Page 52 of Anders and the Girl Worth Fighting For
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said through her tears. A small, mean part of me thought it was justice for when I had nowhere to go and she refused to help me. A more understanding part of me realized that she ran to her mom’s like a scared child. How could I be angry if that was the truth? “When they wrongly arrested George, I had nothing left. I didn’t have any way to pay the mortgage and lost the house.”
Something about that sentence didn’t add up, but I was still too stunned to put it together right away. That little girl that wanted my mother’s love and attention, wanted to reach upand hug her, screamed for her affection and wanted to soothe whatever distressed her, but it had been so many years since we had hugged each other that I wasn’t sure how to do it anymore.
“Wait,” I said, my brain finally catching up to her words. “It’s only been a few days since he was arrested. You shouldn’t have even missed one mortgage payment.”
She pulled away from me at that, her eyes suspiciously dry.
“Oh, well, we will lose the house, is what I meant.” She tried to backtrack. She did that all the time. If someone didn’t believe her first story, she changed it until they did and claimed to have misspoken. I’d seen her do it enough to know what was happening.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said slowly.
“Well, we will have to hire a good lawyer and then there’s bail and George isn’t a deacon anymore.” My mother’s hands fluttered about while she explained, as if she could wipe away her previous story and my suspicions all at once.
“He needs a lawyer and bail and isn’t a deacon because he kidnapped me.” My voice came out wooden. I couldn’t believe this.
“Oh, you’re blowing this out of proportion. We didn’t need to get the cops involved.” She brushed the air aside like she wanted to brushmeaside.
Some things never changed.
“I was tied to a stripper pole and beaten by his hired thugs, my husband, and my husband’s whore while he watched and demanded that I call my lawyer so he could get all my money.” My words came out firmer and more passionate the more I spoke of it. “I had to have a plastic surgeon reconstruct the skin around my wrists.” I thrust my wrists, still wrapped in bandages, into her face.
“I’m sure it’s all a big misunderstanding. We just needed you to help us out and you wouldn’t.” She had the sense to back awayfrom me. My rage must have been showing on my face.
“Like you didn’t help me when I left Bill?” I fought with myself not to raise the poker in my hand as my whole body tensed, ready to defend myself against the woman who gave birth to me, the woman who, apparently, helped scheme to kidnap and rob me.
“You should never have left Bill,” my mother insisted. Reprimand, judgement, and satisfying panic laced her voice.
“Bill abused me. Bill tied me to a pole and beat me. Bill spent a decade making sure I knew I was useless, worthless, and felt every inch the pain that brought. The bastard wanted me broken, and he’d nearly fucking succeeded.” My voice had raised to a fever pitch.
“Grace! Language!” my mother chided.
“Fuck you, how’s that for language?” I shouted. I would be surprised if the distant neighbors couldn’t hear me.
I turned around and opened the door to the foyer. Anders stood just outside it about ready to walk in.
“I didn’t find anyone,” he said as he stepped through the door.
“I did, and she was just leaving.” I spat the words out.
I held the door open for my mother and pointed in the direction I expected her to go.
“You can’t kick me out of here,” she sputtered. “This was my mother’s house.”
“Leave before I decide to use this poker to make you leave.” Anger infused my voice, and I raised the poker in her direction again for emphasis. I wasn’t sure if I could actually hurt her, but I certainly needed her to believe I could.
Her eyes widened in surprise at my actions, and she darted to the door as fast as she could. “I always knew you were crazy,” I thought I heard her say on the way out. I let it roll off me. I think I was the only one that wasn’t crazy in this whole situation. Well,me and Anders.
Anders came up to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I leaned against him, drawing strength from him, as I watched my mother leave.
I turned to him and wrapped my arms tight around him. He didn’t hesitate to hug me back. His arms were warm and comforting as he embraced me.
“I love you,” I said, unable to hold it back for a minute longer. We didn’t even need the cookies.
He bent down and took my lips in a sweet, warm, oh so comforting kiss, and I melted against him, giving myself fully to him, body and soul.
“I love you, too.” He smiled softly. I memorized his face just like this. The little dimple that appeared when he was happy. The scruff on his face that highlighted his strong jaw. The dark amber color of his eyes. I never wanted to forget it. He didn’t look away. His eyes trained on me just as much as mine were on him. His thumb gently stroked my cheek.
“So about that photo,” he said after a time. “I believe your grandma had something she wanted to share with you after your divorce.”
