
Table of Contents

To My Daughter

Copyright

Author's Note

Chapter 1: Life is Short

Chapter 2: Boys Lie

Chapter 3: Rumors at Camp

Chapter 4: Sunrise Circle

Chapter 5: You're Only Fourteen?

Chapter 6: You're Not That Easy to Forget

Chapter 7: Pretty Little Piece of Jailbait

Chapter 8: Won't Let You Miss Your Bus

Chapter 9: Send Me an Email

Chapter 10: You're Too Tempting

Chapter 11: Get the Blue Tape

Chapter 12: Reunited with Ashley

Chapter 13: XOXOX

Chapter 14: Rejection

Chapter 15: My First Job

Chapter 16: If You Could Have Anything

Chapter 17: Miss Opal

Chapter 18: Mr. Briggs

Chapter 19: Thank You for Telling Me

Chapter 20: A Surprise at Work

Chapter 21: Sibling Rivalry

Chapter 22: I'll Take Care of Your Dad

Chapter 23: He's a Preacher's Kid

Chapter 24: It's Only a Beach Trip

Chapter 25: They Made Me Feel Important

Chapter 26: We Should Live It Up

Chapter 27: Strip Poker and Jello Shots

Chapter 28: Why Does She Stay with Him?

Chapter 29: She Has No Room to Talk

Chapter 30: I Thought There'd Be More About Me

More Books by Shaina Richmond

# To My Daughter

(Formerly titled For Britta)

A Serial

Volume One

by Shaina Richmond

#  Copyright

Copyright © 2015 by Shaina Richmond

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The town of Gimble, NC is purely fictitious, as are Hunter's Branch, Purity's Promise, Hunter's Branch Community Church, Guffy's Grill and Camp Victory.

All brands and trademarks mentioned in this book are the properties of their respective owners.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

#  Author's Note

Dear Reader,

This is a difficult author's note to write because there is much ground to cover.

The most important takeaway is this: While some of the events that take place in To My Daughter are mentioned in a series I wrote called Safe With Me, you can enjoy each series without reading the other.

To me, To My Daughter is neither a sequel nor a prequel to Safe With Me. I consider Safe With Me to be a subplot of To My Daughter, because To My Daughter will cover a much longer period of time.

But to those who read Safe With Me, To My Daughter will feel like a prequel, because Susie tells stories about her life. It may also feel like an epilogue, because Tyler appears in the final chapter of volume one of To My Daughter.

Safe With Me and To My Daughter complement each other because they are based on the same facts and details.

By the end of 2015, I also plan to publish an extended epilogue series for Safe With Me called Tyler and Susie, which will start where Safe With Me ended. Tyler and Susie will not break up, but their story goes in a direction that is less erotic and more of a family saga than a romance.

I plan to publish many other stories, in a wide variety of genres, that will expand upon Tyler and Susie's relationship, as well as other characters within Safe With Me.

Unlike Safe With Me, To My Daughter is not erotic or romantic. My goal with Safe With Me was to show Susie and Tyler's relationship. Since they were both sexual people who slept together quickly, I wrote about sex.

To My Daughter contains some sexual content, but it not written graphically or erotically, and not designed to arouse or titillate. Rather, it is included as part of a cautionary tale.

Future parts of this series may contain sexual content. If it is graphic in nature, it will not rise to the level of erotica, and I will warn the reader in advance, within the book description. I urge you to read each and every description of the books I publish before you read them.

Trigger warning: Future parts of To My Daughter may include scenes of physical violence, sexual assault, and child abuse. Some of these are mentioned in the first portion of To My Daughter but are not graphically described.

I know that many readers want to know when a story will end, so they may binge read. I can't tell you when this story will end, because I have a lot of material to cover.

But I promise that when I take a break to write other series (which I plan to do), I'll pause on a soft ending, and not on a cliffhanger.

More information is available at my website. Thank you for reading.

Shaina

# Chapter 1: Life is Short

To my daughter, Britta

From your mother, Susie

I'm leaving this journal for you because my mother didn't leave one for me. She died when I was fifteen, and she was buried before I learned of her passing.

I believe that Mom had important things to tell me, but she died before she could. Unfortunately, this is only a theory, based on information and memories that I've pieced together since she passed.

I don't wish to make the same mistake with you. I'm writing this so you'll know the truth about me, and you won't have to create your own theories based on gossip, or what others may show you online.

You're due in less than a month and I feel you moving as if you're trying to tell me you know I'm writing for you. I've had two dreams of you, and you're always a precocious little bundle of energy, with brown hair and big brown eyes, like your father.

I was going to pass these stories along on video, but I can't because I'm prone to hormonal mood swings and my crying worries your father. He suggested I type this out instead while it's on my mind, especially since I can't do much besides waddle around the house these days. I lost weight during my first few months of pregnancy because I experienced weeks of day-long morning sickness. But at twenty-two weeks, my nausea gave way to hunger, and I gained almost fifteen pounds in three weeks from a steady diet of french fries and Nutella, which I craved constantly. I still crave them, but now I'm hungry for everything. Except tomatoes, which I used to enjoy, but now nauseate me. I wonder if you'll hate tomatoes, too. Surprisingly, I don't hate ketchup, although lately, I prefer my fries without it.

This story isn't pretty. It may even be graphic or violent at times. That's because I want to be honest with you, so you may learn from my past.

Hopefully, I will share this and more with you in person, as you ask questions and become mature enough to understand. I don't know how that will go, but I guess we'll play it by ear.

In the unfortunate case that I'm not around to share this information in person, I will make sure it's left in the care of your father, or someone he and I both trust.

Life is short. I learned this lesson again recently when my friend, Gabrielle, died unexpectedly. I met her in June, before I knew I was pregnant with you, at a substance abuse treatment program which I attended for a few days each week, at your father's insistence. (I told you this was going to be honest.) She and I had much in common and became fast friends.

On the day her baby boy, Daryl, was born, she asked me to be his godmother. I should've ensured that she had a will and made this official right away because, as a judge informed me recently, I can only adopt Daryl if Gabrielle had specified me as his legal guardian. But she didn't, because she died without a will. And baby Daryl went to foster care, which devastated me for reasons which I will explain later. I was assured that he was placed with a nurturing couple who previously adopted two other special needs children, and they would likely adopt Daryl as well.

Your father (I'll sometimes refer to him as "Tyler" from now on) prefers that I not write about Gabrielle or Daryl because it upsets me, and he's very protective of me and you, Britta. He's been protective of you since the moment he saw your little speck on the ultrasound.

I've been on bed rest since the day we left the judge's office, but that's a story for another day. Now that I'm resting, I have time to write to you. Tyler is monitoring me to make sure my writing doesn't cause more stress. I wish he would realize that his obsessive "monitoring" stresses me out more than digging up old memories. I've already written a few things (which I'm about to show you) and I find the process relaxing because I know I'm writing for you. After you're born, I may be too busy to write something like this again.

And besides, not everything I wish to tell you is as depressing as Tyler thinks. 

# Chapter 2: Boys Lie

My first kiss occurred in 1998, at church camp, when I was thirteen. His name was Donnie Wayne Garrett, and he was a nuisance who, thankfully, lived a couple of hours away or I would've had to see him more often. His family attended a church that was loosely affiliated with ours. I first met him when I was a chubby twelve-year-old and he was a short, scrawny, thirteen-year-old doofus who blended in with the other boys just like him.

"Donnie" was not short for "Donald," in this case. His legal name was Donnie Wayne Garrett, Jr, and everyone had always called him Donnie Wayne, so he wouldn't be confused with his dad, who was known simply as Donnie.

The summer we kissed was the first time I'd seen Donnie Wayne after I'd lost weight and he'd shot up eight inches. He was suddenly tall, dark, and handsome, but when he opened his mouth, he was still a doofus.

At camp, I made the mistake of telling a few girls that I thought he was cute. The next day, he had a friend sneak me a note in which he requested my presence behind the Snack Shack during that evening's campfire.

It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. My first kiss. A stolen kiss. Dark night. Warm breeze. Campfire roaring, campers singing in the distance. They had just hit the chorus of "Lord, I Lift Your Name on High" when Donnie Wayne's tongue plundered my mouth deeply, in a way that made me euphoric... at first. But after a few minutes, my jaw hurt and I could barely breathe.

I pushed him away and asked him to please be gentler. He smiled and gladly did so. By the time campfire was over, we'd gotten the hang of this kissing thing.

But unfortunately, as the week wore on, I felt less like kissing him because I'd gotten to know him better. Donnie Wayne epitomized why I hated guys my age. They were all fart jokes, weird smells, and sticky hands.

But I still made out with him because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. The last night of camp, I also, regretfully, let him touch my boobs over my shirt.

(Don't do things with boys that you don't want to do, Britta. Please remember that it's okay to say no, at any time.)

As soon as I arrived home, I learned that Donnie Wayne had bragged to his dumb friends that we'd done way more than kiss. Word reached my older sister, Tabby, on the bus ride home. She said she knew all about me and my slutty ways at camp.

I was a virgin the summer I kissed Donnie Wayne. I only wanted to be nice to him, and he ruined my reputation and almost got me in trouble at home.

That's when I first learned: boys lie.

Because of Tabby, I wound up telling Mom what actually happened. I probably would have told her anyway, once I got past the horror of it. I could always tell Mom practically anything, and we'd discuss it like two old friends, not like mother and daughter. The only person who knew more of my secrets was Ashley, my cousin and best friend. For example, in this situation, I told Ashley that he touched my boobs but I omitted this detail when I explained it to Mom because I knew she would make a big deal over it and bring it up again, and I wanted to forget it ever happened.

There was one other thing that occurred with Donnie Wayne, that I only told Ashley about. It happened during our last evening together, when I let his clumsy fingers pinch their way across my chest. Without me noticing, he'd moved my hand to his lap. I suddenly felt blazing hot bare skin against my palm, and he let out a soft moan. That's when I realized what my fingers had curled around.

I instantly recoiled and ordered him not to do that again. He apologized profusely. I nearly left, but his sadness over my reaction made me feel sorry for him.

So, I let him kiss me for at least another fifteen minutes. I can only imagine the tall tales he'd spun to a captive audience in his cabin later that night. Those boys would never know I'd only touched it for two seconds, unaware.

When I relayed this story to Ashley, it was with disgust, the same way I'd relayed the story of the toddler who barfed in my face in the church nursery.

Tabby, thankfully, didn't rat me out to Dad. Mom kept things like this from him because he would've used it as an excuse to beat the shit out of me. If Tabby had done something like that, she wouldn't have been in trouble because she didn't get in trouble for every little thing like I did. But she never would've kissed someone at camp in the first place, because she was perfect. She went to Purity's Promise rallies, and constantly extolled the virtues of being virtuous. And she wasn't fake about it either, like some girls I knew. Tabby lived it. I know because I shared a bedroom with her in almost every house we ever rented, until I left at the age of fifteen.

I need to note a few things before I continue.

First, I have only recently begun a relationship with your Uncle Matt and Aunt Tabby (my brother and sister) after not speaking to them for many years.

Second, the man I'm referring to as "Dad" here was not my biological father, but I didn't know that then, so I will often refer to him as "Dad." I may also refer to him as "Jack." It will hopefully make sense, in context.

Third, I may refer to my biological father as Preston, or as, "my biological father."

My family issues may take a while to explain. Also, I trust that your Aunt Tabby and Uncle Matt can relay their own versions of their stories to you at some point. I'd rather use this journal for things that only I can tell you.

And because time is always shorter than you think, I'd like to begin where I believe my life veered off in the wrong direction, and it started in 1999, at church camp, the summer between eighth and ninth grade.

# Chapter 3: Rumors at Camp

In 1999, I opted not to go to church camp because Ashley wasn't going. Tabby had planned to go, but changed her mind and spent her summer in Oregon with Aunt Lydia instead. Meanwhile, Ashley and I got into trouble that spring. When Dad couldn't get a refund for Tabby's canceled enrollment, he sent me to camp against my will as part of my punishment. Aunt Lydia was one of my favorite people back then, and I was jealous of Tabby for visiting her that summer. But a couple of years later, when Aunt Lydia was my guardian in high school, I questioned why I'd envied Tabby.

Ashley and I were in trouble because we were caught making out with two high school boys in her neighborhood. They weren't much older than us, but it made us feel mature to sneak around with them since they were technically "high school boys." It was Ashley's idea; her way of helping me erase those disgusting Donnie Wayne kissing sessions from my mind. She and I hadn't been allowed to see each other since.

Mom drove me to the church camp bus by herself because Dad was out of town for a few months, traveling with an evangelist, which he did most summers.

Mom had been assured that Donnie Wayne wouldn't be at camp that summer, which is why she didn't argue when Dad demanded I go against my will.

So, when we arrived at the bus and immediately saw Donnie Wayne in the parking lot, I freaked out and pleaded with Mom to take me anywhere else. She made me go to camp anyway because we couldn't tell Dad I had a history with Donnie Wayne, and a bad reputation to boot.

I was in line to load my bags under the bus when Donnie Wayne approached me. I greeted him with a shy, "Hey, Donnie Wayne," then tucked my head down and said nothing else.

He went on and on, saying he was glad I was there, that he'd gotten a last minute spot because his family changed their vacation schedule. He could never take a hint. And he was cute enough that I wanted to give him another chance. But as he rambled on with a gross story that he inexplicably found hilarious, I remembered why "cute" wasn't enough. A little of Donnie Wayne Garrett went a long way.

Mom spoke to one of the chaperones on my behalf, who made sure that we sat far apart on the bus. By the time we arrived at the first rest stop, Donnie Wayne was pointedly ignoring me. I don't know what the chaperone said to make him leave me alone, but I was thankful it worked.

Before I boarded the bus, Mom gave me advice for handling him at camp. Things like, "Don't let him get you alone," and, "Stay busy, don't give him a chance to approach you."

She also recited something she'd been preaching to me since I was four years old, when we practiced self-defense on my sister's teddy bear: "The eyes and the balls!" Mom was impressed with how well I recalled events from when I was so young, although sometimes, she probably wished I didn't. The self-defense teddy bear story was a favorite that she and I often reminisced about. She made me hit Tabby's stuffed bear in the eyes and between the legs, as though he was a person.

Mom's favorite part of this story was that she originally wanted me to practice on my favorite teddy bear, Mr. Bear, but I shook my head and shouted, "No Mommy!" Then I grabbed him from her hands and tore off down the hall, returning with Tabby's teddy bear, Moe-Moe. And I begged Mom not to let Matt or Tabby ever practice on Mr. Bear, even if I wasn't around. Mom promised she wouldn't and I think she kept her word because I recently told this story to Matt and Tabby, and neither of them remember Mom teaching them self-defense on a stuffed animal. And believe me, a child doesn't forget a thing like that.

I doubt that I will teach you Mom's brand of self-defense when you're four. Good and bad things emerged from that for me. I will tell you later what I learned about Mom, in my last conversation with her, that I believe prompted her to teach me that lesson.

I always resented that my brother and sister thought Mom treated me as her favorite but I recently realized that perhaps they were correct when we swapped stories about Mom for the first time in many years. I see now that she and I had a unique, private friendship with each other. I thought it was like that for all three of us, but I was wrong.

Another piece of advice that Mom had given me since I was little was that smiling at someone could change their day. She often quoted a verse in Proverbs that (loosely) says, to make friends, you must first show yourself to be friendly. So, I thought I was doing the right thing by smiling and being friendly to people. And I reminded Mom of this when she advised me to ignore Donnie Wayne until camp was over.

Mom then changed her advice. From then on, she said I needed to make sure that the other person was someone I wanted to be friendly with before I showed myself to be friendly again. She said Donnie Wayne latched onto me because I was pretty, and because I was nice to him, but I didn't believe her.

Dad always reminded me that I was his only child who wasn't blessed with Mom's stunning good looks. I was born with the ugly recessive genes. They all lined up at once. A perfect storm. How else could I have inherited blond hair and light eyes when both of my parents had dark hair and dark eyes?

In tenth grade biology class, when we studied genotypes and examined genetic makeup within our families, my teacher reasoned that perhaps my parents' hair and eyes weren't so dark, and maybe mine weren't so light. Her explanation satisfied me, at the time.

Also, regarding my hair, I was dyeing it brown when I knew Donnie Wayne. This is because, for many years, Mom lightened her hair with a home highlighting kit, claiming she was jealous of my blond hair. I eventually came to the conclusion that she probably wasn't jealous. She was trying to make my differences less noticeable, and therefore, make it less apparent that Jack wasn't my biological father. And of course, Jack knew all along, which is why he made such a big stink over my unfortunate genetics when the subject arose. Strangers in passing have no idea how much damage they can do with a simple, amused, "She doesn't even look like she's related to your other two children!"

Yeah, no shit, random stranger. Think I don't feel stupid that I didn't know my paternity was a lie until I was twenty? I guess you think a lie that big is unfathomable until the day you realize you've been played a fool your whole life.

Mom's hair grew brittle and crunchy from years of harsh home highlighting. One day when I was in seventh grade, I suggested we both dye our hair the same dark color, closer to her natural shade. From then on, Mom and I had a tradition of dyeing our hair together once a month (light chestnut brown, from the dollar store). The week before camp, I dyed my roots by myself because Mom went to bed at noon that day and stayed in bed until the following morning.

Mom was usually happier after Dad went out of town for work, but not this time. Mom turned thirty-five about two weeks before I left for camp. Dad took her out to dinner that night, then left town the next day.

They came home from dinner after we'd gone to sleep. Tabby and I both jolted awake when Mom and Dad arrived, stomping and grumbling their way down the hall. We lived in a single-wide trailer with paper-thin walls. Mom and Dad's actions were muted, but unmistakably angry.

Mom's doctors called her "bipolar," but I think she just felt things deeply. Aunt Lydia agrees with me about this. When Mom was happy, she was the most fun mom in the world. But when she was sad, she'd shut down. Everything affected her. Her emotions were her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness.

Before I launch into the story of what happened at Camp Victory in 1999, I should mention that my breasts developed at a young age. Two years earlier, at the age of twelve, when I was chubby, I went straight from a training bra to a C-cup. When I was thirteen, I lost weight, but my chest kept growing.

One time, Dad yelled at Mom that she was letting me leave the house, "dressed like a whore," when I was wearing a normal, age-appropriate shirt, showing no cleavage. I'd received it as a cast-off from Ashley, who hadn't filled out as much. After that, I wore baggy, dumpy, shapeless clothes, which weren't hard to find at the thrift stores we frequented.

Outside the house, I pretended that my clothes weren't secondhand. I lived in fear that another girl would see me wearing one of her discarded pieces and call me out on it, but that thankfully never happened. Mom, Tabby, and I shared most of our clothes because we wore roughly the same size. Tabby, however, was taller, so she had additional clothes of her own. And she didn't have to worry about wearing baggy shirts because her breasts, while ample, were not the eyesore Dad made mine out to be.

When Donnie Wayne pursued me at camp, I had such a low opinion of myself, I believed that he targeted me because boys like him were smart enough to aim low. If he wanted pretty, he would've gone for Ashley instead. My boobs may have been bigger but she was the beautiful one, and I always felt invisible around her.

When I went to camp in 1999, I was busting out of a tight C-cup bra. We didn't have much money, so my bras came from thrift stores, but sometimes Mom found brand new ones with tags. Tabby, I would eventually learn, was jealous of my body, even though she was too chaste to show it. As I got older, I learned that my breasts sometimes made other girls hate me without even knowing me. Those girls had no idea that no one hated them more than me. I thought of them as an unfortunate recessive gene abnormality, like my hair, that made me look like I didn't belong.

Before I proceed, I should inform you that tales of my alleged slutty reputation were not the only rumors haunting me that summer. I was in two separate fights at school in eighth grade (the year just ended), and I was branded "scary" or "crazy," or both, by the other kids. Because my family moved a lot, I was new in school that year, which made me an easy target.

The first fight occurred when I was entering health class one day. A girl confronted me in the hall and accused me of "screwing" her boyfriend, who sat in front of me, but I barely knew that boy. I just sat where the teacher assigned me. Later, I gathered that he'd either lied about me to make his girlfriend jealous, or I'd unknowingly flirted with him in class.

The second fight was similar, involving the same group of girls. After that, Mom told people that the kids in Gimble (the eastern North Carolina town where we lived at the time), were "rougher" than the kids at my last school and she hoped we'd move again, but it was Dad's decision to make, not hers.

I later learned that the girls who harassed me were prone to such behavior, and I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I recently heard through the grapevine that one of them is now serving a twenty-year prison sentence.

From then on, I was afraid to talk to boys at school because I never knew when I would accidentally flirt with one who "belonged" to another girl. For several years prior to that, I had attended school with Ashley, which was great because she welcomed me into her group of friends with open arms and made me feel included, but we'd moved just outside her school district, so eighth grade was a long, lonely year for me.

At the end of the year, the "bad kids" (i.e., anyone who had been suspended) were called to a special meeting with the principal. He said that our school system was working toward a "zero tolerance" policy against school violence, after the tragedy at Columbine High School in Colorado, which had just occurred in April and was fresh on our minds.

The principal assured us that our discipline records would follow us to high school. He also repeated the warning he'd given to me and my parents after my second fight: another suspension could lead to a police arrest and a lengthy stay in a juvenile detention center.

But what scared me most of all was the principal's warning that an arrest could prevent a juvenile from getting their driver's license. That was a fate worse than death to me. Driving meant freedom, and I wanted freedom more than anything else in the world. That's why I had to keep to myself and not accidentally sit beside someone's boyfriend again.

I hoped that no one from school would attend Camp Victory but several did, and a few gossipy girls informed others about my reputation in a matter of minutes, before we boarded the bus. I rode beside a shy girl who asked me, "Did you really get into all those fights?" And I told her the truth: "Yeah, but they always hit me first."

During our first meal at camp, I noticed two girls talking about me in the dining hall, whispering behind their hands as I walked past, and I was mortified. I would have spoken up for myself, but that always seemed to backfire on me.

Even then, I realized there were much worse things they could've said about me, and they probably were. But at the time, those rumors filled me with despair and made me feel incredibly alone.

Mom told me the only way to show that rumors aren't true is to take the high road. Rise above. Be a good example. This will toughen you up. And maybe it did, because eventually, I didn't care what lies were spread about me, unless they hurt the people I love. And I love you, Britta. That's why I want you to know my truth.

Camp Victory was in Pennsylvania, approximately eight hours away from home. We'd been going to camp there for several years by then because Dad received a discount through the church. I learned at check-in that they still thought Tabby was attending, so they assigned me to a cabin with seventeen and eighteen-year-old girls. I had only been fourteen since March.

So, I went to church camp that year with no friends, a bad reputation, a fear of being nice to strangers, and the threat of entering the juvenile justice system to worry about. I planned to keep my head down at camp, just as I had at school.

Unfortunately, on the first night, I accidentally made a sharp comment to another girl. It happened when our counselor had us take turns sharing our proudest accomplishment from the past school year.

What was I supposed to say? That I'd let my good grades slip because I hated my new school so much? That my principal almost recommended me to an alternative high school for getting in two fights? That I was sure to be the girl with the most lies told about her at camp that week?

Instead of listing only one accomplishment, the first girl bragged about several. Stuff like the car she got for her birthday, her grade point average, and the fact that she'd made all-state chorus for the second year in a row.

That set the tone for the others to list multiple accomplishments. After a few more girls boasted about cars, boyfriends, and grades, it was obvious that I had as little in common with them as I expected.

When it was my turn, I said something like, "I had kind of a rough year. I'm just glad I finished eighth grade."

Haughty and squeaky, the annoying girl who'd kicked off this bragging session piped up from across the room, "Ooh, I tutor kids with learning disabilities! Let me know if I can help you this week. Math? I know some tricks."

In a tone that came out angrier than I intended, I met her eyes and said, "I didn't say I had a learning disability, I said I had a rough year."

A hush fell over the room, and I faced the floor to avoid their awkward stares. I knew I'd just made a poor first impression, but I was in no mood to fake my enthusiasm or to let some spoiled, entitled princess treat me like a charity case.

I assumed they would soon discuss what a strange, mean girl I was. If not tonight, then maybe tomorrow. Someone else would overhear them and add more fodder. Tell them I was slutty and violent. A person to be feared, and avoided.

I hated myself for disrespecting her, especially when I was only trying to stay out of trouble. The other girls all knew each other prior to camp, making me feel even more like a misfit.

By the time I left camp, however, I regretted that I didn't put forth more effort to know my cabin mates. One of them told me, at our last chapel meeting, that after they heard rumors about me, she and the others hoped I would jump the girl who was bragging so much the first night of camp.

That may not have been how I wanted others to perceive me, but this experience taught me that you should never assume you know what others think of you. I now wish that I'd owned those rumors instead of cowering away the whole week. 

# Chapter 4: Sunrise Circle

During free time on the first full day, I wandered around camp alone, searching for an activity that didn't make me look like a pathetic loner. I chose a scavenger hunt because if you found every item, you got credit for a free drink at the Snack Shack.

One item on the scavenger hunt list required a stroll to Sunrise Circle, a small, lesser-used, out-of-the-way campfire site which consisted of a circle of benches centered around a fire pit. Half of those benches were under a wooden shelter.

When I arrived there, I found two short, scrawny boys, both of whom were participants in the scavenger hunt, or so I thought. I hurried into the shelter and instantly saw the item I needed, hanging from the wall.

But as soon as I turned my back, each boy grabbed one of my wrists, holding me in place. Then Donnie Wayne charged in from out of nowhere.

I'd practically forgotten about him by then. I thought the chaperone had scared him away for good, but he had two of his friends hold me still just so he could get my attention. The one to my left hollered a shrill, "Kiss her, Donnie Wayne!"

I completely freaked out. I panicked, screaming at the top of my lungs. When I tried to twist and get away, the boys clamped their hands tighter around my wrists, pulling my arms out to my sides.

Donnie Wayne marched slowly toward me. I stopped yelling long enough to hear him say, "I don't understand, Susie. I thought we liked each other."

With all my might, I lifted my leg to kick him. My feet wouldn't reach all the way up to his eyes because he was tall, but I was pretty sure they would reach high enough to make Mom proud. The eyes and the balls.

Donnie Wayne took another step closer and I lunged forward to kick him, but missed.

My blood boiled. Every part of me wanted to hurt every part of him. My voice box felt paralyzed, even though I heard my shrieks echoing from the wooden walls. I'd never felt trapped like this before. I didn't know I could feel so small... so helpless... so enraged.

Then suddenly, it stopped. The hands that were clenching my wrists magically disappeared, and I could move and breathe again.

A dark-haired male staff member, wearing a Camp Victory shirt and khaki shorts, had entered the shelter, his voice booming, "Hey! Leave her alone!"

I was desperate not to get them in trouble because I was afraid that Dad would learn about my scandalous summer with Donnie Wayne. So, I lied my ass off. "Please let 'em go. We were just playing. It's okay."

(Your father and I will never be this way with you, Britta. You will always be able to tell us anything, and we will love you unconditionally.)

The male staff member told the boys he'd be around to talk to them later, but he'd let them go for now. The boys scattered quickly. Donnie Wayne high-tailed it out of there without giving me a second glance.

The man who became my hero was named Jerry Lyons. He was almost ten years older than me, and we were about to get each other in a whole lot of trouble.

We exchanged names and sat beside each other on a bench, then he shot into hero mode, asking, "Are you okay? Did they hurt you? You look a little pale. Do you need something to eat?"

I'd barely eaten in days, and my scuffle with those idiots had drained the last of my energy. Not to mention I was dehydrated from traipsing around under the scorching hot sun for the past hour. So yes, I did need something to eat. But the first thing on my mind was making sure those boys didn't get in trouble.

Adrenaline pumping, I answered his question. "No, I'm fine. Please don't say anything. I don't think he's dangerous, he's just... really stupid. I promise, it's fine."

"He? There were three of 'em."

"I know, but... it's just Donnie Wayne."

Jerry fished a small notebook from his pocket and jotted down the name, then said, "Are you sure they didn't hurt you? You were yelling for help. I'm surprised someone else didn't hear it. Did those boys get you alone and try to hurt you?"

It was then, in a fraction of a second, that my mind emptied of my recent harrowing experience and filled with nothing but his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. Sparkling like sunlight on the ocean, but his were a lighter, bluer ocean. And he wore a sexy, unfamiliar fragrance, but I'd never forget it after this.

"Hey." His eyes crinkled as they narrowed at me, as though his concern was genuine. "You all right?"

"Yeah. It's only a head rush or... something." I swallowed hard, my eyes glued to his. He was so close... so cute... so... the complete opposite of the boy I had furiously tried to kick a minute earlier. I inhaled a long, slow breath and added, "I'm fine, I promise."

Jerry was cute, in addition to his eyes. He was a little less than six feet tall. His dark hair was short and spiky all over, and his dimples perfectly accentuated his smile. But he was serious when he said, "I could have them sent home for what I saw. It looked like two of 'em were holding you back so the tall one, Donnie whatever, could kiss you or something."

My heart pounded fast. "I really don't want 'em sent home. He was just trying to talk to me. It's my fault. Look, it's a long story. I know this is gonna sound bad, but please don't say anything, it's not worth it. I can't let it get back to my dad."

He winced like he understood. "It's like that, huh?"

"I have a history with Donnie Wayne, that's all."

Surprised, he said, "Oh. He was your boyfriend? That guy?"

"Oh gosh, no, I mean... I guess I let him think he was, I don't know. I was only trying to be nice to him..."

"Are you sure he didn't hurt you? You can be honest with me, I know how it is. I won't get you in trouble. I just wanna make sure you're okay. But I also need to make sure those boys won't be out there hurting some other girl. That's why we send those kind of boys home."

"I'm fine, I promise. I'm just a little weak."

Jerry stood, extending his hand. "Come with me. I have food in my cabin."

Mesmerized, I took his hand and floated to my feet.

His cabin was near Sunrise Circle, past the "Staff Only" sign. I reminded myself to act casual as we strolled along, making small talk, even though I'd never ventured this far down that path before. I thought the camp had a policy against male staff members spending time alone with female campers, but since it was his idea, it must be okay. Maybe he was above the law. Or maybe knowing it was wrong made it more enticing.

I couldn't believe my luck. I had no friends at camp, and I thought everyone hated me. Then suddenly, the cutest guy there gives me attention. There was no way I could let this golden opportunity pass me by.

At night, there would've been kids making out in those woods, but during the day, few campers had a reason to venture that far down the path. No one noticed when we walked right up to his front door and entered his cabin together. Getting away with it gave me peace that Jerry was meant to find me at Sunrise Circle that day. 

# Chapter 5: You're Only Fourteen?

When we arrived at his cabin, Jerry opened the door and said, "Have a seat," gesturing at a metal folding chair near a computer desk. Then he rushed around the room, adjusting the air conditioner and gathering snacks for me.

There was nothing quite like the awe-inspiring experience of entering his cabin for the first time. I'm now amused by how easily impressed I was at fourteen. His cabin was no different from a basic dorm room, but it was a fancy hotel compared to accommodations provided for the campers. The best thing about it was the air conditioner. I almost made a remark about how nice it was, but I didn't want to sound stupid. I wanted him to think I'd done this before. His cabin was essentially one large room with two twin-sized beds (he had a roommate), and two windows. A coffee pot and microwave sat on a table beside the fridge. Against one wall was a large metal rack full of audiovisual equipment and other electronic devices.

When I spotted a video camera on a shelf, I gasped, realizing he was the "hot guy with the video camera" whom the other girls were drooling over. I hadn't noticed him until he rescued me at Sunrise Circle. I'd even had a brief encounter with him the previous day after I'd gotten off the bus, but the camera hid his face.

Until I was alone with him, I didn't know what all the other girls were gushing about. I think that's because I didn't fall for him purely for his looks, but because of the attention he gave me. Those other girls would've resented me for being alone with him. He was the hottest guy out of all the staff members, by far. Dimples, cleft chin, firm body beneath his clothes.

Jerry gave me an unopened stick of beef jerky, a banana, and a cold bottle of water that dripped with mouth-watering condensation. Those items are still clear in my mind because I later recounted them to Ashley, who laughed at my stupidity for months for being completely oblivious as he watched me eat a banana.

He leaned forward, his gaze smoldering with intensity. "I'm not trying to belabor the point. I'm only gonna ask you one more time. Did those boys hurt you? I'm not gonna get you in trouble. I understand where you're coming from, okay? If I tell on you, you could tell on me for letting you in here. So don't worry."

I should've seen that as a red flag, but I thought it was romantic. I replied honestly, "I won't tell anyone. If I got you fired, I'd be the one in trouble for it."

Jerry's eyes grew wide and he glanced at the door. "Well, in case someone comes to the door, like my roommate..."

Within two minutes of being alone with him, we were already discussing a plan for me to hide. This was another red flag that should have warned me of his character, and it did. Unfortunately, I didn't see it as an ominous sign, but as a romantic gesture from a possible love interest.

I scanned the room and quickly developed a hiding plan when I saw a full basket of laundry. "Is that yours?"

"Yeah. It's clean. Sorry, I need to put that away."

I assumed his bed was the one directly behind me, so I gestured to it. "I could slip under the covers really fast, then you could dump all that laundry on top of me, act like you're folding it?"

"I guess that could work. Why you gotta get under the covers, though?"

I shrugged. "So no one sees part of me sticking out, like my foot or my elbow. I'll be totally covered, curled up in a ball. I can curl up pretty tight, too. Your roommate probably won't notice there's a hump under the covers. Just make it look like the whole thing's messy and you're folding laundry."

Jerry offered a knowing smile and said, "You're really good at keeping secrets, aren't you?"

I swelled with pride. I didn't realize it then, but Jerry was taking copious mental notes on me every second we were together. My words, my actions, how desperate I was to fit in. But the most important thing I'd shown him about myself was that keeping secrets came second nature to me.

He nodded toward the food he'd placed on the desk. "You should eat. Come on, I know it's gotta be better than that shit they serve in the dining hall." His eyes rolled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to swear. I gotta watch my mouth. It's hard. There are people around here who won't even say 'crap.'"

He'd earned more of my respect by cursing. I responded, "I know," and a nervous twinge in my belly made me giggle. Without another thought, I picked up the banana, peeled it, and took a bite. Then my stomach growled.

Jerry laughed.

I pulled my hand to my stomach, cringing. "Sorry. I guess I was hungry."

"I know, don't apologize. It's cute. So tell me, what happened with you and that guy?"

That guy? My thoughts took a moment to catch up. So much to process at once. Did he really say my stomach growl was cute? "Uh... I don't wanna talk about it. It was my fault for turning my back on 'em. I should've known better. These boys are so stupid."

He rolled his chair a little closer, and my heart raced. A warm inner glow quickly flooded my entire being. What would it be like if he touched me? Or kissed me?

Jerry shook his head. "Guys are all stupid at this age. We don't mature as fast as you girls. Didn't your mom ever teach you that?"

"Yeah. She also taught me that smiling at someone can change their day and make it better. So, I smiled at Donnie Wayne." It was more than I wanted to say, but I was nervous. "He wouldn't leave me alone after that. Look, it was my first time at teen camp. I didn't know what I was doing."

"First time?" His tone conveyed worry. "How old are you?"

Hesitantly, I croaked, "Fourteen."

"You're only fourteen?" Panic flickered across his face for a second, but he soon said, "Wow. I can't believe that."

"I'm sorry." My big dreams of romance crashed to a halt right then. I should've realized he thought I was older when he brought me to his cabin so easily. I didn't want to cry in front of him, but I felt a lump forming in the back of my throat.

Jerry shrugged. "It's not your fault. Doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Had the thought of being more than friends already entered his mind? I swallowed and no longer felt tears, then asked, "Do I look that much older?" I was scared because I'd gotten slack about my sunscreen, but I was usually meticulous about my skin care. Mom grew up near the beach and she loved the sun. As far back as I can remember, she showed me spots all over her face, chest, and hands, which she attributed to sun damage.

"I don't know what it is," he said. "You carry yourself differently. Like you're more mature, or something. Wow... I can't believe you're so young. You're in a cabin with older girls, aren't you?"

"Yes." My heart soared with the realization that he'd already noticed so much about me. But I felt guilty for disappointing him, so I again said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It was probably wishful thinking on my part. Now that I know you're fourteen, you look fourteen. Either way, I'd get in trouble for having you here."

"Don't worry. I won't tell."

"I know." He winked. "So... are you in high school?"

"I will be this fall. Ninth grade."

He nodded with familiarity. "You're about to have a lot more guys like him following you around. You shouldn't let boys get you alone like that. If I hadn't been walking by, he could've done anything to you out here."

"They tricked me. I hate 'em. I didn't know Donnie Wayne was gonna be there."

"You should know better than to trust these little shits. Sorry, pardon my language. Again."

I giggled. He was fun. "Stop apologizing. It's okay."

"I'll try harder. Like I said, you should know better. Haven't you learned how to say 'no' to boys by now? A girl who gets as much attention as you?"

I felt blood rush to my cheeks because I wasn't used to so much flattery. "Attention? I don't know..."

"Boys give you a lot of attention at school, don't they? What? They don't? Did you just... like... bloom, or whatever? You just grew all that in the past few weeks?"

I laughed, nervously. "I don't know what you're talking about." My cheeks were practically scorching by then.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me. I know I'm not supposed to say things like that to the campers, but you seem really cool."

That relaxed me. If he thought I was cool, I was determined to prove just how cool I could be.

He asked, "Is that your natural hair color?" and went on to tell me he'd noticed my eyebrows were way lighter than my hair (I hadn't fought my way into the community bathroom to fill them in that morning with dollar store eye pencil), and he wondered if I dyed my hair dark. No one had ever asked me that question before.

I would eventually learn that he'd already noticed me meandering around camp alone, and the reason he went to Sunrise Circle was because he'd thought of approaching me, but he didn't want witnesses. I wrongly assumed he'd found me because he lived at the end of the path, and he was walking his usual route.

Months later, Jerry would confess that he would not have invited me to his cabin if he'd known I was so young, but once he got me there, it was too late. The fact that I was off-limits made him want me even more, and it had the same effect on me. It was my ultimate way of paying back my dad for being so mean to me.

I hate to sound like a cliché, but I must be honest. Probably ninety percent of my rebellious actions back then were based upon whether or not they would piss off my dad. If there was a way to get away with something, I found it, and I was proud of myself for it. I still feel a great sense of satisfaction when I reflect upon certain events.

I say that because I know Tyler will read this, and he needs to see what sometimes happens to girls who resent their fathers for being too strict: they may develop an overwhelming urge to rebel.

Jerry said he'd seen me get off the bus from North Carolina the previous day. We quickly realized that we knew many of the same people, namely, Elliot Haney, the son of the head pastor at Hunter's Branch Community Church, where my family not only worshipped, but my dad worked part time. Elliot's dad, whom I always called Pastor Haney, had secured this job at camp for Jerry.

Elliot was practically royalty at church. Even though our fathers had worked together for years, I barely knew him because he was ten years older than me and I'd never had a reason to speak with him. I only knew him as one of the hot guys whom all the girls at church had a crush on. Even if I'd had a reason to talk to Elliot, I probably would've been too intimidated to say anything. But Dad knew Elliot, and I now feared that my Donnie Wayne predicament would leak back to Dad, and that's what I told Jerry.

Jerry reassured me with, "I won't say anything. Don't worry, Elliot's a preacher's kid, too. He knows how to keep secrets."

"Did you and Elliot go to seminary together?"

"No, but I went to his graduation cookout at your church last month. Were you there?"

"Yeah."

"That's probably why you look familiar to me."

"Are you sure? It's a pretty big church."

"Yeah, I'm sure. I remember faces. I knew I'd seen you before. You stood out to me."

"Uh... I can't believe you remembered me. I don't know Elliot. He's been away at school for years, and I don't really see him at church."

"What's your dad's name?"

"Jack. Jack Lombardi."

He thought for a second. "I think I met him."

Jerry asked more questions about Dad. I told him he was traveling with Chester Simmons, Jr., an evangelist Jerry had heard of. He also asked, "What's your dad do when he's not traveling?" and, "You said he's only part time at the church?" Basically, dancing around the issue of why my family was in such a weird situation, with Dad traveling at random intervals and not working in full-time ministry. These were questions I didn't ask my parents because I didn't think to ask. I just accepted them as facts.

Jerry told me he had an associate's degree from a community college, and he was only planning to further his education if his business didn't work out.

Oh, that's right. He said he owned his own business, doing multimedia consulting and web design. This made him infinitely more attractive to me. And not because I perceived that he had money, but because I admired his independent spirit.

Jerry gave me hope when he said, "I've done some contract work for your church. Might do more, after camp's over. If I do, we'll see each other."

I might see him again! This served as additional confirmation that he and I were meant to be together. I thought it was a fateful coincidence that I had to travel all the way to camp to meet a guy who'd attended my church as recently as the previous month.

But in reality, meeting Jerry at Camp Victory was not much of a coincidence. A few staff members got jobs there because of Pastor Haney, since we were part of the same non-denominational confederation of community churches.

My heart raced when Jerry asked again, "Are you sure those boys didn't hurt you?" His voice was so gentle, so caring. I felt every word, and sensed sincerity in his eyes. Through them, he spoke straight to my soul.

Jerry promised to have a "long talk" with Donnie Wayne and his friends, since he was taking a big risk by not having them sent home.

If I were to make this decision again, I think I would tell him to send the boys home. But I was so afraid of getting in more trouble, I didn't think about the potential harm they could do to another girl.

I was desperate to make Jerry stop asking, so I finally told him, "Look, I kissed him last summer. He was living in the past, I guess."

Jerry relaxed in his chair. "Ah. A summer camp fling, huh? I went to a camp that was way more restrictive than this one. They make it too easy to get away with stuff here."

A sigh of relief escaped my throat. "So you really won't say anything?"

"I promise I won't. Was it just a kiss?" One of his brows quirked up.

"Well... there was a lot of kissing." I didn't hide the disgust in my voice. "And there might've been a little bit more than that but it was only because I was too polite to tell him no. I've regretted it ever since. It wasn't worth it. He's trying to make it happen again, I suppose."

He produced a light chuckle. "You were a major event in his life. You know that, right?"

"I guess so. He sure told everyone it was way more of a major event than it actually was, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah." He nodded firmly. "Boys lie."

"I know. I learned that the hard way."

"Well, if he bothers you again, let me know. In fact, if anyone bothers you around here, tell me and I'll take care of it. Okay?" His voice softened. "You know, you're allowed to say no. Even to a boy you kissed, and more, last summer."

I nodded and turned to the floor, suddenly overcome with emotion. I'm still not sure why. His words were encouraging, but unfamiliar.

In a gentle voice, he asked, "What's wrong? Are you crying?"

Did he really care? I lifted my eyes to meet his. The sympathy on his face made me want to open up to him, but I hated to cry in front of people, so I spoke softly, hoping I wouldn't break down. "I had a hard year at school. And I don't have any friends at camp." Then I started crying anyway, and immediately apologized for it.

He handed me a tissue and said, "Don't be sorry." He was poised in his chair like he wanted to touch me. "You're going through a lot. It's okay. I meant what I said before. You're allowed to say no to these guys. You do realize that, don't you?"

My chest went weak, my tears instantly drying. I'd never felt so safe or protected. He was a dream come true. I nodded as I wiped my cheeks. "Yeah. I know."

"Sorry, I'm not trying to imply you're like that with all the boys. I just had a bad feeling that maybe you felt so out of place here, you were too willing to make friends."

Out of place? He had no idea. I thought of the girls from school who whispered behind their hands in the dining hall, and decided then to tell Jerry my version of those rumors before someone else did.

So, I told him about the fights, my scary reputation, and the threat from the principal about getting arrested.

When I finished, Jerry replied in an easy tone, "Well... I don't know if my opinion counts, but you don't seem scary to me."

"Thanks." I let out an awkward chuckle and relief washed in, replacing my sadness.

"Look, about the rumors, eventually they'll figure out who's telling the truth. Just don't give 'em anything new to talk about. Those girls who jumped you..." He snorted. "They're jealous. That's why they start shit with you. When I was in school, I always thought girls were way meaner to each other than the guys were. Don't let 'em get to you. And be careful how much you talk to a guy you don't know. Boys let a little attention go to their heads. They see some pretty new girl smiling at 'em, they think she's interested." He spoke with an air of wisdom as though he'd lived it, making me believe it myself.

I didn't know how to respond to yet another compliment. I shyly offered, "Yeah... that's why I'm afraid to smile at anyone now."

He gave my bare knee a pat that sent chills through my whole body. "That's a shame. You have a beautiful smile. You should smile more often."

Jerry told me I was beautiful several more times before I left camp that week. Besides Mom and Ashley, no one had ever said that to me before. I didn't believe that I was beautiful, but I started to feel like Jerry thought I was. I saw this as yet another sign that he was the one, and I fell madly in love with him that day.

As I was leaving his cabin, I remembered some of Mom's advice: Let the guy talk. She said girls blow it on the first date because they talk too much and turn the guy off. It's best to ask questions to encourage him to talk about himself, to show your interest. Feeling stupid, I gazed up at him and said, "I'm sorry I talked about myself so much. I don't usually do that. Thanks for listening."

"Anytime. And it was my pleasure. Don't apologize."

Before I left, we discussed the fact that I'd neglected to pack a reusable bottle, and he insisted I take another cold bottle of water with me. Then we shared a quick wave before I skipped out the door.

I floated around camp in a lovestruck haze for hours after leaving Jerry's cabin. Camp Victory was the only place on Earth where I wanted to be. I'd forgotten that I was so angry about being sent there.

The world was shiny and new. The grass was greener. The air was fresher. The other kids faded into a background of noise that served no competition for the fantasies running through my mind.

I fought the urge to write a tell-all letter to Ashley, because if I didn't tell her about this, I would surely explode. But I also didn't need any of today's events to be in writing because that was never smart. My only option was to replay them in my head until I'd remembered every detail to convey to her later in person.

I only saw Jerry once more that day, and he was carrying a video camera through the dining hall. He angled it my way a few times and I gave him enough of a smile to show I was interested, but hopefully not enough to arouse suspicion from other campers. As much as I wanted to brag about my encounter with Jerry to the girls in my cabin, to stay out of trouble, he had to remain a secret.

I barely saw Donnie Wayne for the rest of the day, and he didn't even glance in my direction.

**

I headed to bed a little early that night. My cabin was empty except for two girls who chatted on one of the lower bunks, and neither acknowledged me when I came in, but I was grateful because I wanted more uninterrupted time alone with my thoughts.

I planned to finish a letter to Mom before drifting off to sleep to fantasies of Jerry. And then, hopefully, I would dream about him.

When I climbed to my bunk, I was startled to find a sturdy, reusable bottle.

At first, I assumed that one of my cabin mates had placed this bottle on my bed because they'd found a stray one and thought it was mine. But when I moved it, I found a note underneath. Nice, legible handwriting, on a plain white index card. It said the sweetest, most thoughtful thing ever: "I'm glad you're not afraid to smile at me."

I gasped so loud, the two other girls in the room asked, "Are you all right?"

I said, "I'm fine. Sorry, it's nothing," and they resumed their chat.

I read the note repeatedly until my vision blurred. No one had ever done anything so considerate for me. He didn't need to sign his name, I knew it was him. Somehow, the fact that the note was so simple made it even more meaningful.

The bottle appeared to be used, and I hoped it was, that his lips had touched it many times.

I climbed out of my bunk, safely tucked the note into a pocket inside my duffle bag, and ran outside to fill my new bottle at the water fountain. I needed to put my lips on something that Jerry's lips had touched. I would drink so much water that I'd have to take a flashlight up the hill to pee in the middle of the night, but it was totally worth it. 

# Chapter 6: You're Not That Easy to Forget

After meeting Jerry, I constantly watched for him, starving for a crumb of his attention.

When he appeared at common areas like the dining hall or campfire, we'd share a brief glance, but nothing more. As usual, he popped up near me with his camera in the dining hall, and his face left the lens just long enough to give me a wink that no one else noticed. Then he went around the table and the other girls vied for his attention, smiling and playing up to his camera.

I later learned that Jerry paid close attention to see if I'd exchange a knowing glance with another girl, or give any other hint that I'd told someone about our private talk. Maybe another girl would've dished about him to the others, but that's because they didn't know how to keep a secret.

Around camp, I often caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. If he glanced my way, I was overjoyed, and if he spoke to another girl, I was devastated.

I drank more water that week than any other week before or since. Each time my lips pressed to that plastic, I imagined his lips had been there, too.

I finally got him to myself again on Wednesday, during free time after lunch. I was at the water fountain outside the dining hall, refilling my bottle for the fourth or fifth time that day, when Jerry's voice came from behind me. "I'm glad you're using it."

I spun around to give him a much bigger smile than I intended. My heart pounded a fresh new beat when I saw him. There was no camera, just his perfect face. I said, "Thank you for this bottle. Sorry, I wanted to say 'thank you' earlier but I haven't had the chance."

"I understand, it's cool." He glanced around as he took a step forward, his voice quiet. "I didn't see you eat much back there. Is the food that bad? You better keep your strength up."

He'd noticed how much I ate? If I hadn't already fallen in love with him, I would've fallen right then. I clutched my cold water bottle, my mouth agape until I breathlessly uttered, "Okay."

"Have those boys been leaving you alone?"

"Uh-huh. I think he forgot about me."

Jerry chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I had a talk with him. That's why he's leaving you alone. He didn't forget about you. You're not that easy to forget."

I blushed and turned my face away for a moment. He always said the right things.

When our eyes met again, his line of vision flashed all the way down to my sandals, then to my shirt, where he lingered for a second. Then those sexy eyes lifted to mine, and he said, "You wanna meet me in ten minutes?"

My pulse racing, I replied, "Yeah, okay. Where?"

"My place. Take the path from Sunrise Circle, but don't come in through the door. Go through the woods and cut around back. There's a stepladder and a big window. You'll see."

Jerry wanted to see me again. Alone. In his cabin.

Every cell of my body hummed to life with joyous anticipation. I heard fireworks, and maybe even felt them.

He was mine again. All mine. And meeting him in secret made it infinitely more romantic.

We would have a new secret encounter. Add a new chapter to our love story. A love story we could tell our grandchildren someday.

This was meant to be.

Those others boys were mere frogs I had to kiss on the way to my prince. My handsome prince. Mom always said he would come for me, and now, he finally had.

But I kept my exuberance inside and answered with a casual, "Okay."

# Chapter 7: Pretty Little Piece of Jailbait

Ten minutes after Jerry invited me to his cabin, I was struggling to climb in through his window. It took a minute, and I was certain he'd looked down my shirt when I was bent over, but I was soon inside, panting a bit.

He sat at his computer and I sat beside him. Like before, he fed me and paid me compliments. And he found various ways to casually brush against me, which I savored. His slightest touch was new and electric.

Jerry told me that another reason Donnie Wayne was leaving me alone was because he'd found another girl. "A rebound," Jerry said.

I thought I had seen him sitting with a girl at chapel, but I paid little attention. I was, however, excited about this new development, but only for a second, when I cringed and said, "I feel bad for her."

"Don't. One girl's trash, another girl's treasure. She looks very happy with him. This'll be the best summer of her life." He let out a quick laugh. "I did, however, tell all the counselors to keep an eye on him, after what he did to you. I wanna make sure he doesn't do that to someone else."

I asked what I always asked: "You didn't tell anyone about what happened to me, did you?" still worried that Dad would find out. I was so tired of worrying about that.

"No." His sultry eyes crinkled, intensifying his gaze as his tone grew gentler. "I told you I wouldn't, didn't I?" He touched my bare knee, and his fingertips grazed my thigh as he pulled away.

The feel of his skin against mine made me wish he'd do much more than touch me. But my emotions changed course when he said, "So, I spoke to Elliot..."

Elliot's name made my blood pressure spike with fear. I sensed from Jerry's tone that Elliot had said something about me, but I had no idea what that could be, since we didn't know each other.

Jerry said, "He told me you all had names from Acts. Is it just your brother and sister? Your name's Susanna, right? I can't find your name there. I only see her in Luke. Did your parents run out of female names they liked in Acts? Because there were others." And right then, Jerry double-clicked an icon for a Bible CD that whirred to life in his computer.

My thoughts turned cold. This was a sore subject for me. I steeled my voice and said, "Why are you asking me this?"

Jerry shrugged. "I don't know. It's an interesting naming convention." I would later learn that Jerry was lying. He asked because Elliot had told him rumors about my paternity, which I'd never heard. Jerry continued. "He made it sound like your dad said all your names were there, but I don't see yours. Elliot looked and didn't see it either. I guess people probably take your word for it unless you have a concordance handy. So, your mom's Priscilla..."

Of all things Elliot could have told him, it had to be this. And yes, most people did take our word for it unless there was a concordance handy, but it rarely came up.

I hid my annoyance because I loved him. In a matter-of-fact tone, I recited my usual speech. "Mom and her twin sister were named Lydia and Priscilla. My sister's Tabitha, my little brother's Matthias. Mom liked the name Susanna for a girl, but she's only a minor mention in Luke. A lot of people lump Luke and Acts together anyway because they think Luke wrote 'em both. My dad found a commentary that said Susanna might've been one of the women who stood with Mary, in the upper room. Acts one, chapter fourteen."

Elliot had already given Jerry my explanation, but I didn't know that.

Jerry immediately found the verse and read it to himself. "Kind of a stretch, but.... okay. I see her mentioned in a Daniel commentary."

"Uh-huh, the Apocrypha. But she's not the same person, that's the Old Testament, a different woman named Susanna." When I asked Dad about this years earlier, he'd given me a long lecture about why we, and most Christian religions, didn't include Susanna — one of the Apocryphal texts — in our version of the Bible.

Dad used any opportunity to make sure I knew that I was named after a New Testament person whom he considered to be insignificant, unlike my brother and sister. Why had he let Mom name me Susanna if he thought so little of her? Mom told me he'd picked Matt and Tabby's names without asking her opinion, but he let her pick mine herself. I used to think my name had doomed me from birth.

Jerry was intent on the monitor, reading. "Have you ever read this story about the other Susanna, in the Old Testament? It says two elders falsely accused her of promiscuity after they tried to rape her. She was being led away to be executed and the prophet Daniel spoke up and exposed the elders' lies. And the elders were executed." He blew a loud huff from the side of his mouth. "See? That's what happens to people who falsely accuse you of being a slut."

If only that were true. I knew Dad would tell me I deserved whatever punishment I got for "whoring around" and acting like trash. There was no Daniel to stand up for me, because I was in the wrong, even when I wasn't.

Ironically, in college, I made a close friend named Dan, who was always there when I needed him. But that's a story for another time.

When we finally finished talking about my name, he clicked on a video, and I immediately recognized it from check-in on Sunday.

I said, "Are you gonna make me watch myself on video? Please don't."

"Have you ever seen yourself on video before?" he asked as though I hadn't.

"Yes. Many times. My aunt and uncle tape everything and make us watch it. I hate that. Every play, every church event."

"You shouldn't hate it. You're beautiful."

And right then, I saw myself on the screen. After check-in on Sunday, I had obliviously stumbled right past Jerry as he made a dumb joke and told me to smile. I don't know what he saw in that video, but I saw a pale girl in a dumpy, oversized shirt, who desperately needed to brush her stringy hair after a long bus trip.

"Well?" he asked, waiting.

"Well, what?"

"What do you see?"

I shrugged. "I think my sunscreen's working too well. I look kinda sick, don't I?"

"It's your hair. It's too dark for your skin tone. It doesn't look right."

"I know."

"Then you should stop dyeing it."

"Maybe someday." But I kept it dark for a good while longer. I considered letting it go natural because I loved him, but I despised my blond hair back then. It was a curse, like my name and my chest.

Jerry replayed the video and said, "I remember when I shot this on Sunday, I thought, I know her face. Yeah. See that smile? You're so pretty. You have to already know that. I can't believe guys aren't falling all over themselves for you. I know they are."

"Not really." I shrank away from him, confused. I wanted to take his flattery to heart, but no one had ever paid me so many compliments before. It made me wonder if he was playing an elaborate trick on me, or maybe he considered me a special project because Elliot had mentioned something about my family that made him feel sorry for me. I'd been looking in mirrors my entire life and I knew what I saw. Ashley was the pretty one, and I was used to that.

But at least I was the only girl alone with him right then. The only girl he trusted enough to bring into his cabin twice, even though he could've lost his job for it. Or at least, I hoped I was the only girl.

Jerry said, "Sorry. I'm probably freaking you out with this. I don't mean to. I just have a lot of time on my hands. I'm like, some creepy old guy, right? Like, hey, come to my cabin, let me feed you while I watch videos of you... that I shot myself."

I should've been freaked out, but I thought it was sweet. And I let out a nervous laugh, almost choking on the bite of granola bar I'd just taken. I swallowed and said, "It's not creepy. It's nice." Desperate to change the subject, I decided to put some of Mom's advice into action: Be bold and confident. Ask questions and encourage him to talk about himself. So, before Jerry could chime in with more praise, I said, "Do you have a girlfriend?" in a tone that hopefully sounded as carefree to him as it did to me.

"Technically, yes, but not for much longer. I'm gonna break up with her soon. Would've done it already but I'm gonna wait 'til the next time I see her in person. It's only fair."

"That's nice of you."

He shrugged. "I don't know how nice she's gonna think it is, but I figure it's better to cut it off now than lead her on. What about you? You got a boyfriend? Besides that guy from the other day?"

"No," I answered at once.

Jerry's gorgeous dark head shook. "Boys your age must be a lot dumber than I remember."

"How old are you?" I asked, proud that I'd found a natural way to work this question into our conversation.

"Twenty-three, until August."

"Cool." I nodded, reaching for my water. He was a couple of years older than I expected, but I didn't care.

"Have you had a lot of boyfriends?"

"No."

"I can understand why that guy was after you. If I was your age, I'd do anything to get your attention."

Our eyes locked, and I almost let, "You already have my attention," slip out of my mouth, but I went with my second idea, telling him, "I wish we were the same age."

He casually said, "Yeah," and turned to the screen. "So, what are you doing for the rest of the summer? You have a lot going on back home?"

I took his, "Yeah," to mean that I had a chance with him in spite of our age difference. To answer his question, I said, "Um... I don't have that much going on. I'll be in Wilmington, I think. It depends on what Mom's doing." And with Mom's fluctuating mood, I didn't know if she'd want to go to her parents' house in Wilmington or not. That's what we usually did, because Mom had a summer job at a restaurant there, working for a family for whom she'd worked since she was a teenager.

"How much longer is your dad out of town?"

I sighed. "Not as long as I'd like." He offered a sympathetic look, and I continued. "He's supposed to be gone 'til about the middle of August, but it might be longer, since we're not moving this year."

I was going to ask Jerry another question when his head turned sharply to the door as though he'd heard something. "Shit!" he whispered loudly.

I drew a hand to my chest for a stunned moment before my adrenaline kicked in.

When it did, I was completely clearheaded, going through the motions of our plan.

One: stand.

Two: run to the bed.

Three: slide under covers.

Four: curl up to the wall.

And so I did. My world was soon darkened by blankets, and I heard the door open just as a pile of laundry landed on my head. I stayed in a tight fetal position on my side, my head and knees both touching the wall, hands folded in front of my face like I was praying.

Speaking of praying...

Lord, if Jerry and I are meant to be together, please let me get away with this. In Jesus's name. Amen.

My heart hammered like crazy. I felt Jerry shuffle his clothes on top of me as he made small talk with his roommate.

The roommate said, "I came to get one of my mix tapes. We've been listening to the same CD in the kitchen for days."

Jerry's voice carried a note of relief. "Okay."

I realized the dirt on my sandals had probably made a mess of Jerry's bed, and hopefully not where the roommate could see. I almost sneezed because the sheet tickled my nose, but I took deep breaths until the urge passed. As their conversation progressed, I thought I was safe and that our hiding plan had been perfectly executed until the roommate said, "You have someone in here?"

Jerry responded with hesitation. "Uh... what?"

My pulse spiked.

Shit!

Please, please, please, Lord, please don't let us get caught!

The same covers that had offered protection a moment earlier were now a suffocating trap. My body stiffened, arms trembling.

Roommate said, "You pulled that chair up next to your desk. Looks like someone was hangin' out, havin' a granola bar."

"Oh, that. Yeah, one of the kids was here. Girl problems."

I let out the breath I'd been holding, careful to stay silent. Jerry had saved the day, and I wanted now more than ever to kiss him and show him my gratitude.

Then the roommate said, "Was it that same little twerp from the other day? The one who harassed that pretty little piece of jailbait you had your eye on?"

I was so surprised, it took me a second to interpret that the pretty little piece of jailbait was me. When I did, a warm tingle shot all the way to my toes.

Jerry let out a sharp chuckle, obviously embarrassed by his roommate's comment. His tone went up a register as he replied, promptly changing the subject. "No, it was someone else. Hey, I have a CD you might wanna try..."

Jerry and the roommate kept talking, but I could only hear my thoughts.

Pretty? I was flattered beyond words.

Jailbait? Heat flooded my face and neck, and I wasn't sure why. It was humiliating, yet complimentary. I'd definitely been called worse, that's for sure. More than anything, I was taken aback that Jerry or his roommate had noticed me around camp enough to refer to me as either "pretty" or "jailbait," let alone both in the same breath.

But what else had Jerry said behind my back?

The roommate knew Donnie Wayne had harassed me, which meant that Jerry must have told him about the incident at Sunrise Circle.

Oh shit. Jerry lied to me.

That's when my thoughts spun chaotically in a new direction, rushed along by fear and disappointment.

But on a positive note, his roommate sounded relaxed when he mentioned it, which made me feel better. If it wasn't a big deal to those two, then maybe it wasn't a big deal to anyone, and it wouldn't get back to my dad. Hopefully Jerry hadn't run his mouth to others. And especially to no one we knew in common... like Elliot Haney.

Damn it! Why did I trust Jerry?

Just as I found myself hoping the roommate would stay a bit longer and provide me more time to sort out my feelings, I heard the door open, then close with a bang.

Jerry said, "Sorry about that," as he plucked articles of clothing from the blanket. "He's never here this time of day."

"What'd you tell him about me?"

"What? The jailbait comment?"

I'd practically forgotten about that. "No, about me and Donnie Wayne."

Jerry lifted the covers, bathing me in light for the first time in several minutes. I squinted against the brightness, shielding my eyes with my hand.

I was still facing the wall in my tight fetal position when I felt the bed shake. Jerry had bounced in beside me, the mattress springs wheezing under his weight.

I was motionless, my senses heightened, every nerve at attention, my heart thudding in heavy beats. What was he doing in bed with me? How was I supposed to react? Part of me was ecstatic but another part of me was pissed at him for breaking my trust.

Jerry said, "So... what do you think you heard?" His tone conveyed that he thought he'd done nothing wrong.

I swallowed hard as a sinking feeling took over, and I felt stupid. "Oh... was that not me he was talking about?"

He laughed. "No, it was you. He called you jailbait. And he said you were pretty. And that I had my eye on you."

"What'd you tell him about me and Donnie Wayne?"

"Is that all you heard?" He grabbed my shoulder, urging me to face him. When I didn't, his hand moved down to my elbow, and tugged. "Come on. Roll over and look at me. Don't be mad."

A tremor of excitement started deep in my belly, a natural response to his touch. But I couldn't look at him yet, I was too angry. I said, "I thought you knew how to keep a secret. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but you don't know what I go through at home."

Jerry withdrew his hand and let out a loud breath. After a long pause, he explained. "All right, here's what happened. I told the staff and all the counselors that those three guys were playing too rough with one of the female campers, but I didn't tell 'em who that female camper was. Dave only found out because the boys were still here when he came back that night. But you shouldn't worry. I doubt he even knows your name."

I relaxed a little. "Hopefully not. I didn't know his name was Dave until you said it just now."

He chuckled. "Okay then. I promise, you're not gonna get in trouble."

"Did you tell Elliot? Because he'll tell my dad."

He laughed. "No, but I guess you really don't know him, do you? He's cool."

How well I would learn that a few months later.

Jerry added, "And I had a nice, long talk with those boys. They know they're being watched."

"Do they?" I focused on the wall in front of me. "Donnie Wayne found another girl awfully fast. Seems like he would've been afraid to do that if he thought he was being watched."

"No, his counselor's on him like a hawk. Don't worry. They're not gonna let him get that girl to himself. I think he knows better now."

He grabbed my arm again, and this time I let him roll me onto my back.

My head landed softly on the pillow, my face dangerously close to his. He'd propped himself up on his elbow, his luscious scent wrapped around me like a sleeping bag, dissolving the remaining fragments of my anger.

I hoped to portray a cool exterior, because inside, I was ready to explode from so many of my fantasies coming true at once. I was in bed with the man of my dreams. If those ice blue eyes hadn't pulled me in, those dimples surely would have.

He said, "So... what about the other stuff my roommate said?"

If I could've formed words right then, I would've given him an answer, but I could only stare trancelike into his eyes.

Jerry seemed to interpret my silence as indifference, not the tongue-tied adoration it actually was, because he said, "Did it upset you?"

The only response I could muster was weakly moving my head from side to side, instead of saying no. Oh, the things I wished he would do to me. I'd be his jailbait. No one would ever have to know.

"You sure?" His dark brows lifted, his voice laced with anxiety. "I don't want you to feel weird about it, especially after you go home."

"I won't." My voice was so small, I could barely hear it. I cleared my throat and forced out, "Don't worry. I'm not gonna tell anyone."

"I know you won't." Jerry winked.

I melted inside. Did this mean he would trust me with even more secrets? Perhaps a secret relationship, until I was legal and we wouldn't need to hide it? I hoped so.

He asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Why?"

"You had a funny look on your face. Are you sure you're okay?"

I couldn't hold back any longer. Besides, I didn't know if I would see him again after camp ended. This was no occasion to be shy. I summoned my courage and said, "What would you do with me if I wasn't jailbait?"

Jerry's eyes widened, then he flashed a sweet half-smile. "I probably shouldn't answer that. I told you, if I was your age..." He broke off in a knowing laugh.

I wanted him to continue but he glanced at his watch and let out a loud groan.

"Sorry." He swung his feet around to the floor. "I've gotta be somewhere."

And soon, Jerry was manhandling me out the window again. When I was finally standing on the step ladder outside, we were both breathless. He handed me my water bottle and said, "Well, that was fun."

"Yes." My heart thumped recklessly as I took one last look in his eyes before saying goodbye. We wouldn't be alone again for two excruciating days. 

# Chapter 8: Won't Let You Miss Your Bus

Thursday was disappointing because I barely saw Jerry. Adding to the sting, however, was the fact that he spent a whole ten minutes talking to Megan (the girl I accidentally smarted off on the first night) and her friends at the picnic table beside mine. He even squeezed in next to them on their bench for a minute, discussing all-state chorus, which Megan constantly bragged about. After he left, the girls all gushed to Megan that he was definitely flirting with her, he was attracted to her, their wedding would take place at her church, and their children would eventually achieve the highest honor that any human being could possibly achieve: all-state chorus.

I was too angry to drink water for a few hours after that.

Campfire was rained out that evening, so we all met in the chapel. I felt a hand touch my shoulder blade, then slide down my back. A moment later, Jerry's cologne seeped into the air around me. I glanced over my shoulder and realized he was filming, with the camera pointed off in the distance. No one questioned why he stood behind me like a statue for a little while.

His touch made everything better. I became thirsty again.

**

Friday morning came, and it was depressing. Not only was it still raining outside, but the overcast, gray clouds forewarned of home. At least Dad was still out of town for the summer. That was obviously a plus.

Unfortunately, Mom hadn't been herself, and I feared her mood had dropped while I was away, which sometimes happened when she spent too much time alone. I'd anticipated a summer of fun with Mom, without Dad or Tabby snooping around. Hopefully Mom would feel better soon. I missed her.

I prayed for her silently, bowing my head during a slow worship song. I blamed myself for her depression this time. I didn't intend to disappoint her so much.

I started crying, and since no one was paying attention and I didn't have a tissue, I wiped my face with the top of my shirt.

I had nothing to go home to. Mom was in a bad mood. I wasn't allowed to see Ashley. And I was afraid to make new friends, because trouble seemed to follow me. I was cursed. The only good thing to come along in years was Jerry. Maybe he was my reward for suffering for so long. It always frustrated me when someone encouraged me to, "look on the bright side." It's hard to look on the bright side when you don't remember what the bright side looks like anymore. Jerry brightened my life and gave me something new to live for.

And I was about to leave him.

When the song ended, I opened my misty eyes to see Jerry in the corner, his camera angled in my direction. I hadn't noticed him in the room until then.

I was embarrassed at first, afraid he'd seen me get so emotional.

But then I remembered the "pretty little piece of jailbait" comment, and my gloomy clouds gave way to sunshine.

Chapel went on for a while longer. Many of the girls cried. People gave testimony. All-in-all, it was a good time. Near the end, they showed a video on the big screen. Kids clapped and hollered when they spotted themselves or their friends.

I appeared on screen before any of the other girls from my cabin did, and their shrill cries of excitement stabbed my ears. Their joy made them seem like they actually knew me, but they just wanted a reason to be loud and feel like they were part of something bigger.

I repeatedly saw myself on that screen, and I appeared to have had the ultimate church camp experience all week. How in the world had Jerry accomplished that?

As chapel ended, my cabin mates gathered in the back of the room. We all hugged goodbye and exchanged contact information, but I didn't expect to hear from any of them again. They were all huddled together in a gaggle of nostalgia and squeals when I broke away long enough to see Jerry off in the corner, trying to get my attention.

He gave me a tiny wave, then thumbed toward the door.

Finally!

My pulse racing, I quietly rushed to my seat to get my rain poncho, flinging it over my arm as I headed to the door. I kept the girls in my peripheral vision to make sure they didn't see me sneak off.

The smell of fresh rain hung thick in the air, even though the downpour had ended and the overcast clouds were finally breaking. As soon as I stepped outside, I heard a loud, "Hey!" and turned to see Jerry near the back of the building, waving me over.

He looked so harmless, I hated that we had to sneak around. As I bounced merrily toward him, I realized that I had already started to see him as my boyfriend. We had a connection that he didn't have with any of the other girls, and I found it incredibly romantic that he'd taken so many risks just to speak with me in private. We were meant to be. I never thought I'd want to be with a church guy, but he wasn't like the others. He didn't fake it; he was real.

"Hey," Jerry said when I stopped in front of him.

"Hey."

He glanced at his watch. "Your bus leaves at three?"

"Yes."

"Think they'll miss you if you're gone for a while?"

"Probably not. We're all running around, saying goodbye and stuff."

He gave me a dimpled smile that made my knees weak. "Maybe you should run over to my place and say goodbye to me, then."

I tingled from head to toe and produced an unintentionally breathless, "Okay."

"Are you all packed up and ready to go?"

"Yes."

"Good. Don't worry, I won't let you miss your bus."

We made plans to meet fifteen minutes later. It would've only been ten, but I had to swing by the restroom. That was the only drawback from drinking so much water. 

# Chapter 9: Send Me an Email

Fifteen minutes later, I was soaked from my walk past Sunrise Circle to Jerry's cabin. The rain had stopped, but the leaves were thick with fresh water, and a few sharp breezes resulted in many of those leaves dumping that water all over me.

I knew it was a stupid idea not to wear my poncho, but it was bright orange (two dollars, from the dollar store) and I was afraid I'd draw attention by wearing it. I was dry until a few gusty winds came along.

When I arrived at Jerry's window, I found a clear puddle near the stepladder, and I dipped my sandaled feet in one at a time to shake them clean.

Then I hopped over to the ladder, my feet aiming for the driest spots. I was on the second step, poised to knock, when Jerry lifted the window open.

He immediately said, "Oh no, I'm sorry. Didn't I just see you carrying a raincoat?"

"Yeah, but it's bright orange and I was afraid it'd draw attention."

He reached forward and grabbed my waist. "Let's hurry up and get you in here."

I let out my silly nervous giggle again when he touched me, and I said, "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" he forced out in a grunt as he maneuvered me into his room.

I tried not to giggle again but I couldn't control it. His hands were all over me, and my arms were around his back, my palms gripping his shoulder blades. His muscles were so much firmer than I'd expected.

But after only a few seconds of groping and sexy-man-scented bliss, I was out of his arms, my wet sandals planted firmly on the floor, my poncho hanging on the wall.

"Go ahead and kick those shoes off," he said, peering down at my feet. "Put 'em under the bed right here."

As I did, I said, "I'm sorry. Did I ruin your sheets the other day?"

"Nah. I had to wash 'em but it was worth it. Your shirt's soaked. What about your shorts?"

"Just a little damp, I think."

"Hold on."

I stayed in place and stared, wide-eyed, as he zipped across the room to his laundry basket.

He soon rushed back and handed me a plain gray T-shirt. "Sorry, it's a little wrinkled. I still haven't put my laundry away. I thought I might need it in case you came back." He ended his sentence with a wink.

Oh God, that wink. I would miss it so much after I left camp.

He said, "I'll turn around and give you privacy. Unless you wanna change in the bathroom."

I shyly muttered, "You can turn around, that's fine."

And so he did. "Tell me when you're done."

As soon as he faced the other direction, I pulled my shirt up over my head.

It felt so naughty to stare at the back of his head, wearing only my bra and shorts. Unfortunately, I wore a full-sized old lady bra because Mom only bought bras for me that were cheap or used, and not sexy in the slightest. It was better that he just see me topless.

I was sticky from my moist clothes, and a gentle breeze licked my bare skin, cooling those places where the rain-soaked material had left an impression. Somehow this heightened my senses, and an urge came over me...

What if I take off my bra?

God help me, I knew it was wrong, but... Why did I feel like this? Was it because I was pretty jailbait?

Yeah... maybe...

So? Did it matter? Did I need a reason to expose myself to my prince? When it's right, it's right.

"You done yet?" He snapped me out of my moment.

My urge to surprised him disappeared as I pulled his shirt down over my head. "Uh... yeah..."

I was tugging at the hem when he turned around to face me. This shirt was a little tighter than the baggy ones I usually wore, but not by much. Mmm... and it carried his scent.

Jerry squinted at my wet hair. "I'm sorry, I feel bad now. I'm sending you outta here with an umbrella when you leave. Have a seat." He gestured toward the bed as he sat at his computer desk.

"Okay." Barefooted, I padded to the bed and sat facing him.

He rolled his chair forward, stopping close enough that his feet could easily touch mine but he maintained a tiny distance and said, "So, what'd you think of that video this morning?"

"Did you put that together?"

"Yes." He seemed amused. "Why do you ask?"

"Um... I don't know. I saw myself on it... a lot."

"You wanted your dad to think you had a great time at camp, didn't you?"

"Oh." A deep spasm of disappointment rolled through my stomach. I guess I hoped Jerry had done it just because he thought I was pretty. "Well... how's my dad gonna see it?"

He shrugged. "I'll send a CD to the church office. They might even play it for the whole congregation one morning."

I cringed. "Oh no... don't do that to me..."

"Why not? Are you ashamed that you had such a spiritual, wholesome time at Camp Victory?"

"My dad won't care about that. He sent me here to punish me. He'd rather see a video of me being tortured or something. Besides, he's traveling. He might not be even be there that morning."

"How about, I make sure he sees it?"

"You don't get it. He'll find something wrong." Like my shirt being too tight, even though it wasn't.

He leaned back in his chair. "Hmm. Well, other people will see it and recognize you, and it'll improve your reputation."

"I doubt that. It'll just remind 'em to talk about me."

"Well, for what it's worth, I enjoyed shooting it. And you can't tell me you don't think you're pretty after seeing that."

I wanted to be flattered, but somehow, knowing Dad might see the video made my stomach tighten in a painful knot. He used any excuse to remind me that I was the only one who didn't get Mom's good looks. Too bad I'd never be as beautiful as Tabby.

"Hey," he said with sympathy. "What's wrong? Why were you crying at chapel today?"

"I don't know." My eyes welled up like they had then. What the hell? This was my last day alone with Jerry, and I didn't want to waste it like this. I hugged my waist and bent forward, embarrassed to face him. My newly found confidence was gone, and I felt timid.

He got out of his chair and took a seat beside me on the bed.

Then his arm curled around me, each muscle a firm pillow against my back as he held me close, my cheek to his neck, skin touching skin, his stubble grazing my forehead.

Oh my God.

My sadness disappeared as though it had never existed.

I became one with him. We shared the same warmth, the same atmosphere, the same tender silence.

My heartbeat was loud as a drum... could he hear it? Or feel it?

Wait... could I feel his heart beating? I wasn't sure, but I felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. Seemed like those breaths were getting heavier, too.

Both of his arms were around me, his hand rubbing my back. I slid one arm across his hard stomach. His lips were close. All I'd have to do was tilt my face up... Was that what he wanted? Would that be too bold?

Against my hair, he asked, "You feeling better?"

The feel of his hot breath made me shiver in a way he couldn't see. "Yeah," I whispered.

He sat up and pulled away, and I immediately wished I'd answered differently.

He kept a safe distance on the mattress and said, "You sure? What were you upset about?"

I guess I'd have to cry to make him cuddle me again, and I really didn't want to cry. I stammered, then said, "I don't know."

Jerry's tone perked up and he rose to his feet. "Shit. I meant to have some food set out for you."

"You don't always have to feed me, you know."

"Yes I do. You've lost weight this week. I can tell."

"Really? I guess I didn't have much of an appetite. Are you trying to make me gain it back or something?"

"No, just trying to provide nourishment." He soon placed a Coke, a granola bar, and a pack of crackers on the corner of the desk, within my reach. "Sorry, I guess you're tired of water. You didn't bring your bottle."

"Oh, I left it in my room," because I was afraid I'd get nervous and leave it behind in his cabin. "Unless you wanted it back."

Jerry sank down in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. "No, no, it's yours. And you can have that T-shirt too, by the way."

"Okay." My heart erupted and joy flowed like molten lava to my toes and fingertips. Jerry had bestowed me with his T-shirt; I would treasure it forever. I said, "Thank you. That's so nice."

"It's the least I could do. It's been really sweet of you to keep me company this week."

"Oh." Was that what I'd been doing?

"Before I forget, if you wanna use my computer to check your email or something, it's connected to the Internet right now. Or, at least it should be..." He reached over to his keyboard, looked at the monitor, and moved the mouse. "It is. So yeah, if you need to check your email, feel free. Just for a couple minutes though. You never know when my roommate's gonna surprise us."

I gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Sure." Jerry rolled his chair back to its usual place, in front of the monitor. "Here." He stood and patted the back of the chair, inviting me to sit.

"Wow. Thank you." I strolled over and plopped down on the chair, which still held the warmth of his body.

"I'll give you some privacy."

"Okay." I double-clicked the browser icon. "I promise I won't take long. It's nice of you to let me do this."

"No problem." Jerry started toward the bed, but stopped, playfully adding, "Wait a minute. What are you hiding?"

I flushed warm all over. "Nothing."

"You got a secret email address? One your parents don't know about?"

I cleared my throat and said, "Perhaps."

He nodded, his tone sly. "I figured."

As I logged in, I said, "I do what I have to do, you know? We don't have a computer right now. Dad takes it with him when he travels. So, I can't check my email very often."

Jerry sat on the bed. "I can only imagine what sort of things a girl like you has in her private email."

"What do you mean, a girl like me?" I saw an intriguing message from Ashley, but instead of clicking on it, I focused on Jerry.

He shrugged. "Nothing bad. I just figured you have a lot of boys trying to email you."

"Yeah right." I skimmed Ashley's email. If Jerry hadn't been there I would've devoured every word, but I wanted to use my precious remaining time on him.

"You don't?" he asked.

"No. I mean, I've given guys my email address before..." As I scanned my inbox, I saw a few of their names, including one of the guys with whom Ashley and I had gotten caught, but he was merely a passing fancy. How in the world could I possibly enjoy a high school boy after being around a man like Jerry? I added, "But there's nothing going on."

"Do they send you dirty messages?"

I laughed. "I guess so. Sometimes. You know, just stupid stuff."

Jerry's brow arched. "What kinda stuff?"

We flirted as I clicked through my emails. There wasn't much to read. Or at least, nothing more interesting than Jerry. But I opened a few messages to make myself appear to have an active social life.

When I told him I was finished, he hopped off the bed and said, "Don't log out. Send one to me."

"Oh, sorry." I logged in again, fast. "Are you sure you're not gonna say anything to Elliot? This is my top secret address."

Jerry came up behind me. "It doesn't have your real name on it, does it?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it." In one motion, he bent down and stretched his arms around me to the mouse and keyboard, his face close to mine, taking control of his computer as I sat there, inhaling his cologne and trying to be cool.

"Hey," I said with a nervous chuckle as he clicked around, his left arm brushing my shoulder. Then I let out one of my stupid giggles when I realized his lips were once again close enough to kiss.

When he moved the cursor, I told him, "Don't open my email."

"Oh yeah?" His breath caressed my cheek. "I'll bet there's damning evidence in there, huh?"

"No." I squirmed in my chair. Was he intentionally trying to drive me crazy? Maybe he wanted me to make the first move. Should I turn my face and kiss him? I considered it, my heart and stomach fluttering as I watched him send an email from my account.

He smiled when he read my username. "CaliKaylee?"

"Yeah. Like I'm a girl named Kaylee from California. I didn't wanna sound like me."

"I do that, too. That's smart. Whatever you do, don't use my real name when you write me back, okay?"

"Oh, I won't, believe me."

# Chapter 10: You're Too Tempting

After checking my email, I headed back to the bed and Jerry sat in his chair. Again, he rolled it close to me, his bare foot nudging mine. He said, "I hope you know you really don't have to worry about Elliot saying anything to your dad. Or to anyone. Believe me. I told you before, he's a preacher's kid, like you. He's been hiding shit for years."

I shook my head. "My dad's not that kind of preacher. He's only part time."

"He's still a preacher. I'll bet you and your brother and sister all have to sneak around."

I snorted. "Yeah right. My sister never tries to get away with anything."

"Never?"

"No. Tabby's a snitch," I said, figuring he should hear it from me first.

"Really?"

"Yeah. So if you were thinking about, like, going after her because she's older than me..." I was surprised I had the nerve to tell him that.

Jerry laughed. "I wasn't gonna do that, but it's good to know. She probably thinks the same thing about you." He gave me a knowing look, but he knew nothing. And I chose not to tell him that our mom was the one who coined the phrase, 'Tabby's a snitch."

I said, "Well, I warned you."

"And I think it's sweet that you warned me." His eyes widened at me for a split-second, a wry grin on his lips. "You were mad at me yesterday afternoon, weren't you?"

"Huh?"

"You know, when I sat down to talk to those girls from your cabin?"

I flushed with embarrassment, averting his gaze. "No, I wasn't."

"Yes you were. I could tell."

"No..." I played with a lock of my almost-dry hair. "So... did you enjoy talking to them?"

"I was only over there to see you." His bare toe tapped my foot, and the feel of his skin made me quiver inside. "Yeah... you were jealous."

My eyes darted to the floor, heat washing up my face and neck. "No."

He toed my foot again and I giggled, but I still couldn't look at him.

We flirted for a while longer, then all of a sudden he stood and extended a hand to me. I instinctively took it and let him lead me to the window, assuming it was time for me to leave. I was just about to slip my sandals on when he said, "Stay right there, okay?" Then he walked to the wire rack to retrieve his video camera.

"Oh no, you're not gonna take more video of me, are you?"

Jerry's mouth dropped open in mock horror, then he closed it and brought the camera to his face, peering at me through the lens. He was now the same faceless camera guy I'd barely noticed when I stumbled to my cabin after check-in, which now seemed so long ago. He glided toward me, urging, "Come on, don't be that way. Smile for me, please?"

I glanced down at the floor with an involuntary smile. It'd been a little while since he'd last embarrassed me about it, and I felt shy.

"Hey, I'm serious. You've got the prettiest smile I've ever seen."

I knew it wasn't true, but I was flattered, regardless. Unfortunately, I was too embarrassed to accept his compliment and smile directly into the lens. I glared at his visible eye and said, "You've been doing this all week. Haven't you gotten enough yet?"

"Enough of you?" He tilted the camera away for a second and shook his head. "No." Then he lifted it to his eye again and said, "Come on. Give me something to remember. Something special."

"Like what?"

"Would you please give me that beautiful smile?" He came forward, tipped my chin up, and held it there.

I looked at the camera, but I couldn't smile. The atmosphere had changed somehow, gotten sadder and more serious. And for some stupid reason, I was about to cry for at least the fourth time that day. Maybe I was hormonal, or maybe I feared that I would never have this again. This amazing guy, saying he can't get enough of me, that I have the most beautiful smile he's ever seen. And soon I would have to climb out the window behind me, dreading that he could replace me with some other girl tomorrow.

Logically, I knew my fear was ridiculous. If I lost him so easily to another girl, then we weren't meant to be. But the future felt so far away to me then, and my life seemed hopeless. I'd thought I'd finally found the perfect man, and it was my misfortune that I was born too late. Cursed since birth.

I did my best to hold back my tears. I hated to cry, and I especially didn't want to do it in front of him. The only benefit was that he might wrap me in his arms again.

Without saying a word, Jerry lowered the camera and gave me an earnest look, as though he felt my pain. He spun around and returned the camera to its shelf, then hurried back and pulled me into his arms.

He was so strong, so protective. I buried my face in his neck, enjoying his scratchy chin against my forehead. I let my body go limp against his, except for my arms, which wrapped around his back, holding on tight.

I felt him breathe me in as I breathed him in. He had one hand at the nape of my neck, the other at the small of my back. Slowly, his palms moved, massaging me, gripping me tight, fingers pulsing like he wanted to grab a fistful of my hair and turn my face to kiss him.

I was his. All his. My body flared to life with longing. I had to have him. He was the one. The only one. He had to be; no one else had ever made me feel this way.

But suddenly, there was a loud male voice outside, then another male voice, laughing.

"Shit!" Jerry let me go at once.

I froze for a moment. In my mind I was still in his arms, waiting for his kiss. But the next second passed and I dashed to the bed, flung the covers up, and launched myself underneath them.

I huddled up to the wall, covered by a sheet and comforter. My heart had never pounded so fast and fierce. I breathed hard, fearing I would hyperventilate.

Then a bucket of laundry emptied on me. It was another minute before the door finally opened, but it seemed like hours. Dave the roommate had shoved his key into the doorknob and left it there while he and some other guy chatted about something I couldn't hear over the pulse in my ears.

"Shh..." I heard Jerry say as he smoothed the back of my head through the covers. He gently added, "It'll be over soon."

I melted at his touch. Slowly, I inhaled a deep breath, then blew it out, willing myself to stay silent.

Dave finally entered and said, "You ever gonna get that laundry put away?"

Jerry chuckled. "Eventually. You back from town already?"

"Haven't left yet. Got held up."

Like last time, Jerry folded his laundry on top of me, shuffling it between piles as they spoke. I hoped to hear another compliment but Dave's visit was short. I heard him rummaging through a drawer, then I heard him walk across the room and leave. Jerry let out a loud sigh of relief when the door slammed shut.

"Don't move yet," he said. "Let's make sure he stays gone." He pressed a hand to my back, rubbing it through the covers. "Hey, you all right? Say something."

I cleared my throat and mumbled, "I'm fine."

"Good."

His hand slid up and down my back, deliberately slow. Since my face was hidden, I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy it to the fullest. His touch made me ache for him in ways I'd never ached before. I thought about praying for that moment to never end, but I knew my thoughts weren't ones that God would approve of, so I didn't pray. I just hoped really hard.

And my hopes were answered the next second when Jerry left the laundry where it was, raised the covers, and crawled in behind me. His body curled against mine, his arm holding my stomach.

I couldn't believe this was happening. It had to be a dream, because it was too good to be real. I memorized every moment because I'd never been in bed alone with a real man before. It felt so natural, so right. There was no age difference under those blankets. We were one body, one mind. He wanted me, and I knew it.

I shivered at the feel of his hot breath on my neck, then my cheek. He caressed my stomach, careful not to let his hands travel too far north or south, but I could tell they wanted to.

His breathing got rougher, his touch more aggressive. His breath hit my ear in a sensual growl. "You shouldn't be in my bed, little girl."

Little girl. I didn't know exactly what he meant by that, but he said it with such hunger, I took it as a compliment. My body cried out for more of him with each passing moment. Between shallow breaths, I managed, "Does that mean you want me to leave?"

"It means you shouldn't be here," he whispered, his chest firm against my back.

Hiding under the covers made the moment infinitely more romantic. We were there together, in our own special hiding place. Maybe it was time for me to take a risk. What if I never see him again?

I whispered, "Kiss me."

"I can't," he said into my ear as he writhed against me.

"Please kiss me," I whispered with increased urgency.

"I won't wanna stop with a kiss."

"Then don't stop with a kiss." I didn't say this, but my heart screamed: Please don't stop... do anything you want to me... I'll never tell a soul. Except Ashley, who would never tell anyone. Take me... teach me things... let me experience them for the first time, with you. You're my prince, the one Mom said would come.

Jerry remained silent as he rubbed my stomach, his hands daringly close to my intimate areas.

But then, all of a sudden, he let me go. My heart plummeted as he rolled out of bed.

When I heard him walk across the room and stop near the window, I knew it was time for me to go, but I didn't want to. I wanted him to come back and finish what he'd started.

I flipped over and scooted to the edge of the covers, peeking out, wincing because my eyes weren't used to the light.

He stood near the window, hands stuck in his pockets like he'd gotten shy. His cute face was sad, his unfocused gaze directed outside.

I stayed in bed, watching him, hoping he'd make eye contact with me, but he didn't.

I knew he was probably waiting for me to join him at the window, but if I did, it meant I was leaving, and I wasn't ready to do that yet. He wanted me a minute ago, and I knew he still wanted me now. After what happened under those covers, I felt like his equal. He wasn't an adult anymore. He was a timid guy who needed a little prompting.

I cleared my throat and said, "If it's only because of my age, please don't worry. No one'll ever know."

Jerry let out a strange chuckle, turned to the floor, and drew one hand to his face, hiding his eyes as he massaged his temples.

"What is it?" I asked.

He paused for a moment, then dashed around the room, placing my uneaten snacks in a plastic grocery bag. Then he went to the door, which had a small window with two curtains that split open from the middle. He used one finger to slide over a curtain just enough to peer through, and said, "It's nice outside. I don't think you need an umbrella. But you can go out the door. No one's gonna care today. If they ask what you were doing here, just tell 'em you had to get this bag of food."

I sat up, my legs still cozy under the covers. "You're making me go already? My bus doesn't leave 'til three." And I was disappointed that he didn't want to manhandle me out the window again.

Jerry shook his head. "You gotta go, sweetheart."

He called me sweetheart. I was more determined than ever to make him kiss me. "Why do I have to go?"

He gave me a flat look. "If I were younger, trust me, you wouldn't be going anywhere."

"Then pretend you're younger."

He faced the ceiling and let out a quick laugh. Then he faced me, shaking the grocery bag in my direction. "Go hang out with the other girls. Say goodbye to your counselor. I'm sure they're looking for you."

"No, they're not." I wanted to stay longer and make a lasting impression so he wouldn't forget about me. Still in bed, I pleaded, "Seriously, no one's looking for me. You don't have to worry."

"No," he stated firmly. "Go put your shoes back on."

I suddenly felt like a child, not an equal. I sensed finality in his tone. This was over. Maybe he'd email me, maybe he wouldn't. At least I'd have my memories. Hopefully I wouldn't burst into tears in front of him.

I got out of bed and slouched over to my sandals, the weight of his gaze heavy upon me as I slipped them on, but I couldn't face him.

As I headed to the door, Jerry met me halfway across the room, stopping me.

He let the bag of snacks fall to the floor as his eyes pieced mine, his hands grabbing my waist. "Hey," he whispered.

I peered up into his eyes like a captured animal.

His hands slid to the small of my back as he said, "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a while since..." He glanced away, his voice trailing off. "You're too tempting."

"Is tempting... good?"

"I don't know what it is, honey."

All I wanted was a kiss. If I could just have that, I could move on happily, and maybe not resent for the rest of my life that I wasn't born early enough to date him.

Please Lord, if it's meant to be, let him kiss me. Please. It's only a kiss. It'll be harmless. And not illegal. I hope.

But instead of kissing me, Jerry let me go and said, "Stay right there." He went to the door and looked out the window again.

Then he rushed back to me, studying me with a hungry look that sent my racing pulse into overdrive. He left almost no space between us, his cologne igniting my senses, his body radiating heat I could feel.

It was such a passionate moment. His gorgeous face, inches away, not moving, making me tremble in ways I didn't know I could tremble. I swear I was seconds from screaming, "Kiss me!" at the top of my lungs when his arms wrapped around me and his lips crashed into mine with a scorching hot kiss.

I threw my arms around him and lost myself completely. I'd lived for this moment my entire life. I was finally kissing a man. A real man. One who called me 'pretty jailbait' behind my back and was attracted to me before I even noticed him.

Jerry's kiss exceeded my wildest expectations. I considered this to be my new first kiss because the others were pathetic by comparison.

His lips were hot and sensual. His daring tongue ripped through my mouth, setting off fireworks all over my body. The longer we kissed, the more I realized how much better it felt to kiss a man than a boy. Jerry knew his way around a mouth. He wasn't shy or awkward. Each movement was perfect and natural.

As his mouth got rougher, his hands got more adventurous, sliding down my back until his fingers slipped under the waistband of my shorts. I drew closer, pressing my body to his.

Just when I thought he would push my shorts down, he stopped. His mouth and arms vanished.

I didn't want to open my eyes, because it meant the moment was over. But I slowly forced my eyelids open to see him standing near the door, rubbing his temples again.

"Why'd you stop?" I asked.

He drew in a ragged breath and blew it out, eyes on the floor. "You have to go now."

"Is it because of my age?" Tears in the back of my throat threatened to form. "You can do whatever you want with me, I won't tell anyone, I promise."

Jerry lowered his hand and gave me a hard look. "Don't say things like that. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes I do!"

He bent down to get the bag of snacks, then held it out for me to take, staring at the door, not at me. "Here. You gotta go."

I dragged my feet to where he stood, plucking the bag from his hand, hoping he'd look at me. Was this really how he was going to say goodbye?

After a few anxious moments of silence, Jerry's eyes finally landed on mine. His face and tone were sullen. "I'm really sorry."

I swallowed hard, desperate to keep my tears at bay. I now felt stupid for being there. Weakly, I said, "I'm sorry if I did something wrong."

A grin softened his face and reminded me of his dimples. "Aw, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong. Not one thing. All you did was make my week a whole lot better."

My heart raced with hope anew.

He said, "I'll be in touch. I'll email you. And I'm sure I'll see you at church this fall."

"When? Like, September or something?" It was only June! How the hell was I supposed to wait until fall to see him again?

"I don't know yet, but I promise, I'll come find you and we'll catch up, okay? And I hope by then you'll come to your senses and stop dyeing your hair. You shouldn't ruin what God gave you. You'd be just as beautiful with what you were naturally given."

How dare he say something like that to me when I'm on my way out!

What if no one ever says that to me again?

Jerry gave me a quick hug, then guided me to the door where we exchanged an even quicker farewell before I shot outside, per his instructions.

And just like that, I was back in the real world. But my life had forever changed inside that cabin.

Even though I didn't know if I would ever see him again, I could always find solace in the sweet things he'd said to me. No one could take those away.

At least that's what I told myself to ease my pain.

# Chapter 11: Get the Blue Tape

Due to traffic, the bus ride home was a few hours longer than it should've been, but to me, it was over in minutes. I was so lovestruck and lost in fantasy, I barely felt the usual soreness and butt-numbness that accompanied such a long bus trip.

I sat with the same girl I'd sat beside on the way up. She was slightly more friendly this time, asking if I had fun at camp. I replied with an honest, "Yes," because of Jerry. She said she had a good time, too, then she put her headphones on and I hardly heard a peep from her again.

Mom and I were both worn out when I got off the bus at one o'clock in the morning. She gave me a weak hug, which she attributed to sleepiness, but I knew it was more than that. Her mood was worse than before I left. She didn't smile, she was skinnier, and she still hadn't touched up her roots.

I blamed myself for Mom's mood but it seemed to be worsened by her argument with Dad before he left. But she was usually depressed in June anyway, and it would be years before I realized why: I was conceived in June. And in my heart, I believe she remembered it as the anniversary of the time she made the worst decision of her life and chose Jack Lombardi over my biological father.

We were soon barreling down the interstate toward home. I clutched my water bottle, wishing I could tell Mom about the amazing guy who'd given it to me, whose kiss I'd replayed in my mind every second since.

She interrupted my thoughts with, "Did he leave you alone?"

It took my brain a moment to realize she was referring to Donnie Wayne. I didn't even notice him until the first rest stop, when I almost stumbled straight into him because I was deep in thought and paying no attention. For the briefest moment, I considered telling Mom that Jerry was to thank for rescuing me and running off Donnie Wayne for good, but I couldn't. So I answered Mom's question with, "Oh... yeah. He was fine on the bus, didn't even talk to me. He's got a new girlfriend."

Mom sounded relieved. "Good. I told that chaperone to keep an eye on you."

Cars were sparse on the interstate so early in the morning, and Mom passed the first few we saw. I glanced at the dashboard and noticed we were twenty miles over the speed limit. "You're going pretty fast," I told her, hesitantly.

"Am I?" Mom slowed down and set her cruise control. Getting pulled over by a cop was the last thing she needed when she was in a mood like this.

We went on in silence for about a mile when I asked, "Are you okay?"

She inhaled a shaky breath and exhaled with a groan, then said, "Aunt Ginny." Aunt Ginny was Mom's aunt, and my great aunt, but we all called her Aunt Ginny. "She needs to stay at Mom and Dad's for a few weeks." Mom and her siblings all referred to my late grandparents' house in Wilmington, which they now shared, as, "Mom and Dad's."

And if Aunt Ginny was staying there, it meant we weren't heading to Wilmington right away, like we originally planned, because Mom didn't like Aunt Ginny. I eventually learned why, and I'll tell you about it when I get there, but when I was growing up, Mom's peculiar attitude about Aunt Ginny was just another one of her quirks. When we asked, Mom would only tell us that she didn't trust her with children.

"What?" I asked. "How long's she staying? Can she do that?" I looked forward to Wilmington because we always had a blast there. Also, some of my best childhood memories occurred in that house when my siblings and I spent our summers with Grandma and Grandpa.

Mom let out an exasperated sigh. "She could stay with family but nobody wants her."

"Why's she need to stay with someone? Did something happen?"

"She needs a new roof and a few other home repairs." Mom took a hand from the wheel and rubbed her temple. "I think I'm getting a headache."

I reached into the backseat to retrieve her headache pills from her purse, and I smiled as she washed them down with water from my special bottle. She didn't ask where I'd gotten it, even though I was fully prepared with a lie.

We went on down the road for a few more miles when Mom surprised me by saying, "I'm taking you to Mark's in the morning. Your brother's already there."

"Really?" I sensed from her tone that I might be there for days, but I didn't want to get my hopes up that I would see Ashley for the first time in forever, and also use her computer to check my email and research as much as possible about Jerry.

"Yes."

"Is Ashley gonna be there?"

"Yes, and you two better not get in trouble again." She faced me long enough to scold me with her glare. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't." I thanked God in my mind. He knew I was going to die if I didn't spill my guts to Ashley soon. My heart swelled with hope. This was a good sign. I thought my life was finally heading in the right direction.

We rode in silence for a few minutes until Mom said, "Get the blue tape."

I reached out, ready to lift the latch for the glove compartment in front of me, but paused to ask, "Are you sure? What about your headache?"

"Just get it," she bit out.

I obeyed without question. There was no use in arguing with Mom when she was like this. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a cassette tape that was marked with only a tiny blue circle sticker. Mom possessed a collection of mix tapes that would've given Dad a heart attack. Usually, she wanted the orange or yellow cassette. The blue one was upbeat and energetic, consisting mostly of classic rock.

I popped it into the tape deck and hit the rewind button. It automatically played as soon as it rewound to the beginning. When the first song started, Mom turned up the volume, lightly tapping her palm on the steering wheel along with the drums at the beginning of Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog."

Loud rock music may seem like a strange choice for a woman who said she felt a headache coming on, but that was Mom. She had her ways, and it was easier to go along than to ask questions. Besides, I loved it when Mom blared her music as she drove. She wouldn't do it with my brother or sister around, because they would tell Dad.

This almost made up for the pain I felt from missing Jerry. 

# Chapter 12: Reunited with Ashley

I was surprised when Mom suggested I stay at Ashley's because ever since we got in trouble, our families worked hard to keep us apart. When Mom dropped me off, I heard her tell Ashley's mom, Aunt Natalie, that Ashley and I needed each other's friendship, and that it was normal and healthy. But I think the real reason why Mom was suddenly okay with leaving me and Matt there for "a few days" (it became nearly two weeks) was because she needed time alone. My siblings and I would occasionally stay there for lengthy periods of time when she needed a break.

When I arrived at Ashley's house, Matt was ready to pester me about Camp Victory, asking if there were any changes or updates since last summer. There weren't, except the addition of the love of my life, Jerry Lyons, but I didn't mention him to my brother.

My family moved between crappy rental houses every year or two, but Ashley and her family only moved once in my lifetime, from a nice, big house, to a nicer, bigger house. Uncle Mark had a lucrative job working for a defense contractor. I don't know exactly what his job entailed, but he made enough money to allow Aunt Natalie to quit her job as a registered nurse a few years earlier, and she had since done, according to Mom, "whatever struck her fancy," although Natalie would have been offended to hear that. During the summer of 1999, she spent most of her time in the family's home office, working on various projects.

Ashley has dark eyes and thick, wavy, naturally dark hair, like the rest of her family. That summer, her older brother, Brent, had just finished his freshman year of college and was staying in an apartment near his university. Matt loved to stay in Brent's old room because it was equipped with a TV and a massive collection of video games.

Growing up, I assumed that if something happened to Mom and Dad, Mark and Natalie would take me and my siblings in. They already functioned as second parents. Ashley often implored them, "Please let Susie stay for a few months?" to which Mark and Natalie would simply laugh. But I didn't want to live with them, because I'd lose my freedom. I loved to spend time with Ashley, but her parents were always on top of everything their children did. Even though they were much better than my own parents, they would have made me feel stifled. At my house, Dad was strict, but I got away with most things because no one paid attention until I got caught.

By then, it had been a few months since I stayed at Ashley's house, and I believed God had given me a tremendous gift by letting me see her the very day after the most exciting experience of my life. To me, this was yet another sign that Jerry was "the one."

During our first unsupervised moment alone, Ashley rushed me into her bedroom, shut the door, and turned on her stereo to keep eavesdroppers from listening. Then she flopped down on the bed, and in dramatic fashion, started with, "Okay, three things, then you can go. One..."

I sat next to her, waiting impatiently for my turn. I only remember the first item on her list, which was, she would be allowed to bring her cell phone to school that fall. It was one of many policy changes in the aftermath of the tragedy at Columbine, when parents complained that they couldn't call their children at school to make sure they were all right. Unfortunately, Mark and Natalie constantly scrutinized the bill, so Ashley didn't attempt to get away with much. But still, it was progress.

At the end, I said, "Are you finished now?"

"Yeah." Her head dropped to the side, bewildered, wondering why her stories hadn't sparked more interest.

I glanced at the door to make sure it was still closed, then I softly blurted out, "I kissed an older guy. He's twenty-three."

"What?" Ashley said as pulled both hands to her face to cover her open-mouthed gasp.

I told her all about camp. The private meet-ups in Jerry's cabin. The 'pretty jailbait' comment. Hiding from the roommate. The kiss. I showed her the note he left on my bed, and of course, the bottle, which only left my grasp for five seconds when I let Ashley hold and admire it. I also explained that I'd been forever spoiled for boys our age. The bar had been raised. From then on, only older guys for me.

Ashley had a computer in her room, connected to a phone line that she shared with her brother. Since her mom was "up her ass" (her words, not mine) about everything she did online that summer, Ashley had to be sneakier than usual. Natalie flew into the room as soon as she heard the loud, squeaky symphony of Ashley's modem connecting to the Internet. Uncle Mark wrongly assumed that parental control software had been properly configured on her computer... and I won't tell you the methods she used to keep her Internet use private.

When Natalie charged in to check on us, she saw two girls innocently looking up their celebrity crushes online. Ashley was way into 'NSYNC back then. She thinks I was too, but I only went along for the sake of bonding. Those were good times though, and I don't regret them.

After Natalie left, Ashley convinced me that Jerry may have gotten my email password when I used his computer. I immediately logged in to change it, and I was disappointed to find that he hadn't emailed me beyond the one he sent when I was in his cabin. I gushed to Ashley that he'd sent it with his arms romantically stretched around me. We read his message over and over:

Hi Kaylee.

They were only two words, and my name wasn't Kaylee, but that email meant the world to me.

We searched for Jerry online and thought we'd found a website for his business, but his name was surprisingly common. Ashley made me realize that Jerry had volunteered little information about himself. She told me, "It doesn't sound like you got to know each other, at all. Sounds like he just wants to get in your pants."

"Really?" I asked dreamily, my heart surging. At the time, the notion of a guy like Jerry wanting to get in my pants was as thrilling as the notion of him falling in love with me. I mistakenly thought they were the same thing. I didn't grasp the concept that an adult man would be sexually interested in a fourteen-year-old girl. I guess I thought it was rare, and that it made me unique. I would learn, however, that it's quite common, and it didn't make me unique.

I was obsessed with keeping off the weight I'd lost, and I wanted to lose even more. Ashley and I usually wore the same pant size and we had a test to see if we'd gained weight, which we found more accurate than numbers on a scale. Ashley owned a pair of tight jeans which we'd try on at least once a week (when we were allowed to see each other) and if they didn't fit, we'd starve ourselves until they did.

I pulled those jeans on for the first time in many weeks, and they were loose.

Ashley squealed and said she was jealous. I was proud of myself for having the willpower to starve. It feels funny to say that now, as I sit here in my last month of pregnancy, shoveling food into my mouth. It's been a long time since I equated being thin with being attractive. I had a lot to learn at fourteen.

I'd eaten almost nothing at camp, besides the food Jerry gave me. When I told Ashley, she said, "He watched you eat a banana?" and drew her hand to her mouth, chuckling.

I didn't understand why it was so funny. I said, "Yeah. What? Bananas have potassium... right?"

She doubled over on her bed in a theatrical gesture, but her laughter was real and infectious. Between gasps she sputtered, "I can't breathe!" and, "You're so stupid!"

I made a mental note to be less naive in the future.

Soon, she and I were both lying on the bed, in stitches. It'd been a long time since I'd laughed so hard. Ashley always made me feel better.

That's why I couldn't be upset with her for being the prettier one. Ashley says she thought the same about me. We used to sit at her vanity, practicing our hair and makeup for hours. I'd usually apply too much because it never felt like enough. I'd never be as pretty as my cousin. Or my mom. Or even my sister. A tiny part of me felt guilty that Jerry saw me instead of Ashley. I believed that if she still went to my church, he probably would've seen her at Elliot's graduation cookout and remembered her face instead.

When I told her what happened with Donnie Wayne and his friends at Sunrise Circle, I finally realized that I should've taken what they did a bit more seriously. Jerry kept asking me if I was okay afterward as if I'd been attacked, but I didn't feel attacked, I just felt scared and angry. And Donnie Wayne and the other boys had avoided me since, so I felt safe.

Over the years, I've realized an unfortunate truth about myself: I have a higher tolerance for violence than the average person, and it's probably because I was physically abused from a young age. I don't tell many people about this because it makes them judge my actions as an adult much more harshly. They assume that, because I was abused, I should naturally avoid abuse at all costs, like so many other people would. I've known others who were abused, who don't react to violence the way I do.

Your father has helped me realize that I've unknowingly made many self-destructive decisions. I will share some of them with you in the hope that I will deter you from such behavior of your own.

Please learn from me, Britta, and don't make my mistakes. 

# Chapter 13: XOXOX

I wanted to respond to Jerry's "Hi Kaylee" email right away, but Ashley wouldn't let me.

I pouted. "But what if he thinks I'm not interested?"

"He's gonna think you're too interested. Trust me." She went to her dresser where she kept a stack of old Cosmopolitan magazines as though they were her Bible. She grabbed the first one, flipping through it, searching for the sage advice she'd just passed on to me. "I know it's in here somewhere... Send it tomorrow. You don't wanna scare him off."

Over the course of the next day, we worked on my email, crafting every sentence so I came across fun and flirty, but also, mature for my age, while also playing hard to get, making me look busy, and all the while, careful not to frighten him away with desperation. Even today, I would be deeply embarrassed if he knew how hard my cousin and I had worked on that tiny email. We finally settled on something like:

Hi Trevor,

How's your week going? Mine's good. Sorry I've been too busy to write.

You made my week a whole lot better, too.

xoxo,

Kaylee

Ashley was meticulous, down to the precise number of x's and o's at the end. She even made sure the "xoxo" was lowercase because capitalizing it would've been too aggressive.

We checked my email too much, hoping he would respond soon with a new message for us to digest, savor, and overanalyze. Then we would hopefully send a response that would make me sound as mature as the women on Sex and the City, and hopefully not like a naive fourteen-year-old girl who had labored with her cousin for days over a dozen and a half words.

The next day, same thing. We repeatedly checked my email. Every few minutes, check it again. Make sure Aunt Natalie isn't around. Check it again.

Days went by, and I grew discouraged. I'd go to bed at night and pull the covers over my head, imagining I was still under Jerry's blanket with his arms wrapped around me. But he'd probably found another girl already, maybe even hid under the sheets with her after I showed him how. I cried myself to sleep when I realized that.

Meanwhile, Ashley wanted more details. There was no greater thrill in my young life than having Ashley, the one person I could trust, at rapt attention, hanging on my every word, living through it with me.

I regaled her with memories of his touch, his taste, his scent. One day, we accompanied her mom to a drug store and spent all of our time in the perfume aisle where I smelled every single one of the men's fragrances to determine what Jerry wore.

By the end of those two weeks, I'd repeated every story about him to Ashley twenty different ways, adding new details as I remembered them. That's probably why I can still recall them so clearly now.

Finally, four days later, Jerry sent me a short email. I can still feel my heart pounding when we refreshed the page and his fake name appeared in my inbox.

Kaylee,

Not much going on here.

I miss seeing your face.

Your beautiful smile is probably brightening someone else's day by now.

XOXOX,

Trevor

I think Ashley swooned as hard as I did. His email was all I needed to soothe my aching heart. Convinced that Jerry's message subconsciously meant he would marry me someday, Ashley exclaimed, "He used capital Xs and Os!" and noted the additional X at the end, which we had omitted from our email.

We spent the next few days reading way too much into each word and writing a response that Ashley wouldn't let me send just yet. She suggested I wait at least as long as we waited for his last email, but it took him four days, and I was impatient, so we agreed that two days was acceptable.

We used the next forty-eight hours to get my next email just right. Ashley thought it best that we focus on making him jealous. But we also decided to be bolder than before, to propel our relationship forward. As long as we kept the message short, I wouldn't look desperate.

Trevor,

Did you ever put your laundry away?

I'm going to a party this weekend. Will you be jealous if someone else sees my smile?

xoxox,

Kaylee

And I really did have a party to attend -- a family-friendly pool party in Ashley's neighborhood. And there were a few guys our age there who tried to talk to us, but I was so over guys my age, I didn't even remember their names when we left the party.

As before, we checked my email constantly. With each passing day, I grew more discouraged that Jerry hadn't written back. But aside from checking email, I busied myself with the usual stuff, like helping Aunt Natalie around the house, playing video games with my brother, and dancing with Ashley in her room.

Matt and I were there for over a week when Aunt Natalie came into Ashley's room and said that Mom seemed to be on the "upswing."

Mom came over and ate dinner with us that night, and also the next. I was grateful to see that she'd finally dyed her roots because that meant she was feeling better. After dinner, we hugged her goodbye and she went home, like it was normal. And for me and my siblings, this was normal. I guess Mom needed space once in a while.

At dinner, Mom said we'd be heading to Wilmington soon because Aunt Ginny chose to stay with a friend instead of at my late grandparents' house. I couldn't tell Mom, but I was disappointed. For the first time, I didn't want to go to Wilmington for the summer because I wouldn't have Internet access, and I absolutely needed to check my email.

On the day Mom took me and Matt home, I was crushed that Jerry still hadn't written.

Ashley theorized that he'd simply gotten scared because of my age. I had a feeling he freaked out because of our kiss. He'd kicked me out of his cabin immediately afterward, instead of kissing me again... or doing more, like I'd wanted. And of course, I worried that he'd found someone else. Someone prettier, who was currently hiding under a big pile of laundry.

I felt so rejected when I left Ashley's house, I almost let her keep my bottle because drinking from it made me sad. Ashley did, however, carefully place Jerry's note in the hope chest at the foot of her bed. I never owned a hope chest but she always let me use hers to store important items that I wanted to keep forever.

Looking back on that summer, the events I most treasure had nothing to do with Jerry, even though he was such a landmark experience for me. A moment that often comes to mind is dancing with Ashley in her bedroom as we lamented how much it sucked that everyone was keeping such a close eye on us.

I pray that you will have a friend as awesome as Ashley. Never take that kind of friendship for granted. I got lucky that she happened to be my cousin, otherwise we may have never met, because our socioeconomic differences may have cast us into separate social groups.

That would be the last carefree summer I'd spend with Ashley, because by the next summer, my life would completely change.

# Chapter 14: Rejection

I was heartbroken when I left Ashley's house, but Mom was in a fun mood, which brightened my mood, as well.

We left Gimble for Wilmington the week prior to Matt's turn at Camp Victory. It killed me to know that he would soon be in Jerry's proximity, and I wouldn't.

Mom left me and Matt at the house alone when she went to work at the restaurant. This showed she trusted me, and I didn't want to let her down. Also, I partially blamed myself for her recent low mood and I feared that if I got into more trouble she'd get depressed again.

Matt and I had a pretty good time that week. Mom was afraid we'd fight when we were alone together, but he seemed content to quietly play his video games. I've since learned that he was afraid for me, and that's why he was so well-behaved.

Dad was still traveling and Tabby was still with Aunt Lydia, so it wasn't hard to find ways to sneak upstairs for a private phone call with Ashley while Matt played in the living room.

Ashley promised never to check my email without my permission. We worked out a system where I'd call her, then she'd wait until the coast was clear to check it. If I received something interesting, she'd read it to me.

Three days after I arrived in Wilmington, Ashley finally uttered those words I longed to hear. "He wrote you back!" But then she got quiet, and that was bad.

"Read it!" I paced the floor, waiting.

She let out a loud sigh and finally said:

I hope you find a guy who will love your smile at school this year.

You're beautiful, inside and out, and you're going to make someone very happy.

"That's it," Ashley said when she finished.

"That's it?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Sue. There's no greeting, no x's or o's."

"What do you think it means?" I asked, although I already knew he was blowing me off, I just didn't want to face it.

Ashley tried to be positive to make me feel better, but by the end of our conversation, I was crying. Jerry told me to find someone else. He wouldn't be waiting for me... and he may never kiss me again.

I hung up and reached for my notebook, planning ideas for my next email. I wasn't ready to give up yet. Within a few hours I'd written the perfect response, but when I read it to Ashley that night she said, "It makes you sound desperate. I'm not sending that for you."

"Please?" After I begged for a while, she told me to sleep on it, and we'd see how I felt in the morning.

So, I slept on it. And the next morning, I told Ashley I still wanted to send it.

In a firm voice, she replied, "No."

"But you said if I slept on it, and I still wanted to send it..."

"I lied. You were supposed to come to your senses and you didn't."

"I could find someone else who has Internet access around here. I know the next door neighbors have it."

"Please don't, Susie. You can't see it now, but trust me. You'd do the same for me. How about this. Wait a few more days, like we always do. If you still wanna send him an email, we'll come up with a new one together."

So, I waited. In the meantime, my water consumption nearly stopped because I couldn't look at that bottle. Couldn't eat or sleep, either.

Not only was my heart broken, but I questioned everything he'd said to me. Did he really think I was beautiful? Maybe he'd been lying all along. After all, boys lie.

But what about the 'pretty jailbait' comment he'd made to his roommate? He'd obviously discussed me with him. He said I was pretty, and he'd had his eye on me. Perhaps he had since heard rumors and didn't want me anymore. I wondered if I'd lost him to another girl who was closer to his age.

For days, all I did was analyze our "relationship." When I wasn't thinking about it, I was praying about it. I obsessed over him every second of the day. Lying awake at night. Playing video games with my brother. My thoughts were consumed with the hope that Jerry would finally realize how perfect we'd be together.

But on Friday morning I woke up and something had changed inside me, and I didn't know why. Maybe I had a dream I couldn't remember. But suddenly, I didn't want the stress of worrying about Jerry anymore. And I was thankful that Ashley made me wait.

So, I tore up the would-be email, and as a sure sign that I was moving on, I ran the bottle through the dishwasher and gave it to Matt, because he didn't have a decent one to take to camp. And also, because I hoped Jerry would see him using it and know I'd moved on. I told Matt that someone had given it to me at camp and I let him assume that it was one of my cabin mates.

When I told Ashley I'd destroyed the message I'd written, she said, "Don't you wanna write him back, at all?"

On the brink of tears, I said, "No. I wish I'd never kissed him. Wish I'd never even met him."

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

"Would it help if I found you someone else to make out with? Like last time?"

I groaned. "Hell no. I don't wanna make out with anyone, ever again in my life."

We both knew I wouldn't mean it for long, but in the meantime, I must be tough. Jerry was the only good thing that had happened to me in a long time, and his rejection crushed me. 

# Chapter 15: My First Job

During the summer, Mom worked at a restaurant called Guffy's Grill, just outside Wilmington, while we stayed at my Grandma and Grandpa's old house. Guffy's was a casual, sit-down, family-friendly place that served burgers and sandwiches. It was also where Mom, seventeen-year-old Priscilla McKellan, met Dad, nineteen-year-old Jack Lombardi, when she took his order.

She stopped working there after they married but started again when I was five. Dad had lost his job in Durham, so we moved from Carrboro to Wilmington to stay with my grandparents for a while. To make ends meet, Grandma watched us during the day so Mom could work at the restaurant again like she had in high school. And she'd done it every summer since, which is why we stayed in Wilmington when school was out for the summer, a tradition that continued after Grandma and Grandpa passed away.

Jerry had rejected me the week before Matt went to camp. Tabby was supposed to come home that week, but she decided to stay in Oregon a while longer because she and Aunt Lydia were having such a great time together.

I hoped Mom would let me stay by myself at the house in Wilmington when Matt was gone, but she refused to leave me there alone. I realized then that Matt had been babysitting me, not the other way around. I hate to admit this, but Mom was right not to trust me that week. I'd been good for a while, but Jerry's rejection email gave me an itch to do something reckless to soothe myself.

So, Mom brought me to the restaurant with her. She usually wasn't allowed to take us to work, but her boss, Mr. Ballard, lined up a few projects to keep me busy, mostly cleaning. He paid me less than minimum wage, but I was fourteen, and I hadn't applied for a work permit, which meant that legally, I wasn't supposed to be working at all. I was ecstatic to go home with a ten dollar bill in my pocket after nine hours of work.

The Ballard family owned two other Guffy's Grills in the area and Mom had worked at each of them at some point because we moved so much. When Mom was in a good mood, she was bubbly and charismatic, the sort of waitress who kept customers coming back. That's why people like the Ballards didn't write Mom off forever when she couldn't come to work for days at a time. I never knew her to call out and miss a shift, but in the past, she would often call her manager to say, "Can you leave me off next week's schedule?"

I did such a good job for Mr. Ballard that he insisted I apply for a work permit after the first week and tag along with Mom until the second week of August, when both of our jobs would end because some of his regular employees, who attended college in Wilmington, were coming back to town after summer break.

I was overjoyed because I'd never had a real job before and I thought I was rich with thirty dollars in my pocket after three days of work, even though every muscle in my body ached from all the cleaning I'd done to earn it.

Mom learned from various sources that having a job and making a good impression on an employer might work in my favor if I ever stood before a judge. I saw this as a fresh start, and a chance to create good references, so I was determined to do my best work. My job was mostly bussing tables, including refilling drinks, washing dishes, and cleaning. Basically, anything but serving, although I filled in if necessary. The law stated that, at fourteen years of age, I was only supposed to work until nine o'clock at night during the summer when school wasn't in session, but I always clocked out at nine and worked with Mom until close, because she was my ride, and I wanted to stay busy.

Matt stayed with Ashley's family while Mom and I worked in Wilmington for the summer. On our days off, Aunt Natalie would usually bring Matt and Ashley to Wilmington to see us. Mom doted on Matt, and she tried to spend a lot of quality time with him, alone. Mom would greet him with a hug, but my siblings and I were never affectionate with each other. That summer, I hugged Matt, too. He hated it, so I did it even more because Mom thought it was great, and it irritated him. But hey, there are much worse things a sister could do to her little brother.

At first, Mom didn't seem enthusiastic about my newly found success, and I quickly gathered this was because she could no longer cut loose at work. Guffy's closed at ten o'clock most nights, but Mom always came home much later, anywhere from one to four in the morning, claiming she stayed late to clean.

Upon working there, I learned that it didn't take nearly that long to close the restaurant at night, and I deduced that the real reason Mom came home so late was that she liked to hang out with her co-workers after her shift, either at one of their houses, or at a popular seafood restaurant down the road, which served alcohol. They seemed like a big, happy family, and even though Mom only saw them during the summer, she always fit right in. A few of them had worked there for years and were like brothers and sisters to Mom.

She wasn't supposed to drink alcohol because of her medication, and she swore to me that she didn't drink when she hung out with co-workers, but that's not what I gathered from casual conversations I overheard when they thought I wasn't listening.

Previous summers, on her days off, Mom would take us to a random cookout at a co-worker's houses, and I felt like a shy outsider. But that summer, I was included, and I loved it. Those were some of the best times of my life. When someone learned that I was Priscilla's daughter, they were fiercely protective of me. They also regularly exclaimed, "Your mom is so cool!" which I already knew, but it always made me smile to hear it.

My first week on the job, before I was officially an employee, Mom and I worked Sunday and Monday, then took Tuesday and Wednesday off. I slept half of my day away on Tuesday and never judged her again for sleeping so long the morning after work.

It felt good to make a new first impression on people. No one knew about the fights or my rumored slutty reputation. They knew me as Priscilla's daughter, and a dutiful bus person. I completely threw myself into my job from the minute it started because I wanted to distract myself from Jerry, and also because I wanted to earn a favorable reference. But as the days passed, I worked hard because I wanted to make Mom proud.

Mom quickly found that her tips increased after she pointed me out to customers as her diligent co-worker. I guess my presence made them feel more sympathetic. As soon as she realized this, she decided I would work with her again next year. And with my whole heart, I regret that I couldn't.

Dad didn't know I had a job until I worked there a full week. Mom informed him after Mr. Ballard hired me as a regular employee, and only because my paychecks would leave a paper trail we couldn't deny. Several weeks later, I realized Mom would only call Dad when I wasn't around to hear their conversation. Like, from the office at Guffy's, if she timed it just right. Or from Ashley's house, by taking the phone outside. I only spoke to Dad a few times, when I made the mistake of answering the phone, so I tried not to answer it.

I also barely spoke to Tabby. We had no reason to call each other. Three weeks into my job, we argued when I answered the phone and Tabby immediately said it was unfair that Mom "gave" me a job while she was away. Tabby claimed she hadn't worked during previous summers because she was the oldest, and as such, she was forced to babysit me and Matt while Mom and Dad worked. Therefore, if any of us deserved a summer job, it was her.

Tabby wrongly assumed that Mom had planned all along to overlook her and get me a job, and, "Dad thinks so, too." Until then, I didn't know my employment was such a sore subject for our family. Mom didn't say bad things about Tabby to me, aside from calling her a snitch. But Mom also made it clear to me that she was not eager to bring Tabby to work, because she would've had to stay on her best behavior around her.

Ashley envied my success until she witnessed my exhaustion after a few shifts. For weeks, instead of reminiscing about Jerry, I regaled her with new stories. Tales of the restaurant, things customers said to me, guys who flirted with me. She still checked my email when I asked, and there were no new messages from Jerry, but I felt less heartbroken about it as the weeks passed.

I think I became pretty good at bussing tables. There was way more to it than I expected, and I've noticed since then that bus people have even greater responsibility in fancier restaurants. That's why I'm a generous tipper. Much of the job came second nature to me because Mom's work influenced how she handled our kitchen at home, and also because she'd relayed many work stories to me over the years.

I was obsessed with saving my money because I wanted to buy my own car when I turned sixteen. By then, I assumed that I'd still be working at Guffy's with Mom, but I planned to be our driver. So I saved, saved, saved. I also purchased all of my own things from then on, including clothes, cosmetics, and school supplies, but I always shopped around for the best deal. I still do.

Mom made sure everyone in the restaurant knew that I was "only fourteen." If a customer tried to flirt with me, she magically appeared by my side to inform them I was off-limits. But she always did so in a clever, humorous way, and didn't make the customer feel stupid. If Mom wasn't around to protect me, one of the others would. One day someone in the kitchen joked, "Hey Priscilla, why don't you change her name tag to, 'Jailbait'? It'll make our lives easier." I cringed inside, reminded of Jerry, but I laughed along with everyone else.

Aside from the pencil with which I darkened my eyebrows, Mom wouldn't let me wear makeup on the job because she thought it made me look too mature. My hair was still dyed brown, and I wore it in a ponytail, secured with a lime green Scrunchie that matched our required lime green T-shirts.

The employees at Guffy's Grill were mostly women and varied in age from me — the youngest — to a few who were older than Mom, but most were in their mid to early twenties. After my first week, Mom gradually hung out later with her co-workers again, bringing me along with her. Except now, for my sake, they met at each other's houses instead of their usual hangout, which many preferred because they saved money by drinking at home. They also drank way less because I was around. Mom and I stayed out later and later, sometimes coming home after sunrise, mostly just talking and having good, clean fun.

Mom never drank more than a few glasses of wine around me, and everyone was under strict orders not to provide me with a single drop of alcohol. When I expressed concern to Mom (privately, of course) about her drinking while on medication, she crooked a brow and said, "Do you have any idea how much my feet hurt?" And I never mentioned it to her again.

In addition to drinking, Mom would occasionally smoke a cigarette, which she had quit years earlier when she met Dad, who would've been livid if he knew she was still smoking or drinking, even rarely. I think she was strict with me about alcohol and cigarettes because it made her feel better about some of her otherwise questionable parenting decisions.

Mom and I were always close, but we grew closer than ever that summer. It felt like we were two best friends, living and working together. She made work fun, and not just for me, but for everyone else. That's why they always welcomed her back with open arms. I enjoyed being with her so much, I barely noticed that I was working through my summer break.

Also, Mom didn't ask to be left off the schedule once that summer, like she had in the past. Neither of us missed a shift because we enjoyed working together so much.

During the school year, Mom was often depressed. Even when she was happy, I sensed that she was on the verge of giving up at any second. But she was different during the summer. She was the life of the party. She fed off the energy in the room and became the center of it. Her friends in Wilmington wouldn't have believed she was such a different person the rest of the year.

I asked Mom why we couldn't move to Wilmington permanently. She and her siblings had decided years earlier that none of them would stay year-round at my grandparents' old house, but Wilmington and Hunter's Branch were only about an hour apart. Why couldn't we rent a house closer to Wilmington so Mom could keep her job at the restaurant during the school year?

Mom said, "I can't because I have to get you kids off to school in the morning."

I said, "You'd rather do this?"

"Oh yeah, I love this schedule. Working late, sleeping late. It suits me better. I hate waking up to an alarm."

Our reason for moving so much: Dad didn't want to live so far from work, and he always got whatever he wanted.

I was constantly frustrated with Mom for being such a pushover with Dad. After I learned that I wasn't his daughter, I theorized that perhaps Mom felt guilty about her affair with Preston, and that's why she put up with Dad's shit. But when I was growing up, I thought she was just weak. There were times when she stood up to him, especially where my siblings and I were concerned, but she didn't always stand up for herself. She lived life according to her emotions, and I sometimes envied her for it. It made her fun and unique. But at the same time, I loathed this part of her.

When I was maybe ten years old, Mom came home with a stack of old bridal magazines that someone had given her. She and Tabby passed them back and forth, poring over them, gushing and fantasizing like two little girls. Mom handed one to me and I flipped through it like I was interested for about a minute, but then I put it down and went to my room. That was the first time I thought: I hope I never get married.

It made no sense to me that Mom would be so giddy over an event that led to her being chained to someone like Dad. I didn't want to end up like her. I thought I was different. I would never fall into that trap because I was too smart for it. But I see in retrospect that I was the same way with Jerry after spending a total of three hours with him at camp. I'd already made concessions because I loved him. I'd even fantasized about our wedding until he broke my heart.

Speaking of whom... I came close to telling Mom about Jerry several times that summer because she was excellent at dispensing relationship advice to others, without judgment. I learned a whole lot about some of the other employees during their late night chats. Nothing seemed to make Mom blush, and she didn't mind me overhearing. When one of our friends would cringe and give me an, "I'm sorry," wince, Mom shrugged it off and told them to keep going. "She can handle it. Go back to your story."

Once, when we were alone, she casually mentioned something personal, realized it a second later, then said, "I'm too comfortable around you." And we laughed and went on.

Sometimes we spent the night at a co-worker's house, like a slumber party. I enjoyed these events so much that they led to me having slumber parties later, even in college.

A girl is never too old for a slumber party, Britta. In fact, I think they get better as you get older.

During those late nights, I quickly realized that Mom didn't readily tell people about Dad working for a church. Her best friends knew her history with Jack, but when new people inquired what her husband did for a living, she'd casually offer, "He runs heavy equipment," which he did when he wasn't traveling, to supplement his paltry part-time income as a pastor. When I mentioned this observation to Mom, she said, "Do I seem like a pastor's wife to you?" and we both laughed.

Mom was a legend at the restaurant, and her friends would look forward to summertime because of her. As the weeks went on, they grew familiar with me and shared more stories of her from years gone by. I wish I'd paid more attention to those stories because I miss Mom desperately, and she was happiest there. Once, she told me, "I'm me here."

I learned that Mom used to initiate bets among the staff. Things like, encouraging them to pool a small amount of money, and the person who sold the most specials that night would win. Mom always won. After a while, they caught on to her and realized that if she initiated a bet, she did so because she knew she'd win. So, they stopped betting with her, to save their money.

Years later, Mom still wouldn't admit this about herself. In a coy tone, she'd say, "Someone else won a few times..." But I don't think they did. I think she was smart enough to know that it was better if people didn't perceive how clever she was, because if they did, they would've paid her more attention, and she couldn't have that because she didn't want to get caught. I think she missed her calling as a professional gambler. If I could go back in time, I would encourage her in that direction.

When it came to matters like selling the most specials, Mom said the reason she won was something she'd told the others for years, which she only said in front of me after a few glasses of wine. "If you stroke a man's ego, you might as well be strokin' his..." She paused, gave me a brief sideways glance, then cleared her throat and lightly uttered, "penis."

The room cracked up, but Mom shook her head and said, with all seriousness, "No, that's important. I should've told her that earlier."

At home, Mom would occasionally mention some of her regular customers but I didn't know until I worked there that none of the other servers had such an inordinately high number of regulars who asked to be placed in their section. It made sense to me why Jack fell in love with her when she waited on him. She must have made him feel special. And there must have been something special about Jack that made Mom choose him, out of all the other guys who went to Guffy's just to flirt with her. But for the life of me, I will never know what that could've been. The story of how they fell in love changed a little every time she told it. That's why, when I wish to keep something private, I simply don't say anything. It's better than making up a lie you can't remember later.

But Mom didn't always lie to me. She'd sometimes give a short answer or no answer, or change the subject. And she rewarded my compliance with the best gift in the world: a greater measure of her trust.

I'm not sure anyone knew her like I did, but sometimes I felt like I didn't know her at all.

Before I relay more of what I learned about Mom that summer, I think it's important to back up and share some of my favorite memories of her, because I may need to refer to them later. And also, because I've worked so hard to piece together information about Mom, I may as well pass it on to you, as part of my legacy.

I've shared a few memories of Mom with friends over the years and their usual responses are, "No wonder you're so weird," and, "Your Mom should not have done that." And there was a time when I agreed. But when I think back to my childhood, my most treasured memories are of her, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

Some of these stories may make her sound like a bad mother, and perhaps, in some ways, she was. But she will always be the best mother in the world to me. And even though my life would've been completely different if she hadn't lied to me about my father, I think I'd go through it all again just so I could know her. That's how much I love her. 

# Chapter 16: If You Could Have Anything

When I was little, Dad worked at a big church in Durham, North Carolina, and we lived in a small nearby town called Carrboro, which I consider to be my hometown because that's the first home I remember. We lived in a modest two-story house with a big wraparound porch, a huge bathtub, a yard, and a dog. We weren't rich, but we were stable. Even though we moved away when I was five, my earliest memories occurred when we lived there.

One of the best times I ever had with Mom was a trip to the grocery store when I was three or four. After Tabby started school, Mom often left Matt with a neighbor while she and I ran around together all day. It was wonderful. And it would be years before I theorized why Mom treated me so differently — I was a living reminder of the love she could've had with my biological father. And maybe she did things like this because she felt guilty for depriving me of not only his love, but his affluence.

I remember strolling down an aisle at the grocery store with Mommy, holding her hand as she pushed the shopping cart. We were in an aisle full of snacks and cookies, surrounded by packages that were covered with pictures of cartoon characters I knew from commercials.

Then suddenly, Mom dreamily cooed down to me, "If you could have anything in the whole world, Susie... anything... what would it be?" When I was little, I often thought of Mom as a big kid, or a fairy princess. There were times when all she wanted to do was play. Life was good with Mommy on days like these. I didn't have to worry about anything but having fun.

She let go of my hand and picked up a box of crackers. "Ooh! This looks like something I'd buy!" she exclaimed as she dropped it into the cart. She quickly moved on to another box. "Oh Susie, would you look at that?" She grabbed another. Then another. "This would look better at our house, don't you think?" She gave me a silly smile as she tossed it in. Her eyes lit up and she went on to the next thing. "Ooh, that's the one I want, right there!"

She then encouraged me to get whatever I wanted as well. I will never forget that joyous moment when I darted straight to the cookies with cartoon bears on the box. I'd always wanted those cookies and Mommy never let me have them. They happened to be at my level, so I wrapped my arms around three boxes, then ran them back to Mom.

Years later, Mom told me she and Dad had a little extra money that month, and she mistakenly thought he had given her his approval to spend it at the grocery store. I don't know if her explanation was true because I remember nothing beyond grabbing those boxes. 

# Chapter 17: Miss Opal

When we still lived in Carrboro, Mom didn't work outside the home (not paid work, anyway), but she made a lot of friends through a community outreach program at the church where Dad was employed. One of those friends was Miss Opal, whose real name was Opal Dixon. She was a mature, churchgoing, African American woman who lived in a little cinder block house in Durham. She had one child, an adult son who occasionally stayed with her, but otherwise she lived alone. Mom met her when she volunteered to deliver a donation of baking supplies to Miss Opal's house from a local grocery store.

With Tabby in school, Mom would take me and Matt, but usually just me (if she found someone to watch Matt) to visit Miss Opal all day. Even then, I sensed that Dad didn't approve of their friendship. Mom later told me that he especially didn't like her because she was raised Pentecostal, and her beliefs were more charismatic than his. Dad said she filled Mom's head with "nonsense."

When we visited Miss Opal, Mom parked a street away from her house and we walked through a gravel lot to get there. She'd scoop me up and carry me, singing a song to a familiar melody, "Over the gravel and through the yard, to Miss Opal's house we go..." which I remember because Mom reminded me of the lyrics when we reminisced over the years. She sang to me a lot when I was little.

Miss Opal's house was the best place in the whole world. We had a blast every time we went. She cooked perpetually, and the mouth-watering aroma from her kitchen engulfed me as soon as the front door opened. Except when she made chitterlings, which always stank, even though she swore she used a recipe to make them smell better. But she usually had something good in the slow cooker in case guests surprised her for dinner. I remember that she and Mom would bake batches of biscuits, cookies, or bread while listening to gospel music and cracking jokes in the kitchen. Miss Opal had a sugary, wholesome way about her. She was one of those people you couldn't help but like.

Miss Opal was called, "Prophetess," in certain religious circles. That means she was highly regarded as a woman who heard from the Lord, and she often passed along messages from Him, which she called a "word," when she felt the Holy Ghost leading her to do so. I have met other prophetesses since then and I don't know how accurate their "words" were. But I know that Miss Opal would often tell Mom and others, "I have a word from the Lord for you," and they would stop to listen.

Miss Opal would scoop me up and hold me as she walked around her house, singing and saying weird things. She was speaking in tongues, although I didn't know it then. Regardless, I found her behavior soothing, and not frightening.

I loved it when she played music and we'd dance in her living room. Miss Opal would take my hands, twirl me around, and say things like, "King David danced, baby. He was a man after God's own heart, and he danced before the Lord with all his might. Never let nobody tell you not to dance." I didn't know what that meant, but I loved to dance with Mommy and Miss Opal. Some of Miss Opal's favorite songs ended up on Mom's mix tapes and we played them often.

Some days, Mommy would sit on the couch and lean on Miss Opal's shoulder, sobbing like a baby. Then Miss Opal would pray, and before we left, Mommy was happy again.

I was obsessed with her house because she had a lot of things I'd never seen before. One of those things was a large collection of wigs. They were displayed in cabinets in her crowded bedroom as though they were fine china. It made me wonder why Mommy didn't own wigs so she could change her hair every day. I reasoned that perhaps they were a privilege reserved for people as wonderful as Miss Opal.

I remember one day, Miss Opal and Mommy prayed over me for a long time. Portions of it are still clear in my mind and were reaffirmed by Mom when we reminisced. I can still see Miss Opal that day. She wore a blue scarf around her head, when she usually wore a wig. I was on her couch, reclining back on a pillow in an odd position, and she dabbed oil on my forehead while she and Mom knelt on the floor and prayed over me.

It was an odd experience, but it made me feel special. Miss Opal explained Heaven to me. She said it was better than anything my mind could possibly imagine. A few years later, I read Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and realized that the first room with the chocolate river and everything made from sweets was how I pictured Miss Opal's version of Heaven. Because if Heaven was as great as she promised, there must be candy everywhere.

That's when, despite all logic and reason, and despite the fact that your father doesn't understand and has tried to dissuade me, I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior. This is something I believe in my heart. I can't explain it to your father's satisfaction, and I can't undo it.

Tyler has accepted this about me because I've never tried to force my beliefs on him. Also, I do not attend church regularly, but on the rare occasion that I do (it's always with his mom, who wants you to call her "Nana," by the way), I don't attempt to invite him.

Also, I don't tell many people about my faith, not because I'm ashamed, but because I know I'm a bad Christian. I don't do any of the things you're "supposed" to do. But personally, I'm wary of anyone who claims to be a "good" Christian, because it often means they're busy patting themselves on the back for their "goodness," or judging all the "sinners" around them. I wish they would realize how many people they turn away with their unloving attitudes. I tend to have a diverse mix of friends, and I prefer to argue with none of them about religion.

Not long after that day on Miss Opal's couch, Mommy was sad. She put me in a new dress that was uncomfortable at first, but she said we were going to see Miss Opal, so I didn't complain.

We drove a bit longer than usual, and I got antsy. Mom later said that she'd taken a wrong turn and gotten lost for a bit because she was so distraught.

I asked, "Are we going to see Miss Opoe?" Mom said I pronounced her name "Opoe," like oboe, with a P.

Mom wept as she drove and didn't answer me. When we arrived at our destination, she called it "church" but the building was small and unfamiliar and didn't look like our church. We parked in gravel, and Mom carried me, but she didn't sing her usual song.

Inside, it was so crowded that the parishioners lined the walls. The music was loud and the people were lively. Holding me in her arms, Mom marched to the front of the church where Miss Opal slept in a box. She was more beautiful than ever, wearing a fancy dress, with a big gold necklace, and probably a brand new wig. She looked like she could wake up at any moment.

Mom hugged me, sobbing, smashing my face against her collarbone. I didn't understand that this was Miss Opal's funeral. It felt more like a party, and the only reason I knew it was a sad event was because of how hard Mom cried. I know I was only four, but I remember thinking that I needed to hug Mommy and let her cry on my shoulder like she'd cried on Miss Opal's shoulder. But I sensed that this was one of those times when Mommy needed me to be super quiet, so I didn't cry, even when the loud music hurt my ears.

I don't think Mom knew how to tell me where we were. I wouldn't know how to explain it to a four-year-old either. She said many times over the years that she brought me with her because she needed my comfort. I think she hoped I wouldn't remember it.

An usher guided us to a row near the front where we squeezed in between two other women on a crowded pew. I hugged Mom's neck as I peered behind her at the crowd, wriggling around on her lap to get a better look. There were brown people everywhere. Men, women, children, even a few who were younger than me. Some of the women wore pretty hats. Everyone was so fancy and beautiful, I couldn't stop staring. Many met my eyes and gave me a smile, and I felt special, just like I had a few days earlier on Miss Opal's couch. Something lived here that was bigger than all of us. The room was chaotic with music and praises, and Mommy was sobbing. Maybe a child my age should've been scared by this new experience, but I felt incredibly loved.

I didn't know what was going on around me, so in my four-year-old mind, I determined that this must be Heaven. Maybe I thought it because Miss Opal had so memorably introduced the concept to me not long before, or maybe I heard it in a song at the funeral, or in a heartfelt speech in which Miss Opal's name was mentioned. They kept saying that she was going home, and I somehow knew that Miss Opal's real home was Heaven.

For a good while after that, I thought that all black people were angels in secret, because I had encountered Heaven that day. How else could I explain the energy and love I felt in that room? Or the choir, the organ, and all the beautiful people in their beautiful clothes, singing and praising the Lord? The only thing I couldn't understand was Mommy's sadness in the presence of all that joy.

And in Heaven, if I had understood Miss Opal correctly, which I had not, I should be able to eat or drink everything in sight, including a little gold rose on the hat of the lady beside us. She wore a lovely wide-brimmed black hat, with tiny gold roses around the base that matched the accents in her dress. I reached up as far as I could, my palm open, ready to grab one of those flowers and put it in my mouth. I just knew it would taste great because it reminded me of the shiny golden wrapper of the butter candies Grandpa liked. And since this was Heaven, I planned to put the whole thing in my mouth without peeling off the wrapper because I assumed you could do that in Heaven. No worries, no fears.

I stretched my little arm as high as I could reach. One of those delicious sparkling flowers was within my grasp when Mom clutched me tighter, sobbing harder than before, and I abandoned my pursuit and hugged her instead, wanting desperately to see her smile again. Sometimes it felt like I was the mommy and she was the little girl. She always said that I could sense when she needed me.

She wailed, and the room was already so noisy, I'm not sure that anyone noticed except the ladies on either side of us, both of whom put an arm around Mom occasionally, sobbing themselves. I remember Mommy crying out, "She was my friend!"

I can't recall much else about the funeral, but I do remember what happened afterward. It was one of several events that Mom said I'd confused in my head, but I'm sure I didn't.

When we arrived home, Mom and Dad argued, which was normal. Mom would eventually tell me that Dad was home early to catch her returning from the funeral, which he had forbidden her from attending. This argument was louder and more vicious than usual, ending with Mom carrying me out the door, screaming, "I'm taking her to Charlotte!" And by, "Charlotte," she meant the city of Charlotte, North Carolina, not a person named Charlotte.

Dad didn't try to stop us. In fact, I think I remember him laughing in a scary way, mocking her. He could be so cruel at times, like, lash out in the meanest way possible, and then a minute later, act like nothing happened, especially in certain company.

Mom and I were soon peeling down the interstate. I'm sure she was upset and driving too aggressively, but I remember having a great time because I was out with Mommy again. She cracked a window, and a sharp breeze blew against me, hard enough that I probably should've said something, but it only added to my excitement. Life with Mommy was always an adventure.

At some point, Mom said I asked, "Are we going to Heaven to see Miss Opoe?"

That's when she slowed the car and said, "What? Are we going to Heaven?"

I don't quite remember asking that, but if I did, I'm sure that by "Heaven," I meant that little church in Durham, and I probably thought Miss Opal was awake from her nap by then.

But Mom thought I meant, "Are you deliberately driving fast because you're trying to have an accident and die, sending us both to Heaven to see Miss Opal?" Also, Mom was grieving, and her day had been both emotionally and spiritually exhausting. She thought the Lord was sending her a message through me.

She pulled off at a truck stop and crawled into the backseat with me, then held me like she had at the funeral, sobbing uncontrollably. She kept saying she was sorry. When she calmed enough for me to understand her, she said things like, "You're my gift from Heaven," and, "You're a princess."

Mom later claimed that she tore off down the interstate with me because she was devastated after Miss Opal's funeral and not thinking clearly, but I think there was more to it. Mom denied saying she was taking me to Charlotte. She said I must have gotten that part wrong, but I remember it well. I think that maybe it stood out to me because I'd heard her say it before.

Mom and Dad always had a weird relationship with the city of Charlotte, and I didn't know why until I finally met Preston. Dad would balk at any mention of traveling there for a church event. Mom, however, found excuses to sneak there on occasion. I assume that she wanted to find Preston, and I wish I knew why she lied to me all those years. Hindsight makes me feel overwhelmingly stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Preston and I came up with our own theories, which I will explain when I get to that part.

For years, after my wild ride with Mommy down the interstate following Miss Opal's funeral, I'd fantasize that she and I would get on the interstate again and drive until it ended. The reason I used "CaliKaylee" as my secret username was because, when I was five or six, the state had just placed a sign at the beginning of Interstate 40 in Wilmington that read, "Barstow, Calif. 2,554," since the interstate was finally complete, spanning 2,554 miles between North Carolina and California. Mom made a huge fuss over that sign when it was new.

When she explained what the sign meant, I fantasized that she would put me in the car again and drive until we reached California. Of course, I had no concept of the length of such a drive. But because of that sign, I formed the notion that, to get as far away from my crappy life as possible, all I needed to do was stay on I-40 and head to the West Coast. I developed a minor fixation with California for that reason.

I moved to Los Angeles for a few years, from the ages of eighteen to twenty, and while there, I ended up near Barstow one day, so I took a few minutes to see if there was a sign on the opposite end of the interstate that said, "Wilmington, NC 2,554." I was told on good authority, by a cashier at a gas station, that the sign was there but had been stolen, which commonly happened to the sign in Wilmington as well. I never had a chance to visit Barstow again.

Not long after the funeral, Mom went to Miss Opal's house by herself and found Miss Opal's sister there, sorting through her things. Mom said her sister took one look at her and said, "You're the hysterical white lady from the funeral," and Mom burst into tears again.

Mom came home that day with three huge boxes of Miss Opal's belongings that no one else wanted. There were vinyl records, eight-tracks, wigs, purses, scarves, hats, jewelry, and more. Mom said Miss Opal's sister called it "junk" but it was precious to us. Mom wore some of it, and my sister and I played with the rest for years. I still have a few of her items in a storage box.

With our bounty from Miss Opal, Tabby pretended she had a boutique called, "Things 'n Stuff." And she would make believe that her boutique was featured on a home shopping channel that Grandma frequently watched.

Sometimes, when Uncle Mark brought his video camera to our house, Tabby would instruct me to put on a combination of accessories, and I was then supposed to sashay out to the living room like I was modeling my ensemble to be sold on TV. But I hated playing that game, especially when Mark was there with his camera. It increased Tabby's bossiness, and she'd get angry because I didn't do exactly what she wanted. There's a video where I'm maybe five years old, and I come into the living room wearing a big white hat and pearls, and Tabby yells, "Get back in there, Susie!" because I did something wrong. Then I make a mean face that your father thinks is hilarious, and I go back down the hall to try again.

Tyler has Uncle Mark's old home movies because his VHS tapes were digitized. I have a feeling that we'll be taking plenty of video of you, Britta.

Before I forget, my sister hates to be called, "Tabby Jo," which is why I liked to call her that sometimes. Her name is Tabitha Jolene. Dad picked the first name, from the book of Acts, and Mom picked Jolene, from the hit song by Dolly Parton.

# Chapter 18: Mr. Briggs

When I was little, Mom knew a nice man, a widower named Mr. Briggs, known to many as, "Sarge," because he served in the Army as a sergeant first class in the Vietnam War. Mom asked him to babysit me sometimes. He was only in his late forties then, but he seemed much older because he'd been physically ill since returning from the war. He wore a colostomy bag, and the smell inside his house was foul at first, but I always got used to it right away.

The first time I met him, I gave him a big smile and said, "Thank you for your service," which Mom coached me to say, and I still say to veterans now. She also encouraged me to tell Mr. Briggs, "Welcome home," because he served in Vietnam. I didn't know what that meant back then, but I remember it pleased him, and I still say it to Vietnam veterans today.

As soon as Mom left, Mr. Briggs gave me a hard stare and said, "Mommy shouldn't leave you alone with strange men. Do you understand that?"

I nodded and said, "Yes," because I thought it was the answer he wanted, but I was lying. I can say for sure, however, that Mr. Briggs never touched me inappropriately or did a single thing that some other "strange man" may have done to a little girl. Mom didn't let just anyone babysit, and if she took me to his house, it meant she'd already made up her mind that she could trust him.

Usually he and I would watch TV and play board games. He taught me how to play checkers. And he kept snacks around for me, like pudding and chocolate milk. When Mom picked me up, he'd tell her what a well-behaved little girl I was, and she was proud.

I'd been to Mr. Briggs's house a dozen or so times when someone knocked at the front door. It happened toward the end of The Price is Right, one of his favorite shows. He got so into the "Showcase Showdown," he'd keep track of the prices with a pen and paper, then add them up with a calculator to see if his estimate was close. When the knocking started, Mr. Briggs put his pen and notebook on the coffee table, used the remote to turn the TV volume down, then motioned for me to sit beside him on the couch.

As I did, he reached for the floor, then brought to his lap an item that I later learned was a sawed-off shotgun. He glanced at me and whispered, "It's okay," like I knew what was happening, but I didn't, I just sat quietly. As the knocking grew louder, Mr. Briggs put his hand on my back, like he wanted to comfort me. I remember this because he usually didn't touch me. That's how I knew this was serious. The knocking continued for a while longer, then stopped. We sat together in silence for another few minutes.

Mr. Briggs then went down the hall to a room that I wasn't allowed inside, and emerged with a pistol. We went to his kitchen and sat at the table where he placed the pistol and the sawed-off shotgun in front of us, and passed along some wisdom that eventually became useful to me. I wish to pass it along to you now, while I have this chance.

Mr. Briggs taught me that the only time you should ever point a gun is if you intend to kill. Never jokingly point a gun at a person or animal, even if you don't think it's loaded, because you may be wrong, and there may be a bullet in the chamber. If you're ever playing at a friend's house and you happen to find a gun, do not touch it, and do not encourage your friends to touch it. Leave it where it is, and immediately go tell an adult. A gun may look like a toy, but it is not. It could kill someone. Never play with guns, Britta.

Mom later told me that there had been a few stories in the news about kids who accidentally shot and killed because they played with loaded guns they'd found. That's why Mr. Briggs wanted to educate me, especially after he'd produced that shotgun.

He also advised me on some differences between a pistol and a shotgun. Essentially, he said, if another person were to ever point a pistol at me, "Don't be afraid to run," because a shot from a pistol may only result in a flesh wound. When you run, you become a moving target, and therefore, more difficult to shoot. The rules change if the pistol is pointed at you at close range. In that case, don't run, because one or two bullets could easily kill you.

But a high-powered shotgun could blow a hole "clean through" a man's chest. That's why he kept one nearby for self-defense. He also said that if anyone ever aimed a shotgun at me, I should take it more seriously than I might a pistol. He added that a shotgun can be just as dangerous from a distance because the pellets may spread after a shot's fired.

When Mom returned for me, Mr. Briggs told her about everything. The knocking at the door, the brief gun lesson. Mom's dad owned guns, but Grandpa's attitude was, "Kids should never touch guns." Mom wondered, "What if they touch them anyway?" You never know what you'll find at a friend's house. Also, Grandpa taught my uncles how to use them, but he didn't teach Mom or Lydia, so his attitude was really, "Girls should never touch guns."

So, a few days later, Mom and I visited Mr. Briggs together. He brought out more guns and even taught Mom how to load them. Much of what Mr. Briggs showed us went over my head but Mom hung on every word, and I pretended to be just as thrilled.

Mom thanked Mr. Briggs for relaying such valuable information, and she told him about the self-defense teddy bear lesson she'd given me. He seemed amused by that. Then he went on to show me a few tricks of his own.

Because of him, I have a soft spot for veterans, especially those who are disabled. When I got older, I learned that Mr. Briggs had lost his wife and two daughters in a tragic car accident, and he had lived alone ever since. He often told Mom how nice it was to have me around. I remember him saying he'd love to meet my brother and sister, but she always had an excuse about why she couldn't bring them. Mom told me later that she couldn't take Matt because he was too little, and Tabby would have told Dad everything the second she got home. I was the only one who kept secrets, even when I was that young. I guess I somehow learned early that the best way to stay close to Mom was to keep my mouth shut.

# Chapter 19: Thank You for Telling Me

As I got older, Mom occasionally encouraged me with, "Hang in there, wait 'til you're eighteen." She'd deliver it in the same optimistic way with which she'd encourage me to, "Press on," when I was down. She said, "Wait 'til you're eighteen," a lot, especially in eighth grade when I got in trouble so much. I thought it was simply her way of telling me not to give up hope, and to look forward to a time when Dad wouldn't be in charge anymore.

But occasionally, she said things that made me curious if my "waiting for eighteen" was for her, as well.

The summer I worked at Guffy's, during a late night after Mom drank a little too much wine, she said, "Wait 'til you turn eighteen, Susie. We'll figure out what to do then. We'll have big plans. You'll see. Just hang in there."

My immediate response was, "Why? Are we going somewhere? Are you gonna leave Dad?"

She wouldn't answer. She changed the subject. Just like she did the following day when I asked her about it again.

In hindsight, I think that Mom was planning to tell Preston about me when I turned eighteen.

I wonder if maybe the reason Mom taught me "self-defense" or didn't mind Mr. Briggs teaching me about guns was because she thought I would live a rough life. Like she somehow knew I'd have to fight my way to eighteen, after which, my situation could change because she would introduce me to Preston. But in the meantime, she wanted me to be street smart. Maybe she thought this was something she could give me that I wouldn't have received if I'd had a privileged upbringing with my biological father.

Many signs pointed to Preston when I was growing up. I'm reluctant to admit this one because it makes me feel stupid, but when I was six or seven, Mom and I were watching a movie on TV by ourselves, and a man was supposedly flying Concorde from New York to Paris. They showed him in his seat, having a glass of wine, when Mom scoffed and said, "You can tell that's not the Concorde. The seats are too big," in a familiar tone, as though she knew the size of those seats from personal experience.

At once, I said, "I thought you'd never flown anywhere?"

Mom stuttered for a second, then said, "I haven't."

"Then how'd you know that?"

"Oh... I must've seen it on TV. Probably Dynasty. You were too little, you wouldn't remember."

Kids are smart. That's why I want you to know my truth, Britta, so you won't have to put your own pieces together and speculate, like I did. I didn't know until I was older that flying Concorde was a luxury and a status symbol, reserved for those who could afford the shorter, high-speed, intercontinental flight. When I met Preston, he confirmed that during their brief relationship, he and Mom had indeed taken the Concorde from New York to Paris, then a few days later, returned to New York on a flight from London.

I would give anything to have heard Mom's side of their affair.

When I worked with Mom, I heard rumors that she may have had an affair with her friend, Hector, a disc jockey at a local radio station, who gave her those beloved mix tapes.

It started one summer when I was nine or ten years old. Mom won a substantial number of call-in contests at the station where Hector worked. The contests were part of their "big summer splash" giveaway. Every couple of weeks, she'd go to the station to claim her latest prize. It was usually a certificate for a free dinner at a restaurant, but she also won items like auto glass tinting, and a massage. She probably would've won more often but she couldn't call the station from work. Mom loved free stuff more than anyone I've ever known.

Like she did everywhere she went, Mom made friends at the radio station. When Hector was live on the radio, he'd occasionally dedicate a song to her. "Because we know you're listening, Priscilla."

Until she met him, Mom would make her own mix cassette tapes with songs she recorded from the radio. She was exceptionally cheap, and according to her, "I shouldn't have to buy music. That's why they play it on the radio. So I can tape it myself."

Mom gave Hector her collection of recorded-from-the-radio tapes, a list of her favorite songs from Miss Opal's vinyl records, and a list of "banned songs" she'd kept, which had floated around at church years earlier. Mom had never heard most of the songs on that list but she was determined to own a cassette tape containing each one of them.

Hector made her a slew of new tapes. As time went on, she outgrew her liking for certain songs, and he updated her collection. He maintained lists of her favorites, and after he learned her tastes, he'd add new songs for her to try. He tried to upgrade her to compact discs once but she found them too difficult to hide from Dad.

By the summer I worked at Guffy's, Hector had moved a little further away and he no longer worked at the station, but he occasionally swung by the restaurant to catch up with Mom. I was there when he dropped off her new tapes in July. From scraps of conversation that two of the other servers didn't know I'd overheard, I gleaned that Mom had an affair with him.

That summer, I was bolder with Mom. Not that she had ever given me a reason to fear her, but I was usually cautious in how I asked questions. And it was rare for me to ask a heavy question such as, "Did you have an affair with Hector?" which I asked on our way to work the very next day, because I felt closer to her, and also out of mounting frustration that she was so eager to help everyone else with their relationship problems, yet I couldn't tell her about the guy I'd fallen for at camp.

Mom stared at the road and took a deep breath. She turned to me for a second, meeting my eyes, then faced the road again and said, "Yes. Yes, I did, and I'm not proud of it. It was a mistake and it caused me a lot of problems. It's been over for a long time but we're still friends."

I only said, "Oh," because I was shocked by her honesty. One silent minute later I added, "Thank you for telling me," because my respect for her had skyrocketed. Mom trusted me so much, she didn't have to say, "Don't tell anyone," because she knew I wouldn't dare.

And I had a fleeting thought right then: if Mom had cheated on Dad with Hector, maybe she'd cheated on him earlier, like, during my conception.

But I didn't ask, because that thought vanished the next second when I realized she would never do that to me. I always knew Mom kept secrets, but I naturally assumed that if she was honest with me about Hector, she would be honest with me about an issue as serious as my own paternity. I found it unimaginable that she would lie about that.

We drove along quietly for another minute when Mom distracted me with, "You know what I've been thinking? Maybe I should start teaching you to drive again soon."

She knew me too well. Even though I wasn't old enough to get my learner's permit, Mom had been teaching me to drive until my latest bout of trouble when she stopped, to punish me. She may have kept the promise of driving lessons in her back pocket specifically to distract me in case I heard rumors about her at Guffy's.

I wish I'd asked, "Did you have any other affairs?" that day, because maybe she was in the mood to be honest with me, for once. 

# Chapter 20: A Surprise at Work

Within a month of my career at Guffy's Grill, I had made many new friends at the restaurant and developed a few minor crushes on various guys around there. But nothing memorable or serious, not with Mom watching me like a hawk.

The best part: I thought I was over Jerry. As an adult, it seems ridiculous that I was so wrecked over a guy I barely knew, but at the time, I really was.

Things changed one day after the lunch rush. It was a typical Thursday, near the end of July, about two weeks away from the end of my job. The restaurant was mostly empty when I came out of the kitchen with my bus pan. I placed the big plastic bin on top of a table to stack dishes inside, when a hesitant, unfamiliar male voice came from behind me. "Hey... Susie."

I assumed it was a customer who'd seen my name tag, which meant that Mom or one of the other servers would be around promptly to shoo him away.

But I turned to see Elliot Haney leaning casually against the back of an empty chair, his face lighting up when our eyes met.

I kept my composure because I was accustomed to dealing with customers by then, so I didn't feel nearly as tongue-tied when encountering strangers as I may have a month earlier.

But inside, I freaked out. I'd never been formally introduced to Elliot, and now he approached me at work like we were old buddies.

Elliot was gorgeous. His light brown hair was short on the sides and a little long on top, but perfectly mussed. He was about Jerry's height, just under six feet. His eyes were brown, like his hair. And like most people who came to Guffy's during the summer, he wore a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals, like he was headed to the beach. I saw why so many girls were attracted to that face and body, but I could only think of his friend, Jerry, and that's why my pulse raced.

My mind buzzed with questions I was too shy to ask. Was Jerry here with him? I quickly took stock of the room and didn't see him. Had he broken up with his girlfriend? What had he told Elliot about me? Did Jerry want me now? Would Elliot tell him he'd seen me?

I responded with a polite, "Hey." And as I always did when a guy approached me there, I scanned the room for Mom and spotted her chatting with a customer at the register, paying me no attention.

Elliot followed my line of vision and nodded toward her. "I just spoke with your mom. She's proud of the work you're doing here."

I blushed and said, "Thanks."

Elliot's mouth formed a sly, deliberate grin. "Yeah... So... Did you have a good time at camp this summer?"

I blushed even hotter, wondering what he'd heard, and surprised that he was bold enough to ask me such a question, in public, with Mom in the room. Later, after I'd gotten to know him, I wasn't surprised at all. He was an expert at hiding in plain sight.

I said, "Yes," as my heart thudded wildly.

"Good."

I took a deep breath to settle my nerves, then asked, "So... Are you heading to the beach, or away from it?"

"My parents have a place at Carolina Beach. I'm headed there with a few people." He gestured across the room where I saw a man and two women at a table in Mom's section, all in their early twenties, like Elliot, but I didn't recognize them. He went on. "Wondered why I hadn't seen you at church."

I quickly examined the room to make sure the customers were all right, and also to make sure Mom was out of earshot. Then, with my blood rushing faster each second, I asked, "Why were you looking for me at church?"

He chuckled. "No reason. Just wanted to say hi. See how your summer was going."

I thought of asking about Jerry, but I immediately remembered his last email — the one that broke my heart — and my stomach flipped, telling me I wasn't over him, I'd just pushed him out of my mind for a while.

I then decided it would be pathetic to mention Jerry, so I didn't. He didn't deserve my pain; he deserved to think I'd forgotten about him. So, to Elliot, I said, "My summer's going well."

"Good."

Right then, I saw a customer who was peering around for a server. I told Elliot, "I gotta get back to work, sorry," as I rushed off.

Elliot said, "See you at church," and strolled back to his table.

He and his friends stayed for a while, mostly chatting with Mom. I didn't see him again because I was washing dishes.

We were so busy for the rest of our shift, Mom didn't mention Elliot until the next day when she drove us to work again. I didn't bring him up because I feared I'd look guilty, or end up telling Mom about Jerry. I did, however, covertly call Ashley before work, to check my email. But I still hadn't responded to his last message, and I was proud of myself for that.

Mom let out a weary sigh as she drove, discussing Elliot's visit. "I hope he doesn't mention it to your dad. He'd be so embarrassed. He hates it when people from church see me working there. Especially them." She rolled her eyes, which she often did when she mentioned the Haney family, because she thought Elliot's mom, Audrey, was a snob. But Mom's tone got dreamy when she said something I didn't expect. "That Elliot. He's the kind of guy I hope you'll end up with."

"What do you mean?" I asked with bated breath.

"Oh, you know," Mom said, although I didn't know, but she always spoke as if we knew the same people. "He's nice. Cute. Down to earth. Generous tipper. And he's a Christian, but he's not phony and churchy. Doesn't take himself too seriously. I like that."

If Mom thought Elliot was so great, she would've loved Jerry. And I almost used this opportunity to tell her about him. Not the kiss or the sneaking around, but the fact that we had a few friendly conversations.

But I decided that it was best to feel her out first. I said, "I didn't realize you knew him so well. He was away at seminary for a long time." It may seem like I should've known Elliot, since our dads were pastors at the same church, but it was a large church for our area, employing a dozen or so staff members. I only knew the other employees' children if we attended children's church together, and Elliot had long since aged out of it by the time I came along.

Mom said, "I see him around. He used to come to the Quick Stop in Hunter's Branch, back when he was in high school." The Quick Stop was one of many convenience stores where Mom had once worked, during the school year when we weren't in Wilmington. "He was always such a good kid."

She went on to explain that Elliot and his parents dined at the restaurant about once per summer when he was growing up, but for the past few years, if Elliot stopped by, he was with friends, headed to his family's beach house. Mom had been there a handful of times when Mrs. Haney hosted teas and other weekend get-togethers for the pastors' wives. Mom hated those events because she felt out of place with the other wives. She'd attend just long enough to make an appearance, for Dad's sake.

She also told me that she didn't think much of either of the girls who were with Elliot and his friend yesterday, and the one Elliot was presumably dating reminded her of Audrey. "He could do so much better."

Fear tightened my stomach as I had a thought. What if Jerry blabbed my secrets to Elliot? And what if Elliot came back to the restaurant and told Mom? But then the subject changed, and I decided to keep my mouth shut about Jerry and try not to worry about those secrets coming out.

For the rest of my time at Guffy's, I constantly watched for Elliot, or even Jerry, who was probably still at camp. But my heart raced with the hope that somehow he would end up in Wilmington, on his way to Elliot's beach house. 

# Chapter 21: Sibling Rivalry

I was depressed when my job ended in August. It seemed like my entire summer had flashed by in a fraction of a second, but aside from my heartbreak over Jerry, I had no complaints. I loved meeting new people, earning my own money, making new friends, and most of all, proving that I could be responsible.

And I especially loved to be with Mom every day. I missed our routine of rolling out of bed late, then rushing to work and having fun there, staying up late with friends, and then waking up the next day to do it all again.

I would give anything to experience that summer with Mom one more time. I took it for granted because I thought we would have the next summer and many more. It breaks my heart that you won't know her.

Thankfully, Ashley's family was one of those annoying families who owned a video camera before it was common to own one. I used to complain when Uncle Mark would bring it to family gatherings, but now I'm grateful that he did, because I get to see Mom.

Mom and I stayed in Wilmington for another week after our jobs ended, which happened to be the same week Tabby came home, so she joined us there. We decided to use that week as a vacation. Ashley's brother Brent also joined us, as did Mark and Natalie, who brought Ashley and Matt with them.

When Tabby and I weren't arguing, I pretended like I wasn't listening to her stories of life with Aunt Lydia. I was still fiercely jealous that Tabby got to spend so much time there, but not jealous enough that I would've traded my summer at Guffy's with Mom. Among other things, Tabby told us that Lydia had a Y2K storage "bunker" in her basement, which she still had when I moved in with her a few years later. In fact, one of my chores at Lydia's house would be to dust all of that crap and discard the expired cans. But I shouldn't imply that all of it was "crap." Much of it eventually proved useful.

(We will explain Y2K to you later, Britta, if you wish to know about it.)

Ashley and I stayed busy. We felt so mature when we talked Brent into driving us to the mall where, for once, I had money to spend. But I spent it wisely because I'd learned from Mom, who almost never paid full price for anything. I splurged at a clearance rack on an unbelievable sale where everything had just been marked down to seventy-five percent off the lowest price.

The next day we went shopping with Aunt Natalie and I found bras on sale at a department store. Until then I'd worn secondhand bras. The friendly lady at the store helped me find ones that minimized my chest. That was my main concern, because Dad insinuated I was a tramp for wearing clothes that actually fit me. I was determined this school year not to slouch around in oversized T-shirts.

At the end of Tabby's first week home, Dad came back, and an argument instantly ensued. Why had I been blessed with a summer job, and Tabby hadn't? Mom had shielded me from this fight until then. She apologized profusely to Tabby, who felt cheated that I had money in the bank and she didn't.

Dad even suggested that I split my fortune with Tabby. I'm not kidding. That's how Dad always treated me. He and Tabby talked about my money as though Mom had sneaked cash to me from her purse, but they were wrong. I worked damn hard for it. Mr. Ballard already wanted me to work there again next summer, but Dad insisted Mom tell him that Tabby should work there instead. This only sparked more arguments.

Two days after Dad came back, he, Matt, and Tabby disappeared for the day. I didn't care where they went, I was just grateful to have some peace. School would start soon, and I had worked most of my summer away, so I wanted to enjoy what little free time remained.

That evening, Tabby drove up in her own car, a 1993 Mazda Protege, which Dad purchased from a used car lot. We were always told that if we wanted our own cars, we would have to pay for them ourselves, because Mom and Dad couldn't afford to buy them for us. But Dad wrote a check from a savings account and paid for that car, free and clear. Even though it was used, it was still worth three times what I'd earned at Guffy's all summer.

Mom and Dad argued about that car for months. Mom told me that the money Dad spent on Tabby's car was supposed to go toward a down payment on a house, so we could stop renting and have a permanent place of our own.

Tabby's car was a lavish expense for our family, and not typical of Dad's spending habits. It was obviously a dig at me and Mom, and a way for Dad to reestablish his powerful role in our household. Dad and Tabby presented her car like it was a gift to our whole family, including me.

Tabby made it clear that if she drove me anywhere, I was expected to pay for gas.

This was unfair to me. I worked my ass off for that money, with dreams of scraping together enough for a car someday, and my sister was given a car that she didn't even work for, just to spite me. Also, I was expected to pay for her gas, and she was not.

This sort of thing is why I felt like I never belonged in my own family. Dad said we were broke, but somehow, Matt and Tabby always got whatever they wanted.

I think Dad assumed that I would want Tabby to drive me around, and therefore, I'd pay for her gas so he wouldn't have to, but I was determined not to give Tabby a dime of my money. And I didn't, because I never asked her to drive me anywhere. On purpose. 

# Chapter 22: I'll Take Care of Your Dad

We spent almost another week in Wilmington but soon returned to our trailer in Gimble, where none of us had stayed since June.

I hated the end of summer because it meant the beginning of a new school year. But at least this fall, my clothes were nicer. Also, I would be one of many lost freshman, and not some weird new kid.

I clung to the hope that I might see Elliot at church. Ashley and I rehearsed what I'd say to him. That's how I occupied my time and kept my sanity during the arguments at home.

I didn't have to worry about sharing my savings with Tabby because Dad made sure she found a job of her own. He called everyone he knew to let them know that his perfect Tabby now owned a car, and she was available for part-time work during the school year. She quickly landed a fast food job and I hoped she'd still have it by next summer. If not, Mom said we had plenty of time to make sure Tabby had a different job by then.

There was no formal dress code at our church, so I usually wore casual clothes. But on my first day back at Hunter's Branch Community Church, I dressed up a little. I wore open-toed sandals, a modest cotton sundress, not too short, but not obviously revealing. I also wore a lightweight, short-sleeved sweater, to add modesty. I'd never owned so many new clothes before, and they were all from clearance racks.

As usual, I feared that Dad would say something negative about how I looked, but he didn't, and I was thankful because I was tired of all the fighting at home. I didn't realize yet that he had only insulted my appearance to find fault with me, and if it hadn't been my clothes, it would've been something else. Back then, I believed that I needed to change myself for him. And as much as I delighted in rebelling against him, a small part of me wanted to make him proud.

I didn't expect to see Jerry at church. I knew I might see Elliot, but I didn't know if we'd speak. If we did, I was ready with a plan this time. I would nonchalantly ask about Jerry, but make it clear that I was interested in someone else, a sixteen-year-old I met at the restaurant, whose name I can no longer recall.

When I arrived at church, I made small talk with a few kids in the sanctuary, then wandered over to the youth group room to kill time. I was just about to strike up a conversation when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I spun around, inhaling sharply when I saw Jerry.

His eyes were bluer and more magical than ever, and I couldn't look away. His gaze locked my whole body in place like my feet had been nailed to the floor.

Jerry smiled and said, "Sorry. Did I scare you?"

"Um..." I almost forgot to breathe. "No, I just didn't expect to see you."

"I told you I'd probably be here," he said, flashing dimples and stirring up memories. "Did you find yourself another guy? I'm sure you've had plenty of offers." He winked.

Oh... he could snap my heart in two with that wink. That's all it took to erase all those nights in June when I cried myself to sleep. He was here now, and I was alive with hope again.

My stomach swarming with butterflies, I said, "Did you ever break up with your girlfriend?"

He let out a labored sigh. "Actually, yes. Yes I did."

"Oh." What did that mean? Did he want me now? "How'd she take it?"

"Not great, but..." He shrugged. "So, what's been going on with you? Staying outta trouble?"

I nodded, my eyes wide. "Yes."

He chuckled softly. "You look so innocent. I knew you were a good girl."

"Innocent?"

Jerry cocked his head to the side, eyes slightly narrowed, taking me in. "Yeah. You look so sweet and innocent. I'm not used to seeing you all dressed up. You look nice."

"So do you," I barely breathed out. And he did look nice, dressed up slightly more than at camp.

By the way, I was also wearing more makeup than I'd worn at camp. Not a lot more, but mascara and the perfect shade of dollar store blush and lipstick seemed to make all the difference in my looks back then.

We kept talking, but I could barely concentrate on our words. He explained that camp had ended two weeks earlier, and he'd been staying with Elliot's family ever since. In fact, he was at church the previous week, looking for me.

Jerry also said he'd heard I'd gotten a job, and my heart nearly burst when he added, "I was disappointed to see you didn't work there anymore," meaning that he'd gone to Guffy's to find me.

I glanced around for eavesdroppers, but they were busy with their own conversations. That's when I realized that here, among the youth group, was a perfect place for Jerry to approach me, and that's probably why he'd done so. In here, it was normal and natural for a teenage girl to have a conversation with a guy who was older than her. And since Jerry worked at Camp Victory, he must be a good guy with upstanding morals, right? Why else would he approach me at church?

Jerry went on to tell me that he'd be staying with the Haneys for a little while longer until he moved into his own apartment, but he wasn't sure where he was moving yet. He thought a local company was about to offer him a contract job on a Y2K project. Also, Elliot needed his help with a project at church.

(I know that's the second time I've mentioned Y2K, but it was 1999 and if you'd been there, you'd understand.)

I was surprised when Jerry said, "Did your brother say anything about meeting me at camp?"

"No," I said, because he hadn't.

He nodded. "I saw he had that bottle I gave you."

I got nervous. "Did you tell him we'd met?" My paranoia instantly kicked in.

But Jerry eased my mind with, "No, I promise. And apparently, neither did you."

I squinted at him in confusion. Lovesickness had dulled my responses and made me stupid. "Huh? Did you want me to tell him?"

Jerry shook his head and said, "No," then flashed another wink, followed by a clever grin, acknowledging my ability to keep a secret.

I produced my stupid high-pitched giggle that only existed when he was around.

We spoke for another minute when Elliot came by, interrupting Jerry mid-sentence with a hearty slap on the back. They shared a brief glance, then Elliot faced me and said, "Hey."

I gulped and forced out a flinty, "Hey."

Elliot seemed different today. More intense. I sensed a glint of something raw and aggressive in his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder then took a step closer and said, "So... do you feel like maybe... getting out of the house this week? Before school starts?"

Jerry widened his eyes at me for a moment.

I had no idea what they were asking, but I said, "Uh... maybe?"

Elliot's voice was calm. "Your parents'll get a call by the end of the week. I just spoke to your mom and dad about a Camp Victory reunion. You know... you and some of the other girls at a nice, chaperoned, co-ed event at Carolina Beach." Elliot winked, and it was hot. It didn't have the effect on me that Jerry's wink had, but it still made my belly tremble. He added, "You'd like that, right?"

"Oh." It took my stunned brain a moment to process his question, but I already knew my answer was yes. I looked at Elliot's handsome face, then Jerry's, and I felt swept away. Two hot guys had just invited me to the beach, and all I'd done was walk into the youth group room that morning. I knew they were scheming, and I didn't know what I was agreeing to. Regardless, I said, "Sure, that'd be nice."

Elliot nodded. "Expect a call this week. I'll take care of your dad, okay?" His brows went up, and I instinctively nodded.

Then he and Jerry said goodbye and left the room.

I didn't speak to them again at church that day, but I was keenly aware of their presence at all times: where they sat during service, the people they spoke to, the pretty girl his age whom Jerry flirted with after church. It practically killed me to see that.

Elliot and Jerry were all I could think about. A fake Camp Victory reunion at the beach? Just for me, not for my brother? And my parents would both be okay with this?

On the way home from church, Dad delivered news of this alleged camp reunion with delight, as if camp was still a punishment for me. And I scowled, acting like it was. "I guess I'll go," I mumbled, as if I had a choice.

I stayed quiet because I didn't know what to expect from this "reunion," and I doubted Mom or Dad did either, but they didn't seem to care. Mom had been depressed for the past few days, which I attributed to the constant fighting with Dad. She said something like, "It'll be nice for you to get out of the house," when Dad mentioned it.

A few days went by, and there was no word from Jerry or Elliot. No emails, no calls.

Then suddenly, on Wednesday night, the phone rang. Dad answered and had a brief conversation with Elliot. When he hung up, he said, "Pack a bag. I'm taking you to the church with me in the morning. You'll leave from there." 

# Chapter 23: He's a Preacher's Kid

The next day, as promised, Dad drove me to church with him. I took the usual measures to keep the peace — like wearing an oversized, dumpy T-shirt — in case he decided to pick a fight, but he was surprisingly tolerable.

We rode in silence, and I was grateful because I needed time to think. In June, I was sleepless and nauseated because Jerry broke my heart. This week, my sleeplessness and nausea returned, except now, it was anticipation over spending the weekend with Jerry... or so I thought. Heck, maybe there really was a Camp Victory reunion. No one told me what to expect.

It was now Thursday morning. I would be at Elliot's beach house in less than two hours, returning on Sunday morning for church. And I didn't know it then, but Elliot would be bold enough to call my parents on Saturday to tell them he would drop me off at home on Sunday evening instead.

When Dad and I pulled into the church parking lot, I spotted Elliot loading bags into the back of his Jeep as he spoke with two other girls, both of whom were acquainted with my sister. Their destination was a gathering at a house in Wrightsville Beach. Elliot was merely our shuttle.

I was about to get out of the car when Dad cleared his throat and said, in a tone that was gentle for him, "Now, don't go telling any of our family business to Elliot."

Family business? What he meant was: Say nothing that would make me look bad. Lie, and act like everything's okay. As usual.

I realized then that Dad was quiet all morning because he didn't want to upset me before I rode off with Elliot, who could ask why I was angry / sad / frustrated. Also, I didn't know it then, but Dad wanted to impress Elliot, in the hope of finally landing a full-time job at the church.

Being the rebellious girl that I was, I sensed a rare advantage. I could make a smart-ass comment and get away with it. Say something that would've earned me a hard slap in the face, or worse, at home. But I didn't, because Dad may have been crazy enough to hit me anyway, or promise something worse later.

So, I said, "I won't tell him anything."

Dad sent me off with Elliot like we'd done this a million times, because packing a bag and being dropped off somewhere on short notice was normal for me and my siblings. Getting away with this was too easy. There were countless other instances in the past when Mom and Dad had dropped us off at church lock-ins, sleepovers, parks, bowling alleys, or skating rinks, never knowing what was going on inside, and never asking questions.

When Dad and I stepped out of the car, one of the girls chirped, "You're Tabby's sister," clueless that Tabby hated me. As Dad made small talk with the girls, Elliot took my duffle bag and his fingertips covertly, and unnecessarily, stroked the inside of my wrist.

My heart raced, but I kept my composure. This was the first of many of Elliot's sneaky little public caresses. They were his alternate way of winking at me, reminding me that we shared secrets, and we were excellent at keeping them. My first tender, private touch from Elliot was thrilling, but it also gave me a sinking feeling that I'd been inducted into a private club, of sorts.

After Elliot tossed my bag into his vehicle, he kept the tailgate open, pretending to poke around in another bag. He kept his face turned away from Dad, who was mid-conversation. In a volume that only I could hear, Elliot said, "I'm gonna drop you off at a park. Are they looking this way?"

I kept my head still and glanced at Dad, who was still talking, and I calmly replied, "No."

"Okay," Elliot said. "There's a gas station across the street from the park. I'll show you. Get something to eat, drink, whatever. But don't go anywhere. Okay?" His eyes widened and stayed that way as he added, with a hint of scolding, "I mean it, don't try anything dumb, all right?"

Softly, I said, "I don't know what you've heard about me, but if you drop me off at a gas station and tell me to stay there, I'll stay."

Elliot didn't scold me the way Dad often scolded me. It was more like how my cousin Brent warned me and Ashley to, "Be good, and don't make me regret this," before turning us loose at the mall. Starting with our brief exchange at Guffy's the previous month, Elliot treated me in a familiar, brotherly way, even though we were practically strangers. Not brotherly in the sense that we were biologically related, but like a stepbrother, or a fraternity brother.

Then I remembered something Jerry told me about Elliot, at camp: He's a preacher's kid, like you. He's been hiding shit for years.

I'd always resented that stereotype. Preacher's kid. I'd heard the abbreviation PK my entire life, long before the Internet made abbreviations so common. But I barely considered Dad to be a preacher. He just happened to work at a church, his job title was Pastor, and he wrote and led Bible studies. But that's not why I acted out, otherwise, Matt and Tabby would've acted out, too.

No, I acted out because Dad was a manipulative jerk who rejoiced in seeing me miserable, and found ways to punish me, not only for my misdeeds, but for things I hadn't done. I was a virgin until that weekend, but Dad had called me 'slut' and 'whore' many times by then, when I barely understood what those words meant. He assumed the worst of me, so that's what I gave him. If I was going to get punished either way, what was the purpose of being good? It's not that I wanted to rebel, it's that I was given no choice. Pushing the limits was a game to me.

This was the bond I shared with Elliot. It was not quite the romantic one I felt with Jerry, but one of shared experiences.

Elliot was twenty-three, fresh out of seminary, and living with his parents, but for all I knew, he may have left his house that morning with the same admonition I'd received: Don't tell anyone how we really live. He may have heard that his entire life. Be a good role model. Avoid all appearance of evil. Go to seminary, even if you don't want to.

Elliot loved to sneak around. I assume it came second nature to him because his life had always been on display. Hiding in plain sight was the only way he knew how to hide, because it had been his only option since birth.

Dad and Elliot had a quick conversation in which Elliot reassured Dad that there would be at least two chaperones at the beach house at all times. But Elliot didn't know yet that Dad didn't care what I did, as long as I didn't shame him.

That reminds me, I should probably describe Dad. He was thirty-seven, and his hair was thick and dark, but graying just enough to make him appear slightly older and more distinguished. Also, he was tall and thin, and his mid-section had gotten thick, which he attributed to inactivity and an aging metabolism.

Dad and Elliot's conversation ended with Dad saying it was smart to spend more time at the beach because, "It's supposed to be a bad hurricane season." I'll never forget that, because it wound up being a massive understatement.

Dad hugged me, which he sometimes did when certain people were watching. I knew he only did it that morning because it would appear strange if he didn't hug his daughter goodbye.

But a last-minute instinct took root inside me, and I threw my arms around him, squeezing like I needed that hug. I would love to say I did it for the same reason I hugged Matt — he hated it, so I hugged him even more. But I think I returned Jack's hug because I craved his protection. I knew my life was about to change irreparably, with all the lies Elliot had already told on my behalf. I wanted this mysterious beach weekend where anything was possible, but I'd never been involved in a lie of this magnitude before, and Elliot was obviously wilder than I had expected.

I thought Dad sensed my fear because when he let me go, I saw compassion in his eyes. I swear, as excited as I was, I would've been relieved if he told me to stay home.

Dad said, "Call if you need to leave early, okay?"

I gulped. "Okay."

But all hope of Dad's protection vanished the next moment when he leaned down close and said, "You better make sure there's a chaperone there at all times. All right?"

And just like that, Dad placed the onus of the trip on me. If something went wrong, it would be my fault because I — a confused, hormonal, frightened, self-destructive fourteen-year-old girl — had been charged with maintaining my safety. That's why, if things went wrong, I should be the one punished, because my chief concern should be to uphold Jack Lombardi's reputation, even though he'd never done a damn thing to uphold mine. 

# Chapter 24: It's Only a Beach Trip

I rode in the backseat, right behind Elliot, and kept my mouth shut, which was easy because the girls talked so much. Elliot occasionally acknowledged me with a gaze in the rearview mirror at a stoplight. Otherwise, he chatted with the girls, both of whom attended Purity's Promise rallies with Tabby, so I assumed we had little in common. If either of them knew the Elliot I came to know after this, I doubt they would have accepted his innocent ride to the beach.

We arrived in Wilmington about an hour after leaving the church. I got out of Elliot's Jeep at the park he'd mentioned, after he announced to the girls that this was where my "reunion" started, then it would later move to his place at Carolina Beach. But the girls didn't care about those details. I was an afterthought to them. Leave me wherever. They didn't know that Elliot had only arranged to be their ride just to have witnesses that he and I were not alone together. When I got out of his Jeep, the girls stayed inside, barely acknowledging my exit.

Elliot hopped out to open the tailgate and hand me my bag. He quietly said, "Sorry to put you through all that. I had to let 'em see me dropping you off."

He always thought of every detail. As I got to know him, I saw that he relished the details associated with scheming. Elaborate plans were his specialty.

Elliot instructed me to walk toward one of the pavilions in the park, where a few strangers were milling around. Make it appear as though that's where my "reunion" would start. Once I saw his Jeep exit the parking lot, I was supposed to head to the gas station across the street and wait for him. He also slipped me a twenty-dollar bill and said, "Buy something while you're there, and don't loiter. They have a restaurant where you can wait and watch me pull in. If you happen to see someone you know, tell 'em you were on your way to the park or whatever. You went over there to buy something for the picnic. But don't be seen with me. Look for me in about twenty minutes. We'll meet around the back of the building."

Twenty minutes later, I saw Elliot pull into the gas station as I waited patiently with a Coke and a sausage biscuit that my nervous stomach wouldn't let me enjoy.

When I climbed into his vehicle, we agreed that I would sit in the backseat with my head down because we both knew people in Wilmington.

And then we were alone.

Before we left the gas station parking lot, Elliot said, "Sorry I had to bring those girls with us. I thought they'd never shut up." He then reached back to give my bare knee an unexpected squeeze, and I flinched, which he didn't seem to notice. He added, "It should only be about a half hour, as long as traffic stays light."

The thought of spending the next half hour with him made my stomach tighten so hard, I almost threw up. And it wasn't just because of his driving, which got worse after the other girls left. My eerie sense of "wrong" that kicked in when I hugged Dad had returned. I suddenly regretted sneaking off to Jerry's cabin in June, because it had set this plan in motion. One lie led to another, and somehow I was alone with Elliot Haney, whom I barely knew, with no idea what this weekend held for me. Would Jerry even be there? My life was solely in Elliot's hands. He could've taken me anywhere.

I clutched my bag to have something to hold as I asked, "Hey... uh... so, what's going on this weekend? Who's gonna be there?"

"Oh. Sorry." Elliot let out a weak laugh like he was in on a joke that no one told me about. "Thought you knew. You didn't really think it was a camp reunion, did you?"

I caught him trying to make eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, so I met his eyes and said, "No, I figured that much. I'm not stupid."

"Didn't think you were. It's Jerry's birthday this week. But don't tell anyone, or they might figure it out."

The mention of Jerry's name made me feel better. "Oh, I'm sorry. He said his birthday was in August but I didn't know when."

"It's probably best you didn't. And don't feel bad. Seriously." He let out that laugh again, then said, "I was surprised to hear he'd met you at camp."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess time got away from me. I didn't know you were old enough for teen week yet."

"Yeah, it was my second year."

My stomach loosened its clench the longer Elliot and I spoke. He made me feel at ease, as though he'd read my mind and knew exactly what I needed to hear. Someone would later tell me that this was a classic sign of a sociopath.

I said, "I didn't realize you knew who I was."

Elliot paused, gave me a thoughtful glance in the mirror, then focused his attention on the road. "You and I have a lot in common. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," I said because he was so certain about it, but not because I knew what we had in common.

He shook his head, chuckling as he changed lanes. "You're nothing like your sister, are you?"

That was perhaps the biggest compliment he could've paid me. But I now wish that I had been more like Tabby back then.

I smiled and said, "Thank you for noticing," because with that, Elliot had won me over. My fears disappeared for the moment.

I felt closer to him the longer we spoke, like we'd been friends forever. But I wonder if I felt that way because he kept saying, "It's like I already know you." And he addressed me as an equal, not as a girl nearly ten years his junior. With Elliot, I wasn't a fourteen-year-old weirdo with a questionable reputation. I was a normal girl, age irrelevant, on her way to a fun time at the beach.

Elliot mentioned things that showed he'd been paying attention to me and my family for a while. Stuff like, "Your dad doesn't ask many questions, does he?" And he thought it was hilarious that Mom made no effort to go to church during the summer — a fact that she'd shared with him at the restaurant. I told Elliot at least ten things in the first fifteen minutes that would've completely humiliated Dad. Our half-hour ride flew by quickly.

I'd lived in eastern North Carolina since I was five, so I'd visited many beach houses by then. The Haneys owned the biggest one I'd ever seen, at the time. It was an oceanfront, two-story, side-by-side duplex with an outdoor pool, separate upstairs and downstairs decks on both units, and a private walkway to the beach. Each side had four bedrooms and three baths, and easily slept twelve people. The house was on stilts, like most oceanfront homes around it — a precautionary measure against flooding from storm surges, hurricanes, etc.

We parked under the house, between stilts, where a few other cars were parked. The air was thick with the familiar, briny fragrance of the beach. I usually associated that smell with a day with my family, but I'd never used the beach for evil before, and that's why my stomach flipped as soon as I stepped outside and took a good whiff of ocean air. My anxiety returned with a vengeance.

Elliot rushed around to my side and said, "Let me help you with your bag." He was a perfect gentleman. Made me feel so special.

"It's okay, I got it." I was too nervous to laugh, but I almost did because it struck me funny that anyone would think I needed help with my trusty old duffle bag. That thing went everywhere with me, and no one had ever offered to help me with it before. I left it on my seat and I had just reached for it when Elliot grabbed it instead.

He let it drop smoothly to the ground, and then he closed the door and gave me an earnest look. "You nervous?"

"No," I lied.

One side of his mouth quirked up sympathetically. "Are you sure you wanna be here?"

"Yes," I lied again. He'd given me a way out, but when I peered up into his eyes, my only answer was yes.

"Really? Because I can take you home."

I swallowed hard, and when I spoke, my voice was fast and squeaky and I couldn't control it. "Well... who's here? Is it just the three of us? I've never done anything like this before."

"What do you mean, anything like this? Like what?"

I instantly felt stupid for stating it that way. "Like..." I fumbled for an answer because I still didn't know why they'd invited me, and asking for clarity only made me feel like a dumb little kid. I said, "Like... lying about who I'm with for the whole weekend."

"Oh..." Elliot nodded. "Is this the biggest thing you've ever done?" he asked politely, making me feel comfortable and less like a newbie.

I shrugged and said, "I guess so. Yeah."

"I figured a girl like you had probably done something worse than this by now."

A girl like me?

Worse than... what?

I said, "I don't know what you've heard, but no, I've never done anything like this before. I don't even know what this is. What are we doing? Why'd you bring me here?"

"Shh." Elliot lifted his hand to my shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze, his voice gentle. "It's okay, Susie. It's only a beach trip. Just relax and hang out. We're probably gonna watch TV, maybe have a movie marathon. Probably bore you to death." He offered a warm grin.

"Really?" I relaxed a bit. Perhaps I was subconsciously concerned that I would bore them and they'd regret inviting me.

"Yes." Elliot chuckled softly and slid one arm around my back. He hugged me to his side, his voice silky and tender. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you."

My chest thumped with each beat of my heart. I now knew what all the other girls saw in Elliot, and I was smitten. He was sexy, confident, and protective, and he made me feel like nothing could possibly go wrong.

With Elliot's arm still around me, he explained that they had invited a few people, but they hadn't planned an actual party for Jerry's birthday because he was a homebody, and he only wanted to drink a few beers and sit on the deck. He also told me, "It might just be the three of us. But you'll have your own bedroom and bathroom. I'm sorry, I should've made that clear."

Elliot made me feel a million times better. The idea of staying in a house with him and Jerry was exciting, but my stomach still hurt, even as I gazed up into Elliot's cute face and felt his arm around me. This was a huge secret, and many lies had been told on my behalf.

Also, now that I liked Elliot, I felt guilty that my crush on Jerry was waning, especially since he was the one who wanted me there.

Or was he? With the way Elliot gazed at me, I wondered how much Jerry had to do with it.

It was my last chance to ask, and I was going to explode if I didn't. I said, "Why am I here?"

"Because I brought you here."

I smirked, and Elliot laughed.

He rubbed my back, then removed his arm but stayed close, his eyes penetrating mine. "You're here because we think you're cool and we wanted you here. Come on, relax. All you gotta do is sit around and look pretty."

His compliment was so massive, I was afraid to believe it. I stared back at him, and after a long pause, said, "What if I get caught?" I probably said 'I' and not, 'we' because I wrongly assumed that I was responsible for this scheme.

"No one's gonna get caught, I promise. No one'll ever know you were here unless you tell 'em, and I know you won't do that."

I shook my head to affirm his statement. "I'd never tell anyone." Except Ashley, but she didn't count.

"I wouldn't have brought you if I thought you would. Now..." He bent down to get my bag. "Let's go upstairs." 

# Chapter 25: They Made Me Feel Important

The house was quiet when we came in. Elliot said Jerry was asleep behind one of the closed doors we passed as he led me upstairs. He said, "We had a late night," and I didn't pry, but I assumed the bag of empty beer cans in the kitchen had something to do with it.

He gave me the master suite on the second story, which I thought was generous. It was decorated in a maritime theme, like the rest of the house, but this room was different. It possessed a light, airy, wholesome quality. The windows were huge, and the ocean view was breathtaking. An abundance of natural light against the muted pink walls made the atmosphere more romantic. The upstairs deck was accessible only through French doors from this room. I felt like a princess when Elliot brought me there. That's why I remember so much about it.

Most beach houses I'd seen belonged to friends of our family, and the furniture was wicker or rattan, but not here. This house was more elegant than I expected. There were no cutesy signs with sayings, the way Mom would've decorated. It smacked of Audrey Haney. I could never tell Mom this because she couldn't stand her, but the woman had good taste. It was a shame what Hurricane Floyd did to that house a month later.

Elliot dropped my bag on top of the bed and said, "Make yourself at home and come downstairs whenever." When I told him I felt weird about staying in such a nice room, he gave me a long, reassuring hug, and I didn't feel weird about it again.

It was like entering a whole new world. Like I'd stumbled into a new life where I was important. That's how Elliot made me feel. Important. Cherished. Like I'd been specially handpicked to be there, and my comfort and safety meant something to him.

Elliot left, and I didn't lock the door because I hoped that he or Jerry would walk in and surprise me.

I was in the room for a few minutes, passing time with a stack of magazines I found in a cabinet, when music blared from downstairs. This seemed weird to me because Elliot had just told me Jerry was asleep. My gut instinct said they were hiding something, the same way Ashley and I used her radio to hide our private conversations.

I had a feeling that there were other guests the previous night. Elliot had rushed me past several closed bedroom doors on our way to my room, with no explanation. Months later, I learned that they did indeed have two girls there, whom they met at a bar, and they played music so I wouldn't hear them leave. Elliot thought the girls would be gone by the time we arrived, but they were still asleep.

I'm not sure if knowing about them would have mattered to me at the time, but in hindsight, I wish I'd gone downstairs, caught them, and then called home to ask Mom to pick me up. But I think I wanted to feel like the only girl for a little while, even though there could've been someone else in my bed the previous night.

Besides, it was none of my business, and I didn't want to break the trust that Elliot had placed in me. I felt there was a code of honor among liars, like honor among thieves. If Elliot wanted me to know what was going on downstairs, he would've informed me. It wasn't my place to ask. His, "You're nothing like your sister," comment replayed in my thoughts. I may not have been as pretty as Tabby, but I was way cooler, and I would prove it by minding my own business.

I decided that a half hour was an appropriate length of time to wait in my room, so I waited, growing more anxious by the second. But thirty minutes passed, and I was still too shy to go downstairs. Too afraid to look uncool. There was a phone on the nightstand and I almost called Ashley, because she'd know how long I should wait.

I was sitting on the bed, staring at the phone, when I heard a knock and a male voice say, "Hey, it's Jerry. You okay?"

I was so nervous, I practically jumped off the bed and said, "Yeah, come in," even though I wasn't sure I loved him anymore, having fallen for Elliot that morning.

But as soon as Jerry came through the door, those blue eyes made me his again. His short, dark hair glistened from a recent shower. He wore a pair of red and white printed swim trunks and nothing else. And he looked really good that way.

With hesitance, he said, "Sorry... did I scare you?"

"No, I just didn't expect to see you. I thought you were asleep."

"Just woke up. Didn't know if you'd be here." His lips spread into a big smile as he approached me.

Jerry gave me the best hug. His skin was a little sticky from the shower, but it felt so natural to touch him. He smelled like soap and the same cologne he wore at camp. His arms tightened around me, and his chest rose and fell against mine. My memories flooded back to me in his touch, his hands sliding up and down my back, the way his bare toes played with mine. I hoped I would get a kiss.

But Jerry let me go and sank down onto the bed, gazing up at me. "Sorry about the short notice. I'm glad you could make it."

"Yeah, me too. Happy birthday, by the way."

"Thanks." He changed the subject, asking about my summer. Flirting with me. Making me feel safe and special. The subject of his birthday rarely came up that weekend, and when it did, he once again changed the subject, or gave a flat response. It was probably because, as of that week, he was ten years older than me, and neither of us wanted to admit it.

Although I was thrilled to be invited, I still didn't know what the hell I was doing there. Our conversation was pleasant, but not deep.

Jerry suggested that I unpack. My clothes were still in my duffle bag, and I wanted to leave them there because putting them in a drawer seemed too much effort if I was only staying a few days. But he playfully unzipped my bag and said I needed to unpack.

When I told him, "No, I'm embarrassed," he said, "What? You've seen all my laundry," and flashed me his famous dimpled smile.

He made me giggle and blush as he sorted through my belongings, hinting that he hoped I'd brought skimpier clothes. I was still wearing the oversized T-shirt I'd put on that morning.

I packed a few new items that I found on yet another clearance rack on Monday, when I went shopping with Ashley and Aunt Natalie. I remember packing two one-piece bathing suits, a few tank tops, and a few pairs of shorts. Unfortunately, I realized then that the only bra I'd packed was one of my old, hideous, full-support bras that Mom found at a secondhand store. This meant I'd spend my weekend bra-less, or wearing a bathing suit, and I doubted that Jerry or Elliot would mind.

As Jerry rifled through my bag, he found something I didn't know I'd brought with me: Mom's little box of cassette tapes. When I saw it, I knew what happened because Mom had done this before. I'd put my duffle bag in the car that morning, and then I rushed back into the house. Mom probably went out to the car and realized her tapes were in the glove box, then she stashed them in my bag in a hurry to hide them.

When Jerry asked what they were, I took them from his hand and said they were private. Of course, that only piqued his interest. And he was so sexy... that chest and those eyes... I finally said they were, "Mix tapes that belong to my mom," which was more than I'd ever told anyone.

When Jerry heard that, his face formed a strange, curious expression, which should've been my first clue that he'd heard something about Mom.

I took the box out of his hand and put it in a drawer behind me, covering it with my clothes as we talked. It was always of utmost importance to me to keep Mom's secrets, and I felt guilty for the little I'd shared.

Jerry talked me into meeting him at the pool. He didn't stay while I changed, but when I went downstairs, we helped each other apply sunscreen for a while. We didn't wait the required half hour for waterproof sunscreen to take effect and we knew it, but it was hot outside, so we swam anyway, vowing to get out and slather each other again soon.

Elliot was on the phone behind a locked bedroom door when I came downstairs. Jerry assured me that the people staying in the other side of the duplex wouldn't see us together at the pool. I didn't know who they were, and I never heard a peep out of them the whole weekend.

No one could see into the pool from the beach because it was obstructed by sand dunes. Others may have been able to see us from neighboring houses, or from the public beach access path nearby, but they were all renters and tourists, too concerned with their own vacations to pay us any mind. Still, Jerry and I did little more than flirt in the pool, which drove me crazy.

We didn't stay out there long because I burn easily. Jerry helped me dry off, of course.

My day took a turn soon afterward, when we went inside and Elliot gave me my first real alcoholic drink. It wasn't much, just Coke with a large splash of whiskey. I'd never been drunk before, and aside from a rare stolen sip of wine, the most alcohol I'd ever consumed was with Ashley and the high school boys. We passed around a cheap bottle of tequila and I choked down two fiery gulps before deciding liquor wasn't for me.

But Elliot showed me that if you dilute the right amount of whiskey in enough Coca-Cola, you can barely taste the whiskey.

It took about two and a half glasses to make me feel giddy. Elliot and Jerry were both careful not to let me drink too much. At least, not until I'd called home to say that I was okay, which I did, at about six o'clock.

Elliot was ready with a plan in case Mom or Dad asked to talk to one of the girls or a chaperone, but no one answered the phone when I called, so I left a message on the machine. I made it sound like I was having a good, spiritual time, which I was, because technically, Johnnie Walker is a spirit. I know that's a stupid joke but we all thought it was hilarious. Alcohol can make a lot of things seem funnier than they actually are.

After that, Elliot gave me a few jello shots from the freezer, but he and Jerry limited my consumption. They said they were looking out for me. They also explained several times that they usually didn't drink so much but they were on vacation. On the first day, I think we all maintained a fairly low level of inebriation.

I learned a lot about Elliot and Jerry's friendship. Their moms had been friends since high school, and when Jerry and his mom had financial problems, they lived with Elliot's family. They thought of each other as brothers, which I found heartwarming, since neither had biological siblings.

At camp, Jerry had vaguely mentioned that his stepdad was a jerk, but little else about his childhood. At the beach, I learned that his dad once had a drug problem but got clean after divorcing his mom. After hearing more of Jerry's family history, I felt a deeper bond with him.

We watched a lot of TV, like Elliot said we would. The kitchen was fully stocked, but Elliot picked up seafood from a local restaurant for a late lunch. As a late dinner, he grilled steaks by the pool after a solo trip to the grocery store. At the time, I thought Elliot prepared our food just to be nice to Jerry for his birthday, but this was Elliot's typical pattern of conniving behavior. He put himself in charge of things like meals because running errands gave him more opportunities to get away with shit.

For much of the first day, they barely touched me aside from horseplay, a friendly hug, or applying sunscreen. At times, I feared that I was in "baby sister" territory.

There were, however, many lingering looks at my body, and a lot of compliments. They made a few jokes, insinuating that since they were both shirtless, I should take off my top as well, but I wore a bathing suit, so I'd have to take off the whole thing. "Why don't you just take off the whole thing then?" Jerry said after a few beers. I giggled and tucked my head down, wishing I had the nerve to do it. 

# Chapter 26: We Should Live It Up

Every moment of that trip was priceless to me, but as it progressed, there were so many priceless moments, I couldn't remember them all. Also, I was probably drunker than I thought, so I forgot most of them.

I think Elliot was a genius at bringing me to the perfect level of intoxication. That's probably because I wasn't the first girl he'd gotten drunk. The drinks he mixed were just strong enough to make me giddy, and every so often, he'd cut me off and encourage me to eat, or to drink a glass of water, claiming that he didn't want me to pass out or throw up. I think he wanted me to just be relaxed enough to be submissive and open to suggestion.

In other words — on the first day, at least — he preferred I keep my wits about me, that way, I would think I was in control and making my own decisions. I've heard (but have no proof) that certain casinos use this method as well, serving weaker drinks than you might find at a bar, to get you just drunk enough to stay there and gamble, spending money for hours, but not drunk enough that you pass out or become disruptive to the other guests.

While Elliot made dinner, Jerry and I watched from the deck outside my bedroom, both of us tipsy enough to feel good, but not enough that our speech was slurred. This was the first time we'd been away from Elliot in a few hours. It was dusk, and the sky was a beautiful red as the sun went down behind us. The ocean sparkled, its roar soothing. The air blowing in was warm and windy, and romantic as hell.

My hair was up in a ponytail and I wore a bathing suit, with no cover-up. It was a floral print, and more low-cut than Aunt Natalie realized when I slipped it into the pile of clothes I bought on Sunday.

There were four chairs on the deck. Jerry sat in one of the two armless chairs, and as I was about to sit in the one beside him, he patted his thigh, winked, and said, "Have a seat here."

Gingerly, I lowered myself onto his thigh, careful not to let my weight fully rest on him. I felt awkward because I'd never sat on a guy's lap before.

Jerry chuckled. "Afraid you're gonna hurt me?" In a quick motion, he slid one arm under my knees to lift my legs, his other arm behind my back, cradling me to his bare torso. His face was right there, like he wanted to kiss me. And I thought he was finally going to, with the sexy way he looked in my eyes.

But instead, in a gentle voice, he uttered the most brutal words I'd ever heard. "Susie... I can't promise you a relationship. I can't be your boyfriend."

"Okay..." My heart sank. Oh... it sank so hard. The hopes and dreams I'd been building all day came crashing down that second. But he was staring at me, and I wanted to save face, so I asked a question that had lingered in the back of my mind since Sunday. "Is it because of that girl you were flirting with at church?"

His eyebrows pulled in. "What girl?"

I felt so dumb for asking that. This time I said, "Then... is it because of my age?"

He shook his head. "No, sweetheart. It's because of my age."

"Then why'd you bring me here?"

He smiled. "You were my birthday present."

"What?"

"Yeah..." Jerry glanced down at Elliot for a second, then cradled me closer. "He said he could get you here for the weekend. I didn't think he could actually do it."

I was flattered but more confused than ever. "So... why'd you want me here?"

"Oh, you know..." Jerry chuckled, then licked his lips and gazed into my eyes, shuffling me closer as he continued. "I might have a little crush on you."

With that, I forgot what he said about not wanting a relationship. When he said, "little crush," he may as well have said, "I will love you forever," because that's how my heart interpreted it.

And that's why I had to kiss him. I couldn't take it any longer.

Jerry made no effort to stop me.

We kissed until Elliot yelled up at us that dinner was ready, then we pried ourselves apart and went downstairs. Elliot moved the food into the house and said nothing about me and Jerry kissing, which I'm sure he saw from the grill.

Dinner sobered us up a bit, but that didn't stop either of them from increasing their physical affection toward me. They weren't kissing me, but giving me longer, more sensual hugs than before. Every conversation gave way to sexual innuendo or heavy flirting. Earlier in the day, I may have needed alcohol to let myself enjoy their attention so much, but the fact that they genuinely thought I was attractive had finally boosted my confidence a bit. Another girl may have come around sooner, but I felt so ugly, I was still secretly afraid that they were playing an elaborate joke on me.

When Jerry mentioned the part-time Y2K project he would soon be working on, we discussed what might happen when the year struck 2000. The conversation ended with Jerry winking at me and saying, "It's 1999. We should live it up."

I know I was not the only girl to fall for that line in 1999. In fact, I'm pretty sure that many people — nerds, in particular — got a lot of action in 1999 because of Y2K.

When Jerry said, "Live it up," we decided to start that evening. Or rather, Elliot decided I would start that evening, by giving me two jello shots and suggesting a game of strip poker.

Britta, please don't fall for that. It's an old, lame, unoriginal trick. It might seem playful that a guy wants you to remove your clothes to a game of poker, but your body is too special for that. If you play strip poker with a guy, ask yourself if he's someone you want to have sex with, because sex is probably what he wants. And of course, that does not mean you are required to give it to him. You always have the right to say no at any time.

All I'm saying is, don't let jello shots and strip poker be the prelude to losing your virginity. It seems so juvenile when I see it in writing, and I wish I had a better story about how I lost mine.

Elliot suggested I go to my room to put on more clothes so I'd have more to take off, since I was still wearing my floral one-piece bathing suit. I probably would've peeled out of it if they'd asked, but I guess they thought that would be too forward, even though they'd hinted at it all day. 

# Chapter 27: Strip Poker and Jello Shots

I went to my bedroom and wanted to kick myself for neglecting to pack one of my new bras. I had to wear the old one I'd packed by accident, even though it wasn't as sexy, because I'd stupidly let a bottle of shampoo drip all over the one I'd worn there. So, I took off my bathing suit and put on a bra, panties, shorts, and a tight T-shirt.

The guys came upstairs to my bedroom, both wearing shorts and T-shirts. They also wore socks, which I hadn't packed because I had little use for socks during the summer, except when I worked at Guffy's. But the guys, or at least, Elliot, had probably packed those socks just for strip poker. I never saw them wear socks any other time that weekend.

The jello shots had kicked in by then, making me feel warm and cozy inside. When the guys flashed me a sweet grin, I felt even warmer and cozier. Jerry's eyes were beautiful drops of ocean in the middle of his gorgeous face. And Elliot... every word he spoke touched my soul, because I thought he understood me. I'd never been so at ease around any other guy before, let alone two of them. I felt so lucky. So blessed.

Elliot launched into director mode. He pushed a chair close to the bed and told me to have a seat while he and Jerry plopped down at the foot of the bed, directly in front of me. We discarded onto a small footstool Elliot dragged into place between us.

This was obviously no real game of poker. It took place in my bedroom, and they were both already sitting on my bed when it started. I wasn't stupid. I remember wondering if I should tell them I was a virgin, because in my gut, I knew what was coming. I'd considered telling them all day, but I didn't want to spoil the party and make them regret inviting me. I feared they would get angry and send me home if they knew. That's the only reason I didn't tell them. It was definitely not because I wanted to maintain my virginity.

After Elliot dealt the first hand, he peered into my eyes and said, "You really don't know how beautiful you are, do you?"

I let out a nervous laugh, my cheeks flooding with heat. This started an avalanche of compliments from both of them. I had never felt so desired.

When Jerry lost the first hand, he removed a sock and said, "I'm so glad you're not afraid to smile at me," quoting the note he'd left on my bed at camp.

Elliot added, "Me too. You could make a guy feel really special with that smile. Be careful where you aim it."

I hated the sound of my giggle, which I produced repeatedly, and they seemed to enjoy. I don't know what got me drunker, the alcohol or the compliments. My heart swelled, filling me with a brand new scintillating, addictive feeling.

Jerry lost his other sock on our second hand of poker. On the third, Elliot lost a sock.

I lost on the fourth hand and removed my shorts, leaving me in a T-shirt, bra, and panties.

On the next hand, I lost again, and I tucked my head down, unsure what I should remove. It would naturally be my T-shirt, and even though they had seen me in a one-piece bathing suit all day, I was ashamed to show them my thrift store bra. I would've felt more confident if I hadn't worn one at all.

So, without meeting their eyes, I stood and slipped off my panties, then tugged my T-shirt down as far as it would go, but it didn't cover anything past my waist. Then I sat, hunched forward, my knees locked together.

Elliot stood and reached for my hand, which I took without question. He pulled me to my feet, shoved the footstool aside, and then sat on the bed again.

Both of them stared up at me, their expressions thick with awe, making me feel like I was on a stage, elevated above them, and all they wanted to do was worship me.

Heat coursed through me in a sensual way I'd never felt before, like my body was quivering, but only on the inside... and mostly in my forbidden areas. My heart raced and my lungs emptied in one long breath. I'd never experienced a feeling like this. It was serious. Bold. The sort of feeling that separates girls from women.

And suddenly, as I gazed into Elliot's eyes, then Jerry's, I realized how much I loved the way they stared at me, with lust and longing. I enjoyed watching them feast their eyes. I'd never felt anything like this before, and even though it was magical, it brought a small twinge of fear to my stomach.

Elliot's mouth formed a slow smile. "Come on, beautiful. Whatcha waitin' for? We won't hurt you. We just wanna look."

I took a hesitant step forward, glancing at Jerry for reassurance.

His eyes calmed me. "It's okay, Susie. Don't be scared. You're safe here."

So, Jerry knew I was scared, but he didn't know that I wasn't scared of them hurting me. I was scared of the way I felt, alive with excitement at the mere thought of baring my body to them. They could have any girl they wanted, but they wanted me.

Jerry grinned, head tilted to the side, voice tender. "You really do have the prettiest smile I've ever seen."

I gasped. It was only then I realized I was smiling.

Elliot leaned in closer and softly said, "Take off the shirt."

I inhaled a shaky breath and blew it out slowly. Part of me wanted to rip my shirt to shreds to take it off as fast as possible. But an equal part of me was confused, wondering why they had bothered with the pretense of strip poker.

I reached for the hem of my T-shirt, trembling as I lifted it over my head, leaving me in only my bra.

As his eyes went up and down my body, Jerry reached out and took the shirt from my hand, then placed it on the footstool.

Dumbfounded, Elliot gaped at my chest and whispered, "Wow."

I instantly covered my breasts with my hands as though the guys could somehow tell I wore a secondhand bra. I started with the usual excuses I gave when I changed clothes in front of girlfriends. "I'm sorry... uh... I know it's an old-lady bra... it's hard to find anything in my size..."

Jerry and Elliot glanced at each other with a chuckle, but I could tell they wanted to laugh much harder. Elliot bent forward, elbows on his knees, a half-smile on his face. "The bra's fine, Susie."

I dropped my hands to my sides, feeling stupid. They obviously didn't sense, or care about, my shame attached to that bra. My full-body tingling took over once more. They'd reacted so well to my bra, I was anxious to see their reaction to my naked breasts.

Without saying a word, I reached behind my back to unhook my bra, and Elliot gave me a knowing smile.

My eyes darted between them as the bra dangled from my shoulders. Seconds later I reached for one of the straps and yanked it away, dropping it to the floor.

They both moaned at once, their mouths open. Elliot licked his lips.

I'd never felt such a rush. If I'd known being naked in front of boys felt this good, I would've done it much sooner.

And Britta, that's a feeling I now save for your father. These guys weren't worth it. And I apologize if my telling of this story is explicit, but I want you to know what it feels like, so you're not so easily tricked. It's hard to believe that anything feeling this good could end months later in ruin.

Elliot's mouth was so close, I felt his hot breath against my chest. His eyes briefly flashed to mine with a wince, like he was in pain.

I glanced at Jerry. His handsome face was serene, easing my mind. He looked so pleased, it made me want to please him even more.

In a weak voice, Elliot asked, "Are you sure you're only fourteen?"

I giggled. My body blushed from head to toe. I'd never felt so beautiful. So beloved.

There was so much more that I wanted to give them.

I bit my lip to contain my smile. It was the most perfect moment of my life until then. I was naked and beautiful. Desired. And not just by one hot guy, but two. I radiated new life, new energy. I was the sun in the center of their galaxy.

I was flawless to them. I could tell from the expressions on their faces. The body I saw in the mirror every day and criticized for its imperfections was perfect in their eyes.

And suddenly, Elliot rose to his feet.

My pulse quickened to a frenzy. Elliot's hands were on my shoulders, then my neck. His touch was electric. I sensed it in every cell of my body.

Then he pulled me close and kissed me.

I'd dreamed of his lips all day, and they were finally mine. This kiss was different from any before it. It was deeper and hungrier, transporting me to a higher plane of existence. Not Heaven, because I knew for sure that God wouldn't approve of our behavior. But this feeling... it was an out-of-body experience. I was mesmerized. His tongue, his lips. His hands everywhere at once. I floated out of myself and into oblivion.

Soon, I felt a second set of hands, rubbing and tickling my legs. I'd practically forgotten about Jerry because I'd become one with Elliot.

In a haze of kisses and ecstasy, I drifted to the bed, my eyes closed, my body consumed by lips and tongues... greedy hands pulling at my knees and thighs, then rubbing me tenderly. Breath in my ear like smooth growls, whispering sweet phrases like, "You're so beautiful," and, "We won't hurt you."

And I believed them. 

# Chapter 28: Why Does She Stay with Him?

I woke up in bed around one o'clock the next afternoon, naked, sore, and alone. I lost my virginity to Jerry, and afterward, Elliot was quick to have his turn with me. This pattern repeated all night until well after sunrise, when I fell asleep.

Jerry and I were in the midst of the act before he asked if I was a virgin. I didn't bleed right then, but he said he could tell it was my first time by the way I reacted.

I did bleed a little the next day, which I attributed to having hours of sex for the first time, not from my hymen breaking. Sex hurt at first, but I quickly got used to it. I wouldn't say that I enjoyed the physical act of it right away, but I thought I did. I think what I most enjoyed was the attention lavished upon me by two hot guys at once.

My life took a drastic turn that weekend. I considered myself a sexual person from then on. I was curious. I wanted to try everything, and learn everything. I thought I'd finally found my purpose in life.

But I see it now for what it actually was: wrong. And I've beaten myself up for it many times over the years. Unfortunately, it happened, and I can't change the past. I can choose to either wallow in regret, or find the good in this situation. Sex came naturally, and those guys made me feel beautiful and confident for the first time in my life. That's the good that came out of this for me.

I thought of our sexual relations as consensual, even though one of the charges eventually brought against Jerry and Elliot was statutory rape. I used to think a really stupid thing about myself, Britta. I thought of myself as "un-rape-able." Especially after being "statutory raped." I loved sex so much, the notion of anyone needing to force me was a joke to me then. But I've since learned that rape comes in many forms, and I've experienced more of them since. I'm now embarrassed and disgusted to admit that I ever took it so lightly.

At the time, the three of us used many excuses to rationalize our actions. Things like:

The age of consent is only twelve in Mexico.

But here's the problem with that argument: we were not in Mexico. The age of consent in North Carolina is sixteen, or at least it was, in 1999.

That brings me to another argument: I was only about a year and a half from sixteen, so what did it matter? Especially since I looked older than I was, and Elliot and Jerry both looked younger than they were.

Also, I was mature for my age, which they reminded me, often. They also made sure I knew that Jerry would have never taken me back to his cabin if he'd known I was only fourteen. This made me feel guilty, like it was my fault for looking older as I wandered around camp.

Another of our flimsy arguments: things like this happen to girls my age all the time, as evidenced by two girls in my eighth grade class who were pregnant by the end of the school year. Not that I wanted to get pregnant at fourteen, but this showed me that underage sex was common, and if my body was mature enough to handle a pregnancy, I reasoned that it was also mature enough to handle what it took to get pregnant.

Speaking of getting pregnant, for the duration of that trip, Elliot and Jerry used condoms, and if they didn't, they used the withdrawal method. Sorry to be so clinical about it, but it had to be addressed.

After I woke up the next day, I took a shower, and as I was drying off, Elliot opened the bathroom door. He said he wanted to make sure I was okay after what happened the previous night, which I found to be thoughtful. He then told me to come downstairs to eat when I was ready.

When I went downstairs a few minutes later, Jerry gave me a long hug, then a kiss. Like Elliot, he briefly asked if I was okay.

I said yes, and reluctantly informed them that I was bleeding a little. He and Elliot seemed concerned about that at first, but later in the day, after the bleeding stopped, our activities resumed.

A jumble of emotions made me nauseous, even though one of those emotions was euphoria. I choked down a dry piece of toast and tried to act normal. I didn't want them to know how much it would bother me to deceive Mom. Until then, I'd only kept minor secrets from her. But after that trip and for the rest of my life, I would have to lie to her, and pretend that this beach trip was wholesome, like I hadn't spent most of it naked, letting two guys use me however they pleased.

I wish I had paid more attention to the various video cameras that lingered around the beach house that weekend. Occasionally I asked, "That's not on, is it?" and they assured me that it wasn't. I thought nothing else of it because I often saw Jerry with a camera at camp and I knew this was a hobby of his. Elliot explained that his dad kept video equipment there because the house's main purpose was a ministerial retreat.

I remember little else of the trip because Elliot gave me much more to drink after the first day. At dinner on the second day, he cut open a watermelon that he'd infused with vodka. As I attempted to eat a bowl, I heard something that made my stomach flip: distinct percussion at the beginning of Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog," one of Mom's favorite songs.

It took me a second to realize that Elliot was playing one of her cassette tapes. He'd snooped through my drawer while I was in the shower, and Jerry told him I said they belonged to Mom. I was worried at first, because those tapes were one of Mom's best-kept secrets, and I valued her loyalty so much that I guarded her secrets like a knight on a quest.

That is, until that song played, and Elliot laughed and said, "Your Mom... I swear... she's awesome."

He went on to tell me that he used to talk to Mom at the Quick Stop in Hunter's Branch quite often, and he felt that he knew her pretty well. He also knew she was the coolest mom ever, without me telling him.

Elliot asked questions about her and gave opinions. He said, "I don't know anyone else who moves to Wilmington every summer to party like a college student."

I said, "How'd you know that?" then caught myself and said, "She doesn't party. She just has a lot of friends there and she likes her job."

Elliot smirked. "Oh, come on. She and your dad are barely married. Don't they go their separate ways every summer?"

"Uh... yeah..." I said. "But that's only because we can stay for free in Wilmington." Until then, I'd never questioned why Mom returned to her summer job every year. I'd spent my whole life going back and forth to Wilmington, especially when my grandparents were still alive. But Elliot made me wonder if there was more to it. Maybe Mom didn't want to grow up, and maybe she and Dad didn't want to be around each other.

Elliot nodded and said, "Oh yeah... that's right, you guys rent because your parents can't get approved for a mortgage."

"What?" I asked, my chest tight.

"I guess you didn't know that?"

"No. How'd you know that?"

Elliot shrugged and said, "I know a lot."

He said we rented because our house in Carrboro had gone into foreclosure, and since then, Mom and Dad had struggled to get approved for a mortgage. Mom had always said we rented houses instead of buying because she and Dad didn't want the burden of a mortgage again, and they saved money by renting.

I later learned by other means that my parents could have bought a house, but after their foreclosure and other credit problems, they only qualified for home-buying programs that required a larger-than-usual down payment. That's why it was such a big deal when Dad bought Tabby's car. He'd also made other substantial cash purchases out of his savings account, which he didn't tell Mom about until after the fact. Personally, I think Dad was trying to sabotage their chances of buying another home.

Elliot then asked me, "So, why's your mom stay with your dad? I mean, I can see why your dad would stay, because he wants to keep doing church work... but your mom..."

What Elliot meant was, in the Christian community, divorce is often so frowned upon that, if you've ever been divorced, you can't get a job in many churches or religious organizations. Some will make an exception for a divorce that's deemed "legitimate," or if the divorce wasn't your fault, but many won't hire you at all.

I shrugged and said, "I don't know. I think maybe she's just waiting 'til I'm eighteen to leave him."

That's when Elliot casually offered, "Well, she's the reason he can't get a full-time job anywhere, so I don't see why they don't just go ahead and just get divorced. I know Dad wouldn't fire him if they did, but he's never gonna hire him full time, regardless."

"What?" I asked in genuine surprise, feeling like I didn't know either of my parents, at all.

After that, I'm sad to admit, I gave away many of Mom's secrets. I gave away some of Dad's, too, but Mom's were the only ones that mattered to me.

I could blame any number of contributors to my poor decisions that weekend. Alcohol. The fact that the guys made me feel so safe and adored. The hurt I felt when I learned a few things that Mom hadn't told me. I thought we were closer than ever, especially after our fun summer together.

But mostly, I think I opened up because it was a relief to talk about Mom, especially to Elliot, a person who seemed to truly admire her. When I shared stories about her, he was in awe. And he wasn't making fun of her; he was entertained. This encouraged and empowered me to tell him even more.

But my memories are sacred to me. My own brother and sister didn't even know about many of them. Elliot and Jerry were still practically strangers to me, but sex made me feel so connected to them, I thought I could tell them anything. I thought they cared about me. But I didn't know I was walking into Elliot's trap, and that eventually, my family and I would suffer for it. After Elliot, I was more careful of what I told people about myself. 

# Chapter 29: She Has No Room to Talk

Elliot told me Dad lost his job in Durham after Mom exhibited unstable behavior. He said she had at least one run-in with the police, which led to her being committed to a mental hospital for the second time since Dad's employment started. That church believed Mom needed psychiatric care, but they saw her mental state as a sign that Dad was not living up to his Biblical duties as a husband... or something to that effect.

So, they fired him, and we headed east and stayed there. I have never gotten clear details on what these "run-ins with the police" entailed, but Elliot said shoplifting was one of the charges.

That's when I told Elliot about the grocery store trip with Mom, when she grabbed random boxes from the shelves and told me to get whatever I wanted. For all I knew, that could've been the day when she was arrested for shoplifting. If so, I don't remember anything about the arrest. And having experienced several police "run-ins" since then, I'm pretty sure that I would've remembered something like that as a child. But my life had always been chaotic. My siblings and I were often dropped off with relatives or neighbors, and I was used to being around strangers. That could be why I don't remember certain events, because they seemed like any other day to me.

I was eight years old the first time I knew of Mom going to a mental hospital. My siblings and I stayed at Ashley's house, and Aunt Natalie explained that Mom was in a hospital, and that she'd been in one before. She also explained that we must keep this a secret, because people outside the family wouldn't understand, and they would start hurtful, ignorant rumors about her if they knew. She went on to say that Dad could lose his job if the church found out. So, I thought Mom's mental health was a well-guarded secret.

Elliot also told me that he knew Mom liked to duck out of conferences, namely, the annual women's conference in Gastonia. Mom usually sneaked out and spent the day in the nearby city of Charlotte. She thought no one noticed, but Audrey Haney had.

This led to me telling them about Miss Opal's funeral, the drive down the interstate afterward, and the fact that Mom always denied saying she was taking me to Charlotte. And because I was strolling down memory lane, I also told them about Mr. Briggs babysitting me, and his unusual gun lesson.

But Miss Opal and Mr. Briggs were a big part of my early life with Mom, and those memories are special to me. They are special enough that I took time to pass them on to you, Britta.

And they were certainly too special to drunkenly share with Elliot and Jerry. I regretted every single thing I told them, not only because much of it was used against me later, but because after I lost Mom, the value of my memories of her increased a million times over. I don't have many happy memories from childhood, and I wish I'd done a better job of preserving them.

Another noteworthy item passed along to me by Elliot was that Dad lost another job prior to working at Hunter's Branch Community Church because he argued that there was Biblical basis for abortion.

This was important to me because I'd once heard Dad yell at Mom, during one of their many heated arguments, that I should've been an abortion. Not my brother or sister. Just me. I think that my existence was what made Dad change his stance on the matter. He probably didn't believe, until I came along, that he'd ever look at a person and think: You should not have been born.

I made sure to tell Elliot that my sister didn't know as much about Mom as I did because, "Tabby's a snitch," which made Jerry laugh, because he'd heard me say it before. But this time, I mentioned that Mom was the one who originally called Tabby a snitch. I told them she was Daddy's girl, and in his eyes, I could never compare to the amazing Tabby. Elliot and Jerry said Dad was wrong, and they intended to show me that weekend just how amazing they thought I was.

When we discussed Mom's precious mix tapes, Elliot's already-high opinion of her soared even higher, especially when I told him she'd kept a copy of a "banned music" list from church, and that her original tapes contained every song on that list.

Unfortunately, the story of her mix tapes led to me telling Elliot and Jerry about Mom's affair with Hector the DJ. I was pretty drunk by then, and I don't quite remember the conversation. I mostly remember feeling sick at my stomach when I sobered up, and Elliot still wanted to discuss it.

When Elliot relayed gossip to me, he never specifically said how he'd heard it, so he could've been lying, but it all rang true, and I eventually learned that most of it was. Even though I contributed to it by oversharing, I was embarrassed and hurt that other people knew so much of Mom's personal history. I hated that she might be the butt of anyone's joke, or that people at church might be laughing behind her back.

I never knew if Elliot's mom or dad told him, or if Jack and Priscilla's sordid history was detailed in a personnel file that he wasn't supposed to read, or if he'd never "heard" anything but rumors. He implied that he and I could both get in trouble for talking about it, and he didn't want to implicate anyone else, so it was best that I quietly take his word for everything.

Our discussion about my family continued through the weekend, when we weren't busy doing other things. Elliot assured me, "Your mom has no room to talk," regarding our sinful activities, and he implied that even though he'd crafted an elaborate set of lies to get me alone and have underage sex with me, at least none of us were married and cheating.

He and Jerry both told me countless times that my secrets were all safe with them, and there was no reason to worry. When I expressed concern, Elliot would say in a calming voice, "Relax... forget about it... you're at the beach," then he'd give me another drink. And soon, I'd forget to worry.

# Chapter 30: I Thought There'd Be More About Me

I waddle out of the bathroom to hear Tyler say, "Hey, are you ready for my questions now?"

"I think so." I hesitate to give him a clear affirmative because the last time I let him read and ask questions, I got too emotional. My hormonal moodiness makes it worse.

I'm not on doctor-prescribed bed rest. For me, it's husband prescribed. Tyler took the doctor a little too seriously when he said I needed to get plenty of rest, avoid stress, and, "take it easy," for the remainder of my pregnancy.

But I'm not complaining. Britta will be here in less than a month, and for all I know, I may never have another opportunity for my husband to pamper me this way again. From what other moms tell me, I should soak this up while I can because my life is about to completely change.

Writing a journal filled with some of my worst memories may sound like a poor way to relax, but it's the only activity I've found that successfully distracts me from thoughts of Daryl, the baby I could have adopted last week if his mother, my friend Gabrielle, hadn't passed away without a will. Her death gave me the urgency to pass along some of my most important life lessons to Britta.

For whatever reason, writing to the person inside me is therapeutic. Unfortunately, answering my husband's questions afterward can be troublesome.

That's why, instead of Tyler reading every few minutes as I write, which he did when I started, we agreed that he would read a few hundred pages at a time and save his questions for later, which is now.

It's late, and Tyler's in bed. His long, dark hair hangs down his bare back in a ponytail. The covers are pulled to his waist, and his laptop rests on a pillow in his lap. He stares at the monitor, waiting for me.

I slip under the covers and shift toward him as fast as my pregnant belly will allow, which isn't fast at all.

He instantly asks, "How'd Miss Opal die?"

I cozy up to him and look at his monitor, at the document I'd sent him. The "track changes" option is on, and I see comments and notations everywhere. "How many times have you read this?" I ask. "What are all these notes?"

"Nothing." He sounds slightly defensive. "I went back to the beginning. Just made a few comments and stuff. So, what happened to Miss Opal? You never said."

"Oh..." I groan to myself. "Yeah... I didn't wanna scare Britta. Besides, there's already enough stuff in there that makes Mom look bad. I don't want Britta to hate her, you know? I don't want you to hate her either. She had her faults, but--"

"What happened to Miss Opal?" His brows pull in.

I take a deep breath. "Mom told me she had a heart attack, but a few years after we moved away, on the news one night there was something about a new murder believed to be connected to the death of Opal Dixon of Durham and a couple other people. It made state-wide news. That's when Mom told me Miss Opal was stabbed to death in her living room. She was afraid to tell me before."

"What? Do they know who did it?"

"Not the last time I checked but it's been a while. Did I not tell you about that already? Didn't we talk about this?" It wouldn't be the first time my pregnancy brain has failed me, as of late.

"Uh, no, that must've been someone else because I'd definitely remember that. You said she died, but until I read this, I thought she was probably old and died of natural causes." Scrolling through the document, he squints at his monitor. "And this thing about Mr. Briggs... did this actually happen? The gun lesson?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"That's terrible! You were too little for that!"

I gasp. "That's the best thing I learned back then!"

"You're not gonna do something like that with Britta, are you?"

"I won't have to if she reads this."

Tyler exhales with a groan. "Promise me you won't do anything weird with her behind my back, okay? We need to always be in agreement on this kind of thing."

I nod. "I know. I agree with you. I'm in agreement."

"This gun thing's a little confusing... I'm not sure she needs to hear it. I wouldn't tell her to run if someone pulled a gun on her."

I shrug. "Depends on the situation."

"'At close range'... That's not specific enough." Tyler shakes his head. "That's an odd story to tell your daughter."

"Hey, that gun thing is important. It helped me out of a few sticky situations. Helped me think in the moment. It's good to have an action plan."

"Well... Britta probably won't ever be in that kind of situation."

I glare at him. "Oh... so you're saying, we're gonna raise her better than that?"

"I sure as hell hope so."

My jaw drops. He's lucky I'm not as moody tonight as I was last night.

Tyler drapes an arm around my back and gives me an apologetic expression. "I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that maybe you got into some of those... sticky situations... because of... never mind."

I know he wants to say that Mom's influence on my life had much to do with why I found myself in those situations. And I appreciate that he let his sentence trail off instead of finishing. I say, "It's never too early to learn about gun safety. Like, don't we all have a list of things we wanna tell our hypothetical children someday, even if we don't believe we'll ever have children? This is one of my things. I want her to know that men with guns aren't always as scary as they seem."

A terrified expression flashes across his face, but his words come out gentle. "Do not have this discussion without me. Seriously. I need to be there for that gun talk. Let me be in charge of it. Never, ever, ever tell her that men with guns aren't scary, or that she should run from guns. Okay? Please? Promise me that?"

I roll my eyes. "Fine. I promise. I won't."

He pauses to read. "Who was knocking at Mr. Briggs's door?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think it was serious? Or was he just freaking out, ready to pull out a shotgun on anyone who knocked? Do you think he would've shot 'em?"

"I don't know. Mom and I didn't discuss that part of it."

He nods. "You and Mom only discussed checkers, pudding, and The Price is Right, huh? Yeah, I think your mom helped you remember the parts she wanted you to remember. She distorted your memories. My mom did that too."

We've discussed this many times. Tyler thinks that both of our moms liked to 'distort memories.' I hope I won't be that way with Britta. "I think we all do that, to an extent. It's a defense mechanism. You'd rather remember the good than the bad, so why talk about the bad? It doesn't mean she was trying to distort my memories. What's your next question?"

"Okay." Tyler withdraws his arm from my back, clears his throat, and calmly says, "We're not really gonna let her read this, are we?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

His big brown eyes widen. "Do I really have to explain?"

"This was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah, but... I didn't know you were gonna write this... geez... I'm not sure I like you telling her, with a little bit of planning, you can get away with anything. You're teaching her how to lie to us."

"No, I'm teaching her why she shouldn't lie to us. Look, these are things kids do. I want her to know that we know all the tricks, then maybe she'll be too scared to do them herself."

"I don't know. I feel like you might put new ideas in her head. How far have you written past the end of this document?"

"I don't know... Where's it end?"

"Elliot told you all that stuff about your parents. He said your mom had no room to talk because she cheated on your dad."

"Oh... I've written pretty far past that."

"All right... some of my questions might be answered there, I guess..." Tyler lets out an annoyed sigh. "Okay, so, why you gotta go on forever about how blue Jerry's eyes were? 'Sparkling like sunlight on the ocean.' Geez. I get it. He had blue eyes and dimples and you really liked 'em."

"Well, that's what I was thinking about him back then. If you were in my head, you'd probably get tired of me thinking about your big brown eyes, too."

Tyler peers directly into my eyes and says, "No, I wouldn't." Then he turns to his computer and reads aloud, "Here's something else you said about Jerry. 'He wore a pair of red and white printed swim trunks and nothing else. And he looked really good that way.'"

"Okay... did you want more description, or something?"

"No, I want less! Shit! I thought there'd be more about me in here."

"I haven't gotten that far yet. You're years after all this. And I mention you all over the place."

"No you don't. You talk about this Jerry guy like he's so great. You talk about all these guys. You even called Donnie Wayne 'tall, dark, and handsome.' You couldn't spend five minutes on me?"

"What?" I gape at him. "I have limited time! I have to tell her things that no one else can tell her but me. You can tell her whatever you want about yourself on your own time. Write your own letter to Britta."

"I might." He lets a heavy breath out through his nose. "To me, it just seems like you could've talked a little less about those jerks, and a little more about the guy who got you pregnant, who now spends all his time scraping Nutella off the sheets."

"Oh, like I'm the only one who eats it?"

His brow arches, and I already know what he's going to say. "I've gained as much weight as you have."

"Like that's my fault? Besides, you don't gain weight."

"I've gone up two pant sizes."

"But you look good. No one can tell." I glance at his bare torso, and it's just as sexy as it was the first time I saw it. If he'd gained weight, his solid six-foot-three body knew exactly where to hide it. But our talk of food made me hungry. I say, "Hey, where'd you put that jar? I'm starving."

Tyler bends toward the nightstand on his side of the bed where the open jar of Nutella sits, a spoon resting inside. He shoves a heaping spoonful into his own mouth before handing the jar and spoon to me.

"Thank you," I say when I take it.

"Why'd you slip that thing in there about calling your sister, 'Tabby Jo'?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

He laughs. "Okay... you realize this makes you sound really good, right? Like the only things you ever did to your brother and sister were this Tabby Jo thing, and you hugged Matt when he didn't want you to."

I answer in a flat voice, "It's my story, isn't it?"

He laughs again, then scrolls back to the beginning of the document and asks his next question. "Why are you bothering to tell Britta about you hating tomatoes on the first page?"

I wait until I swallow my first sweet, gooey bite, then say, "I want that documented in case she hates tomatoes. Duh."

"Why? So you can say you were right about that?"

"Yes."

Tyler goes to the next item he's highlighted. "I'm not sure you need to tell her all this stuff about kids making out. She doesn't need to think that's okay."

"That's what teenagers do, though. You did it."

He ignores me, scrolls down, and says, "Girls lie too, you know?"

"Yes, I know, but this is for Britta. If she ends up not liking boys, we can adjust it."

Tyler nods. "Hmm... maybe I should write her something. Tell her why girls shouldn't be so mean to boys."

"You think I was mean? To boys? To Donnie Wayne?"

"No... I was just saying, girls can be mean. Boys have feelings too." His face turns sour. "I wish you would've just been honest with him. He thought you liked him and you totally brushed him off."

"Hey, he told some really big lies about me, okay? It was a tricky situation. Don't tell me you actually feel bad for Donnie Wayne."

His eyes roll, but he stays calm to keep me calm, even though I see his anger below the surface. "Let's move on."

Tyler's angry because he met Donnie Wayne when he crashed our wedding several months ago. But it was actually our second wedding. We flew to California to have a secret ceremony by ourselves the week we learned I was pregnant. And we're grateful we did, because the wedding we had a few months later, the one everyone thought was our "real" wedding, was a mess.

He scrolls down again and says, "Are you gonna tell Ashley all this stuff you're writing about her?"

"Yes, in case Britta asks questions."

"You gonna let Ashley read it?"

"No. This is only for Britta. And you, I guess."

"What about your brother and sister?"

"No. Never. Never, never, never."

"Why not?"

"I don't want 'em to know how much stuff I got away with."

"They already know."

I snort. "No, they don't."

"I think you should tell her about you getting closer to Matt and Tabby."

"Do you really think she needs to know that?"

"It's kind of a big deal, yeah. You didn't speak for more than ten years."

"I'll think about it."

He shifts the computer in his lap and continues to the next item. "Okay... when I said 'don't do anything weird behind my back,' I also meant this self-defense teddy bear thing. She taught you to be violent."

"No, she didn't."

He scrolls again and changes the subject. "You talk about your bra situation a lot."

"It was on my mind a lot."

"I don't think it adds to your message here."

"Well... am I writing this for her, or for you? You're a guy. You don't know what it's like to lug these things around. Watch guys leer at your chest. Have other women hate you when you didn't even do anything wrong. And the way Jack treated me... Look, she needs to know about the bra thing. "

"Fair enough."

"And now... dang... they hurt..." I reach under my shirt to adjust the left one. "They're gonna be so saggy after I breastfeed."

"They were never that perky to begin with."

"Gee thanks."

He lets out a small laugh. "What? I didn't mean that in a bad way. They've always looked good to me. I just mean... you know... I wouldn't worry about it that much..." He quickly scrolls again. "Did you ever finish that scavenger hunt and get the free coupon?"

"Oh yeah."

He moves on. "This thing's really dialogue-heavy in places."

"What do you mean?"

"Like, when Jerry comes along, it's like... do you actually remember having these conversations with him?"

"Oh... I don't remember them word for word, but some of it, I do. I got more into the moment, I guess. I just went with it. I want her to feel what I felt, that way she'll recognize it if it happens to her." I pause. "Why? Should I not do that?"

His head shakes. "No, no. It's fine. It's just... wow. You never used to tell me anything about yourself, and now, here's your whole life story."

I swallow another big, gooey spoonful, then say, "Yeah... It's like, there's so much I wanna tell her, you know? I don't want her to go through all that crap I went through. I want her to know I can relate."

Tyler leans down and plants a kiss on my cheek. "I'm glad you're doing this. I love learning more about you. You're starting to make a little more sense to me now."

A chill runs through me. "I don't know if that's good. A woman should maintain a little mystique."

In a dry tone, Tyler says, "You used to be nothing but mystique. It was exhausting. I'm not gonna lose interest. I love you. And this explains a lot about you."

"Okay," I respond, nervously. I wish he wouldn't say things like that. I've consciously tried to be more open with him, but old habits die hard. Tears threaten to fill my eyes but thankfully, they don't.

Tyler reads the screen and says, "I get it, okay?" He's talking about the part where I warned him that strict fathers can sometimes produce daughters who rebel on purpose. "It's not gonna be like that. She's not gonna be afraid of me. I'm gonna be protective, that's all."

"All right."

He goes back to the document. "So, by the time you were fourteen, your mom gave you advice to ask guys questions, to show you're interested?"

"Uh-huh. She always told me that. And my sister."

Tyler turns his body a little to face me. "Is that what you did when we first met?"

"What?"

"You know, the day we met. You asked me all these questions about myself, like, as soon as we met."

"You mean, is that how I 'seduced' you?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Is that what you're trying to say? You think that's why we're here right now? Because I asked you questions that day?"

He shrugs. "Why'd you do that? Were you trying to manipulate me? Get me to like you?"

"Manipulate you?" I say with disgust. "I was nervous when we met! I said a lot of weird things I never usually say to people. I can't believe you wanted to speak to me for more than five minutes."

"You didn't seem nervous to me."

"We've discussed this. If I asked questions, it's because I was interested." I pause. "Wait. Is that why you started coming around? Because I showed interest? Is that all it took? Were you that lonely?"

"No. Hell no. If that's all it took I would've gone for Kate Burnette." He and I produce a unanimous groan at that name.

"Well..." I say with hesitation, "was it because I put out that night?"

He rolls his eyes. "No. I was in love with you before then... But it didn't hurt. That... uh..." He gazes off in the distance like he's deep in thought.

I pull a hand to my swollen belly as I have a realization. "Shit... we gotta come up with a better story for how we met. We can't tell Britta the truth about that. It might send the wrong message."

Tyler snaps out of his thought and says, "I was just thinking that same thing. Why haven't we thought about this yet?" His head tilts to the side. "But... is it really that bad? I mean, we already know she's gonna see our wedding photos..."

What Tyler means is that, at our second wedding, I was showing, and there are hundreds of pictures to prove it. I purposely chose a flowing, empire-waist gown to allow my stomach room to grow. I had my final fitting three days before the wedding and I didn't think I appeared to be that pregnant.

Maybe it was those last-minute alterations, but on the day of the ceremony, that dress made me look like I'd swallowed a volleyball. Everyone remarked about it and took a dozen pictures of my cute little baby bump. And more than a few guests touched it without asking permission, which I did not appreciate.

So, we already know that we'll have to tell Britta I was pregnant before we got married, and that's fine. But now that I'm writing honestly about how I met certain other people in my life, I see that the only person I want to lie about is her father.

I respond, "I know, but... That's different. I don't want her to think she's gonna fall in love with every guy she sleeps with. Yeah... That's sorta the opposite of what I'm trying to accomplish here."

"Well... we don't have to tell her everything."

Britta kicks for the first time in a few minutes, and I take it as a cue to move on. "What's your next question?"

He reads the monitor, scrolls down, then says, "Oh yeah... this... you told me a long time ago that you hated going to your cousins' house when your mom was in the hospital but it was Ashley's house, right?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't seem like you hate it, here. Seems like you enjoyed yourself."

I grunt. He always remembers too much. "What we hated most was coming home to one of our trailers after staying with Mark and Natalie, especially after they moved to that huge house. But also, at our house, it didn't matter what I did as long as I didn't get caught, and I rarely got caught. But Ashley's parents were way too restrictive. We had to sneak around to do anything fun."

With mock sympathy, Tyler says, "Aww... You couldn't do things that were bad for you. That's so sad."

"Shut up. Oh, that reminds me... you can't mention any of this to Uncle Mark. Like, Ashley sneaking around on her computer. Holy crap. Her parents would be so pissed."

Tyler laughs. "It's been years, now."

"Doesn't matter."

"You know, there was a code you could use to silence your modem."

"I know, but they wouldn't let her use it because they liked to hear when she went online. But all that ever did was send Natalie running into the room, like clockwork. It wasn't hard to figure out you had to pretend you were looking at something else for a few minutes. It just made things easier to hide. Did they not realize what a bad idea that was?"

"I guess not. Hey, I thought you and Ashley didn't go to the same school together in ninth grade."

"We didn't. Why?"

"She told you this thing about bringing her cell phone to school."

"Oh... That's not why she told me. She was just excited. It was still progress, even though it didn't really affect me."

Tyler crooks a brow as he reads. "Is this how girls are? All you and Ashley did was talk about this Jerry asshole? For two weeks?"

"Not all the time. Just most of it." Britta kicks again, then again. "Oh no... I should've known better than to eat this late. I'll never sleep. But I'm so hungry..." I take another spoonful.

Tyler places a hand on my belly. Seconds later, he says, "Oh yeah... There's my baby girl."

I shift my hips to get a little more comfortable. "Next question?"

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "That first house you lived in when you were little, you say it had a big bathtub... is that why you put that huge bathtub in your house in college?"

I flinch inside. "Uh... maybe. I don't know. I like bathtubs."

He pauses to read, then says, "Is this why you had a slumber party with some of your friends the week we met? Because of all those sleepovers you had with your Mom and the girls from the restaurant?"

"How do you remember that?"

"How could I forget? I was dying to see you but I had to wait until your friends left before I could come over on Saturday. I thought it was a little weird that you were having a slumber party, but I get it now. I know your friend Sherry reminds you of your mom. It's sweet how you call your mom, 'Mommy' sometimes, when you write about yourself as a little girl."

My eyes well up, and a few tears flow down my cheeks.

Tyler lets go of the laptop and hugs me. "I'm sorry, honey."

I hate these mood swings, but Tyler's been supportive. He never treats me as though my feelings are invalid because they're so unstable and hormone-driven. He's what happens when I finally let myself make a healthy decision.

I cry against his bare chest for a few minutes, and when I get quiet, he says in a tender voice, "I think that's enough questions for tonight."

I sniffle and nod.

"Hey," he says softly in my ear. "I don't know how much of this we'll show her, but... I love knowing more about you. Thank you for this. I hope it's not upsetting you to write it."

"It makes me cry sometimes, but that's okay. Everything makes me cry these days."

Tyler's phone produces a text message sound, and he grunts, keeping an arm around me as he reaches for it on the nightstand. "It's Mom."

"I figured."

He reads to himself, then says, "It must've taken her forever to type this... did you not respond to that message she sent you earlier?"

"Which one?"

He shoots me a sideways glance. "The one about that laxative? She wants to know if you need it."

"Tell her no, I'm all better now, but thanks anyway." She's been obsessed with my bathroom habits for months. Tyler thinks she just wants a reason to call.

Another text message arrives. Tyler checks his phone and says, "Yes, I get it, Mom. It's safe to use during pregnancy."

"What's that stuff called, again?"

"Nature's Insistence." Tyler snorts.

"You know what? I think I'll call her back." I press my hands to the mattress and slowly heave myself over to my nightstand to get my phone.

When she answers, I smile and say, "Hi Mom." It feels good to have a mom again.

THIS IS THE END OF VOLUME ONE.

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# More Books by Shaina Richmond

As Shaina Richmond:

(Erotic Romance Series)

Safe With Me - The Complete Series (Parts 1-8)

As Reeni Austin:

Contemporary Romance Series

Fresh Temptation - Barboza Brothers: Book One

Armando Returns - Barboza Brothers: Book Two

More than a Maid - Barboza Brothers: Book Three
