And Then She Remembered, page 4
But Marsha hated the idea of developing the center. She wanted a partner, a friend, to do it with her. And not just any friend or partner. She wanted April.
But there were too many problems attached to that wanting. Marsha knew she had to let it go. Had to stop wanting what she couldn’t have. Stop wishing she wasn’t who she was and was someone else. Someone like Judith or Bree, who always seemed so sure of themselves.
She had to stop delaying and waiting for the right moment. As if there was a right moment. She had to stop feeling alone when she wasn’t. Judith had suggested counseling. Maybe she should do that. But then someone besides her would know the secret.
That’s the point, you idiot, she said to herself. That’s why you get counseling, so someone else knows and helps you work through it.
Just thinking about it made Marsha want to eat as much chocolate as she could find as fast as she could. At least I am only a food addict, not a drug addict, she said to herself. Knowing that the word addict didn’t care what kind you were, it was that you were. And that required getting some kind of help.
But like all her secrets, Marsha had told no one, not able to face the feelings she had that despite being surrounded by friends who intellectually she knew loved her, she still felt unloved. And felt as if she deserved to be alone.
Imagining a conversation with her mother, she asked her why she had never told her about her father. Why had she drunk herself to death? Did he leave because she was an alcoholic, or did she become one after he left? Did he know she existed? Did he leave before or after she was born?
All these secrets her mother kept from her. She had asked a few times but had been told it wasn’t important. How could it not be important? How she hated the secrets her mother had kept from her.
And now she was just like her mother—keeping secrets. Would she ever get the courage to tell them? Had she blown them up into something more important than they actually were just because she hadn’t told?
Marsha stood, and as she had every day for months, stared at herself in the mirror and asked herself if she could do it. Could she lose the weight and find the courage to live as the person she wanted to be? She had done it before. Although briefly. Dance and theatre had saved her. Could they do it again? Could she let go of the stories that lived in her head about being unwanted and live as someone else?
When she had danced, the music would carry her away. Theatre brought her into another world. Sometimes it was a painful world, but she was always aware it was just a story. Not truth. Not her life.
In her head she heard Bree say to her, but what if all of life is a story? Marsha watched in the mirror as tears ran down her face at the thought. If it was true, then perhaps she could rewrite her story.
And you could help others to rewrite their story through what you and April want to do here, Marsha said to herself. If you do it for someone else, you could move yourself out of your pity party and be useful.
Although Marsha recognized she was still being unkind to herself with those words, she also recognized the truth of them. Perhaps being who she was couldn’t be changed, but she could use it to turn herself into someone that was worth something.
Turning to look at the maple tree outside the window, whose buds were now flying around in the wind making a red haze in the air and a red carpet on the ground, she gathered her courage and texted April asking her permission to go forward with their art center.
Marsha knew that although she felt abandoned, that didn’t give her the excuse to abandon the people she could help, even if they didn’t know it yet.
And while she was waiting for April’s answer, Marsha decided that the next step was to ask for help, and she knew the perfect people to ask.
Ten
Before she could change her mind, Marsha grabbed her purse and walked out the door to Cindy’s art gallery. She told herself she could stop at the coffee shop and grab a latte on the way, maybe get everyone coffees and bring them to the gallery.
But the thought of doing that overwhelmed her. First, she had no idea what each of them drank. And the guilt attached to not knowing threatened to take her down into a dark spiral. So she abandoned the idea of coffee for anyone.
The gallery was only a few blocks away from the Ruby House. Which is exactly what April had asked Ron to buy her. She wanted their home to be close enough to walk into the center of town and work at the gallery. So he had done what she had asked, except it was a much bigger house than she had wanted. But then, because of the size, the art center idea had been born.
Marsha pulled her sweatshirt hood over her head and clutched it closed against the wind. The zipper had broken long ago and she hadn’t gotten around to fixing it, or getting a new sweatshirt. Or any new clothes. Partly because she kept thinking she didn’t want to buy clothes for the weight she was now. All excuses, Marsha knew.
Yes, she definitely needed help. All kinds of help. But first, a discussion with people who understand the art community. Yes, a different medium than dance and theatre. Nevertheless, they knew more than she did.
Although Marsha walked with her head down—partly to keep the wind out of her face, partly to keep people from seeing her, and partly to keep from seeing people—she was still aware of what was around her.
She smelled the coffee shop, and almost went in to get herself a coffee, and then reminded herself how rude that would be to arrive with coffee only for herself. I’ll learn what they drink and bring it next time, she said to herself.
Marsha walked through the warm, fresh bread scent from the bakery, where Cindy bought bread and bagels. She almost stopped there too, but thinking of her weight, she resisted the urge to go inside.
A flower store had an enormous pot of spring blooms in front. Sprigs of forsythia shining in the sun were shafts of yellow reaching up into the sky. Marsha wondered if there was anyone who didn’t smile when seeing flowers.
As Marsha walked, the wind calmed and by the time she reached the gallery, the wind was gone as the weather front moved further east. Glancing up at the now clear blue sky, Marsha whispered a little prayer to whomever might be there, to give her some courage, and then opened the glass door to the gallery. A little bell over the door tinkled, announcing her arrival as she stepped into a spring wonderland.
All the pictures on the wall heralded spring. Flowers of all kinds, in beautiful ceramic and glass vases, stood on pedestals in the corners. The light from the massive windows balanced perfectly with the lights that illuminated the pictures on the walls. Marsha knew that at night, lighting in the ceiling took the place of the natural light, and that too turned the gallery into a magical space.
Marsha realized she was looking at April’s touch—a look designed before Ron’s secret took her away—and once again felt the massive sorrow sitting on her heart. Heavy and unyielding.
Janet, almost hidden by one of the massive flower arrangements, shouted out, “Marsha, so good to see you,” as she practically skipped across the floor. Janet looked like a flower herself. Her spiked hair was tipped pink and green. She wore a purple tunic that floated in the air as she moved, and a light floral scent hung around her. Skinny jeans and pink high-top sneakers completed her outfit.
Without thinking, Marsha breathed out, “Can you make me look that good?”
“Of course she can,” her wife Mimi said, coming from the back office. While Janet flowed, Mimi was a rock. Solid. Comforting. And yet so elegant in an easy, natural way, that it almost took Marsha’s breath away. Janet’s long dark hair hung loose down her back. She wore dark dress pants and a red blouse. No high-top sneakers for her. Instead, a dark shoe with laces and a stacked heel.
Looking at the two of them, living the life they wanted to, partners in all things, Marsha burst into tears, surprising herself. So embarrassed, she turned to leave and then felt Mimi’s arm around her, guiding her into what they called the writers’ room.
It was a room Cindy had put aside for Janet and Mary to hold their writers’ group. But it had grown into more than that. Now it was also used as a comfortable place for anyone to come to curl up on the sofa and read, or just take a brief nap. Cindy knew how important it was to give her employees a place to get away and rest. And Mimi and Janet had turned it into something special.
It was dark, cozy, and comforting. The opposite feeling from the gallery, and yet they belonged together. Through the haze of her feelings, Marsha recognized how the gallery and writers’ room represented the two women sitting beside her, holding her hands, waiting for her to gather herself. Not feeling pity or judgment. Just calmly waiting.
That realization made her weep more, this time with yearning and gratitude. Finally, the deep sobs passed, and she blew her nose and wiped her face with the tissues Mimi had handed her.
It was then that Marsha knew that these two women were the people she could tell her secret to. And then she would listen to what they advised. After that, she would ask for more help. With her eating, with the way she looked, with the center.
“Don’t you need to watch the door?” Marsha asked.
Mimi gestured to a tablet sitting beside her. She could see the door, and the entire gallery on it.
“If someone comes in, we’ll see them. In the meantime, Marsha, can we help you? We are both excellent listeners.”
Janet giggled. “And yes, Mimi will do her best to not try to fix anything until you ask her to.”
Marsha smiled at the two young women beside her—young enough to have been her daughters, but wise in all the ways she wasn’t.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I want to tell you something I have told no one. Can I start there?”
Both women nodded. Mimi stood and brought two chairs from the desk and put them directly in front of Marsha on the couch. Close enough that their knees were almost touching. Close enough that Marsha could whisper the secret that had been eating away at her for so many years.
Eleven
A month later, Marsha was once again lying on the floor staring at the ceiling after taking herself through an hour of yoga. She smiled. How things had changed. She wasn’t just thinking about doing yoga. Or dance. She was doing it.
Telling her secret to Janet and Mimi had opened the door and let her out of the prison where she had put herself. They had cried with her as she told them of the night that Ron Page had raped her. Before Bree. It had been the same as Bree’s experience. And even though he had tried to hide who he was, she knew it was Ron.
She was a dancer, an observer of movement. It’s how she recognized people before seeing their faces. So she had immediately known it was him from the way he moved.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Janet had asked, squeezing Marsha’s hand so hard it hurt. “Why? Your friends would have helped you.”
Through her gasping sobs, Marsha had told them why she couldn’t. When Ron realized she knew him, he said that if she told anyone, he’d hurt her friends and when he said, “I’ll really hurt April,” she knew she could never tell.
So for all these years she had lived with the pain of the rape, but also with the terror that Ron would think she told, and then he would hurt April. Even when everyone found out who he was, she still couldn’t tell. The secret had crawled into her body and latched itself there.
But with each passing month, now that April was free, she had known that it had to be told. It was eating her alive.
Once the sobs stopped again, Mimi handed Marsha a cup of tea, saying, “Chamomile, it will help.” And it had. They had sat together for a few minutes more, as Marsha let the poison from her secret seep out of her body and dissolve into the air.
She could still feel a lump in her heart, though, and she knew what it meant. “I still have to tell April, don’t I?”
The women nodded yes.
“But I can’t do it over the phone. I have to see her and tell her in person. And although telling you first has made it easier, it still will be one of the hardest things I have ever done.”
“You know, of course, it wasn’t your fault,” Mimi had said. “And she will understand that.”
Marsha nodded. “Except I’ve kept this from her. Maybe for good reasons, but still I did. And when I tell her, won’t it open up all the wounds again?”
“It might. But in her heart, April knows that it all has to come out. All that Ron did and who he was must be revealed. She has to know so she can move on. So she can heal from thinking that she should have known.”
“And that she loved him,” Janet said.
All three women paused for a moment, thinking of what that would feel like. They all loved someone that they knew was good and kind. What would it feel like if they discovered that who they believed them to be wasn’t true?
As they sat in silence, Marsha’s phone beeped in her purse. Pulling it out, she saw April had answered her text. Holding her breath, she looked at the message and then started crying again. She handed the phone to Janet to see what April had written.
“Marsha, my friend. The Ruby House is as much yours as mine. Go forward with your plans and ideas. When I get home, we can tackle the upstairs together.”
A second text came a moment later.
“And for heaven’s sake, move into the house. It needs people. Starting with you. I’ll join you when I can.”
All three women started crying then. April’s kindness was so present, even in the middle of her own pain.
It was Janet, who jumped up, her purple tunic lifting and floating like a butterfly as she did so, and said, “Well, let’s get started with your makeover, shall we?”
They all laughed then.
“Yes. I’m ready,” Marsha had said, realizing that she was. She was ready to move forward in her life. And see where it took her.
And a month later, when she looked in the mirror, she saw a woman on the way to becoming herself. She had lost weight, but had more to lose. Mimi was her accountability partner. The person she called when she wanted to stuff a box of chocolate into her mouth.
Janet and Mimi had sent her to the same person who April had first gone to when she arrived in Spring Falls last year. And then Janet took her shopping. It had taken almost a year to be ready for the change she had come to Spring Falls to find.
But now her straggly brownish gray hair had been lightened and trimmed. She had it piled on the top of her head and felt like the dancer that she had always been. Not yet as thin as she used to be, but as lighthearted as she had been only a few times in her life.
Cindy had hugged Marsha so hard it hurt when Marsha told her she was moving into the Ruby House and finally giving Cindy back her guest room. “You can come back and stay here anytime,” Cindy said, trying not to let on that it devastated her she would be alone in the house. Again. As always.
But she said none of that to Marsha. Instead, she asked how she could help, in true Ruby Sister style.
Now the downstairs of the Ruby House was ready for her first dance students, Mimi and Janet. They were her test case, to see if she was ready to teach again, and if they had set the studio up right. They had begged her to at least give them a few basic ballet lessons.
Marsha wasn’t sure that they were doing it for themselves, or to force her to get going. Either way, she was both worried and excited to try it. Standing at the window, Marsha could see Mimi and Janet walking up the street heading to the house, holding hands—Janet light on her feet, Mimi solid and strong, making sure Janet didn’t float away.
Taking a deep breath, Marsha took one last look in the mirror, folded up her yoga mat and put it in the closet where many yoga mats now lived, and went to the front door to greet her newest students.
What Marsha didn’t know was that she was being watched. That throughout her life, she had been watched. And that soon she would meet that person, and it would change her life once again.
Twelve
Sitting in a small cafe in a town she had never heard of before, waiting for her order to arrive at her table, April was wondering if she was ready to return to Spring Falls.
She had already missed the perfect opportunity. The Ruby Sisters had begged her to come home to celebrate her birthday with them. But she couldn’t face it.
But now a few more weeks had gone by, and she wondered if she was ready. The traveling had been both painful and inspiring. She had traveled alone for a few weeks, stopping when she wanted to, staying in hotels for days, sobbing into the pillows or watching hours of mindless TV. She’d even tried camping out and decided she hated it.
Actually, that was what the trip had taught her. What she hated. What she liked. She had purchased an iPad along the way and was now journaling every day about what she saw and what she learned about herself. Even the parts she didn’t like. April thought that when she looked back on this time in her life, she might call it the big purge.
She was getting better each day. Yes, there were dark days when she had to pull to the side of the road and wait out the rage that coursed through her. Screaming where no one could hear her. Then she’d drive on. Never really having a specific destination. Just going. Just as she had always wanted to live. But Ron had liked order and structure, and she did what made him happy. These days, she was remembering what made her happy.
As she traveled, it felt as if time had disappeared. And she discovered she enjoyed spending moments of time with complete strangers. People she met at gas stations, or restaurants, and even when she was trying out camping. Each new meeting buoyed her spirits. Almost everyone she met was kind, and it reminded her that the world was filled with good people.
“This is my time,” she’d yell out the window as she flew down one highway after another. Taking side roads, seeing farms, forests, and cities fly by as if they existed only for her to see them. Sometimes, she’d get the urge to stop and explore, her curiosity leading her.
