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“The Iris Festival. Do you know why I competed in that last pageant I won?”
“No, I’m not familiar with pageants in general.”
Ignoring his quip, I continue my confession. “It was so I could go to college. We were poor, Julian. All my pageant gowns were second-hand dresses. My mother spent her weekends on the phone getting sponsors for competition entry fees. I knew there was a scholarship attached to the Iris Festival. God, it was the last thing I wanted to do after…”
“After?” Julian’s voice is calm, but I know him. Inside, he’s like a pinball bouncing around, slamming into walls.
There’s a beat of silence, and he stills—fearful that I’ll keep talking, or even worse, fearful that I won’t.
“My dad was a drunk. He’d been that way ever since my sister, Chloe, and I were little,” I explain, ripping off the Band-aid. “Dad was one of those hypocrites I told you about at the hotel. He’d go out to bars at night, get shitfaced, and then come home, screaming at Mom for no reason. Chloe and I would hide in our rooms. If we defended her, we got it too.”
I stop to breathe through the lump that’s lodged in my throat, angrily batting the tear that escapes down my cheek. It pisses me off to cry about that son of a bitch. He doesn’t deserve them.
As Julian reaches for me, I reluctantly pull away.
“Let me finish. I can barely do this as it is.” I run a hand down the length of my hair and sigh. “He came home one night mad as hell. He was already yelling at Mom when her phone rang. It was a guy co-chairing the church coat drive with her, calling with a reminder to drop them off on Sunday. Dad accused her of screwing him. The more she denied it, the more he yelled.”
Pausing again, I let out a shuddering breath. The final part of the story crushes my heart.
“Do you want to stop?” Julian asks, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze.
I shake my head, determined to continue. “We didn’t see him hit her that time. We heard it.”
“Oh, Phoebe.” Anger clouds his face.
“When he passed out, Mom came to our room and said he’d crossed the line for the last time. We packed, got in the car and left.” He shifts closer, and I nestle back into his lap. “I don’t remember much. It was dark and raining. I don’t even think she knew where she was going. We never saw it coming.”
He sucks in a sharp breath. “Accident?”
I nod. “Drunk driver. They never hit the brake. Just crossed into our lane and plowed into us.”
“I’m so sorry, Phoebe.”
“They said she didn’t suffer. I guess that’s something.”
He turns me so we’re facing one another. “I’m afraid to ask what happened to you.”
I shrug. “A lot of broken bones. Chloe was hurt worse than me. Obviously, we healed.”
“Please tell me that you didn’t have to go back to that son of a bitch.”
“No, the evidence was on my mom’s face—among other places—and with statements from us, the state took his rights away. We had no other family, so at nineteen, Chloe fought to become my legal guardian.” I finally look him in the eye. “Want to know something I’ve never told anyone?”
I’m not sure he can handle any more, but I can’ stop now.
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“My mom died for nothing.”
He frowns. “I don’t understand.”
“Mom left to prevent him from hurting Chloe and me. But Dad had been hitting me for years. I was just too scared to say anything.”
After opening a wound that had festered for years, I start to laugh uncontrollably. The giggles start deep within my stomach, gurgling out softly at first, then erupting into sharp peals. One after the other, they keep coming, tears spilling down my cheeks in some sort of maniacal cathartic cleanse.
Julian stares at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind. “Phoebe?”
Hearing him call my name flips my emotions, and the howling laughter turns into painful sobs. I gasp for air as the dark memories flood me. Before I know it, he has me cradled tightly against his chest.
