Page 30 of Under Your Scars
“I’ve seen what you wear under your shirt,” he quips, winking at me when the blush across my face turns three shades darker. He’s laughing at my embarrassment as he shuts the door before hopping into the driver’s seat.
As he drives us to the North Side of Meridian City towards the orphanage, Christian asks, “If you could go back and time and change one thing, what would it be?”
My heart aches at the question, and my response is immediate. “That’s easy. I’d save my father from so much pain by stopping his first family from being murdered. I mean, if they weren’t he wouldn’t have met my mom and I wouldn’t exist, but that’s beside the point.”
“Murdered?”
I know he wants more details because my answer is almost exactly the same as his, I’d imagine. I’d want to prevent my dad’s first family from dying, and he’d want his parents back.
I nod and take a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make the mood so heavy. My dad had a family before he met my mother. A wife and twin girls. They were found shot to death in their home in 1989. My dad never talks about it, and I’ve never asked him because he’s got severe PTSD and I don’t want to upset him. He didn’t even tell me about it until I was eighteen, and of course, I wanted more details, so I requested the police records, but they didn’t say much. It was weird. The entire investigative file redacted all suspect names, and when I begged the MCPD for more information, they told me there wasn’t any. I didn’t want my father to know I dug into his past like that, so I dropped it, but I’ve always wondered if he knows who did it.”
Christian is quiet for a long time.
“I’m no fan of the MCPD. They’re useless in my opinion, but I’m…acquaintedwith the Chief. If you want, I can ask for a favor, maybe get some more information for you?”
I shake my head. “No, that’s okay. It’s redacted for a reason, and it’s a sensitive subject for my dad. It’s not my story.”
“I understand. My answer would be the same, but I’m sure you already knew that. September 6, 1989. I’d change everything about that day.”
I let out a sympathetic sigh and lightly rest my hand over his on the center console. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing for what you’ve built out of all that pain. This orphanage isn’t just some publicity stunt you’re half-committed to. I’d bet my life that you know every single one of the kids there like the back of your hand. You’re…you’re a hero.”
“Hero,” he hums back, almost like he can’t believe I just called him that. I couldn’t think of another word. Maybe it wasn’t the right one, but I think he understands what I mean. His fingers loosely tangle with mine, the touch sending white-hot jolts of electricity through my veins. He begins to chuckle to himself as his hand tightens around mine.
“What’s so funny?”
“You’re calling me a hero when the only person worthy of that title is you.”
“Me?” I ask, so off guard that I scoff. “Are you sick? Do you even hear yourself? What have I ever done?”
“More than you could ever possibly know.”
My heart thumps so hard in my chest that I’m sure he can feel it where our hands are connected.
You’d think we were entering a military base with how much security we have to go through at the orphanage. At the gates, our IDs are checked, our vehicles searched, and my purse is sent through a scanner TSA-style. Then, once we get to the main campus, we have to go through a metal detector.
There is a good reason for the security measures. It’s called an orphanage, but there are more stories than just absent parents here. A lot of these kids have been abused, neglected, and forgotten for most of their lives. Some of these kids have already been to the juvenile justice center. There are even children here that have been rescued from sex trafficking. That fact alone makes my heart ache for them. The trauma living in these walls is so heavy you can almost feel it in the air.
While the attorneys are all getting the grand tour from a staff member, Christian tugs me away from the group and the unexpected action makes me gasp loudly.
I bite my lip nervously. “What are you doing?”
“I want to show you something.”
“But—” I protest, knowing the tour is going to move on with or without us because we have a tight schedule to keep to.
“It’ll be fine, Elena. I’ll show you everything, I promise.”
With his fingers laced in mine, he leads me back outside and along a narrow concrete path leading from the main campus to a garden filled with what seems like miles of flowers. A low white-brick wall surrounds the garden, separating different types of flowers in every shade imaginable. How they’ve managed to get them to grow when Meridian City is cloudy and rainy most of the year, I don’t know.
The path through the garden is all pristine white, until we reach a section of incongruous gray concrete like the rest of Meridian City. There’s a bronze plaque in the ground that readsIn Loving Memory of Thomas and Elizabeth Reeves.
I suppose Christian finds whatever he was looking for, because I hear him mutter an ‘ah-ha’ under his breath.
My eyes go wide, and I gasp in awe.
It’s a section of the garden dedicated solely to crisp white baby’s breath. Fluffy bushes of it grow up to my waist, and I feel over the soft flowers with a joyful giggle. I’ve never seen baby’s breath if it wasn’t in a bouquet. It’s beautiful. This entire section of the garden is like stepping into a fairytale.
“I want to jump in it so bad,” I exclaim with glee, though I’m really only joking.
