Father Figure E-Book

James J. Cudney

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Between the fast-paced New York City, a rural Mississippi town and a charming Pennsylvania college campus filled with secrets, two young girls learn the consequences of growing up too quickly.

Abused by her mother, Amalia Graeme longs to escape her desolate hometown and fall in love. Contemplating her loss of innocence and conflicting feelings between her boyfriend and the dangerous attraction for an older man, Amalia faces life-altering tragedies.

Brianna Porter, a sassy, ​​angst-ridden New York City teenager, yearns to find her life's true purpose, conquer her fear of abandonment, and interpret an intimidating desire for her best friend, Shanelle. Desperate to find the father whom her mother refuses to reveal, Brianna accidentally finds out a shocking truth about her missing parent.

Set in alternating chapters two decades apart, the parallels between their lives and the unavoidable collision that is bound to happen is revealed. Father Figure is an emotional story filled with mystery, romance, and suspense.

Leseprobe

Father Figure

James J. Cudney

Copyright (C) 2018 James J. Cudney

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by Cover Mint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Acknowledgments

This book is dedicated to Ryder, who we lost too soon

Writing a book is not an achievement an individual person can do on his or her own. There are always people who contribute in a multitude of ways, sometimes unwittingly, throughout the journey from discovering the idea to drafting the last word. Father Figure has had many supporters since its inception in August 2016, but before the concept even sparked in my mind, my passion for writing was nurtured by others.

First thanks go to my parents, Jim and Pat, for always believing in me as a writer, as well as teaching me how to become the person I am today. Their unconditional love and support have been the primary reason I'm accomplishing my goals. Through the guidance of my extended family and friends, who consistently encouraged me to pursue my passion, I found the confidence to take chances in life. With Winston and Ryder by my side, I was granted the opportunity to make my dreams come true by publishing this novel. I'm grateful to everyone for pushing me each and every day to complete this second book.

Father Figure was cultivated through the interaction, feedback, and input of several beta readers. I'd like to thank Shalini G, Lisa M. Berman, Claire Ayres, and Nina D. Silva for providing insight and perspective during the development of the story, setting, and character arcs. They read every version and offered a tremendous amount of their time to help advise me on this book over several months. The extended beta reading and creative team, who read various versions of the novel and/or provided many suggestions and ideas, also deserve my appreciation: Valerie, Misty Swafford, Cammie Adams, Roda Shope, Robyn, Anne Jacobs, Noriko, and Kourtney Callahan.

I'd also like to thank my editor, Nicki Kuzn at Booktique Editing, for helping fix all the things I missed along the way. She's been a wonderful addition to the team and has been very focused on making this book a success. Between coaching and suggesting areas for improvement, she's guided me in all the right directions. Thank you to Creativia for publishing Father Figure and helping pave the road for more books to come. I look forward to our continued partnership.

If only we could prevent the consequences of fate for one moment in time…

“Stop interrogating me. I'm not going to say anything different,” a panic-stricken voice shrieked after begging for the third time to leave for the hospital. “There was so much blood.”

“We're almost done. Tell me again exactly what you recall happening,” said Detective Benton, a twenty-something police officer coaxing his anxious witness to deliver another account of the incident. They'd been vying for control of the conversation outside the entrance to one of the cabins at Crestwood Resort and Lodge for at least twenty minutes. “From the beginning, please.”

“Fine!” A pair of raised shaky hands pounded the chilled air in aggravation. “Everything was quiet before I left the cabin. It was cold, and the fire was almost out. I'd been gone less than ten minutes gathering some logs. When I came back inside, everyone was shouting. I ran upstairs to check on them.”

“And what did you see?” The cold and emotionless detective was unwilling to reveal what his partner had already discovered—one person was dead, and another looked extremely unstable at last check.

“He held a knife to her throat. His eyes were paranoid-looking, and he demanded to know what was in the envelope.”

Benton analyzed the frightened facial expressions and nervous mannerisms of his witness. Heavy breathing. Widely glazing eyes. Quivering fingers tapping the hood of the squad car. “We're searching for that particular piece of evidence right now. It appears to be missing.” His normally accurate intuition told him not to trust everything he'd heard. “Then what did you do?”

“I signaled the others to find an opportunity to stop him, but they were just as shocked at everything going on. When I called out to get his attention, she slammed on his foot with such force the vibration traveled all the way across the room. But he still didn't let go. I had to save her. He was gonna kill her.”

The detective scribbled more notes on his pad without looking up. Procedure dictated he fully documented everything before leaving the scene of a crime. “Keep going.”

“Once he started slashing the knife, I knew I only had one chance. He used her as a shield to stop anyone from coming after him, but I dove for his waist hoping to knock him down amongst the chaos. I never expected him to yank her backward so viciously.”

“And did you reach them?”

“No, I couldn't get close enough. She screamed and tried to break free, desperate to protect herself from whatever else he'd planned. That's when he tripped on the ottoman and lost his grip. I don't think they knew how close the window was.”

“But you couldn't stop them from tumbling?” The detective leaned closer, filling with curiosity over the murky fog descending upon his witness.

“That view from the window was magical when I first walked into the cabin. Now I can't stop thinking about them crashing through the glass. It's still shattering inside my head piece by piece in slow motion. I couldn't prevent them from falling off the ledge. I wasn't strong enough to hold on… please just let me go to her.” Tears poured from the eyes of an inconsolable witness too terrified by the bone-chilling silence haunting the entranceway's dirt road to continue speaking.

“I understand. Just one final question.” Detective Benton nodded as he flipped the page on his yellowed steno pad. “Please explain why one of the victims kept repeating 'Where are you hiding my daughter?' when I first arrived at the cabin.”

Chapter 1 – Amalia, August 1984

“I didn't raise no harlot, Amalia. When you're done with softball practice today, you will go directly to the hardware store and help your father manage that cash register.” The stagnant air, sealed tightly like an old glass jar of long-forgotten jelly, refused to dissipate in the Graeme family home—even it was afraid of Janet's wrath.

“But Momma, I'll be home to cook dinner before sunset.” The strains in Amalia's voice weakened with each of her mother's refusals to let her live the normal life of a teenager.

“Didn't you hear me the first time, child? Only little whores go to the lake.” Janet's stern voice emptied through thin lips stained from devouring a blueberry cobbler before they'd started cooking breakfast. “Are you a little whore, Amalia?”

Retribution for daring to break any of her mother's rules was always swift and fierce. Amalia had obeyed every word since her mother locked her in the storm cellar for ten hours when she was a toddler —punishment for spilling juice on an antique lace tablecloth. “No, I'm sorry. I thought you might let me celebrate just this once.”

The plea had barely escaped Amalia's hesitant lips before the clammy grip of Janet's bony hands shoved her down the hallway. “Stop your sass talk, girl. We can take another trip downstairs if you don't care to mind me.”

Amalia's arm grazed the wall when stumbling from the kitchen into the dark mudroom. Dingy white paint chips rained to the floor and clung to her favorite new red blouse while passing through the dilapidated archway. She cradled her elbow, flicked off the last few flakes of her mother's venom, and firmly held her ground. “It's not fair. You let Greg hang out with his friends all the time.”

“Leave your brother out of this conversation. Your responsibility belongs first to this family and then to the hardware store. Who said anything about friends? Now get yourself off to practice.” Janet's one good eye stubbornly left behind after diabetes stole the vision in her other glared while Amalia reluctantly marched toward the back door. “You're a spiteful little child.”

“I'm taking out the trash, Momma.” Her voice carried the defeat of a soul unable to find the words or summon the strength to defend herself anymore. As she leaned over, the scoop neck on Amalia's blouse revealed the slightest hint of cleavage between her ample breasts.

“Stop right now. What are you wearing?” Janet's tone lingered thick over such insubordination. A special brand of disdain had been developed by watching her daddy preach to his Southern Baptist congregation for nearly forty years before he anxiously married her off to Amalia's father.

“It's just a pretty shirt I found at a yard sale. I'm not showing too much skin.” Amalia dropped the trash bag on the mudroom's gray linoleum and recalled the similar, previous lectures. She refused to turn around to face the woman. “I'm not a child anymore, Momma.”

Janet stampeded through the kitchen and kicked the garbage into the far corner. Though the vinyl flooring had peeled away from the walls as the house settled, it was still not one of the more noticeable improvements desperately needed in their home. “It's lesson time, girl.”

Amalia yelped and dashed to safety after a cast iron frying pan full of hot grease collided with bare skin on the back of her arm. “No, Momma, please…” She dropped to her knees, scooted across the mudroom floor, and cowered behind the pantry door to protect herself from any further blows. An acrid burnt plastic odor from a fiery singe on the linoleum beneath her wafted through the air as she shuddered in pain. The nerves in her forearm and elbow convulsed when the wound began to blister from the impact of her mother's lesson.

“Someday you'll learn how to behave yourself.” Janet grudgingly placed the frying pan on the washing machine and lifted Amalia by the curls of her hair. She tightly squeezed her daughter's breasts while trying to raise the blouse over Amalia's head. “I don't know where you got these girls from. You're hoping to entice all the boys to put their dirty little hands where they don't belong.”

Amalia pushed away her mother's sticky fingers willing to risk more punishment if she kept them off her trembling body. The putrid smell of Janet's three-day-old sweat and decaying teeth littered the air between their lips. “Leave it. I've got a bra on underneath to keep them strapped down. I know the rules.”

Amalia's breasts had begun to develop when she turned eleven years old. By thirteen, a custom-size bra was bought to contain them. Dresses were never allowed given the attention they'd drawn to her body's hourglass shape. Though Janet's words were enough of a rebuke, reduction surgery was still threatened should Amalia's breasts grow any larger.

“I pray every night for them to stop getting bigger and for God to teach you some morals. It's like you're rubbing my great Aunt Tilly's rose garden's Miracle Grow on those dirty pillows. Tramps like you get themselves into some mighty trouble when they don't protect their bodies.” Janet stomped back to the kitchen with the now-emptied frying pan and quickly snapped her fingers. “Cover yourself up or forget about going away to college this summer.”

“Yes, Momma.” Amalia heaved herself from the floor with the help of the door handle and collected the remains of her veiled dignity.

“And put out the trash already. It smells like a sewer in here,” snickered Janet.

Fighting back the tears brimming on the surface of her weary eyes, Amalia sighed with relief upon noticing the frying oil hadn't ruined her blouse. In a rush to tend to her wounds while running through the living room and up the flight of stairs, Amalia crashed into her father, Peter. At sixty, he'd settled into a grandfatherly presence, contented by a quiet and ordinary life. He'd aged quickly in the Graeme household. Everyone did.

“Daddy, I'm so sorry. I was…” Amalia hugged her father, rested her head against his narrow chest, and listened to his enfeebled lungs wheeze with exertion.

Peter fell toward the wall and knocked over the family portrait they'd photographed during Greg's high school graduation. “Oh, my pet, what's wrong?” He pulled Amalia closer with one hand and adjusted the brass picture frame with the other. A thin layer of ashen skin failed to cover years of misery being married to Janet. He'd long-accepted divorce would never be permitted by the daughter of a Baptist preacher and that his life would be fraught with reproach. “Did you have another squabble with your mother?”

Amalia sniffled and concealed her burns, desperate to splash cold water on the pain. “She hates me, Daddy. Momma never loved me the way she loves Greg.”

“That's not true, honey. She's tougher because you're leaving later this month.” Peter brushed away a few loose curls from Amalia's face and smiled with a fatherly love that hadn't receded over the years. “What happened this time?”

A cherubic expression brightened her pale face with the hope he would understand but disappeared once she remembered begging had never helped before. “I asked if I could go to the lake today with the rest of the softball team for Brant's town fair, but Momma says I have to work at the store like I do every other day.”

The population of their hometown, Brant, Mississippi, founded in 1784, hovered around five hundred inhabitants, the majority born and raised in the surrounding isolation. The Graeme family, still considered outsiders, had arrived in the mid-1800s settling about a half mile from Lake Newton—the livelihood once used to transport goods to the neighboring settlements. Over the years, as the county paved new roads to share crops more efficiently among all the nearby villages, the lake became a gathering place for the local families and visitors to enjoy each summer. Store owners had organized a bicentennial celebration for the upcoming weekend where all the citizens would barbecue ribs, hold square dancing lessons, and play various outdoor games. Amalia looked forward to it every year believing she always had the chance to find a new friend who might make the rough days pass by a little easier.

“Your momma knows best, honey. We need to be available for our customers.” Every penny was important to Janet Graeme, especially with two kids attending college—they could never close the store early. Janet often reminded them how pitching in around the house or store was impossible on account of her many illnesses. Peter nudged Amalia away and kissed her cheek. “You can leave work early to meet your teammates at tomorrow's picnic. Will that make you happy?”

“It helps, but I'll be the only one not going tonight.” Amalia buried her flushed cheeks into the crook of his left arm. He always smelled of Old Spice. She'd bought him the same cologne for Father's Day every year since shopping on her own.

If Peter noticed the stinging red color or the slight favor of her left arm, he either ignored it or thought she'd injured herself in a recent softball game. He adhered to an insulated belief that his wife's normal way of parenting didn't include hurting or abusing their daughter. It wasn't the first time he'd misjudged a situation. Peter once took Amalia to a movie theatre as an early birthday present telling Janet they'd stayed behind at the store to count inventory and order stock, but she found a few popcorn kernels on the floor of the family Dodge the next morning while driving to church. Janet waited until Amalia arrived home from school later that week to teach her daughter a lesson about lying. Though Amalia had only been trying to catch a schoolboy's attention by lightening the color of her hair with lemon juice, it was a vengeful wrath she'd unexpectedly invited as Janet took a pair of shearing scissors to her daughter's golden mane. The emotional scars from an abusive home life were profound, but Amalia never regretted sneaking off to watch the movie. She was proud of being a daddy's girl. He was her hero, the father she'd always treasure, the man who made it easier being the daughter of the wicked Janet Graeme.

Peter patted Amalia's back offering any chance to ease her disillusion. “I know, but tomorrow when you go to the lake, everything will be back on track. Bring some clothes to change into so you don't have to come back home in between. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“I can't wait. I love you, Daddy.” She hugged him again and raced up the stairs to change her shirt before her mother had another outburst. Amalia applied cream to her wounds, then chose a long-sleeve button-down sweater she fastened two inches above the dip in her neck. After checking the mirror and wishing a bit of foundation could hide the uneven colors, she splashed water on her face to erase the evidence of her pain. One of Janet's more ridiculous judgments echoed among Amalia's numbed thoughts. 'Only the vile women in this town wear makeup!'

Amalia flew back down the stairs and searched for the trash bag she'd left behind, realizing it would mean another lashing if her mother had stumbled upon it first. As she rushed into the living room, her father handed her a banana and elbowed her out the front door. “I already put it in the outside bin. Get to softball practice, my pet.” His voice barely audible, his expression as loud as a parade.

Amalia smiled and released an uncontrollable giggle as her countenance relaxed for the first time that morning. Although the tense nerves in her neck retreated into partial hiding, her body remained hypervigilant and always waited for the next blistery strike from her mother. She left the house flickering with excitement for the town's festivities over the weekend but frightened at what her teammates would say about her missing the lake party. No one ever declined their much sought-after invitations without hazardous repercussions.

Although she'd graduated high school two months earlier, Amalia continued playing in the county's summer tournaments to keep her pitching skills primed for college games. Risking a loss of the unexpectedly received scholarship—as it was the only reason she could afford to go away to school—was not an option. After practice, where she conveniently forgot to tell her teammates about missing the upcoming lake party, Amalia worked side-by-side with her father for a few hours and avoided any further trouble with her mother at home. Once Amalia climbed into bed that evening exhausted from an emotionally and physically grueling afternoon, she drifted asleep clutching her pillow and wished things would somehow improve the next day.

* * *

The following morning, Janet took the family's only car to the First Baptist's services leaving Amalia and Peter to trudge the two-mile distance to the center of town. Graeme Hardware Store was part of the town's original train depot when first built in the mid-nineteenth century. Shortly before World War I, the train line was rerouted to a larger city a few miles away. This prompted Brant's town council to vote in favor of converting the train depot into a lunch café and expanding the footprints of local shops hoping it would draw more income from surrounding villages. Losing the train station left Graeme Hardware Store with far fewer customers managing barely enough to keep afloat during a good year.

Peter unlocked the store and began his morning routine to review the previous day's sales and prepare the inventory. While he dragged a rolling stand filled with buckets of nails and screws to the exterior porch of the store, Amalia brewed a fresh pot of strong coffee. She retrieved a starter till from the safe under the desk and counted a hundred dollars in small bills and coins, then placed it in the cash register atop the laminate countertop. She grabbed a few dollars to buy breakfast from the local café and strolled to the front of the store. The sharp clank of the bell loosely hung by a nylon cord on the door bounced off all the metal tools and reverberated throughout the building. Amalia held the outer screen door to prevent it from slamming shut and made a mental note to convince her father to repair the hinge that afternoon. Customers didn't appreciate buying tools from a hardware store with a broken front door.

“I'll be right back, Daddy.” Amalia bounded down three short steps and traveled the building's main wooden pathway. Frustrated by the inability to meet the girls from the softball team the prior night, Amalia recoiled at how much of an encumbrance Brant had become to her over the years. She often daydreamed of leaving it all behind but remembered no one had ever escaped. She scoffed at her emotions, slid her fingers across the pathway's splintered handrails, and ignored the desire to run deep into the woods.

When she reached the entrance to the café, a familiar voice called out to her from the parking lot. It was deep, full of confidence and strength—a tone rarely heard in Brant most days. “Is that you, Amalia?”

She turned and recognized her older brother's high school best friend approaching the pathway. “Bryan, how's it going?” Amalia leaned in to hug him, keenly aware of the temperature changing in the surrounding air. “I haven't seen you in forever.” As his arm curled around her back, Amalia breathed in his masculine woodsy scent, surprised by a palpable force settling inside her body. The season's harsh sun had tanned his skin a few shades darker. It looked good on him.

“I'm doing okay. How's Greg?” Bryan's cerulean blue eyes peered directly into hers and connected to her thoughts as if he sensed what was happening inside her body before she did.

“You look fantastic, B-Balls.” Amalia's bashful lips curled upward as the words escaped. The three of them had played hoops every Sunday when Bryan visited the Graeme's house after church. Amalia had once thrown a basketball directly at him during a game of H-O-R-S-E, but the ball smacked him in his crotch. He kept repeating 'My balls are swollen' all day—his eyes wincing, earning the name, B-Balls. “Greg comes home next week. He's still packing up his apartment.”

“That's great. I can't believe it's already been four years since he left for college.” Bryan stretched against the pole next to her, his bright white high-tops scraping the walkway beneath him.

Amalia scanned the full length of Bryan's body for the first time—he'd grown taller since they last swam together at Lake Newton. A few extra inches of muscles adorned his arms and chest stretching his shoulders apart wider than before. His tight-fitting Levi's made it exceedingly difficult to ignore the way the jeans selfishly hugged his thighs and butt.

As Amalia settled her elbows on the wooden handrail, the top button on her blouse pulled apart. Bryan's gaze dropped a few inches then quickly shot back up as if he didn't want her to notice him focusing on her chest. She fantasized he'd grown attracted to her in those last few seconds. A temptation to leave the button open intensified. Her fingers decided before her brain processed what was happening and refastened the loop on their own accord. “Yep, it's been a long time. You look good. Exercising has paid off.”

“You, too. I mean, you look great, too. Different.” Bryan's voice hesitated before he shoved both hands in his pockets. “Older. You've grown up a lot is what I meant to say. Umm, yeah, so what've you been up to?” His attention darted to a patch of grass beyond Amalia where a small pot of daffodils sat in the dirt, besieging someone to admire or care for them.

Amalia shrugged and ran her fingers through her hair. “Just finished high school in June. I visited Greg last year at college and thought it would be a potential place to escape Brant. I'm so excited they accepted me!”

Bryan leaned forward and flicked off a small bug from her arm. His fingers lingered longer than either of them had expected. “Congratulations. Brant isn't so bad, is it?”

Amalia's body flushed. Within seconds, the ant was gone, and Bryan retreated while tucking his hands back into his pockets. His cool skin had been a refreshing welcome to her body. “Yeah, it is, especially with Greg living away for so many years. Things at home are awful, but I'll be out of this pitiful place soon enough.”

“You're a bit harsh, but I guess I understand wanting to get away.” Bryan cocked his head as if he'd recognized something new or different. “Were your eyes always as green as emeralds? I don't remember that about you.”

Amalia tossed her hair to the opposite side considering this might be his way of flirting. She wouldn't mind if it were true. She'd been waiting for the infamous first crush to finally make its way to her. “Yes, but they've gotten a deeper shade the last few years. I wish I had the whole blonde and blue thing.” When Bryan smiled, his dimples drew attention to a strong jawline. Amalia blinked hard after staring at him for far too long.

“No, they're the perfect color for your complexion. They're sparkling at me.” Bryan cupped his hands together to crack his knuckles and stretch his fingers. “So… are you going to the picnic at Lake Newton this afternoon?”

His voice reminded Amalia of the rich tone her clarinet made when she'd taken lessons years ago before her mother twisted one of the register keys and cracked the mouthpiece, leaving it broken beyond repair. Its echo resonated inside Amalia's body as Bryan fidgeted with his belt buckle. “Yes, Daddy told me I could leave mid-afternoon. I can't wait to smell the jasmine and take a boat ride under the bridge.”

Amalia blushed with excitement that Bryan might attend the picnic with her to share a canoe on the lake. It wouldn't be a date. She wasn't allowed to go on a date until her eighteenth birthday, which wasn't for nearly two months. Bryan was also her brother's best friend. He'd laughed at her when she spilled pasta all over herself at dinner calling her a little piglet ever since she was six years old.

“I was gonna meet some friends later tonight. How about you and I meet up beforehand? Three o'clock at the magnolia tree by the statue of Old Man Newton. Wanna come?”

When a tattoo peeked from beneath the edge of Bryan's black V-neck t-shirt, Amalia suppressed a desire to thrust her hands on him. “Yes, I'd love to.” She answered too quickly, but something foreign had pushed the words from her mouth without consent. What if Bryan sensed her all-too-excited tone? She tried to downplay her interest and fiddled with her shirtsleeves. “I mean, sure, that would be cool. If I get out of work in time, I'll try to meet you there.”

“Definitely.” Bryan leaned in with vigorous enthusiasm. “It would be great to hang out if you can make it.”

The wind carried the scent of cinnamon-flavored breakfast rolls across the pathway luring Amalia's hunger to the surface. She and Bryan gazed intently at each other until Amalia's fragile mind reminded her to leave before saying anything stupid. “I should get back to the hardware store. Maybe I'll see you later.” She walked up the last step and twisted toward him. “Thanks, B-Balls.” A tiny snicker slipped through her shaky lips. Uncertainty lingered over the cause, either remembering Bryan crying about the ball smacking him or at herself for the sudden unabashed enthusiasm he brought to her today. Either case, she wanted to be near him again.

“Cool.” Bryan stepped backward nearly tripping over the corner post. He turned around, waved goodbye, and paraded across the parking lot with a confident stride.

After Bryan's silhouette vanished, Amalia wished for the courage to call him back. She was afraid of behaving like an impulsive child when he was four years older than her, a boy who surely had much more experience than she offered. She tried to keep herself from glowing and quickly headed to the café to order breakfast. Drawing in a deep breath, Amalia imagined reasons why Bryan might be interested but also worried he was just a good family friend. What surprised her the most was a lasting impression that a few more weeks in Brant might not be such an unwelcome prison.

Chapter 2 – Brianna, June 2004

Brianna's animated, full lips raced as she linked arms with her best friend, Shanelle, and circled the northwest corner of the campus quad. They'd been on a final tour before deciding which college Brianna would attend that fall. “This place is fantastic. Did you see those locker rooms? To die for!” Her almond-shaped eyes opened wide and bright upon visualizing the first true separation from her hometown since birth. Was it possible to be afraid of and thrilled over something at the same time?

“Be careful!” Shanelle yanked Brianna backward before crashing into the security alert call box. “It's like you're in a trance right now.”

Wisps of shoulder-length auburn locks covered Brianna's face when a few gusts of wind blew through the meandering pathways. She stopped near the entrance of a small, newly sod-laden area filled with ornate wrought iron benches and old-fashioned black lamp posts. “I belong here.”

“You need to come with me to Woodland College in a couple of months. It's unreal.” Shanelle adjusted the collar of her white polo and tossed dark black curls a few inches off the flawless, smooth skin on her forehead. “We'd finally escape, Bree.”

Shanelle was the only person who could call her Bree. Shanelle's tone offered intimacy unlike the sarcastic high-society ladies who sniped at Brianna when she once worked as a hostess back home in one of New York City's Upper East Side clubs. 'That's not what I ordered, Bree. Can't you people get anything right?'

Brianna sighed while soaking in a panoramic view of the Pennsylvania landscape. Woodland's homes had an abundance of old cedar swings strung from willow trees, smelled of honeysuckle, and suggested the opportunity for true independence. “It's pretty amazing. I love The Big Apple, but it's time for a change. I need to get the hell away from all the clamor and crazy drama back home.” Brianna had been raised in an apartment several floors above a jazz club that jammed until four o'clock every morning. Though the music was intoxicating, dealing with the constant flood of smarmy denizens and their disgusting catcalls had become tiresome over the years.

“So, what's your verdict?”

“I guess I have to choose soon, don't I?” Brianna had spoken with her mother ad nauseam all spring about selecting a college, but she kept holding off on making a final decision since revealing the truth would be too difficult.

Shanelle nodded and fixed a kink in the chain on the ruby necklace hugging the curves of Brianna's neck. She'd given it to her for Christmas the previous year and admired how it added the perfect amount of color to Brianna's heart-shaped face. “Late admission acceptances are due at noon tomorrow. You already missed all the first-round deadlines. Your mother must be freaking out that you haven't settled on a school.”

Despite having a strong relationship trusting and supporting one another over the years, Brianna's mother tended to control her daughter's freedom to make her own choices. The resulting pressures of jumping into adulthood with minimal life experiences had begun to paralyze Brianna to the point of desperation and instability. It was especially arduous given no father—or any other relative—was present to offset the balance in their tiny, two-person family unit, nor were the reasons for their non-existence anything Brianna had understood. Questions frequently floated throughout her mind about her missing parent, complex personality traits, and inherent lack of confidence. The vacuum she lived in compelled her to wonder if there were other family members like her who might have found ways to avoid depression and unearth a ray of hope that their future could be different. Brianna ultimately traced her indecisiveness and lack of comfort within her own skin to an all-consuming need to discover the identity of her father. If he'd been around, despite knowing nothing about him, she was positive her situation would be better. Fathers always protected their little girls and showered them with love.

“I told her we needed to open your family's summer house.” Brianna stretched her calves lifting her legs one after the other on the nearest bench. A slight moan escaped her lips as though she'd stumbled upon a secret stash of much-desired milk chocolate hidden in the closet. It was the only dessert the coach allowed during soccer season, but when Brianna needed a piece, there was no hampering the craving. “An overnight trip since school's practically over.”

“She bought it?” Shanelle reached for Brianna's leg and rubbed the overworked muscles below her knees. “Lower your waist and stretch your hamstrings.”

“Yeah, she had to work late, anyway. Second quarter tax reports due to her boss on Monday.” Brianna's mother earned a certain satisfaction from her job, but she'd also been working excessive overtime the last few years. 'You've got college payments. Money doesn't grow on trees!' Brianna often used their financial limitations as an opportunity to pry further into history by questioning if there was family money or potential future inheritances. She'd been brushed off at every opportunity to learn anything of substance given the impenetrable wall her mother had built around the past. “How much time before we catch the train home?”

“Thirty minutes. At least we don't have to drive the entire day. I did that last time with the 'rents when they made it a family trip. It wrecked me.” Shanelle's father, Dr. William Trudeau, a well-respected African American geneticist in one of New York City's top research facilities, and her mother, Maria Allende Trudeau, the first Latina partner in a prestigious law firm, had taken a few days off to accompany their daughter's initial college visits. Shanelle luckily escaped without them on this jaunt by kidnapping Brianna in a last-minute attempt to convince her best friend to choose the same school. A close cousin in the family had graduated the year before and paved the way for Shanelle to follow suit to Woodland College on a full scholarship.

“At least you've got that huge townhouse, and your parents leave you alone to do your own thing. Try cohabitating in a small box with a mother who's always in your business.”

“She's a dog with a bone, but I know you adore her.” Shanelle knelt on the grass and inched her fingers above Brianna's knee massaging the back of her thigh. “Relax, this will help.”

Brianna concentrated on the pleasure and let Shanelle's hands work their magic on her sore legs. They'd run a few extra miles that morning before the campus tour started, unable to practice any other time during the trip for the final soccer championship game back home. “That feels amazing.”

“I told you it would help, Bree. If you'd only let me…”

“Thanks, but we should quit dawdling.” Brianna jerked her leg away and adjusted her navy blue capri pants after they'd twisted halfway around during the unexpected and almost too intimate massage. “I still need to finalize a few plans for tomorrow's prom.”

Shanelle navigated the pathway toward the main intersection leaving Brianna to retie her laces and fuss over her concerns about the dance. “I can't believe you're going with that primitive ape.”

“You've made your point already. Let it go.”

Brianna waffled in an on-again, off-again relationship with Doug, the star player of her school's basketball team, who thought it was acceptable on their first date to complain when she wouldn't let him grope her in the dark at the movies. When he'd asked her to prom a few weeks earlier, she'd been having a difficult day with the soccer coach and unwittingly agreed to attend the dance with Doug. Though she'd contemplated canceling, it would have been harder to find another date with little notice. It was also far more intimidating to consider the tempting path of showing up with Shanelle as her plus one.

As Brianna pulled her hair into a ponytail and wrapped it with a butterfly clip at the base of her neck, Shanelle snapped a photo. “You look more relaxed and sexier with your hair loose.”

Brianna ignored the compliment, eager to change the subject. “I'm glad I came to Woodland today. It's helping me make a decision.” She caught up to Shanelle as they approached the end of the pathway.

“About us?” Shanelle smiled with affection in Brianna's direction, then tilted her head toward a blaring noise in the distance.

A car speeding at least twenty mph over the limit revved its engine while driving down the nearby hill. The tour guide had told them earlier it was normal for students to drag race on the outskirts of campus. Brianna, preoccupied with the car's approach, hadn't heard Shanelle's question and kept walking. “I'm sorry, what did you say?” She glanced sideways, oblivious the vehicle wasn't slowing down as it advanced to the intersection.

“Never mind. Don't get too close to the curb, Bree. That idiot isn't paying attention.”

Brianna focused on the driver who was ignorant to the flashing red light less than a hundred feet away from his sleek white convertible. “He's staring like I'm dessert later tonight. What the hell?” Offended by his leer, Brianna squinted and guffawed. “What are you looking at, creepy asshole?” She lifted her arm and twisted a hand around while raising her middle finger.

“Watch out!” Shanelle stopped Brianna from entering the crosswalk. As she fell backward, Brianna temporarily lost her breath from the forceful grip.

The driver plowed through the intersection until he finally broke from his stupor turning the wheel too far to the left and skidding off the pavement onto the curb. Within seconds, his car crashed into the corner of the alumni building thirty feet from where they stood. The screeching twang of metal colliding with brick penetrated their eardrums as the whole incident unfolded.

Brianna rushed to help, but Shanelle's determined hands held her back. “No! I'm calling 911. The car could catch fire. Don't get close to it.”

Within seconds, one of the campus patrol cars parked a few feet away, and a security guard dashed over to pull the driver from the wreckage. An older woman with a Middle Eastern accent and a spiky silver hairdo ran from the Alumni House veranda, gesturing and yelling in hysterics. “There's someone in the passenger seat, too. Help him!”

“We should do something,” Brianna pleaded with Shanelle as the county police cruiser slammed on its brakes. Its blasting sirens pierced every cell of her body as though she were the victim being tossed around in the convertible. Brianna wiped her hands on her pants pockets and flicked off the residue from the dirty ground. “Shouldn't we?”

“They have it under control. Do you want to stick around and risk missing our train home?” Shanelle firmly held Brianna's trembling hand to allay her nerves and shock.

Brianna paced the corner while considering her options. If she stuck around, a police report would need to be filled out, but all she could add to the summary was that he'd been intently ogling her from a distance. The driver didn't hit anyone or another car, and there were other witnesses to the accident who could give all the details. If Brianna missed the last train, she'd arrive home late forced to explain to her mother the true purpose of the last two days. “I guess we can leave.”

“They're already getting help, the ambulance just arrived.” Shanelle linked their elbows together and rested her head against Brianna's shoulder. “Come on, there's another bus stop on the opposite side of campus.”

“Thanks. I'm so glad you were here with me. I would've flipped on my own.”

Shanelle hugged Brianna and kissed her cheek as they separated. “You'll always have me. Don't forget that.”

* * *

After taking a shuttle bus from Woodland to Pittsburgh, they boarded the long-distance Amtrak train ready for their half-day trip home to New York City. Shanelle sank into a window seat of the business class car insistent on paying for the upgrade. She'd often sprung for their excursions, enjoying luxury items, especially when she experienced them before anyone else. Life was a competition among the six siblings in the Trudeau family, and Shanelle rarely let anyone else win.

The conductor checked their tickets before traipsing through the aisle. “Thanks, ladies. Let me know if you need anything. Happy to help you out.” A raunchy combination of day-old chowder and weed poured from his skin, leaving both girls wanting to retch.

Shanelle brushed him off, then rested her soothing hand on Brianna's as the train departed the station. “Are you doing any better, babe?”

“All this indecision just makes me recognize how tired I am of being alone and confused.” Brianna opened her purse and checked her image in a compact mirror. Her reflection displayed an unknown figure with dysfunctional personalities haphazardly glued together in the most twisted ways. Every time she made progress in understanding something about herself, two more issues, concerns, or fears to address popped up. She eventually gave up and cast herself as merely just another lost member of society trying to conjure a hidden self-confidence without life's necessary instruction booklet. “When will it be my turn to catch a break?”

“We all worry about those things sometimes.” Shanelle slid further into the seat and fiddled with the controls until the cushion's angle suited her preference. “You'll find the answers soon… but until then, I've got your back, hon.”

“No doubt.” Brianna reapplied lipstick and smoothed out her flushed cheeks before snuggling against Shanelle. “I turned my phone off. I don't want any interruptions while we talk.”

Shanelle lifted her head a few inches away from the pillow on the seatback. “You said you made a decision about us earlier. I knew you'd come around to believing me.” Shanelle spent most of her time trying to convince anyone in her immediate circle to accept that her advice was necessary and prudent. Pressuring people had always been the approach worn on the exterior of her heart like a badge of honor when she selected you as a friend. If chosen, your life was bound to improve. Brianna still hadn't been convinced of that result.

“No. I said I made a decision. About college.” Brianna dropped her purse to the train floor and focused on the magazines tucked into the seat pocket. A Welcome to Pittsburgh catalog with a dog-eared upper right corner halfway through its pages caught her attention. She flipped through the magazine and found an article entitled 'Are You Ready for a New Life?' She believed in signs. This had to be one of them. “The only problem is that escaping my mother was never an option during our negotiations about where I should attend school.”

Brianna wasn't sure how to tell her mother she didn't want to stay in New York for college, which was the plan they'd originally agreed on. Besides a handful of tenants in their ancient six-story brick tenement, Brianna's mother had only ever interacted with a few accounting colleagues in her downtown office. The woman's irrational fears and helicopter parenting had prevented Brianna from ever leaving the city in the past. She'd gotten permission for a few class trips upstate to Kykuit, the Rockefeller Mansion, and on the subway to Queens with Shanelle's family for the US Open. Even then, Brianna's mother had insisted on check-in phone calls every two hours to verify nothing bad happened along the way. While Brianna loved her mother, sometimes the pressure was claustrophobic.

“Maybe she'll surprise you this time. You never know,” said Shanelle.

Brianna savored the pastoral landscape as endless farms and charming small towns passed by the narrow window. An unquenchable thirst for exposure to something different obliged her to experience the rest of the world before becoming too jaded about life from a major metropolitan's perspective—always fast-paced, constantly dirty, and a sense of falling behind schedule before you even started the day. While she wasn't quite ready to move cross-country, knowing Woodland College was just two states away comforted Brianna in a way that made leaving home easier. It also happened to be where her best friend would attend school despite Shanelle being one of the more complicated parts of life she'd struggled to understand. “I'm worried about her being all alone.”

“Your mother might want the apartment to herself to entertain gentlemen callers. I wonder when she last got laid.” Shanelle rumbled at her words always amused by her humor and reactions to her friend's comical home life.

“Like I know. That's nasty. I don't want to think about it. Do you ask your parents that question?”

“I'm just sayin'. Has your mother ever gone out on a date? I've known you for two years and not once can I remember her going out with a man. Maybe she's also a secret—”

“Shut up. Not everyone is out-and-proud like you, Shanelle. We all haven't craved tits and vaginas since we were babies. I mean, seriously… when did you come out of the closet, two years old?”

“I told my mother in the third grade. She'd always known I'd be her smartest child.”

“Because you're gay?”

“No, when they pulled me away from her the day I was born, I went right for the nurse's boobs, grabbing them as if I already knew what I was doing. My mother told my father that night—This last kid is gonna play by a whole different set of rules.”

Brianna punched her best friend in the leg. “You're so ridiculous. All newborns do that. You make up those stories. I bet your mother would say you're lying.”

Shanelle tossed her phone across the seat. “Call her right now.”

“I'm not calling your mother to ask if you grabbed the nurse's tits.”

“Not that, you psycho. Call your mother. Tell her you've decided.”

“About Woodland?” The timbre in Brianna's voice grew sharper. Telling her mother about losing a soccer game was tough. Explaining the 'C' on the algebra quiz after having spent hours studying together was painful. Revealing a desperate need to leave New York would mimic a disaster of epic proportions. The dust wouldn't settle for years.

“Yes, why do you keep asking me? You've made it perfectly clear you haven't decided if you want to be my girlfriend. I'll keep my cookies to myself until you want some milk to go along with them.”

“Shhh, not so loud. I told you. I don't know if I'm into girls in that way. I need more time.”

Shanelle shifted the seatback upright and pushed Brianna off her shoulder. “I know very few things I consider facts. I know my father would do anything for me. I know Venus was robbed in that last tournament. Serena did not deserve to win after that lazy performance. She got lucky.” Shanelle reached for Brianna's chin and gazed directly into her eyes. “And I know you're a lesbian. A big one who wants to get all up in…” Shanelle practically screamed the last line until the rough bounce from the train shifting tracks pushed their lips a few inches closer.

Brianna stared into Shanelle's eyes lost in the richness of their color. She lifted her hand to the back of Shanelle's neck, running her fingers through her best friend's hair and breathing in her vanilla scent. “When the light hits you this way, I swear you're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

“You're tempting me to kiss you, Bree. I can't be the only one excited by this attraction. The glow of your skin. My quickening pulse. Your eyes have completely betrayed your thoughts. You don't want me to stop, do you?”

Only the smallest bit of attainable distance separated Brianna's lips from a pleasure she wanted to experience. “Maybe I don't.”

“Then let me show you my world.” Shanelle locked on to Brianna with a powerful force that had zero intention of ever letting go. One of the two girls clearly knew what she wanted.

Brianna's fingers grazed Shanelle's forearm, tantalized by the smooth curves in the nook of her elbow. “Your skin feels so soft.” She traced the outline of Shanelle's muscular arm all the way to the dip between her neck and shoulder.

“I promise I'll treat you right.” Shanelle nuzzled against Brianna's neck, their ears tickling one another with an unparalleled electric pulse brewing from each brush.

A loud gasp of forced air poured into the room when the train doors suddenly opened, followed by the conductor's nasally voice. “Dining car opens in ten minutes. Two doors back.” He slogged through the entire space in less than ten seconds, though it was too long for Brianna who struggled to hold on to the moment.

Whatever had been building between them evaporated upon noticing the searing glare from the sourpuss across the aisle monitoring their every move. An older lady with bluish-gray hair and beady eyes filled with obvious contempt turned her head intent on chastising them. The perfectly round 'O' between her lips released a condescending huff, and her pupils burrowed deep into a bigoted space inside her head that lacked a sense of humor. Although society had become more accepting of homosexuality, teenage girls having a raucous conversation on a train about being in love would not easily be tolerated. Once you added in the bi-racial factor, it would undoubtedly be a double whammy to overcome in the future. It wasn't something Brianna had the strength to deal with at that moment.

Shanelle tore open a bag of M&Ms and selected a brown one, holding it between her fingers for the old woman's benefit. “You need some chocolate to fill that pie hole, ma'am? I'm a good shot. I could pitch this whole bag in that droopy wrinkle sack you call a face. It is people like you who—”

As Shanelle twisted her hand and readied her arm to toss the candy across the aisle, Brianna grabbed her by the wrist and whispered, “Would you stop? Seriously. You need to give me a little time to figure this out. You're my best friend, but I don't know what else I want.” Humiliated over the outburst, Brianna sank further into the seat. She hated having the spotlight focused on her, afraid of everyone's judgment and cruelty.

Brianna first thought she might be attracted to girls when a boy in her seventh-grade class offered to show her his penis. It'd been some sort of flash dance that swept across the school prompting everyone to drop their pants behind closed doors. When the boy picked her as his hopefully willing partner, she told him he had a weird smell and that she'd rather spend time with his sister. It'd flown out of her mouth before she could stop it, barely having met the girl once at his birthday party the prior month. The boy shuffled away, disappointed, but didn't notice what had been dangerously surfacing inside Brianna's mind.

By high school, the anxiety over being caught staring at other girls' bodies destroyed any ability to comfortably change clothes in the locker room during PE classes. When an opportunity surfaced to join the soccer team instead of attending gym, Brianna jumped on it, keen to quarantine confusing thoughts about her sexuality. She purposely changed into her uniform behind the safety of a stall in a hallway bathroom that no one ever used, telling everyone else it was easier to get dressed on her way back from an after-school college prep course.

Soccer became a way to eliminate the curious but traitorous thoughts from her mind, allowing her a physical release to all the tension and fears stemming from someone finding out her secret. Though it'd worked the first season, the truth returned with full force when she met Shanelle at a tryout for the city's soccer club on a quest for a college scholarship. When Brianna had gone for the long-drive kick to score the winning goal of the tournament's final game, Shanelle came bounding from nowhere and shoved Brianna to the ground. Brianna's first reaction had been to fight back by chasing after Shanelle, not expecting her opponent to retaliate, but she did. The girls tumbled on the field together, igniting an intense heat inside Brianna's body as parts of her smashed into another girl in a way that teased and tortured her. When they landed inches from one another on the sidelines, Shanelle whispered before quickly jogging away, “Damn, you're pretty hot.” Brianna laid helpless on the ground, interpreting all the emotions and physical reactions growing more desirous than ever inside her adolescent body. The moment their eyes locked, Brianna accepted her past inability to conquer the powerful magnetic force of her deepening sexual attraction to women.

Shanelle acknowledged the temporary setback on the train. “Fine, I'll stop. I just adore you too much to let you struggle. That's why Woodland will be perfect. It's the Sarah Lawrence of the Midwest. My cousin raves about the parties and the bars where we can get blitzed. With hot girls. Cool ones. Not the freaks I deal with back home.”

Brianna leaned in and gripped Shanelle's neck with both hands, pulling their faces within inches again. “I know you do. Thank you for being patient with me. Can we let this go right now? Let's focus on how to explain Woodland to my mom.”

“The other lesbian in denial?”

Exasperated, Brianna dropped her head against Shanelle's neck. “She's not gay. She just doesn't date.”

“A nun doesn't date, Bree. Your mother's vagina reminds me of Old Faithful. It's full of hot air and steam, only hers hasn't blown in years. Ain't nothing been in there since Moses parted the seas.”

“Then how was I born? And I don't think it was Moses.”

“Immaculate Conception. We'll call her Proud Mary.” Shanelle jumped up and danced in the aisle, rolling her arms in a circular motion. “Left a good job in the city. Workin' for the man ev'ry night and day… Oh wait, I forgot, there are no men allowed in that dusty old trap door between her legs.” Shanelle's face boasted a grin the size of Texas as she fell into the plushness of the seat.

Brianna cracked up. “I'm gonna tell my mother you said that.”

“You know I'm just trying to make you laugh, babe. Sometimes I'm a little too direct and harsh, I get it.” A few seconds of silence passed between them as their knees gently fell against one another. “What about your father? Are you still thinking about hiring someone to investigate his identity?”

When Brianna turned six years old, the only present she begged for was to meet the mysterious parent, or, at the very least, to view a picture of him. In her dreams, someone like John Stamos would show up with a guitar crooning about how much he wanted to raise his baby girl and teach her the ways of the world. She'd imagined the perfect dad surprising her with a comforting bear hug and a believable explanation for the lengthy absence. Perhaps he'd been working in outer space or had amnesia. Maybe he'd been chasing criminals and was forced underground. No matter how crazy the reasoning, it was less painful to believe something outrageous than accept he chose to disappear from his daughter's life. Just once, she wanted to sit on his lap while he said he loved her the way all fathers do in the tear-jerker family movies that aired 24/7—and they often watched—on the Lifetime television network. It wasn't about replacing the amazing times she cherished with her mother but adding to them with the familiarity of a traditional and normal family like everyone else around her.

“Maybe. She's adamant about not discussing his existence or the past with me.”

“Hasn't she lived anywhere else? Been in love? Were they married?” asked Shanelle.

“I don't know. My birth certificate only lists his last name.”

“Which is?”

“Porter. Same as my last name.”

“But that's not your mother's last name.”

“No. I have no clue where the name Porter came from.”

Shanelle tapped her feet on the train's carpeted floor. Her mind sometimes went into overdrive when processing potential solutions. She twitched with anticipation when an idea popped up. “Porter. As in an apartment building or hotel worker?”

“Yes.” It hadn't occurred to Brianna until Shanelle brought up the meaning of the word.

“Maybe she randomly hooked up with some hotel porter, didn't know his real name, got pregnant, and named you after his broke-ass job?” Shanelle's obnoxious guffaw filled the silent space within the entire train car. “That's classic Proud Mary.”

Brianna laughed, too. As stupid as the explanation sounded, she was scared it could be true. “You're awful. Why would I ever want to go to Woodland? I should run away from you.”

Shanelle rolled her deep brown eyes, pausing while Brianna considered joining the dark forces of a special inner circle only they shared. “Your mom has a story to tell, Bree. You need to ask her this weekend when you tell her you're attending Woodland. Get it all out at the same time.”

Brianna sighed with heavy exhaustion. “It's time she stopped hiding my father's identity.”

“Maybe you've got a brother named Bellhop and a sister named Concierge. That might be why you don't know anything. She's ashamed of getting it on with the dirty porter man in a mop closet after learning he bumped uglies on the lobby floor one lonely night with Beret, the hat-check girl.”

“That's just wrong. You're so on my shit list right now.” A well-timed shove into the side of the train improved Brianna's attitude, especially when Shanelle's shocked expression encouraged her to repeat it.

“We make a good team, don't we?” After a few moments of silence, Shanelle tapped her fingers against Brianna's thigh. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“I just have too many decisions to make.”

“Of everything going on, what's most important to you right now?”

With no hesitation, Brianna responded, “To find my father and learn where I came from. I can't do anything else until I meet him. It's killing me inside to know nothing about him.”

After eighteen years of having no information, it was time to pressure her mother into turning over the keys to the past. Brianna needed a game plan that would help locate both her confidence and a direction for her future. Both had been nonexistent for too long. When she stepped back to find a common denominator among everything that had paralyzed her, learning where she came from presented the ideal way to deal with her anxiety and concerns over actually living instead of blindly trudging through life.

Shanelle pondered her response. “Besides your mother, who else might have any information?”

“I could talk to Lenny. My mother once mentioned how they'd met before I was born.” Lenny owned several apartments in their building and managed the jazz club on the ground level. He might offer a few clues to solve the mystery. Lenny once encouraged her to ask questions like all the skilled detectives, giving her the first set of Agatha Christie novels to cut her teeth into.

Shanelle cleared her throat. “I might have a plan to help you. Let me check on something when we get home.” She grabbed a blanket from the side compartment and tossed it over them both. “But first, a nap.”