the Greyhound station. You were always real good to me. But I can’t go on livin’ if I have to keep rememberin’, and you’re a reminder.
“I’m real sorry to hear that.” I winced at the sound of my own voice. All those years of trying to fit into Middle America and suddenly my Southern accent was creeping back.
“She wanted to see you before the Good Lord takes her,” my father said, his voice hollow and echoey. “You reckon you could get down here to pay a visit? She surely would appreciate it. Your ma and me would, too.”
“I’ll try.”
“Praise Jesus. You always were such a good girl.”
We said our goodbyes and I ended the call. My heart was thudding and I was sweating like I’d just sprinted around the block.
“That was my father. I have to go to South Carolina.”
Sharonda fumbled on the light and just stared at me for a moment. “You’re actually going down there?”
“He says my sister’s dying. I should see her.”
“Oh, Belle. No. I’m so sorry, but ... you couldn’t save her then, and you can’t save her now.”
I hugged my pillow to my chest. “I could have tried harder. Part of me knew what was happening, and I just ... I did nothing.”
“You were just a child, honey. What could you do?”
“Something. Anything . Shit.” I wiped hot tears from my eyes. “If she’s there now, that means either she’s got no place else to go, and this is a living nightmare for her ... or it means he’s genuinely changed and they’ve reconciled. Either way, I should go see her.”
“How did that old bastard get your cell number anyway? It’s not enough that you had to spend the last ten years in therapy to get him out of your head?”
I rubbed my temples. “Dr. Boyle said it was important to know that I am better than he is. To know that I can rise above everything that happened. How can I know that if I can’t even face him?”
Sharonda was silent for a long moment.
“I know where you’re coming from, but I don’t think I can go with you,” she finally said, twisting the white sheets around her dark fists. “I’d kill him. The moment I saw his face I’d punch what was left of his teeth straight down his throat. I don’t care if he’s changed. That man deserves to be torn apart by pigs for what he did to you and your sister.”
I squeezed her arm to show her I understood and wasn’t disappointed. “It’s okay. I think I only have enough frequent flier miles to cover my ticket anyway.”
Sharonda hugged me tightly. “Do what you need to, baby. But promise me this: don’t stay at his house. Anything gets weird down there, you get the hell out, okay?”
“Okay, I promise.”
On the plane to Hillsonville, I wondered what I really did owe my family. I knew how things were supposed to work. A good daughter would visit her father. A good woman would go to her sister’s deathbed. A good person would forgive and forget. It was so simple to turn the other cheek right up until the day you got a broken jaw.
I stared down at my trembling hands. They’d always reminded me of my father: we both had the same slight bend in the first joints of our ring fingers. I heard his voice every time I cleared my throat. I couldn’t burn his winding genes away no matter how much I wished I could.
At least I could console myself that I wasn’t the same little girl who’d first thought of committing suicide at the age of 12. I’d gotten out and grown up. I’d done my best to break the cycle. Tied my tubes so no child would ever suffer because of the jagged ways I’d been raised. Even if I was stuck with half his DNA, I wasn’t passing it on, and the atoms in my body had cycled in and out at least three times.
I was my own person now. And that had to mean something.
I hailed a yellow cab outside the Hillsonville Regional Airport. The cabbie pulled up to the curb and got out, smiling at me. He was a thin brown kid in a starched white camp shirt and skinny jeans.
“Do
“I’m real sorry to hear that.” I winced at the sound of my own voice. All those years of trying to fit into Middle America and suddenly my Southern accent was creeping back.
“She wanted to see you before the Good Lord takes her,” my father said, his voice hollow and echoey. “You reckon you could get down here to pay a visit? She surely would appreciate it. Your ma and me would, too.”
“I’ll try.”
“Praise Jesus. You always were such a good girl.”
We said our goodbyes and I ended the call. My heart was thudding and I was sweating like I’d just sprinted around the block.
“That was my father. I have to go to South Carolina.”
Sharonda fumbled on the light and just stared at me for a moment. “You’re actually going down there?”
“He says my sister’s dying. I should see her.”
“Oh, Belle. No. I’m so sorry, but ... you couldn’t save her then, and you can’t save her now.”
I hugged my pillow to my chest. “I could have tried harder. Part of me knew what was happening, and I just ... I did nothing.”
“You were just a child, honey. What could you do?”
“Something. Anything . Shit.” I wiped hot tears from my eyes. “If she’s there now, that means either she’s got no place else to go, and this is a living nightmare for her ... or it means he’s genuinely changed and they’ve reconciled. Either way, I should go see her.”
“How did that old bastard get your cell number anyway? It’s not enough that you had to spend the last ten years in therapy to get him out of your head?”
I rubbed my temples. “Dr. Boyle said it was important to know that I am better than he is. To know that I can rise above everything that happened. How can I know that if I can’t even face him?”
Sharonda was silent for a long moment.
“I know where you’re coming from, but I don’t think I can go with you,” she finally said, twisting the white sheets around her dark fists. “I’d kill him. The moment I saw his face I’d punch what was left of his teeth straight down his throat. I don’t care if he’s changed. That man deserves to be torn apart by pigs for what he did to you and your sister.”
I squeezed her arm to show her I understood and wasn’t disappointed. “It’s okay. I think I only have enough frequent flier miles to cover my ticket anyway.”
Sharonda hugged me tightly. “Do what you need to, baby. But promise me this: don’t stay at his house. Anything gets weird down there, you get the hell out, okay?”
“Okay, I promise.”
On the plane to Hillsonville, I wondered what I really did owe my family. I knew how things were supposed to work. A good daughter would visit her father. A good woman would go to her sister’s deathbed. A good person would forgive and forget. It was so simple to turn the other cheek right up until the day you got a broken jaw.
I stared down at my trembling hands. They’d always reminded me of my father: we both had the same slight bend in the first joints of our ring fingers. I heard his voice every time I cleared my throat. I couldn’t burn his winding genes away no matter how much I wished I could.
At least I could console myself that I wasn’t the same little girl who’d first thought of committing suicide at the age of 12. I’d gotten out and grown up. I’d done my best to break the cycle. Tied my tubes so no child would ever suffer because of the jagged ways I’d been raised. Even if I was stuck with half his DNA, I wasn’t passing it on, and the atoms in my body had cycled in and out at least three times.
I was my own person now. And that had to mean something.
I hailed a yellow cab outside the Hillsonville Regional Airport. The cabbie pulled up to the curb and got out, smiling at me. He was a thin brown kid in a starched white camp shirt and skinny jeans.
“Do
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