which feels like a victory after how hard I concentrated on breathing just a few moments ago.

She asks if I remember the day Mom and I were separated. Only Trent knows this story. I talk about being excited to hold the keys in my hand and getting the mail. I talk about the mail carrier and the look of shock on her face. It feels so much different talking about that situation now. I remember the terror of the day it happened. When I told Trent that memory felt different, more detached. Today the story feels like the huge moment it was. The moment my old life started to break away and my new one began to form.

This story leads into questions about my time with child services and then into specifics on my mother and the people she let into our home. My eyes catch Uncle Rob's and then Aunt Nicole's. They both give me a reassuring smile. Aunt Nicole's eyes are red. I'm not sure about Uncle Rob's. I don't look at them long enough to think about what they might be feeling. There's only room in my heart for my own emotions right now.

If I feel exposed by what I have to share when talking about Mom; I can't imagine how much worse Richard's trial would have been.

I cry three times. Once when I mention the movie
Matilda
and once when I talk about how Mom laughed when I told her I'd been raped. I cry again when we talk about Richard. Mom beat me up. She thought I was trying to steal him away. She didn't believe that I didn't want him in my room. He was in there so much.

Uncle Rob and Aunt Nicole are wiping tears. I forgot to send them out so they didn't have to hear. Or maybe I'm just selfish and want them here.

I stand up and show the jury the scarring on my back. They try not to gasp, but do anyway. So ridiculous. Those marks are the result of a minor discomfort that lasted only a week or two. Funny how people only believe in things they can see, even when I shared so much more. I wish I could tell them about how much more scarred my heart is. How my thoughts sometimes don't feel like my own because I can't control them. How broken I am. My body is just a body, but the rest of me … That's where the damage is.

“I'm finished, Your Honor,” the DA says.

“We'll break for lunch for one hour.” The judge taps her gavel.

I sit, afraid to move, and stare at my lap. My mom's moving out of the courtroom with the bailiff. Her form barely appears in the outer edges of my vision. I can't look. Not directly.

“Joy?” The attorney steps up to the wooden box, which is starting to feel like a prison. “You were amazing.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. The jury's gone. Uncle Rob and Aunt Nicole are standing behind the DA's table, waiting.

“After lunch isn't going to be fun. The defense attorney is going to hammer you with anything he feels is a discrepancy. Don't feel bad if you need to ask for a break. Don't feel bad about crying. Just continue to be honest, okay?”

I nod. My body is thick, heavy, tired. How can sitting and talking make me so
tired
?

Uncle Rob's arm is around me as soon as I step down. I follow my aunt and uncle down the white brick hallway into a room where we have a small lunch. I can't eat. After pleadings from Aunt Nicole, I take a few bites of croissant.

“I can't believe …” Uncle Rob starts.

Aunt Nicole silences him with a glare.

“That was just some of what happened.” I let my eyes find his. “The DA's only asking me about my mom. I don't have to relive everything.”

Uncle Rob's face has fallen further. I'm worried that what I told him made him feel worse instead of better. I thought it was good that I didn't have to talk about everything I remember.

Uncle Rob hands me my phone. “It's been buzzing in my pocket.”

Three messages are from Justin.

How are you?

Thinking about you.

Wish I could be there.

I type:
Survived my morning. It sucked. Going to get worse. I'm okay. Promise. Can't wait to see you again.

Then I hit Send and smile. I can't believe how lucky I am to have so many amazing people in my life.

“Can you tell me where your mother is? Point her out in the room?”

I hate the attorney already. He's roundish and balding, and wears a smug look on his doughy face.

My eyes float to Aunt Nicole first. She feels like more of a mom than my mom ever has. “There.” I point to my mother, sitting at the defendant's table. But I can't make myself look at her. Not now. Hopefully not ever.

“Who do you live with?”

“My Aunt Nicole and Uncle Rob, but they feel like …”

He holds his hand up. “You've answered, thank you.”

My heart sort of breaks. They're like my family. Not her. My eyes go from them to the squidgy attorney in front of me.

His questions are direct and brutal. He insinuates that I tried to make my mom angry. That I did everything in my power to hurt a woman who was already in a fragile mental state.

I'm determined not to cry. I set my jaw and stare at this man who I hate more with every question. I don't realize until the judge calls an end to our day that maybe if I had let myself cry, the attorney might have stopped being such a jerk.

I'm silent when the day is done. Aunt Nicole's silent. Uncle Rob's silent. No one knows what to say. I don't know what to think about the quiet. Tomorrow morning is when the DA gets to ask me questions about anything the defense attorney said or got me to say. At least I don't hate her. But I do hate that I'll have to sit in the same room with my mom again.