Page 10 of The Soul that Redeems Me
“I’m not a fan of it myself, expect, well…” she mumbled the last part under her breath.
“Except for what?” I made my way back to the couch and pulled a blanket off the back of it and placed it over her lap.
“I love the Curse of Oak Island. Like, really love it! History along with treasure hunting! Yes, please!” Emily admitted to me, a slight blush suffusing her face.
“Your sisters are a huge fan of the show. I have listened to them argue over who buried the ‘treasure’ too many times to count. They are pretty amusing about the whole thing.” Thinking about their antics made me laugh.
“I have seen them a few times and itispretty funny. Personally, I don’t care who buried it…someone needs to find it. Like, now!” She gestured wildly as she stood up and excused herself to get cleaned up. “I started watching it with them the year before we moved and I kept watching, kind of a connection to them.” She said with a shrug, as she retreated into the bathroom, revealing a little more about herself.
While she was taking a shower, I began looking over my social media accounts and reviewing my schedule for the next few days. I was mostly dealing with paperwork right now, but I knew I had an out of town meeting coming up and I hated the thought of being away from Emily. She returned from showering, smelling fresh and her long hair pulled into a wet bun on top of her head. She sat down next to me and pulled the blanket back over her legs.
We spent the next hour or so flipping through the channels, and I found myself putting my arm around her and gently pulling her into my side. She snuggled in and it wasn’t too long before I glanced down and saw she had fallen asleep next to me. A sense of peace overtook me as I watched the beautiful angel sleeping peacefully, nestled in my arm.
She made me want to be a better man and to provide the world for her but I wanted us to grow whatever it was we had, slowly. I don’t want her to think I have expectations of her, and I will never push her to give more than she is capable.
My sweet angel is broken, and I am determined to put her back together again, stronger than ever. I allowed her to sleep while I texted my parents and let them know I would be home in the morning, before work, to check the progress of the repairs being done to the house. I had painters working on the spare bedroom, and Dad was making sure they childproofed the kitchen and installed the playset in the backyard.
I wanted to give Caroline and Andrew a clean slate when they moved in, and I wanted to provide Lillian a safe and happy play area, even if she was less than 24-hours old. Maddie and Caroline have given me more in the five years I’d known them, than my biological family did in the 12 years I lived with them. Whatever it took to take care of my family, I was going to do.
I had carried Emily to bed and tucked her in, pulling the covers over her tiny body and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before making my way to the doorway and watching her sleep for a few moments. Not wanting to seem like a creepy pervert for watching her sleep, I went into the living room and got my bedding to cover the couch. Luckily, Maddie and Caroline had purchased an oversized couch, so there was plenty of room for me to sleep comfortably.
I settled in as the silence surrounded me and I resisted the urge to imagine how good she would feel when she finally slept next to me; her small body tucked into my large frame, wrapped up in my arms as I protect her while she sleeps and love her when she wants.
My thoughts drifted to my past, a place I didn’t like to dwell on too often. I hadn’t exaggerated to Emily about my feelings about being in the hospital, I just hate that I didn’t tell her more of the truth. Actually, the only thing I told her that was accurate was the in and out of the hospital, the smell of the wards, and the nurses who looked out for me.
I hated lying to her, but my past requires more time than the simplified and sanitized version I was able to give her earlier. Not telling her about my mother’s mental health issues wasn’t the best idea, and I needed to at least clear that up with her as soon as I could. I never want her to think I would lie or deceive her. My mother did die hooked up to a machine but it was her last boyfriend, who beat her into a coma, that was responsible for her condition.
My biological mother was a mentally troubled woman who allowed men in and out of our life—men who took advantage of her. She attracted men who like to speak with their fists and were quick to“discipline”her when she did anything they saw as an offense to them or their rules. Man after man who all had the same hang-ups. Some were drinkers, some were druggies, and some craved the violence and chaos that she existed in.
None hung around for too long, and that was the only thing that was good about the whole ordeal I had lived through. She would have another psychotic break, or one of the assholes would hurt her, and she would be put into the hospital for some length of time. When I was younger, I was taken to my Granny’s house and left there until my Mom was able to come and get me again.
Granny died when I was eight and when Mom would be admitted, I would hide from the people looking for me and make my way to the hospital. I needed to be close to her in case she needed something, and the nurses started to get to know me, trying to look out for me.
They would bring me clean clothes and take my dirty ones home to wash so I could go to school without fear of my classmates knowing that I was essentially living in a hospital. They should have called the authorities, but I would have just run off and hidden until Mom was released again. They never kept her over a few weeks and I had adapted to living hand to mouth.
I’m ashamed to say I pick-pocked tourists and stole food to survive when I was left to fend for myself. One time the Department of Family Services took me to foster care. I was there two nights before that pervert found me. I was nine years old, and that was the last night I trusted an adult I didn’t know. After that, I found a way to survive.
Once my Mom finally lost her battle with yet another violent asshole, I was sitting at the hospital, lost. I had nowhere to go and I knew I wouldn’t last long on the streets. A nurse who had been exceptionally kind to me over the last two years was the one who told me about my Mom. She held me while I cried. Not tears for my lost parent. She had been gone to me my entire life.
I cried for the future that I wanted and wasn’t sure I would get. She allowed me to purge my pain and grief, my anger and frustration in that quiet room. When I was done, she looked at me and told me I was coming home to live with her and her husband. I had met him over a year before when he brought her dinner one night and asked me to join them.
It was strange, eating with a man and woman who were nice to each other, never called each other names, and showed no signs of physically hurting each other. He held her hand and looked at her like she was the most perfect person he had ever met and I knew I wanted what they had. They took the time to ask me questions about school, what I wanted to do when I grew up, what my favorite color was.
Things most people take for granted, they cared about. They wanted to get to know me so when she made the offer to come home with her, I jumped at the chance. They spoke with the Family services people and since they were certified foster parents, I was allowed to leave immediately with them. No family stepped up to claim me, so they were able to adopt me right before my thirteenth birthday, and they have given me enough love to live the rest of my life knowing I was wanted.
I want to give that to Emily if she will let me. A lifetime of love and devotion to only her.
