Monthly Archives: November 2011
Anna Blair’s Visitors (Chapters 31-33)
Charleigh Wallace
____________________________
Anna Blair’s
Visitors
Based on a true story.
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved.
…continued
Thirty-one
“How are you doing, Anna?”
“I’m thinner! When did that happen?”
“It has been happening. You look wonderful.”
“Thank you. I think you’re right, though. What you said before. I have been in a coma.”
“Let’s talk about it.” He sat down, offering her the couch.
She sat. “I think I died inside after Cezar. I closed myself off. Now I’m ten years older and I wake up, and I think I’m still that age. And I don’t want to be older. I’ve been cheated out of ten years, Doc! Ten fucking years!”
Dr. A cleared his throat.
“I saw While You Were Sleeping.”
“How did you feel watching it?”
“Well, while someone slept, someone else fell in love. I’m the one who’s sleeping.”
Dr. A spent more time with Anna than any other patient. As the weeks and months passed, he noticed both small and big outward changes: a smile, a slimming figure, a gleam in her eyes.
He decided to step up recovery of her memory loss, so he asked for Anna to bring photos from her past. He knew this task would be difficult for her, but also knew that it was vital.
Anna went home that day and sat on the living room floor, in front of the closet that held the photos, the keys to her past. It took her exactly two hours and twenty-three minutes before she scooted on her behind toward the door, opening it.
Once the closet door was open, she moved a few boxes out of the way, finding the one full of photographs, some in albums, some loose, some cut into tiny pieces. Anna tried to tape several of those pieces of the past together, but the finished photo, instead of resembling anything or anyone recognizable, was more a fitting image: a Picasso-like Cezar. His face misshapen, his mouth where an ear should be, his two eyes separated by black hair and large, white teeth. It was apposite somehow for Cezar to resemble a monster rather than a man.
She spent many quiet hours over photos of her children and the times they had shared. In one photo, Gregor was three, hanging off the side of the couch, his head toward the floor, hair dangling and face bright red. Anna could almost touch his hair as her hand gently graced the memory.
She wept at a photo of her wedding day, her smile so elated and so unaware. She passed pictures of herself on stage, singing in Nashville, her guitar strapped to her heart, her hair shorter, her body thin.
Before she knew it the children were coming up the walkway. The mail was still in the mailbox. And the visitor never came. Anna was startled to realize that these very important parts of her day had slipped by so subtly that she never noticed.
She gathered all the photos in her shirt, wiped her face of tears, and ran to her room. It took the rest of the day to recover from the difference in this day. She was too afraid to tell the children that she had forgotten the mail. They might think too quickly that she was recovering, and Anna just wasn’t sure.
Fia came in first, lightly touching the empty pine table top. She looked out at the mailbox and back to the table, and filed the memory away.
Anna hid the pictures in her underwear drawer, took a hot shower, and dressed in a sleeping cap, and nothing else. She had seen that man, Scrooge, wear one and she liked remembering the times when she and her children would watch A Christmas Carol.
Before getting into bed, with her in her night cap, she scribbled on a piece of paper, “I love you,” and passed it under the door. Anna stood by the door and waited.
Fia came down the hall, and picked up the note. She read it, smiled, folded it several times with perfect lines. Taking it upstairs, she opened her small, carved, wooden box Anna had made her for her tenth birthday, with soft black velvet lining, and placed the note inside with the others, and closed the lid.
Thirty-two
Grandma Blair came to visit the next day, spring just around the corner. She brought with her twelve new carnation plants, all different colors. She insisted on delaying the tea and Lorna Dunes until she and Anna had planted the pretty flowers. Anna agreed. They both went out in the backyard, sitting side by side, and planted the flowers all around the huge pecan tree. The colors were so beautiful: the reds, light blues, yellows, whites, and pinks. And their delicate scent rose up to Anna. Sitting back on her hands, her eyes closed, she faced the sun. She breathed in all the wonderful fragrances of the flowers, the grass, and the earth.
Dear Diary
I had a dream last night. Russell Crowe was in love with me, and we were laughing and joking around, and he adored me. I was thin, and beautiful, and in love. I could feel Russell’s strong Australian arms around me, and when I awoke, I cried, knowing how far away I have traveled from companionship and love.
Dear Diary
I had another dream. Keanu Reeves was in love with me. He cared for me, made love to me, and was so wonderful and handsome and kind. I woke up and cut out every picture of Keanu I could find from magazines, and taped them all over my bedroom walls. I didn’t want to forget what I had in sleep, what I don’t think I will ever have while awake.
Dear Diary
It is just too painful to see Keanu’s handsome face and know he isn’t in love with me. No one is. I tore down the pictures and cried.
The next night, Anna lay down in her yielding, kindhearted bed, curled up with quilts of weighted blues and grays, charcoal and white, drawn up around her neck. The dedicated fire was glowing softly in the dark corner of her room, and on the television was The English Patient, with the intimacy of Gabriel Yared’s music filling every space in the room, and every space in her heart. She watched the characters gaze at each other, love each other, with such ecstasy and intensity, with such passion.
Anna curled up in a ball, away from the sight of it all, temporarily relieved, and yet still unable to escape each note that skimmed the air like a smooth stone on water, notes that fell around her like cherry blossom trees losing their springtime flowers, permeating every last ounce of oxygen. She wept because of the soft, sweet music, the look in that man’s eyes, and because the ugly reality of it was, no man would ever look at her again the way that man looked at that woman.
Thirty-three
“Anna, can we talk about Cezar whipping the children?”
“I guess so. What do you want to know?”
Dr. A asked, “Which ones?”
“Mainly Rhona and Fia and Bethany. Never Jake. Gregor and Aileana were too young. So, just the girls. I think he liked it.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
Anna blew out a breath. “Bethany was ten. Cezar was pulling her over his knee in the living room. He was pulling down her pants and her underwear!”
“Where were you and the other children?”
“We were all there, watching! He was slapping her bare bottom with his hand. Jake was standing to the right of Cezar, watching!”
“What did you do?”
“I said, ‘for God’s sake, at least whip her in privacy!’”
“Did he stop?”
She looked down, the guilt seeping in. “Yes, but then he took her in our bedroom and finished.”
“What happened in the room, Anna?”
“He’d get out his belt, and whip their bare backsides over his knee. Rhona mostly. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Why did he whip Rhona?” Dr. A knew he was pressing her, but he trusted her now to be able to face it.
“Once, because she asked too many questions. I’m tired.”
“What about other times?”
“One time, Rhona was just six, and he was taking her off to our bedroom! No, don’t shut the door! I’m sorry, Rhona! Can you hear me? I am begging for him to stop! I’m screaming!”
Dr. A moved closer. “Tell me, Anna, were you able to stop him?”
Again, she looked down, hands twisting in her lap. “No. One time, though, he came out of the door after whipping Rhona, and I slammed my fists into his chest as hard as I could. I remember Jake standing right next to me, like a sentinel. It’s like we both joined the same side that day.”
“What did Cezar do?”
“He said I was crazy.”
“You couldn’t have stopped him, Anna.”
Anna looked up, and stared at him with steel eyes. “Yes, I could have. I will live with that for the rest of my life. I could have stopped him. If I’d had a gun.”
“What would you have done?”
She raised her eyebrow. “Killed him.”
Grandpa came over today. They chatted and smiled about all the extraordinary ways of Grandma Blair, like the way she would cook and serve everyone else their food when she was probably starving, or the way she was always laughing at her own mistakes, or how she loved her family with a powerful possessiveness.
“I need you to go to the lumber store and get some 2 x 4’s of cedar. I have something special I want us to make.”
Anna stared out the kitchen window. “I can’t, Grandpa.”
“Okay.” He smiled, and patted her hands that rested on the counter.
Grandma Blair came over a few days later. She sat down and looked straight at Anna. “Anna, darling, do you know that you don’t have to open the door if you don’t want to? That it’s okay not to open the door for visitors if you don’t want them to come in?”
Anna stared at her in disbelief. “I don’t?”
Grandma Blair smiled. “No, you don’t.”
Cezar came over a few days later. He banged and knocked and although her stomach was ripping up from fear, Anna didn’t go to the door, she didn’t talk through it, and she didn’t open it. And he went away. Anna never saw Cezar again.
Her mom came over the next day. Anna stood in the doorway, unable to move. They both rushed to each other in an abounding hug, wishing away death and separation. Her mom talked about the bone cancer that took her too soon. She and Anna sat at the kitchen table, crying, holding hands, getting up and hugging, and sitting back down again, wiping their eyes.
“Please go to the ocean for me, so I can smell the salt air and hear the waves crashing again.”
Anna was startled. Her panic attacks had only abated from all the medication she was taking every morning and every night. To leave the house, let alone go as far as the ocean, was an unthinkable journey. She answered quietly, “I can’t.”
“Okay.” Her mother smiled, and left it at that.
…to be continued.
Anna Blair’s Visitors (Chapters 28-30)
Charleigh Wallace
____________________________
Anna Blair’s
Visitors
Based on a true story.
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved.
…continued
Twenty-eight
Cheryl Mae showed up the next morning, again uninvited, at 10:00. She had boxes of kitchen tiles, insisting that it wasn’t good for the kids or Anna to step on sticky floors in the kitchen where the other tiles had once nicely lain. Anna thanked her to keep her big fat pig nose out of her sticky floors, and the tiles being nicely “lain” was purely subjective.
Cheryl Mae ignored her, walking past her into the house. She ignored the rude glares, stomping feet, and clock monitoring as she lay down each new pale yellow and white-flecked tile with care. Anna simply warned her that the sticky floor would be exposed again within the week.
Cheryl Mae was a very patient person, Anna surmised through clenched teeth. Not very pretty. Kind of fat. Annoying. Yes, those yellow tiles were sort of pretty, but definitely not Christmas colors. But still, Anna reminded Cheryl Mae that the point here was that she had not been invited, and she had better hurry up.
Anna yelled out, slapping her hand to her thigh, “The mail is coming!”
Seeing that Cheryl Mae was not moving, Anna went on a pacing rampage. She told Cheryl Mae that she knew the mail came every day, thank you very much, but it was obvious to god and all creatures that Cheryl Mae did not prepare for the mailman as thoroughly or meticulously as Anna did. When Cheryl Mae asked what one needed to do to prepare for the mailman, Anna screamed “Ogre!” and stomped off to her room.
In her huff, Anna tripped going down the hall, but as Cheryl Mae rushed to help, Anna pushed her away. After all, Cheryl Mae smelled of musty attics and beheaded old dolls, and besides, Anna didn’t let anyone touch her anymore without her permission.
By 11:30, with no time to spare, Cheryl Mae left behind a slammed door. Anna turned to look at the pretty new floor, and a slight smile came to her face. It was shiny, slippery-in-socks new. The children would like the fact that no more goop would get on their socks.
She hurried down the hall, grabbed the hairbrush and began her ritual. Since there wasn’t much time to dress, she removed her Care Bear pajamas and put on a tattered green robe, a very large hole exposing her naked left butt cheek, and the fluffy pink bunny slippers Aileana gave her on Christmas, the identifying label on the bottom right slipper.
Anna ran to the living room to wait for the mailman. She was certain that Ed would be peering out at her today, his wanting her flesh and all.
Peter Barns, 47, balding, a little pudgy, pulled up to Anna’s box, trying to be inconspicuous about staring at the house, hoping to get another glimpse of Anna Blair. He was new on the route, and had noticed her several times, running out of the house as soon as he had driven off. “She’s so damn pretty and she doesn’t even know it.” He’d shake his head, put her mail carefully in her box, and drive slowly to the next house, looking back to watch the familiar scene unfold.
He watched today as she ran out in her bathrobe. Once she had retrieved the mail safely, he watched as she ran back in the house, leaping high over rocks, a dead bug, a leaf, her beautiful pink butt cheek peeking out of a wonderful large hole in the robe.
Peter sighed heavily, smiled a little, and drove on to the next house. Maybe at some point he’d actually be able to say something to her. He’d never been the kind of guy to talk to women. In fact, he didn’t talk to anyone unless he had to.
Anna was pleased, looking at the cat clock. She still had enough time before the visitor came. Today she’d wear her yellow and red striped office suit, with dark blue high heels.
At 12:14, a somewhat lazy knock lightly shook the front door. Anna opened it.
James Dean came strolling in with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his perfectly formed mouth. Anna smelled leather as he walked past her, finding his way to the kitchen table.
“Nice tiles, toots.”
Anna explained while getting the tea and cookies that her neighbor put down the tiles recently, but she couldn’t recollect why. Anna also couldn’t help but feel James stare at her backside while she faced the kitchen window. He was handsome, but not as much as in his pictures.
When James was about to leave, he tried to pull her toward him in a bad-boy hug of leather and strength, but Anna made it clear to him that she was saving herself for the UPS man. He said he understood, kissed her cheek, and left.
Anna awoke at 2:00 am from a nightmare.
Dear Diary
I died with a horrified look on my face, which I knew would frighten the children in my open casket. If it wasn’t open, though, the children wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. If it was open, they’d be scared and so would I, buried with the earth filling my mouth and eyes and ears, making it impossible to hear, cry, or scream.
I wonder if this has anything to do with not wanting to have sex with James Dean. I wish he hadn’t taken it so personally.
Twenty-nine
After his next session with Anna, Dr. A thought about all he had learned of Anna, her life, and her children. Very little was known about the effect Anna’s condition had on her children yet, but thankfully he was learning more and more in his monthly visits with them. And it was coming out in various ways. Without effort or thought, the gruesome effects did surface, sometimes slow, sometimes in a gush, like lava spewing from a volcano’s mouth.
During a visit with Aileana, she shared a recent experience at school.
“This boy said a really bad “your momma” joke, and I thought he was saying it about my mom. So I got up out of my desk as if nothing was wrong, and pretended to get something at the front of the class. On my way back, I slapped him so hard across his face, it was as if someone had painted one side red, with a definite line down the middle where it became flesh-colored again. All he said was that it didn’t hurt, but he was crying.”
She tried to hide her smile. And continued.
“One time this guy kept punching me on the arm. He said he was just playing around. I gave him an uppercut to his ribs.” She smiled, after doing a jab into the air.
“I told him I was playing around, too. It was awesome! He held his rib cage for the rest of our class.”
In Gregor’s case, he had just become less and less assertive, hiding his feelings for pretty girls rather than risking the outcome from letting those feelings show. He wandered to and from school, back and forth in the neighborhood, barely there at all. Watching other people fall in love, leaving him behind.
He sat silently through most of his appointments, not wanting to share how things really were in his home, or in his mind. He was angry though. It came and left with him at every appointment.
One time he did speak up. “Do you know what my mom did?”
“Tell me,” Dr. A said, surprised he spoke at all.
“She found all my porn, and threw it away!”
“What kind of porn, Gregor?”
“You know…porn!”
“Yes, but were they videos, pictures…what?”
“Oh, pictures I printed off the internet.”
“Why do you think she did that?”
“I don’t know! It’s normal for a teenaged guy to want to look at naked women! Jesus! She made such a big fucking deal about it!”
“Maybe she is thinking of all the women in your home and how it may have offended them?” Dr. A urged cautiously.
“It ain’t my fault I’m the only guy.”
“That is true.” Dr. A remembered as a teenager his own ideal women he had concealed under his bed, for those nights, most nights, when loneliness became overwhelming, and any touch at all, even his own, was more welcome than none.
The session ended with him advising Gregor to be more discreet, and Gregor agreed reluctantly.
Fia came in often wearing dark sunglasses, enduring headache after headache, praying for relief in showers of hot water, dark shades on windows, and cool breezes. She went to school, she came home, and at home, she stayed in her room. That was it. Her room was becoming her sanctuary like the house was Anna’s. Fia had few friends, and claimed to not want any, but she was lonely beyond reason, and no one knew, because she never told anyone. No one except Dr. A.
Rhona became the family bully, claiming she was burdened by all the family members wanting things, needing things; Rhona just wanted to be free. She admitted cornering Fia one day, forcing her to eat the sandwich she had made. She admitted throwing Aileana’s favorite jewelry down the sink when her mother had asked her to clean the bathroom, finding the rings and bracelet lying near the sink.
She went on a rampage in one visit, blaming her mother for being sick, blaming her siblings for being young. And she stormed out of the office without another word.
Dr. A sat back in his chair and sighed.
Dear Diary
What makes the earth flat
I know I’ve heard the theory
They say it’s the other way…you know, the “Not Flat
Theory”
Like “String Theory”
And string cheese
And creationism vs. noncreationivity
But it’s flat
I went to the side of the ocean and almost fell off
It was a pretty scary day
Thirty
“I used to watch love scenes when I was married to Cezar.”
Dr. A asked, “Why?”
Anna moved nervously on his couch. “I needed to know if I still felt like a woman. You know…if I could still be aroused.”
“What did you discover?”
“That I could. It was torture having sex with Cezar.”
“He raped you. He abused you sexually for eight years. How could you feel like having sex with someone like that?” Dr. A held his anger in check.
Tears welled up in her eyes. Dr. A handed her the box of tissues. She took a big handful of them.
“He raped me.” Anna said it as if it was a statement about buying bread, or paying the electric bill. It was not something attached to her. Just a simple statement, spoken as a trial run, to see how it would feel to finally say it.
Dr. A moved closer, and took her hands in his own. Her whispers and whimpers become louder, repeating the words, “he raped me.”
She ripped her hands away from Dr. A’s, and started screaming. “I hate him! He raped me! Over and over again! He hurt the children! He whipped them! He made us all afraid! He made us all hate him!”
Her voice lowered, her body spent. “I hated him. I loved him.”
Anna leaned her head against the back of the couch, weeping softly.
Dr. A sat quietly for a minute. “You’ll be okay, Anna. I will help you.”
Anna sat up, dried her tears, and went on with her previous conversation.
“I watched One Fine Day last night.”
“With Michele Pfeiffer?” Dr. A smiled.
Anna scowled. “No, with George Clooney!”
Dr. A ignored the angry face. “How did you feel watching it?”
Anna spoke softly. “Like I was watching how people are supposed to act when they are in love; how passion is supposed to feel, and sex natural and wanted.”
“What other movies do you watch?”
Anna laughed. “Liar, Liar.”
Dr. A seemed confused. “Why?”
She answered with her usual edge, “because Jim Carrey turns out to be such a wonderful dad to his child.”
“What else do you watch?”
“Excess Baggage.”
“Why?”
“Because Benicio Del Toro is so good to her, and loves her so much in the end. And god, he’s so sexy.”
“Do you think no one loves like that, Anna?”
“I know they don’t.”
Dr. A sat back in his chair. “Well, I believe there are people who love like that, Anna, who love with passion and their whole hearts, and never let go.”
“No one loves like that.”
“Maybe not exactly what you see in the movies, but maybe someday you will see that it can be like that.”
“I’m in my forties, Dr. A. When exactly do you think my soul mate will arrive? I searched a long time. He’s not here. He has never been here. I am alone and will remain alone.”
He sat forward in his chair. “Anna, you have been in an emotional coma for many years now. But you don’t have to be anymore, and maybe, if you let yourself come back, feel again, you will find your soul mate waiting for you.” He smiled, then quickly changed the subject when her face grew frightened. “What else do you watch?”
“I used to watch movies about rape and abuse, so I knew that I wasn’t alone, and that I wasn’t crazy for leaving Cezar.”
“Anna, you aren’t crazy, you weren’t wrong for leaving him, and no woman would love a man after being raped by him. No one.” Dr. A’s voice grew softer. “You must believe that, Anna. And no matter what the church told you, no god would ever want you to live like that.”
She sat back, looked at him, and nodded. “Okay, Dr. A. Okay.” And she smiled, got her purse, and left.
At 12:14, Arthur Miller came to visit. He and Anna re-enacted his plays, The Crucible, After the Fall, and Death of a Salesman, in full costume. It was glorious. They also spoke of his marriage to Marilyn Monroe. Anna always knew Marilyn was a slut.
Rod Serling came to visit the next day. Anna yelled at him continuously over tea and cookies, blaming him for his stupid Twilight Zone marathons that claimed Cezar’s attention for hours upon hours. She was disgusted that he still had that tight-lipped way of speaking. Anna threw him out on his “arse,” yelled in a perfect Scottish accent.
The next day, Euell Gibbons didn’t even get in the front door. “Get the hell out of here with your damn granola and pine tree edible crap!” Anna slammed the door so hard, the photograph of Richard Nixon hanging in the living room fell hard to the floor, broken glass cutting into his flat, gray face.
On Tuesday, Anna stood in the bathroom, at her mirror, and realized her pants were almost down past her hips, and her 3X shirt was flapping around her like a flag in a strong wind.
She both panicked and laughed, wondering what on earth was happening to her clothes. She shut her door with a bang, tore off her clothes and stood in front of the mirror, her hand covering her open mouth.
“I am thinner! When the hell did this happen?” She yelled so loud Cheryl Mae looked out her bedroom window facing Anna’s bathroom window.
“Are you all right?” She called out.
“Shut up!”
Anna smiled at her much smaller waist, her more trim upper arms, her long legs that once had large multiple bumps of fat, but now had fewer, smaller ones, the strong, smooth, and glossy appearance of them coming back. Her face no longer dragged along a double chin; her skin had no wrinkles or signs of age. Even her butt was smaller. And her hair. It was halfway down her muscled back. Her only complaint was the breasts that had headed south, but she knew a good surgeon could fix that.
Anna pulled on a fresh pair of panties, the only ones she owned, size 10 cotton briefs. They glided around her, almost turning full circle. She put her 46 D bra back on, her smaller breasts now just bumbling around in the large spaces, looking for a place to fit.
She then ran up the stairs to a small closet, where she kept her skinny clothes, and grabbed an old pair of size 20 jeans, and threw them on with as little effort as it took her to fall into bed exhausted each night.
Next she found a size XXL lacy, Edwardian-style shirt, with ruffles on the cuffs, in a wonderful shade of lilac.
Dear Diary
I don’t remember growing up.
I remember faces:
Mom
Dad
Grandma
Grandpa
Smiling, Loving, taking care of me
A warm home, an unused fireplace.
A basement full of old dolls,
china cups, an antique typewriter.
Grandma used to let me spend hours down there,
looking through her life,
trying to find my own.
dusty books
authors long gone
and one day, so was she.
She used to laugh
she makes me smile
She loved
She cared for those who grieved
but wasn’t there when I did.
Who will sit with me?
Who will type on the old typewriter, sitting on the card table
in the back room of the house I no longer live in,
the house someone else owns
Where is the old backyard swing,
the walnut tree
the fountain that cooled tiny birds
in the hot San Francisco summer sun
She used to play cards,
She was a Mayor,
a leader,
a wife,
a mother,
she was the world.
She was my heart.
…to be continued
Anna Blair’s Visitors on sale now!
Update: On sale now at amazon.com Kindle Store!!!
Book is being proofed. When ready, I will post the announcement.
Anna Blair’s Visitors (Chapters 25-27)
Charleigh Wallace
____________________________
Anna Blair’s
Visitors
Based on a true story.
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved.
…continued
Twenty-five
“I used to do all the cooking, cleaning, taking care of the kids, and taking care of Cezar, all by myself.”
Dr. A sat up a little more straight. “Tell me about it.”
“For the last two years of our marriage, we also had his two kids with us, so there were six of them. I tried so hard to love them, but I couldn’t. I just wanted mine.
Dr. A nodded. “That’s understandable.”
Anna stared at him. “May I continue?”
Dr. A smiled.
“One time Cezar said he was hungry and wanted a sandwich. The kitchen was pretty far from the living room, where his fat ass sat in the blue velvet chair, eyes hung over from late night whiskey, glued to Bonanza, Twilight Zone, and Sha Na Na reruns.”
Dr. A took notes.
Anna continued. “This was in Hemet, where Cezar molested the babies. I think. Hemet, the city where Gregor and Aileana were born. The house was rectangular.”
Anna stood and walked where she described, using swinging arms for directions. “You’d walk on to the porch, with its screened-in windows of chipped and rotted wood.” Her arms outlined windows.
“The porch had a door,” (she knocked the air) “and through that door was the living room.
“Past the living room was the dining room,” (she pretended to eat) “and through another door was the kitchen, (stirring stew) and finally, a back room.” Anna was now standing at the exit door.
“The three bedrooms,” (she held up three fingers) “and bathroom” (one finger) “were to the right of those rooms,” (giving right signals as if directing traffic) “one off the living room,” (now like a flight attendant) “one off the dining room, and one off the kitchen.”
Dr. A grinned. Then cleared his throat.
Anna looked angry. “Hey! Are you getting all of this? Shouldn’t you be drawing this?”
Dr. A complied, and got a fresh piece of paper, waiting for her to continue.
“The one bathroom was in between the second and third bedrooms” (she squished herself up as if in a tiny space). That’s the bathroom” (she pointed to a window) “where Cezar molested the babies and Jake, and where he stood peeing, knowing Rhona was awake and could see him naked.”
“Tell me about molesting the babies, Anna.”
Anna ignored his question, and continued. “Cezar was sitting in the living room, in that stupid, fucking blue chair” (she pointed to the seat Dr. A was sitting in).
Anna shrugged. “So, I made him a sandwich.”
“What about the babies, Anna?”
“He said her body looks like her mother’s.”
Anna sat down.
“Who? Cezar said that? About who?”
“Cezar said it while watching his daughter, Bethany, walk away from him. I tried to get his mind off of her moving hips.”
“So you also had his daughter, his son, and your four children?”
“I said that.”
“For how long?”
“When I first married Cezar, we had Jake. He was five. He came to live with us. While in preschool, he ripped bows off of girls’ dresses, so he was kicked out. Then I told Cezar I was pregnant and couldn’t handle Jake, so he was sent to Cezar’s mom. When we moved to Banning after Burbank, Cezar brought Jake with the last load of dishes, without telling me.”
“How did you react to that?”
“Well, how do you think, Dr. A? I was upset. I didn’t want to be forced to raise him, but Cezar said he was his child, and I was married to Cezar, so I was going to raise him. Later on, maybe a year before Aileana was born, Bethany was sent to us as well.”
“And you didn’t love them. That must have been very difficult.”
“No. I didn’t. Not Bethany anyway. I loved Jake, most of the time. I fought for him, tried to build him up when Cezar would call him a juvenile delinquent, telling him that he’d never amount to anything.”
“What happened to the babies, Anna?”
“I brought him his sandwich. He wanted more mayonnaise, so I walked all the way back to the kitchen, and brought it out for him. He was watching Little Ed and Hoss on Bonanza and didn’t want to get up.”
“Go on.”
“I know! Jesus Christ! Give me a bloody minute!”
Dr. A smiled.
“I brought him the damn mayonnaise. Now he wanted hot sauce. I went back to the other end of the house to get it, and I brought it to him.”
“Why didn’t he make his own sandwich? Do you know it’s not normal for the man to just sit there and demand things of his wife while he does nothing to support his family?”
Dr. A was getting mad. Anna had never seen him that way.
But she went on, taking off in another direction. “We had a German shepherd puppy.”
Dr. A was hesitant. “What happened to it?”
“Cezar kicked it and threw it out in the backyard. It fell on its side, on the pavement.”
“What did you do?”
Anna’s eyes teared. “I gave the puppy away.”
Dr. A got a tissue for her. “Did you get another pet?”
“Not while Cezar was there.” Anna wiped her nose and eyes, and stared at nothing.
“What happened to the babies, Anna? Anna?”
But Anna was gone now, Dr. A realized. She would comment no more today.
Dear Diary,
Lonely is my friend
He stands so silent
And waits
He holds my hand
And calls me “love”
He holds me at night
While the storms gather strength
And before the rain pelts
on unguarded roofs
He draws me to himself
under his arm
And shelters me there
Twenty-six
It was 7:25 Thursday morning, over a week since the kids had gone back to school. Anna felt utterly alone after having two weeks of their twenty-four hour warmth and laughter.
Fire engines were racing up Beta Avenue, one icy street away, toward a fire in the next block. Cheryl Mae, Anna’s new next-door neighbor on the opposite side from that son-of-a-bitch Ed, came over and knocked.
Anna yelled out, “Really! At this hour!”
She whirled open the door. Cheryl Mae tried to give her some homemade fudge, even though Christmas had clearly passed, asking if Anna wanted to go out sometime, maybe to a bar or a movie.
Anna just laughed, slamming the door on Cheryl Mae’s fudge and her fat face. “Yeah, like that’s going to happen!” Anna yelled through the closed door, laughing for quite a while, shaking her head in disbelief.
Dear Diary
I think Cheryl Mae is gay. She looks like she wants to hug me, but I don’t buy it. It’s not an innocent hug. It’s a give me sex hug. Cheryl Mae isn’t fooling me one bit!
Anna opened the door after Cheryl Mae left, and saw the fudge on the doorstep. “Ingrate!” Anna looked around, quickly grasped the plate of fudge, and brought it inside, slamming the door shut.
And then she got ready for her appointment with Dr. A.
On her way to his office, Anna looked around the cab, thinking how much it seemed like a second home to her. She felt comfortable in it, safe. Craig always seemed so happy to see her. He tried to ask about her Christmas, but Anna just shrugged her shoulders from the back seat, staring out at a white and frigid desolation. Craig was content, though, realizing it was pretty much the first time he’d ever asked Anna a question in which she gave any kind of a response.
Dear Diary
Walk this way
And you’ll trip on the curb
Going too fast
To cash a check
Paramedic cuts my pants
Up to my thigh
He smiled
I looked away
It was my knee you asshole
Not my crotch
Twenty-seven
“Fun Days?”
“Please pay attention, Dr. A. I’m only going to say this once!”
Dr. A hid a smile. “Please continue.”
“Cezar said that because I was such a stupid wife for not wanting sex, and with all the other women out there who did want him, I’d better watch out. He wanted a guarantee that we would have sex, so naturally he felt it his god-given right to institute Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays as Fun Days.”
“What exactly did Fun Days entail?”
Anna continued, ignoring him. “Of course, I could understand why he wanted a guarantee, since the stupid pastor kept preaching from his little fake wood pulpit that man was priest of his home, and god said the wife couldn’t deny her husband. Cezar took it to its full implied meaning.”
Anna rose, waving her arms at the window, conducting the song of the cannons. “And the pulpit was not made of solid mahogany like the manger that baby Jesus lay in, or the acacia wood that the Ark was made from, but veneers, dyed to look like fucking wood!”
Anna sat down again, winded. She continued. “That sermon was preached very clearly and loudly while I sat in church two times on Sunday, once on Wednesday evening, and an occasional Saturday potluck.”
The truth was Fun Days were as much a part of Anna’s life then as babies needing baths, grocery shopping, or mowing the lawn while Cezar napped on sunny afternoons. And no, it certainly did not mean that just because her irritable bowel syndrome had kicked in and she was in the bathroom vomiting, that she could even consider getting out of making Cezar a happy christian man, and god, a pleased god. Oh yes, Cezar had an obedient wife. A true blessing from god.
When Anna got home after her appointment, she was livid. Dr. A had pressed her to talk about Cezar, about sex, and the agony she lived with for eight years. Feeling forced to stay by a god who obviously didn’t love her.
Anna looked around, took the wireless phone from the wall holder, and angrily threw it out the kitchen window, shattering both it and the yellow butter stain. She slid down to the floor, sobbing.
Cheryl Mae came running into Anna’s backyard. “It’s really going to be cold in your house, Anna. We’ll have to get that broken window fixed.” She carefully peered in through the window frame, trying to smile reassuringly, but Anna got to her feet, wiped her eyes, and held out her chest and said she didn’t need Cheryl Mae’s goddamn help!
Cheryl Mae ignored her, remaining in the backyard, smiling. She bent down and picked up the now backyard phone. Anna sternly reminded her that Anna held a BBA, so Cheryl Mae better not talk to her like she’s a stupid slut.
Cheryl Mae successfully used the broken phone to call and arrange for a repairman to replace the window. She carefully leaned in the broken window and set the broken phone in the sink. Then she came and stood at the back door. Anna guessed she wanted to come in, so Anna went against her own policies and allowed it. Just this once.
Cheryl Mae came in and sat at the table, peppermint tea and Lorna Dunes shoved unmercifully in front of her.
“Drink your damn, tea, Cheryl Mae! Cookie?”
After serving Cheryl Mae, which really didn’t agree with Anna because it was clearly not 12:14, not at all time for visitors, she busied herself by doing two things. First, she took window cleaner and sprayed and wiped the table, making Cheryl Mae gag on her tea. Then she went out into the garage, opened the dryer, slid on warm, just-out-of-the-dryer socks, and ran back into the house, slipping and falling onto the hard, cold kitchen floor. Cheryl Mae shrieked, then jumped up to help, but Anna just held out her “don’t you dare” hand, and Cheryl Mae sat back down again. Anna, looking around at the kitchen floor, decided to rip up all the tiles. She grabbed a fork from the drawer.
After the thirteenth tile, having ignored Cheryl Mae’s complaints and suggestions, Anna politely but sternly thanked Cheryl Mae for coming to tea, even though it was not teatime…not even close. Anna got up and pulled Cheryl Mae by her shirtsleeve, ushering her out the kitchen door. Cheryl Mae stopped short of a hug at Anna’s clenched fists.
Cheryl Mae left, saying, “Anna, if you need anything, please…”
Anna slammed the door hard, wondering how that no good busy body woman got in her damn house! She again slipped on the kitchen floor, and landed hard on her ass. Cheryl Mae walked through the back yard, calling softly through the broken window that the repairman was on his way. Anna yelled, “Lesbo bitch!” and continued pulling up the tiles.
The time for the mail rolled around early today. Actually, Anna insisted it was only 8:37, but how could that be when Cheryl Mae broke her kitchen window at 9:34? She used her ten fingers to count all the things that had happened so far, and agreed with the refrigerator that it probably was right around 11:37. Anna got the mail and then dutifully prepared for the visitor, the first one after Christmas break.
The doorbell rang nine times before she was ready to answer it. There was much to do in those nine doorbell rings. Hair brushing, and water boiling, dark green fuzzy boogalie-eyed socks that Fia had given her last year for her birthday, and Lorna Dunes. Anna opened the door. It was Abe Lincoln.
“Oh, it’s you. Well, come on in, I guess. Don’t just stand there like an idiot!”
For whatever reason, Anna felt animosity toward the ex-President. Maybe it was because he was tall like Cezar. Maybe his scratchy beard would scrape up her back while he played with her while she slept, finding her dignity and panties around her knees in the morning.
Sometimes she’d sleep through it. Sometimes she’d fake it. She knew that if Cezar knew she was awake, he’d have demanded more from her.
So Abe Lincoln suffered for the sins of Cezar.
Anna just knew that she had no respect for Abe, and sometimes hurt his feelings with her harsh tones.
Dear Diary
Thank goodness the window repairman came after the children were home and while I soaked in the hot bath. I needed to relax after throwing Abe out. He had just gotten on my last nerve. That’s all. Period! Vamoose! Shit!
When Anna got out of the bath, she ventured into the kitchen in her soft, cozy, light blue terry cloth robe. Aileana was carefully putting on a new fresh coat of butter on the new window, then covered it carefully with the curtain. Anna smiled, and gave her a hug.
Rhona went next door to thank Cheryl Mae for replacing the window, and for the fudge. She also asked what Cheryl Mae thought they could now do about their bare, tile-less, sticky, gooey kitchen floor.
Dear Diary
The Bee
I sit on my lawn chair furniture
And wonder why god made cream cheese
And as to why there are bees, I’m not sure
I guess god does just what he please
I swat at the damn bee in my face
And wonder when I will get out of this place
Er wit I am lonely for frog breath
And if I don’t kiss a prince it will be my death
So yonder and further I struggle to learn
Just what the hell I am doing in this here urn
Bye bye.
…to be continued
Anna Blair’s Visitors For Sale Soon!!!
Please check with http://www.createspace.com/3667463, http://www.amazon.com, & amazon.com Kindle Store for my book! It should be there very shortly. The ISBN is ISBN-13: 978-1466483095. Thank you!
Update: On sale now at amazon.com Kindle Store!!!
Anna Blair’s Visitors (Chapters 22-24)
Charleigh Wallace
____________________________
Anna Blair’s
Visitors
Based on a true story.
Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved.
…continued
Twenty-two
Sunday came. 7:13 am. The alarm harassed and buzzed before Anna stirred. Light sleepers could wake to a soft Frank Sinatra melody whispered in their ears. Medium sleepers needed the “roadrunner” type: short, sharp beeps. In Anna’s case, the only thing that woke her and any number of dead people known to slip into her room at night was the blaring buzz, like one hundred bees swarming around her face. Anna smacked the alarm button hard, sending the clock ricocheting off her nightstand, the dresser, finally crashing into the fireplace.
The children knew the fall and winter ritual on Sunday mornings at 7:13, and respectfully stayed in their bedrooms until their mother got back in bed. Anna had been known to forget all her clothes on these mornings.
Today, she ran to the kitchen, her bare feet slapping on the linoleum, her breasts bouncing. She used the Folgers decaf coffee on Sundays from September to November, and the Maxwell House regular roast from December to January. The rest of the year, the coffee pot was put away. It didn’t matter that no one in the house drank coffee.
When the water in Grandma Blair’s old percolator started jumping up in the little glass top, Anna sat down on the cold, plastic seat by the kitchen table, chilling her butt, causing goose-bumps to travel up and down her arms. She loved to watch the little spurt of coffee come up to say ‘hello’ in the clear, glass top.
When the coffee was made, she unplugged the pot, took a strong whiff, smiled. Then went back to bed, turning on a football game on the living room television as she passed through. The sounds and smells of winter and football games reminded her of the times she lived with Grandma and Grandpa Blair, in that warm and cozy house on Channing Road in Burlingame, California.
When she awoke later, she heard the kids out front, smelled French toast frying in a pan, and the coffee that no one would drink. She jumped out of bed, threw on her jeans, t-shirt and soft, thick socks, and ran out in the kitchen, announcing that today they were going to decorate the house for Christmas.
There was much excitement and noise, laughter, talking, and planning.
The kids all took a different window to paint their magical winter scenes of log cabins, funny-faced snowmen, carolers wearing knitted scarves, and Christmas trees decorated with colorful ornaments of red, blue, and purple paint. Anna painted a life-sized, naked, and well-endowed man on the large living room window, which was hurriedly washed off.
“Jesus, Mom,” Gregor said.
The fake Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, with the tree skirt Anna’s mom had given her a few Christmases before her death.
Ornaments were hanging on the tree that had hung on every Christmas tree since before the monster came into Anna’s life. The kids laughed, and danced while Harry Connick, Jr. and Mel Torme sang about Santa Claus and mistletoe.
The coffee smelled wonderful throughout the house, and the football cheers mingled with the Christmas tunes and the children’s harmonious voices singing.
Aileana got the Santa statue in her room first, agreed on only after a lengthy game of ‘pick a number.’ Then they agreed to trade off.
By the time they were done with all the boxes of decorations, the house was transformed.
Anna looked at the window paintings of snowmen and brightly colored, wrapped presents, of snow scenes and cabins, the tree with lights and ornaments, wreaths on everyone’s bedroom door, and lights around all the windows in the living room, kitchen, and everyone’s bedrooms as well.
She sighed, her hands resting on her hips. “It looks like a palace.” And everyone was treated to See’s Candies, although the kids had to fight to eat through very hard, frozen nougats, since Anna loved her candy frozen. It was a good day, and everyone knew it.
Dear Plain Old Diary
We all decorated the house today for Christmas and ate frozen candy. You just can’t put that kind of feeling on a fucking card, you know?
Another PI:
Santa is for suckers
Not the cherry kind
No wait.
I didn’t mean that
He’s real…as real as me
I ordered the reindeer
From that catalog
Like He told me to,
Then He whispered,
“I’ll teach you to fly”
Twenty-three
“Some things I don’t want to remember.”
“I can see why,” Dr. A said sympathetically.
“But other things I do, but can’t.”
“Like what?”
Anna looked out onto snowy Gore Boulevard, with its horse-drawn carriages and people driving to finish their last minute Christmas shopping.
“Little things. My children’s first steps, their first words, the funny things they did as toddlers. I want to remember which child gave me the pretty gold-plated angel necklace, or the little stuffed red and yellow fish, or the big sail boat on a beautiful wooden stand with the word Endeavor etched into the bow, or the little ceramic bowl made by little, loving hands a long time ago.”
She shielded the tears with her hands. “I just can’t remember. The memories are not there for me; only the idea that these times occurred, that they were very special, and that I loved every minute of them.”
“Maybe your children can help you to remember.”
“They do that. They don’t take offense to the many times I ask, ‘Who gave me these slippers…who gave me this clock?’ They finally decided to label everything on the bottom, so I would never have to feel bad about asking again.”
“They are such good kids, Anna, and they love you.”
“I know!”
It amazed Dr. A that Anna could be so eloquent and articulate one minute, and yelling at him the next.
Her original reason for anger, no matter how unsubstantiated, grew when she asked about her children’s counseling session. Even though she grew perilously angry with him, paced around him, and glared at him, Dr. A would not tell her what was discussed in their meetings. “I don’t tell them what we discuss either, Anna. All I can say is they are wonderful and it was a great visit.”
He wished her a Merry Christmas as she left, her stiff gait not without a hint of potential anarchy, and smiled as he closed his door on her far-off glaring eyes as she waited for the elevator.
He was glad he had asked to keep her journal for a week, making sure she knew she could write diary entries on any kind of paper. She had suggested toilet paper but he kindly suggested binder or printer paper.
He picked up her journal, not sure what he’d find lurking there. He knew how much courage Anna must have had in the past, leaving her husband, the long and treacherous move to Nashville, raising her four children alone, her mother’s death, and yet now, that courage was not apparent. It’s as if it only took her so far, and then said, “It’s your turn now.”
Anna rode home thinking about her move to Nashville right after the divorce: her last journal writing assignment from Dr. A, one he’s probably reading right now. She looked around the cab, and couldn’t help but notice Craig’s blue eyes glancing at her in the rear view mirror. He almost crashed the cab, swerving quickly from the curb, when he thought he saw a slight smile.
After dropping her off at home, he went straight home and took a cold shower, letting the coolness spill all over him, hoping to calm the fire he felt inside.
Dr. A picked up her journal.
Dear Diary
Here goes nothing. June 20, 1988. The move. Hemet, California to Nashville, Tennessee.
Me. My four children. Rhona is seven. Fia is six. Gregor is three. Aileana is two. Running away from the monster. As far away as we can. A borrowed car, a CB radio, $1030 in cash, a Firestone credit card, a phone card from Fran, and an old wooden trailer chained to the bumper.
Leaving in the middle of the night only forced to return the next day with an overheated engine. Trying to leave fast. Not moving. The pastor fixes the radiator. It was the least he could do.
He had, upon pressure from the staunch christians, asked my four little children and me to leave the church. “God says divorce is a sin.”
I told him, “No, it says he hates it. It never says it’s a sin.”
He sort of redeemed himself, though, by giving me $500 in the back office of the church, with the door locked, “because the church members may not agree with me giving you this money, since you divorced Cezar.”
I remember the last night in church before leaving Hemet behind in its hypocritical dust.
The church was packed, I think it was a Wednesday night. The kids were in the nursery. Cezar was up ahead of me several rows. I was in the back.
Pastor Gary was talking about how sometimes god works even when you do know the problem, and I’m thinking, oh shit, you better not do this. Not after all the counseling, not after you know the truth, not after you know about the abuse.
But he did. He called up Cezar and he called up me. Cezar ran up to the front of the church, his ape-back facing me, his arms waving in the air praising his jesus.
I refused to go up. Time went by. Cezar still flapped his arms like he’d fly away. The crowd was silent. I couldn’t tell what they were thinking. Were there some who were on my side? Or were they all like the man who kept calling me, saying god was against me divorcing.
I still refused Pastor Gary’s urgings, so he pointed at me, and said, “I rebuke you Satan from her!” I started crying.
I knew the people in the church would think the devil was on me and that’s why I was crying, when really I was crying out of such sadness that a church could be so blind to what was really going on.
I stood up, started making my way down the pew to the middle aisle, and said as I walked up front: “I do this not because you’ve asked me, not because of these people here, and definitely not because of Cezar, but because I love jesus.”
When I got to the front, next to Cezar, Pastor Gary grabbed my hand and put it in Cezar’s! I thought I was going to die! Holding that monster’s hand, not able to get away.
Dr. A put down the journal. “Good god. Dear god.” He got up, paced the office floor, slammed his fist on his desk, sat back down, and picked up the journal.
Pastor Gary started praying and crying. I stood frozen. Soon the crowd came out of the pews and stood around us, all praying. I couldn’t even cry then. I was dead. As dead as I’ve ever been.
Then Pastor Gary stopped holding our hands together and he just hugged me, crying and praying. I dropped my hand from Cezar’s. His arms continued to wave, exclaiming, “Thank you, Jeeeessuss!” What an asshole! What a liar! If they were looking for Satan, he was standing right next to me.
I felt like I was out of my body. It was like I knew the truth, and it was so powerful, that nothing that crowd could have done would have wrenched it loose. It was in my heart. And there it would stay. No matter what anyone said to me, I knew who god was that night, and he was not anything like they thought he was.
He was on my side, and he loved me. I knew it for sure when in all that chaos, I felt a small hand take hold of mine. It was Rhona. She was only seven, and yet she knew. She knew.
I held on to her little hand, and she led me right through that crowd, down the aisle, and out of the church. She and I silently gathered Fia, Gregor, and Aileana from the nursery, and walked out of that church for the last time.
“Jesus.”
After Pastor Gary finished repairing the radiator, the children and I once again climbed into the car, and left the afternoon on the second day. We reached Barstow but the plan was to go much farther, to be at least in Arizona. But we were stuck there with more repairs, in the quicksand of smoking radiators, leaking water pumps, a timing cover and gasket, and what could be a writhing, seething abuser on our heels.
I pulled into the Barstow Firestone and left the car there. We walked to a nearby motel, a mother duck and her ducklings, only in reverse. Rhona in front, then Fia, then Gregor, then Aileana, then me. A perfect precious line. We got smiles and waves from cars driving past.
We endured two long days too close to Cezar, waiting for the parts to arrive. We left on the third day. On the I-40 going east toward Needles, a heater hose blew.
CB radio: “Help. Someone help!” I managed to get all the children out of the smoking car, but Fia was hysterical because her stuffed dog was still inside. I couldn’t calm her; I could only hold her.
A trucker came and fixed the hose. I thanked him. We set off again. The second heater hose blew before Kingman, Arizona. Another call for help. Another trucker. The sky was red. He warned me that the end was coming.
“The end of what?”
“The end.”
I thanked him and we get in the car, quickly locking the doors.
I’d already screamed and cried on the side of the road at least four times. We stayed in Kingman for the night.
Dr. A set the journal down, got up, stretched his legs, sighed, shook his head, rubbed his tired neck, and got a cup of coffee from the coffee maker on the side table at his window. It was now 7:30 pm. He added his usual vanilla hazelnut creamer, took a sip, and looked out over Gore Boulevard.
He returned to his desk, sat back down, and continued reading.
The starter and solenoid died somewhere between eastern Arizona and western New Mexico. Food poisoning in Albuquerque. Panic. Throwing up. Diarrhea. I was on the bathroom floor of the motel. The children were all in the motel room, sitting on beds, watching cartoons, eating crackers and cookies. Precious things.
Someone help me!
We got lost in Abilene. The trailer came unwelded on the freeway, 10:00 pm near Arkansas, going 65 m.p.h. Sleeping at the 7-11 until the shop opened the next morning. The nice man fixed the trailer. Going back on the highway, the police stopped me.
“Sorry ma’am. We thought you were a man we were looking for.”
Dr. A laughed out loud, shaking his head in disbelief and muttering profanities in Romanian.
$2.00 in change. But we made it to Nashville. Living in camp grounds, sleeping in the car, fighting off the mosquitoes. The battery died. Got a new one. Called a friend. She came from Knoxville to take us to her house for a week. Our car kept overheating on the way. One week later, she took us back to Nashville. She paid over $200 for us to stay in the Days Inn for one week.
I realize I have never paid her back.
The kids ate for free. On the last day, after checking out, a man let us move into his rental house with no money. Only the promise that I was expecting money, which we received two weeks later. The transmission went out. I sold the car for $50.
More Romanian expletives. He wrote in his notes:
All of these battles, only to regress, becoming less courageous rather than more. Her courage must have left subtly. Where once I imagined there was a brave, tenacious young woman, now emerges a broken, weary soul. And I think her manifestations are only beginning. I think it will get much worse before it gets any better. And I hope I am there to help her.
Dr. A was about to go home, when he decided to turn the next page, seeing more writing. Another vision of Anna’s mother:
Dear Diary
Last night I woke up. It was dark everywhere in my room. Then I saw another figure, a woman. She walked from the sliding glass doors to my bedroom door, draped in charcoal gowns, carrying gray balloons. She dissipated like ash, like a vampire exposed to light, when she reached the bedroom door. My birthday is the 29th. Mom was bringing me balloons.
Dr. A forced himself to close the journal, placing it on his desk. He closed and locked his office door, and headed downstairs and out onto festivities he didn’t feel like celebrating. He walked onto Main Street, to his condominium, at the heart of all the quaint little shops near a tree-lined park.
He let himself inside, fixed tea that he never drank, wandered around the condo, leaving a trail of clothes here and there, and finally went to bed. He couldn’t stop thinking of how he might help Anna. The journal wouldn’t be able to do it all. He had to spend more time with her, help her to uncover what she would not or could not see. He had a glimpse, but it would not be enough. Anna Blair needed something he didn’t know if he could give her.
Twenty-four
Christmas came and went. Anna and the children enjoyed each other’s company, the snow falling, the smell of coffee, boiled raisin cake and gingerbread. Anna ordered a lot of gifts online so she enjoyed the UPS man coming and going, but he seemed a little bit tense, and because of that, she never tried to kiss him again.
They opened their presents on Christmas morning while carolers sung, stuffed most uncomfortably, Anna surmised, inside the CD player. A fire was blazing in the living room fireplace. Everyone took turns opening a present, ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ over each other’s gifts. They hardly missed the absence of a Christmas parade or horse-drawn carriage ride.
The children went back to school ten days later, and Anna quickly forgot every Christmas moment she’d shared with them.
…to be continued
Charleigh Wallace 