The Eye Unseen (33 page)

Could Mom not see how much I desperately wanted to call the girls in my class and have them sleep over on the living-room floor, eat our fill of popcorn and chips, drink all the soda we could?

But I never would have told her this. Mom would have shut me up with a fast smack across the cheek or one of her terror-inducing glares.

We got on our bikes. Rode to town. Just being alone with my big sister, her long dark hair floating in a stream straight behind her as she pedaled like an Olympic racer, relaxed my heart. She had not forgotten.

She loved me.

We went to the church. Not what I had anticipated for my birthday. Not that I didn’t like the building or the people in it. I had wanted something more exciting, more glamorous than our usual Sunday activities on the day I hit the big 1-0.

But Brandy was smart as a whip.

She led me to the basement, which creeped me out because we had to search for the light switches. My emotions were in turmoil. Turning ten and the excitement of such a grand moment, coupled with my trepidation at wandering around in the dark church basement, waiting for critters of all sorts to bite my ankles or grab me and take me to some backwoods cabin, only to suffer some fate more horrible than having a mother who couldn’t care less about my special birthday. It all made me jittery.

When I finally turned on the lights, the people jumped out, scaring me so badly I almost fainted.

“Surprise! Happy Birthday!”

Brandy stood across from me, beaming. She could read my heart. She knew how much I had wanted a party. To be queen for a day. To celebrate my life.

The women decked me out with a tiara and sash proclaiming my status as Birthday Girl. Most of the kids at my party were from my Sunday School class. Brandy had arranged for their mothers to bake goodies and plan games for my big day. Like she knew Mom would never do for me.

She and I held hands through most of the afternoon. We played the old standards, pinned tails on donkeys, ran around the church lawn in a heated game of tag. I was shocked when they all gave me presents. Card games, books, a stuffed hippo. My loot pile so big Brandy and I had to stuff both our backpacks full to carry it home.

We had had a glorious day. An unimaginable day. Brandy had thrown me a birthday party. None of the other mothers had even asked where mine was, and it didn’t matter. My sister had rocked my world.

On the way home, we stopped for pizza. Brandy paid with the money Mom had given her, and we even had enough for breadsticks.

“Don’t say a word,” my sister warned when we returned home.

How I missed her. Brandy hadn’t been gone very long, and I had withered away into nothing without her.

Did she think of me? Why hadn’t she called someone?

That was what it narrowed down to. When it was most important, my sister had failed me. Left me behind. To die.

My death promised to be uncomfortable. Long and drawn out, rancid fart flavored taffy. Completely coated in the slime of solitude.

My head ached. Already my thirst was overwhelming. My hunger so acute it could cut glass.

No one had come.

And no one would.

Where was my dog?

Joan

Could it really only be four more days?

You’d stopped moving around much. Unless your room was infested with rats, I’d heard your footfall on occasion. The last time, I’d been quite surprised. You hadn’t taken a step in at least a day. My heart saddened at the thought of you still up there, breathing. Why couldn’t you just let go?

I made my own preparations. Took the box of photos, the ones from the happy years of my short marriage, and decorated my bed with them. Alex and I after our engagement party, which included two couples from his work and my mother, everyone’s eyes sparkling. Was it the alcohol, or the joy we inspired?

Pictures of our first house. The small one, where we had papered the walls with love. I blushed at the memories of our sex life before Brandy came along. The night Alex came home from work and I had left a trail of rose petals, from the front door to the bathroom. My husband preferred white wine, and I had balanced his glass on the table in the hallway, right next to a single stocking, the leg trailing over the edge of the ebony wood, the toe pointing toward the bathroom where I was waiting.

The water hot. The bubbles frothy. When Alex joined me, half the contents of the tub spilled onto the floor. We laughed hysterically.

He moved me from the tub to the kitchen, where we polished the counter. In the living room we shared his favorite recliner. Under our sheets, we created Brandy.

How could anyone take him away from me?

Pictures of Brandy. Newborn, in her high chair, wearing her first Halloween costume. Her proud papa, holding her in the crook of one arm, balancing her on his shoulders, tossing her into the air and listening to her scream with glee.

We had been happy, the three of us.

My mother. I recalled who she was before my father’s funeral, how she quietly fell apart afterward, refusing anyone’s help or attention. How I had needed her after my own husband’s death, but she was gone then, too. Lost in her own world. Banished from mine.

I stopped taking pictures after you came along.

Why would I want to record your existence? The school took care of that each year. On a few occasions I had splurged and taken the two of you to the mall for photos with Santa, the Easter Bunny, even the baby lions that came on tour one summer. But this was only because I cherished images of Brandy. Not you. You were just along for the ride.

The pile of pictures shifted when I moved my feet. One remained in place, noticeable now where before it had been buried under the others. It caught my eye because of its color. Black and white. How old could it be?

Someone had taken it at our family reunion.

The tragic one where Aunt Evelyn had died. Right there, at the kitchen table, after pronouncing my horrible fate.

The picture showed almost the entire room. The counter with the bar stools. The table, all six chairs filled with the women of my family. My naïve self, clinging to Mother’s leg. The refrigerator, the coffee pot.

And leaning against the stove, a strange man dressed in work pants and a denim jacket. His face slightly blurred by the camera. His gaze focused on me and my mother.

No mistaking his face, even though it was obscured. The red-headed man.

I dropped the picture. Picked it up again and stared harder. Across the table, Evelyn had a foul look on her face.

She was looking directly at him. Watching him watch me.

She had known, all right.

And he had been the one to tell her.

Lucy

My body melted onto the floor.

He had turned the heat off, but his laughter still haunted my room. So loud no other noises permeated the persistent cackle. I couldn’t tell if Mom was moving around, whether Tippy ever made it up the stairs to check on me.

The chickens could have taken over the entire upstairs, and I would never know. 

Somehow I survived. Days wrapped around themselves, so I had no idea how much time had passed, but my mind told me at least a week had dragged by, its hind legs shattered and weighing it down.

Images floated past in the darkness. The convertibles carrying the homecoming queen and her court. A water slide, dripping with children. Crocuses. The family of owls in our back yard. Brandy asleep in her bed, curled up with her stuffed rabbit, the blankets tucked perfectly around her chin.

Mom. Screaming at me. Her palms flying out to greet my face. Her lips curled up in glee as she kicked my backside while I tried to crawl away. Back when things were good enough I could have walked out the front door and never returned.

If only I could do so now. I would open the door in a split second, key or no key. Throw a chair through the downstairs window. Remember that a shard of glass makes as potent a weapon as the knife I could not find.

I had to escape. But I couldn’t even stand.

The light under my door beckoned, a beam of hope in an otherwise pathetic existence. I found the strength to crawl across my floor, push with my knees and bury my face in the old rug by my bed, slide across the room like it was lathered in Crisco.

Then I came to the most fantastic realization.

Waiting for death to come. Pushing myself into the light.

Maybe this light was the final one. All I had to do was understand what the true God was telling me, the symbolism He had placed in my room. My ultimate quest. To find the light.

And here it had been staring at me all this time.

Godless turned up his soundtrack, which solidified my epiphany. Why else would he try to distract me? To ridicule me with his maniacal laughter? I had to have finally made the right decision.

When my head rested against the bottom of the door, I tried to relax. I was on center stage. Celebrating my moment. The grandest occasion of my life; not the joy of being escorted down the aisle to meet my future husband, not the cap-and-gown fest of getting a PhD, not even a medal ceremony when I broke all records in the butterfly at the Olympics.

There would be no national anthem playing for me.

I was about to give myself to God.

The real one.

The one who was waiting for me, with open arms and the splendor that was not this life.

Flat against the floor, I pushed my fingers under the door. Spread them open, reaching in all directions to try to grab the beam that would take me into forever. I held my breath and waited to be sucked under the frame and into the radiance, riding it like a high speed train going non-stop to the golden gates.

Something slimy ran over my fingernails.

I pulled my hands back. Listened to the guffaw as it ridiculed my attempt to meet death on my own terms.

Then the sensation nudged my brain.

Had I been locked up for so long that I had forgotten?

I pushed my hands further this time, under the door until my knuckles became wedged against the wood.

And found her precious face.

Tippy. Waiting for me outside my door.

God had answered my prayers after all. I wasn’t abandoned. My best friend had found me, in all my disgust and shame, and was slathering my fingers with kisses.

My lips were too parched to part. Could she hear my thoughts? I thanked her for coming. For being here to see me off. Promised her Mom would take care of her, even if she kicked her around on occasion.

We were soul mates, Tippy and I. Why had I ever worried about the girls at school not liking me, when I could never have found anyone more worthy of my friendship than my dog?

Had I had any moisture left in my body, I would have collapsed into tears. I sent Tippy my best apologies. She had, of course, been right. The window was my best opportunity and I blew it time and time again. Had my naivety made me believe that he was the one, true God? My immaturity? Mom had sold me on the idea. He creeped me out, but who was I to question him?

My fingers rested on Tippy’s paws. She pressed her head against them, licking my skin in what I hoped was forgiveness. Would she even be here if she still held a grudge?

At that thought, I felt her leave.

My heart caved in.

Was God teasing me? Punishing me for my earlier decisions? Was He upset that I’d fallen for Godless’s routine?

I couldn’t scream her name. I had nothing left. My tongue had long ago become an old piece of jerky. My throat, the earth after a sudden sandstorm.

When I reached back out to check for her, my angel had returned.

Tippy put a cloth on my hands.

The thought didn’t register for several seconds. Then I realized my skin was wet. That water was running onto the floor, a stream coming straight where my face was pressed against the wood.

I flattened it out, pulled it in with me.

What a brilliant beast.

She had pulled the dishtowel off the stove, where it hung on the door. Soaked it in her water dish. Carried it to me.

I sucked the sweet liquid out of the cloth. Wrung it out, letting it waterfall down my throat. Put my left hand back where I could find my dog. Wrapped my fingers around her paw, holding it tight, hoping she understood exactly how much I loved her.

We clung to each other this way. When I shoved the dry rag back under the door, Tippy took it away and brought it back again. Kept me sane and eased my discomfort at the same time.

I had my second epiphany of the day.

When I reached under the door I had been searching for God.

And this time, I had found her.

Joan

Twenty-nine hours.

I was manic with joy. My body had forgotten the bruises, the areas where I needed stitches. Everything was fitting perfectly.

My wedding dress hung in the closet, removed from over a decade of storage. I couldn’t believe it when I tried it on and the zipper closed. Two children and a lifetime of distress later, and the damned thing had more give than the first day I’d worn it.

Who had I been back then?

Who was I now?

Starting my life with Alex had been a whirlwind of time ago. Walking down the aisle to his outstretched hand, dancing after our ceremony, the first night we spent as husband and wife. He held my hand constantly. Waltzed with me in the kitchen. Listened to my every word, intent upon the details of my life. Our short time together a never-ending honeymoon.