Stronger than You Know Read online

  Lydia moves and her hand gently touches my wrist, making me jump. “Where were you?”

  “The last place I want to be.”

  She smiles softly. “Keep your eyes on me for a moment, okay?”

  I do because I like Lydia’s round face and bright smile, and I know it’ll keep me in the here and now.

  “What brought you back there?”

  “Uncle Rob. When you said …” I trail off, knowing she’ll know.

  “I can see your breathing already slowing back down.” Her voice is mellow, quiet, and calm. “Remember shutting your eyes makes it worse. Try to force them open. To take in your surroundings when you find yourself there again, okay?”

  I nod and swallow, trying to push away the fear, but its grip on me is solid.

  “When I talk to your aunt and uncle without you, I can tell the love they have for you is the real thing. I want you to remember that. We can hold off on talking to Rob. Okay?”

  My shoulders relax in relief, and they ache—a sign I’m even tenser today than normal. “Okay.”

  “And I’ll let your aunt know that you should get the backseat to yourself on the drive home. Would that help?”

  I nod, grateful, relieved, and feeling like I should be able to handle sharing a car with Uncle Rob. But in this moment, I care a lot more about having a seat to myself than how well I’m doing with the family.

  “Your goal this week is to have cake and enjoy the movie, all right?”

  “Fine.” I let out a long breath. At least this goal feels possible.

  “I’m just torturing you here, aren’t I?” She chuckles. “No writing assignments this week. I promise.”

  “Okay.” But now I make sure our eyes don’t connect—sometimes it’s just easier to avoid her hopes for me that way. She doesn’t understand that I don’t know how to move forward the way she wants me to.

  “It’s because I know that you, more than a lot of girls I see, have a chance at a really amazing life,” she says. “You’re smart. I know you’re worried about being afraid of people right now. But the girls who come in here and freely talk about things and are okay out in social settings after an ordeal like yours, do all right but not as well as someone like you can. They’re the ones that seem okay when they really aren’t. You’re going to start breaking free from this, Joy, and when you do, life’s going to be good to you.”

  The thing is, she has no idea if life will be good to me or not. None. A lot of my life still depends on the people around me and I have no idea how to be around them. Or even if I want to be. Learning how to feel normal is a hard thing to believe in.

  “Please, just cake, no singing.” I wasn’t able to eat a bite of dinner because I was anxious about this very thing.

  The problem is that I know Aunt Nicole worked hard on my cake today. I know Tara helped her decorate it. And I know they’re all here for me. So guilt over all of this holds me here. I’m trapped.

  “Nobody likes the singing.” Trent laughs. “You can suffer with the rest of us.”

  “Trent.” Aunt Nicole shakes her head.

  “I just think everyone’s being a little too careful. That’s all.” He shrugs.

  At least I don’t have to wonder if he’s sparing my feelings.

  They sing happy birthday to me. I force my eyes to stay open, because if I let them close, I’d see a different set of people. I wish for the floor to swallow me whole.

  My shoulder rests against the wall as I watch Pirates of the Caribbean. Uncle Rob and Trent keep commenting on how awesome the picture is on the new TV. A flat, black monstrosity attached to the wall. I’ve never seen this movie, but Trent and Uncle Rob swear it’s one of the best movies of all time.

  I still can’t bring myself to eat my cake. It looks so good, and it’s just sitting on my plate. Everyone else has finished theirs. Uncle Rob and Tara even had seconds. Not me. Eating is such a stupid thing to have a problem with. Who gets weirded out about eating in front of people? It shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, logically I know it shouldn’t be a big deal. People do it all the time. At home, at restaurants, at school.

  I slide a bite off the pile of chocolate with my fork. Now I just have to get it to my mouth. Easy. Everyone’s watching the movie. The scene is intense. The music is intense. My timing is perfect. I take the bite and it’s as good as it smells. I let the chocolate flavor fill my mouth when I suddenly feel watched. Everything in me stops. Trent’s staring.

  It takes all the self-control I have not to spit out the cake. My stomach clenches up. I set my plate on the floor, lean against the wall, and return my eyes to the screen. Maybe I’ll eat some later.

  I’m lying in my white bed, staring at the blank ceiling. I had one bite of cake. The rest is downstairs. I may wait until I think everyone’s asleep. Or I could pack myself some in my lunch tomorrow and then find somewhere to hide at school so I can eat it.

  “Trent.” Uncle Rob’s voice carries through the walls. Even his quiet one. “I know you’re just trying to be yourself here, and I’m glad, but …”

  “Sorry, I just feel like we could shake it out of her and she’d start hanging out with us like normal.” Trent’s voice is full of frustration.

  “You don’t understand.” His voice is so smooth, warm. “She didn’t have a normal. Her mom kept her inside almost all the time. She didn’t go out. She didn’t go to school. She suffered the kinds of abuse you can’t even imagine. All the literature we were given to help her out was stuff that has to do with kids raised in cults. This is how much of an adjustment she’s going through.”

  “What happened to her?” he asks.

  “My guess is that if you can imagine it, she probably went through it. What’s important now is for you and all of us to have some patience and understanding and know that the best thing to do is be friendly and not push her to do things she’s not comfortable with.”

  “Okay.” But Trent’s voice makes it sound like it isn’t okay. Like he’s just playing along because he has to.

  “Night, Trent.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  I don’t know about what he said, about imagining things … I can imagine some pretty bad things. Some things that didn’t happen to me. I don’t want to think about the things that did, but now they’re running through my head.

  The laughing at the beginning of the evenings. That’s when I’d get an occasional cigarette put out on my back. But later in the evening? That’s when I’d close the door to my room and hope they’d forget I was there—it only worked sometimes.

  And the day after something like that was always a time to be quiet. Silent. I’d sit in my room and read and reread all the schoolbooks that came to me in the mail for home school. By the end of the year I’d read everything many times. There was no other way to get books. Not that I knew of.

  Now that I’m not at Mom’s anymore, I’m sort of in awe I survived it all. The thought of someone walking into my room now the way it happened then—now that I know what life is like without all of that—the thought staggers me.

  I just want to go to sleep, but there’s no way that’s happening tonight. The pictures come again and again. Mom’s cackling laugh, the one that meant she’s oblivious to what’s going on. The last boyfriend, Richard, was the worst—beer belly, smelly, his stubble scratched my face and any other place he’d see fit to have his mouth. He was the one with the knife. Just to make sure I’d be quiet. He didn’t know I already had lots of practice.

  My body starts to shake, and I roll into a ball as the tears begin.

  I’m safe. I’m with family. I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.

  But no matter what my surroundings are, I don’t feel safe. Ever. It’s even worse, because what I feel doesn’t mix with logic. My body continues to shake and my tears keep dropping onto the sheets.

  My pillow is soaked. How l
ong has it been? Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

  “Joy?” I hear Aunt Nicole’s voice and soft knocking on my door.

  “Yeah?” I rub my face frantically a few times, pushing off any wetness.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah.” But I don’t want to talk. The walls in this house are made of paper.

  She walks slowly into my room. She’s in one of Uncle Rob’s T-shirts and sweatpants she probably just threw on. I think it’s sort of sweet that she sleeps in his shirts. “Do you want to take something?” Her voice is a near-silent whisper. “It’s past midnight.”

  I roll onto my back. I’m so weak. Instead of answering, I just nod. Xanax—the nighttime snack of losers. Perfect. At least I won’t relive anything more tonight. No dreams. Just sleep.

  SEVEN

  Wait. Is this what it’s like to do better?

  The house is quiet when I step downstairs after finishing homework, and it reminds me of my home before this one.

  In the trailer, I’d wait until everything was this quiet and then I would do the dishes and sweep the floor and take out the trash. I learned quickly to do those things nearly silently. I had most of the night, so time wasn’t a problem. Sometimes I could clean during the day when Mom was gone, but I never knew when she would be back.

  At the Mooresons’, everything is clean when the family goes to bed. Aunt Nicole cleans after her whirlwind morning routine, and Uncle Rob cleans up after dinner. I’m not sure how to help. I should be helping.

  I wander into the kitchen where Aunt Nicole stands sifting through her phone with an exasperated look on her face.

  “You okay?” I ask quietly.

  “I haven’t been able to find time to schedule a hair appointment.”

  Yeah. Because she spends so much time taking me to my appointments.

  “I’m trying to find a time that works for both me and my hairdresser. It’s not going well.”

  “I can do it,” I say so fast that my words topple over each other.

  Aunt Nicole rests her phone on the counter and her eyes meet mine. “What?”

  “I know how to cut hair. Mom cut hair. I know how.” I hope. I did some of the neighbors and the neighbors’ kids. Sometimes. Mom liked the extra money.

  Aunt Nicole is quiet for so long that I’m wondering if I’ve really messed up. I’m never sure if I’m doing or saying the right thing.

  “Stay right there.” She smiles and points. “This is perfect.”

  In less than two minutes, Aunt Nicole has a stool set up next to the sink, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, a spray bottle of water and one of conditioner, and I’m holding scissors and a comb. I actually start to relax now that I have a task. As I take in the shape of her face, I realize her hair’s all wrong. “Do you trust me?” I ask.

  Aunt Nicole raises a brow. “Anything you want. I’ve had the same hair for years.”

  I spray her hair and start cutting. A lot.

  “You’re doing Mom’s hair?” Tara’s smile is wide as she pauses against the counter. I love the days when Trent and his dad aren’t here—the house feels so much more relaxed. “Can you do me when you’re done?” Tara’s sweetness practically pours out of everything she says, making her an easy person for me to be around.

  “If you want.” Does she know I’d love to, but that I’m not sure how to use those words or if I should?

  “Awesome,” she says.

  I cut until Aunt Nicole’s hair rests just under her ears.

  Tara claps. “This is so cool!”

  Now I’m smiling. I can’t help it. I’m extra careful with shaping the cut just right, keeping the front slightly longer than the back and adding layers so her hair sits the way I imagined.

  “Oh my gosh, Mom!” Tara grins. “It’s so awesome.”

  Aunt Nicole runs her hands through the layers a few times. “This feels so strange.” Her smile is wide. “But I think I’m going to love it.”

  “Nicole?” Uncle Rob stops in the doorway, smiling. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you, Joy.” Aunt Nicole stands and gives me a small hug, but I step away after a brief moment. The closeness is still intense.

  I back to the other side of the kitchen, just in case Uncle Rob decides to come all the way in. “Don’t thank me until you see it yourself,” I whisper.

  Now that Uncle Rob’s here, I lower my voice. Like maybe he won’t notice me in the room, which is silly because there’s only four of us in here. My wish to not be noticed is just something else that belongs on my list.

  “Me next.” Tara sits. “If you’re up to it.”

  I stand unsure. I can cut her hair. I want to, just not if her dad’s going to be in the room. I know him being here shouldn’t matter, but just like always, it does matter.

  “I’m taking your mother out to dinner,” Uncle Rob says. His eyes don’t leave her face as he brings her hand up for a kiss.

  He’s so different than any man I’ve ever been around—quiet and gentle. I don’t understand him.

  “You guys can order pizza. Here’s forty bucks.” He sets it on the counter. “Nice job, Joy. You’re very talented.”

  I don’t look at him because I’m completely pathetic, but I manage a nod. I do a lot of that around here.

  Uncle Rob wraps his arm around his wife and they’re gone.

  “So,” Tara says. “I want something funky. And something that will hide my fat cheeks.”

  I shake my head. “You don’t have fat cheeks.” That’s crazy. She’s not fat. She’s soft. She has this small waist but a real shape to her. I’m jealous of how her body curves so smoothly.

  “You’re only saying that because you’re so thin.” She points at me.

  “I’m too skinny. I look sick or something.” I hate my bony body. “I envy your soft cheeks. I can’t imagine mine ever looking like yours. You’re so pretty.”

  Tara’s jaw drops. “You are like the sweetest person ever.”

  I don’t know how to react to her words so I pick up my scissors instead. “How about we make it a little shorter, just under your shoulders, and add layers everywhere?” I can see her new look in my head and want to get started.

  “Sounds awesome.”

  I shift my raincoat hood farther over my face, enjoying my walk home from school even though it’s raining. My feet are damp and cold, but it feels good to be away from hot, dry, and dusty of California.

  “It’s my walking buddy.”

  I snap my head around.

  Justin.

  Now is when I should speak, right? He’s not bad. He’s just a guy. A guy who goes to my school. Logically this is all cool. I just need to convince my body of this. Deep breath in. I’m okay. We’re okay. This is okay.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” He chuckles. “We’re both walking from the same place to homes that are close to each other.”

  “Sorry.” That’s a word I’m good at, and I think my voice even sounded all right. He doesn’t know me well enough to hear the shakiness. I hate that my nerves are on edge just because he’s close.

  He moves in step next to me. “Is this okay? I mean, is it okay if we walk together?”

  I nod. That’s something else I’m pretty great at. Nodding.

  I like Justin’s shoes. They used to be white, but he’s drawn all over them so there’s barely any white left. Makes me wonder if he gets in trouble for violating dress code. “That’s really cool.” I point down.

  Drawing. I suddenly miss drawing so much I only half understand why I stopped. All my sketchbooks were taken as evidence like most of my stuff from home, but I wouldn’t want those anyway. I’d want new ones. If … If I can still find it inside me to draw. Might have to add it to my list.

  Can’t talk to people.

  Hides in her room.

 
Can’t stand the smell of cigarettes and beer.

  Is afraid of her own uncle for no particular reason.

  Isn’t sure she can draw

  “What’s cool?” he asks.

  “Your shoes.” Now I feel good. I’m talking to someone I don’t know. A guy. A guy that’s not my cousin. A guy I find pretty cute. And I like his drawings. Maybe I’ll start to do some of my own again. Maybe. Then I can start crossing some of the crazy off my list.

  “Hey, thanks. My dad hates them. He keeps giving me a hard time for making him buy shoes that I destroy.” He kicks a stray rock off the sidewalk. “But drawing helps with the ADD, so I keep drawing.”

  “Oh.”

  “How’s the breathing today?”

  “Fine.” Right. He thinks I have asthma. I’ll need to straighten that out. But not today. Today I’m just trying to breathe and concentrate on our shoes on the pavement. And not panic.

  “You’re a girl of few words.”

  “Yep.”

  He laughs.

  Was that funny? “I like to listen.”

  My head is silent. My heart is silent. I just gave him a piece of me. A piece of truth.

  Spoke with a boy. With Justin. Didn’t lie and didn’t have a panic attack. Yet.

  But I won’t tell Lydia about my drawings. She doesn’t know how much I love art, and it would just end up on the list of things she asks me to work on. That part of me I want to get back on my own.

  “Cool,” he says. We walk a few steps in silence. “I like to talk.”

  I let myself steal a glance at him.

  “There you are.” A crooked smile pulls up one corner of his mouth.

  I smile back. I’m so brave! Well, brave for me.

  “I’m not bugging you, am I?”

  “No.” Wow. I like walking next to him. I want him to keep talking about things, anything. What will he talk about next? What kinds of things does he think about? What does he do outside of school? Most kids have after-school hobbies or clubs and stuff, just not me, not right now. Not yet.

  Wow. Not yet. But I will, I think. I’ll start to be able to have things after school. Maybe something I do. Something I like or something I’m good at. All these ideas and thoughts leave me with the most amazing feeling. Hope.