The Boys Down South, page 34
“You need to take your break. I can handle the rest of the lunch crowd. It’s thinning out anyway.”
I wasn’t hungry. I shook my head. “I don’t need a break. I can wait until three.”
“That’s in twenty minutes. Go on now.”
“No, Diesel. I don’t need to,” I replied firmly. He wasn’t my boss. I didn’t need his concern. Or his advice.
“You didn’t eat breakfast either,” he continued.
I wasn’t going to argue with him right here in front of the entire dining room. Instead, I walked past him and into the kitchen. The tea was getting low and we wouldn’t completely thin out until three thirty. I had planned on making more once I had my tables taken care of.
“I’ve seen his kind. He’s an asshole. You’re better than that.”
I froze, my hand on the tea bags I had picked up, and I took a deep breath before moving again. This was not the time to lose my temper on Diesel. I had already done that once today. Ethel had forgiven me. I needed him to now back off and let me work.
“Diesel, I’ve known Bray most of my life. There is nothing I do not know about him. You, however, have known me a couple weeks. You’ve briefly met Bray. So please, back off. Shut up. Go do your job and let me do mine.”
That was kind enough, I thought. Not too bossy. Not too angry. Just to the point.
“Girl is right, boy. Stay out of her business. She ain’t asking you for any advice. Table six just left. Go bus it,” Ethel said behind me.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Saying thank you to Ethel for getting rid of her nephew seemed a little rude, so I went about making the pitcher of tea like I had planned.
“He means well. He has a protective streak when he cares about someone. You made it onto that list. I’m afraid he cares too much. I’ve seen you barely able to smile today. The sadness in your eyes tells me that your heart is hurting. Which means it’s taken. He’ll accept it eventually.”
I simply nodded as I turned to look at her. I didn’t have to be told Diesel liked me. No guy would be that involved in my moods and life if he didn’t. But Ethel was right. My heart was hurting. But even if I didn’t love Bray, I wouldn’t ever be able to love Diesel. He was too happy. There was no darkness there and he’d been in prison. Even that hadn’t brought him down. He made me laugh and smile when I needed it but that never took away what was underneath. And I knew it was something he would never be able to live with. It was too twisted.
“Thanks for understanding,” I told her.
She chuckled. “We are females with a lot going on in our lives. These men don’t get it. We gotta stick together,” she winked as she finished. Then she walked off with a pat on my shoulder. “You make some fine sweet tea, girl.”
I wanted to go find a quiet place and check my phone for calls or texts. Then maybe cry a little. Not enough to make my face red and blotchy but to get some of the pain out.
Bray was a balm to my soul. He had no idea. But he was. Being near him made the other hurt less. Often it faded away. In its place came happiness. Excitement. Going to Dixie’s wedding might possibly have been the worst thing I’d ever done. Because now I was reminded how good it felt to be in his arms, and I would have to get over it again.
32
bray
Getting back to Scarlet was important, but before I headed there, I had one last thing to do. Stop by her parents’ house. Her mother’s expensive ass luxury car was in the drive. I knew several guys from high school who had fucked the woman. Everyone in town knew about her and the fucked-up shit she did. Her husband had to know, yet they were still married. The bastard must not give a shit.
I climbed out of my new old truck and walked down the sidewalk toward the front door. I’d never been in this house. Scarlet was rarely here. Most of the time she could be found at Dixie’s or with Dixie. Not at her own house. I never questioned it because it made sense to me.
The front door was elaborate, but it needed some upkeep. It reminded me of a house that someone bought and couldn’t afford to take care of. Glancing around, I saw dead plants. Paint that had been peeling for a long while now and the entire outside needed a good washing. Momma would be disgusted if she saw this.
I rang the doorbell and waited. Nothing. I gave it a couple minutes then I rang it again. It was after lunch. The woman had to be awake. I was just about to ring it for the third time when the door opened and Scarlet’s mother opened the door. She was in a short, revealing night gown. Her hair messed up from sleep and mascara smeared under her eyes because she’d slept in her makeup.
She ran her eyes over me slowly then smiled. “Hello,” she purred.
“Mrs. North, I’m Bray Sutton, ma’am, and I’m here to get Scarlet’s things.” I didn’t’ ask for them. I wanted to make it clear there was no room for argument. I knew Scarlet said her things were gone but I wanted to be sure.
She straightened then. A pinched look of annoyance on her face. “Why do you want Scarlet’s things?” she asked, not nearly so welcoming as before.
“She needs them. I’m taking them to her.” The woman didn’t need more explanation than that.
She studied me a moment. Her face softening up again. “You sleeping with my daughter, Bray Sutton?” It wasn’t a normal question nor was the way she asked it. It almost sounded flirty. As if talking about my sex life with her daughter was a challenge. Sick bitch.
Ignoring her, I repeated, “Her things?” My scowl was enough to let this woman know I was fucking serious.
“Angry and bossy,” she said, doing some strange move that shook her breasts at me. “I like it.”
Jesus, no wonder Scarlet never wanted to come home. “Mrs. North, if I could get Scarlet’s things, I can be on my way. I’m not here for anything else.”
She stepped toward me. “Are you sure about that, sugar? I’ve shown many young, hungry guys your age a thing or two.”
“Then they were fucking desperate,” I said bluntly.
She jerked back like I had slapped her. “You little bastard.”
“Can I have Scarlet’s things or should I contact her father to get them? I can explain I tried to get them from you but was unsuccessful.” I had no idea what their agreement was. The man had to know his wife was a whore. But I imagined she didn’t want me calling the man to tell him about this encounter.
She rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t know or care where her shit is,” she said, now sounding annoyed. “The crap is in the shed out back. It’s locked. The code is 123456. Simple and easy enough.” She went to close the door in my face and paused. Her eyes did a quick scan of my body again. “You have no idea what I could do to a boy like you.”
I should have walked away then. Ignored that. But this woman needed reminding how old she was. “I’ve had old women before. Like you, worn out but once attractive. Still holding on to their fleeting beauty. And no, ma’am, I don’t enjoy it. And I won’t regret this.”
With that, I walked away then circled around the house to the shed she was referring to out back.
“Rude little shit! I have married men begging me for this pussy! BEGGING ME!” she yelled loud enough for her neighbors to hear. Hopefully, it wasn’t those married men. Dumbasses.
I kept going and found the shed and, sure enough, that inane code worked. Why even have a lock if the code was going to be that stupid?
The large door swung open, and I found the light switch easy enough to the left of the door. There were three cardboard boxes sitting in the center of the room. Each had the letter S on them in a black marker. I walked over and opened the top one to see a shirt I remembered Scarlet wearing. These were hers. I checked around to see if there was anything else, but this was it. How did one teenage girl’s belongings fit in only three boxes? The bitch had to have gotten rid of her stuff like Scarlet said she had.
Disgusted with this reality and how little they cared about their daughter, I took the boxes out to my truck and put them in. One last time I went out to the storage and made sure there was nothing else out there that could be Scarlet’s. Standing in the shed, I scanned the walls. Dusty tools that looked like they’d never been used hung neatly on the walls. A wheelbarrow that still had tags on the handle sat in one corner. A large wooden box sat in the other corner. I walked over to the wooden box and lifted the lid. A few dolls that looked too old to have been Scarlet’s were inside. A blanket that had been handmade and, from the discoloration, it too wasn’t Scarlet’s. I started to close the cover when the corner of a book caught my attention. It was lying under one of the dolls. I reached in and took it out.
It wasn’t that old. The pink shiny material on it was worn and appeared dirty from use or handling. The silver letters on front said “My Diary.” It was a child’s. The style and material weren’t like the other items in the box. It didn’t fit the timeframe. This book belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t forty-five-years-old. But more like twenty.
I held it a moment. Not sure if opening it was fair. I knew it was Scarlet’s. There was no one else’s it could be. Fighting with my morals and fucking curiosity, I decided I would open it. Make sure it was Scarlet’s then take it to her. She wouldn’t want this left here. With these people.
Slowly, I lifted the cover and inside I saw childish cursive handwriting. Like someone who was just learning to sign their name. It said Scarlet North. It was hers. I’d done what I said I’d do. Now to close it and take it to her.
I had good intentions. I did. I wasn’t planning on letting my eyes roam over to the first page to see how she started her entries. Or to see if she had ever written an actual entry in it.
She had. And the first words grabbed me so tightly I stood there. Unable to move. Or stop reading.
33
December 25, 2003
Sparkle Rose,
It is Christmas today. My dad gave me this diary. He said it was to write stuff in. I knew what a diary was. My friend at school Tabatha has one. She writes in hers all the time then brings it to school to read it to us on the playground. I think Tabatha lies in hers though. I also think it’s silly to write Dear Diary. She should name her book. Books have names. Everyone can’t have the same title of a book. Your name is Sparkle Rose. I like that name. It makes me think of stars and at night I like to count the stars. It also makes me think of pretty flowers and I love to smell them.
Scarlet Eleanor North
6 years old
January 7, 2004
Sparkle Rose,
I started school back today. I like going to school. During the holidays my mom drinks a lot from the wine bottle. And she takes those little pills that she keeps under her bed. She hits and gets mean. But at school Mrs. Washington is nice. She has a baby in her stomach. She looks fat but she’s not. I added Rose to your name because you should have two names. It’s prettier. Tabatha brought her diary to school and read about her presents. She got a pony. A white one. I think that’s a lie. But I don’t say so.
Scarlet Eleanor North
6 years old
March 16, 2004
Sparkle Rose,
Dad came home yesterday but this morning he was gone again. He wasn’t here for my birthday. Mom slept that day and forgot. Mrs. Washington gave me a cupcake at lunch. It was pink. I like pink. I told Dad that I named you Sparkle Rose. But he just nodded and kept reading the paper in his hands. I think he heard me. I wanted to tell him about the man Mom keeps letting in the house. Tell him about what happens. But my chest gets tight. My lips freeze shut. I feel sick in my tummy. I didn’t tell him. Now he’s gone.
Scarlet Eleanor North
Seven Years Old
July 9, 2004
Sparkle Rose,
It is summer time. I lost you but I had forgotten I hid you in my closet under the blankets in the corner. I remembered while I was eating my cereal. Mom has been gone for a week on a cruise. That’s a big ship. It goes to another country. Ms. Bianca is here at the house with me. She is nice. She makes me clean my room and she taught me to cook chicken noodle soup. We watch a station with cartoons every day. I like those too.
Scarlet Eleanor North
Seven Years Old
September 13, 2004
Sparkle Rose,
Tabatha invited me to her house yesterday. But she said today that I couldn’t come to her house. Her mom said my mom was a slut. I don’t know what that means. But when she said it she scrunched her nose. Then she didn’t talk to me anymore. And when she read her diary on the playground I didn’t get to listen. The other girls all turned their backs on me. Said I was bad news. I don’t know how I can be bad news. I’ve never been in the news.
Scarlet Eleanor North
Seven Years Old
December 25, 2004
Sparkle Rose,
It was Christmas today. I got a baby doll. I got an art set. And I got a set of dishes with food. It isn’t real food. The kind you play with. Dad was home for when we opened the Santa presents. But he left after. Mom wouldn’t stop lying on the couch saying her head hurt. I think he got mad at her. He left. I wanted him to stay. I wanted to make him cinnamon toast. Ms. Bianca taught me how this summer. I made some for Mom but she was back in her bed. I ate all of it and put it on my new dishes. It didn’t fit good. My dishes are small and have kittens on them.
Scarlet North
Seven Years Old
May 3, 2005
Sparkle Rose,
I want to be a grown up. I want to live in a house by myself. I would like a cat. I would also like a dog. But just me the cat and dog in our house. I don’t like my house. Mom took the lock off my door. She was mad because I locked it. Now I have no way to get away. When she sends him in here and he calls me baby doll and princess I can’t get away from him. Mom said I had to be good or she’d tell the police what I let him do and they’d put handcuffs on me. I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t think I do. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Scarlet North
Eight Years Old
34
bray
The sick knot in my throat was choking me. The entire drive I struggled to breathe past it. Air was limited. My jaw ached from the tight clench it stayed in. Locked. Unable to loosen. Fury was there burning just under the surface. The only thing stronger than the fury, the need to kill someone with my own two hands, was pain. A debilitating pain. A pain that ran deep and raw.
Not for the first time, I slammed the steering wheel with my hands and cursed loudly. To God. To Scarlet’s fucking parents. To every goddamn church-going hypocrite in that town that turned their back on a kid. The roar from my chest didn’t ease the agony.
It hadn’t been my words to read. They’d been her secrets. But the first entry I glanced over made me smile. It had been so innocent. Sweet. A side of Scarlet I didn’t know. The next page was hard to resist. But instead of a smile, the mention of her mother being mean and hitting caught my attention. I couldn’t stop then. And as sick and fucking horrifying as the reality was, I needed to read it. I knew with each soul shattering page that Scarlet had never told anyone.
“JESUS, SCARLET!” I yelled into the truck. My chest felt as if it had been ripped completely open. How was I supposed to keep from killing someone? The monsters all deserved a slow excruciating death.
And the things I’d said to her during sex. The fucked-up things I’d done. She’d let me and come back for more. Jerking the truck off the interstate, I slammed it in park then jumped out and doubled over just before vomiting. My body heaved and tears stung my eyes from the pressure. Once it stopped, I stood there in the evening breeze. Closed my eyes and let the tears that I didn’t know I had in me slowly begin to roll down my face.
The bitter taste of reality. The ugliness that went unnoticed. The little girl who became a survivor. Chills ran down my arms and I wished there was some way I could take all that pain away. Free her from the hold it had on her. Let her be happy. Not the forced shit I had seen in the past.
Pressing the ball of my palms to both eyes to stop the flow of tears, I growled at the unfairness. The brutality. Abuse. Neglect. And lies Scarlet had been forced to grow up in. When she ran from me. From what we had done, I thought she was weak. A coward.
I was angry at her for not being strong enough to stay. For not wanting me enough. I was so fucking wrapped up in myself that I didn’t see it wasn’t about me. The whole damn thing hadn’t been about me. She’d not been so obsessed with me she chose to hurt Brent. Scarlet had been simply trying to survive.
I climbed back in my truck and pulled onto the road. I had to face her. Which meant I had to get control of myself. She didn’t need to see me like this. I wasn’t even sure how the hell I was supposed to tell her I knew… her darkest secret. The one she had only told a diary she named Sparkle Rose. I’d invaded her privacy. “MOTHERFUCKER!” I slammed my palms against the steering wheel again.
Nothing in my easy-ass life had prepared me for this. My father had died. We’d lost him. They think that’s what fucked me up. It’s what it had been blamed on. But Jesus, what a pussy I was. I lost a parent. But I had a mother who would stand in front of a bullet for me, not that I’d let her, and four brothers. My house hadn’t been a horror show. When I was eight, my biggest concern was getting the last damn fried pie. Or who was going to clean the toilets that week.
When I passed the exit sign, I took a deep breath. This was not what Scarlet needed. My crying and agonizing over a hell she’d already lived through did nothing to help her. I wasn’t sure there was anything that could heal what she’d endured. I knew she wasn’t the only child on the planet to suffer in that way, but she was mine… fuck. She was. Scarlet was mine.
Telling myself I didn’t love her and that I didn’t know how to love was bullshit. Because I realized that standing there in that shed, reading words written by a child, that each word was important to me. I clung to them. All of it. The beginning when it was innocence and sweet to the moment when her innocence was no longer. She’d even stopped calling her diary, Sparkle Rose. The entries had been short. To no one in particular. That had been when I knew… they’d finally destroyed her. The little girl from the first page was no more.
