This Is You
THE GIRL CALLED YOU
I’m in the corner. Cobwebs catch in my hair. Dust floats in the thin beam of sunlight allowed by the small window.
I lean against the rough concrete. Pain shoots down my spine. Gasp. Press lips together. Sshhh. Threadbare dress offers no relief between my wounded back and the scratchy wall.
Blood smells like rusted iron. Tastes like I swallowed a mouthful of pennies.
“Why does she keep hurting you?”
Boy. Eleven, maybe twelve. Not real. Sits in the teeny tiny beam of sunlight. He throws a little red ball against the wall. It bounces back, and he catches it. He wears a blue-striped shirt, brown shorts. Converse sneakers. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A jagged crescent wound hooks around his right eye. It pulses with blood.
“She doesn’t like me,” I say.
“I like you.”
“That’s nice. But you’re not real.”
Dark eyes meet mine. Galaxies swirl in his deep gaze. “Are you sure I’m not real?”
We look at each other for a long time. Finally, I say, “Maybe you are. And I’m not.”
YOU
Door opens. Doris marches inside. Behind her, man and woman. Woman holds a white handkerchief over her mouth. Man’s face squinches.
“Good lord. It stinks in here.” Man waves a hand under his nose.
“You.” Doris grabs me by the arm, yanks me to my feet. Then she pushes me toward the couple. They rear back. I stumble. Fall to my knees.
Woman backs away.
“Can you wash her off or something?” asks man. “She’s disgusting.”
“C’mon, you.” Doris pulls me to my feet. Drags me down the hall. Pushes me to the outside porch. I stand still. Lift my arms. She grabs the garden hose. Sprays me. Cold water blasts. I shudder. Shiver. Thin dress plasters against my skin.
Doris pushes me into the hall. The couple waits there. Woman studies me from head to toe. Her gaze rests briefly on my chest.
“She doesn’t look nineteen.” She frowns. “This is my brother’s daughter? You’re sure?”
“Been here since she was six years old. Dropped off by your brother himself.”
“And you’re related to her?” Woman nods toward me.
“Her mama’s mama was my half-sister. I ain’t part of the fancy Haltons, though most of them are dead now, ain’t they?”
“I think she’s the only one left. Aside from you, I suppose.” Woman leans down. Stares at me. “Victor never wanted his wife or their daughter. It was a family marriage my father insisted on.”
Victor. The name is a void. A word that has no shape, no feeling.
“I don’t think the marriage would’ve lasted anyway,” says woman. “Even if Amelia hadn’t committed suicide.”
Amelia. Mother. This name feels different. Soft and warm. Like a smile. Hug. Lullabye.
“Whatever happened to your brother?” asks man, bored.
“Oh, he died in a Thailand whorehouse. We lived in England at the time, Reggie, remember? My God. It would’ve been a scandal if my parents hadn’t suppressed it.”
“I’m surprised your parents didn’t want the child, Cordelia.”
“Well, she wasn’t a boy, was she? If we didn’t have Eldon, Daddy wouldn’t pay attention to us, either.” Woman taps her lips. “I don’t remember this one’s name.”
“Didn’t tell me. Called her a jinx,” says Doris. “Never wanted to lay eyes on her again.”
“Why didn’t he just kill her?” mutters man.
“He wasn’t entirely heartless, Reggie.”
Man looks around. Face squinches. “Death would’ve been kinder.”
I nod. Yes. I think so, too.
“She’s a virgin?” asks woman.
“Ain’t no man in this house,” huffs Doris. “She’s got her innocence.”
“She better. Otherwise this isn’t worth the drive to this godforsaken village.” Woman walks a circle around me. “She’s too skinny. But we can fix that. That bone structure. And her eyes. Very much like Amelia’s.”
“Say what you want about how crazy that woman was," says man, "but she was a beauty."
"Beauty helps our cause. DNA will prove her Caulder lineage, so she qualifies as our candidate for the White Jade Ball.”
“That’s all that matters."
"Hmm. So, what’s her name?” Woman looks at Doris.
Doris shrugs. “Like I said. She don’t have a name.”
“Call her Jinx." Man laughs.
Woman laughs, too.
The boy stands next to me. Squeezes red ball in his fist. “They’re not very nice.”
I shrug.
“May I rest now?” I ask.
Doris slaps me.
The sting barely registers.
“What are you doing?” Woman grabs my chin. Studies my cheek. “You’ll ruin her face.”
“She likes to sass me. I don’t take no sass.”
“You won’t take no money if you damage her.” Man removes a small blue plastic card. “Wash her again. Put her in a clean dress.”
Doris stares at the card. Licks her lips. “She only got the one.”
“Doesn’t the Caulder estate pay you?” he asks, frowning.
“Not for clothes. I only got to keep her alive.”
“Greedy bitch.” Woman removes her coat. Wraps it around me. “Forget it, Reggie. We’ll clean her up when we get home.”
The coat is soft, warm. Smells floral. Sweet. I understand that she didn’t wrap me in cashmere out of kindness. But it doesn’t matter why she gave me the coat.
Only that she did.
YOU
In the limousine, the couple sits on one side. I sit on the other. They have a whispered conversation. I don’t listen.
I don’t care.
For the first time in my life, I am free. No Doris. No basement. No beatings.
The boy sits next to me. Red ball between us. He looks out the window, his face reflected in the glass. “I want lemon cake.”
He always wants lemon cake. But there’s never been lemon cake. Not for him. Not for me.
He glances at me. “Do you think there’ll be lemon cake?”
“No,” I say. Low. Quiet. Then I lean back and close my eyes.
And fall asleep.
YOU
“Hey, you.”
I open my eyes, instantly alert. Woman nods toward the open limousine door. “We’re home.”
“Home?”
She clears her throat. Looks away. “You ... you will have a different home in the future.”
“Aren’t you my family?”
“In the sense that we share a bloodline. There’s much to tell you, girl. But before we have that conversation, you should come inside. You can take a shower, get into some clean clothes.”
Woman leaves the car. Outside, man waits.
“They’re not going to keep you,” says the boy.
“No one wants me,” I say.
“Are you sad?”
“No,” I lie. I feel like I’ve swallowed mouthfuls of sand. My stomach is heavy. My mouth gritty. I didn’t mean to hope. Hope is such a cruel monster. Not as cruel as love. But still. It has teeth. Gnaws a wound in my heart. I rub my aching chest.
“You. Girl.”
Woman’s voice. I exit the car. Bare feet on smooth stone. Night sky blooms with stars. Ahead, a huge mansion. Marble. Glass. Shine. Crickets chirp. Breeze brings the scent of wet grass.
I remove the coat. Give it to the woman. “Thank you,” I say. Then I walk toward the home that is not mine.
“Oh, my God,” says Woman. “Her back.”
“We’ll call in the family doctor. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.” Man pauses. “You’ll have to throw away the coat. Even if you could get rid of that awful smell, her blood won’t come out of the cashmere.”
