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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781682955994 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Siren-BookStrand |
| Publication date: | 11/17/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 231 KB |
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Scars and Tattoos
By Stephanie Rollins
Siren Publishing, Inc.
Copyright © 2016 Stephanie RollinsAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-68295-599-4
CHAPTER 1
March 5, 2016
"Daddy," I whisper into the phone. There is silence on the other end. It is silence that holds years' worth of estrangement.
"Eliza Jane?" There is a pregnant pause. With tears in his voice, "Are you okay? What about the boys? Are they okay?"
"No, Daddy, we are not. I need help."
"What did that bastard do?" he growls. He never did like Roy. I know Daddy is itching to load up his rifles and put some buckshot in Roy's hindquarters.
"Daddy, he is no longer just mean. It is more than that. He scares me. He is dangerous. I am so scared that he is going to hurt the boys. Daddy, I am even scared that he may kill us. That is why I am using this el cheapo phone. Don't call me on it. I have to keep it hidden."
"What is he doing?" he practically yells into the phone.
"He keeps spending money on gun parts. He steals parts for AR 15's from work. He buys the other parts he needs. Now he is trying to steal C4 from work. He says if I try to leave, he will kill us. Daddy, he is the reason I have not talked to any of you all for years. He would not let me. Daddy, I don't have friends, family ... I have nothing."
"Yes, you do have family. We will get you out of this situation. Are you willing to do this? Are you willing to come back to the South?"
I start to cry silent tears. "Yes." I have just admitted that my marriage is not going to work. That hurts me so deeply.
"Can you call me tomorrow?"
"I can call after he goes to work. Around seven o'clock."
"Be safe. I want to make it so you and those kids never have to see him again. I want you to get every single penny he owns. Are you and the kids okay right now?"
"Yes. In case of an emergency, we all have phones hidden in our rooms."
"Honey, this is not what you need. This is not how God intended for marriage to be. Call me in the morning. If I do not hear from you, know I will be coming up there to get you all — come hell or high water."
"Thank you, Daddy."
"You are welcome. We have all missed you all. We love you and those boys."
I am so emotionally distraught that I hang up the phone without saying that I love him, too.
CHAPTER 2March 6, 2016
If I could go back and kick my 21-year-old ass, I would. Within five months, I met a man online, met him in person, dated him, and married him. A person should put more than five months of thought into adopting a dog.
I call my Daddy. He answers immediately.
"I talked with Gerald yesterday about your situation." Gerald is a well-known lawyer in my hometown of Coats, North Carolina. He is also my cousin. "What is Roy's rank?"
"He is a CW4."
"How long has he been in the military?"
"Twenty-six years."
"I bet he makes pretty good money."
I am not sure where this is going. "Yes, but he forces us all to live in poverty. I literally have to wipe down paper plates when we are allowed to use them. We are forced to steal toilet paper, ketchup packages, and ..."
"So he can buy his guns. Why is he so obsessed with guns?"
"He is convinced that we are going to be attacked. He wants to blow up the bridge in front of our house, in case of an attack, with the C4 he plans to steal this weekend."
"I want you and the kids out of there before he brings that home. Can you start packing without him knowing?"
"I can pack a few things and stick the boxes under beds."
"Do that. Gerald wants you to do a few important things. First, take pictures of all the gun parts, the serial numbers on them, any paperwork. Send those pictures to me. That is our ace in the hole. Then, start writing down account numbers for everything. Even better would be to make copies of statements. Not just bank statements. Life insurance, health insurance, and all that other stuff. Also, make a list of all the real estate you own. Write down parcel numbers, too. Can you fax it all to me by tomorrow?"
"I already have it all organized in a binder. I will fax it in an hour."
He gives me Gerald's fax number. I thank him, and I ask him to tell everyone that I love them.
I spend the rest of the day explaining to the boys that we are secretly getting ready to move. They do celebratory dances and give me big hugs. We pack, and we take pictures of gun parts and guns. I take pictures of all the other incidental things he stole from the military: a boxed-in wagon, hoses with copper wiring in them, antennas, goggles, and a generator. I see where Gerald is going with this. Roy will be forced to give me whatever I want. Goodness knows, I have helped him amass quite a bit of wealth in real estate over the years. Of course, he always took credit for it.
* * *
March 7, 2016
Friday afternoon, I transfer half of each bank account into my name. It is not much. We are land rich and money poor, because Roy likes to spend money on what Roy wants. I have been tempted over the years to sell the real estate that was not making a profit. However, I knew that if I did so, Roy would spend that money with frivolity. He could spend money faster than green grass goes through a goose.
Gerald, Daddy, and Momma pull into my driveway promptly at three thirty. Gerald is driving what has to be the biggest U-Haul made. Momma and Daddy drive their Escalade. All of us waste no time in loading the U-Haul. By the time Roy gets home, we are finished. The door to the truck is locked.
"Let me do the talking," Gerald warns.
"What the fuck is going on?" Roy greets us. The boys hang their heads, as they usually do around him. Daddy steps in front of the boys.
Gerald greets him with a smile only lawyers can devise. "Well, I am finer than a frog hair split three ways. Thanks for asking," Gerald responds with Southern sarcasm.
"Why is there a U-Haul in the yard?"
"Eliza Jane is divorcing you. She is taking Bobby and Billy."
"Like hell she is." His hands are in fists at his sides. He stands straight in order to intimidate me further.
Daddy squares off with him, ready to fight. "I have not liked your Yankee ass from day one. Damn carpetbagger. I have wanted a good excuse to give you a Southern ass-whipping. You take one step closer to her or those boys, and one of us will end up in a body bag."
Gerald hands Roy a stack of photos. "See these?"
Roy lurches at me, his eyes dark with hate. Gerald puts out his arm to block him from stepping closer. "You'd be wise to remember that you were about as welcome into our family as a skunk at a church picnic."
I think my Daddy just growled. I heard some feral sound resonate from deep within him.
"Here is what you are going to do," Gerald explains. "You are going to sign this separation agreement. You will then, without argument, sign the divorce papers that I will draw up. If you do not, I will take these pictures, along with all the stolen gun parts, which are now in the back of the U-Haul, to your commanding officer and your boss at your federal job. You will lose your rank, your retirement, your job, and your freedom. Yes, you will serve time, and a lot of it."
"Let me read this."
"Read it, but we both know that you need to do the right thing. You need to plow straight and to the end of the row."
Roy reads the paperwork while nervously chewing on his lip. He gets to the back page. Gerald hands him a black pen. He lays the papers on the top of the Escalade, and he signs his name. I am one step closer to freedom. Roy turns his back and wordlessly walks toward the house.
As we drive away, I turn back around to watch my house get smaller and smaller. My mother squeezes my hand and tells me not to look back. I am reminded of Lot and his wife. I feel like the ground has broken beneath my feet. I would not be surprised if I turn into a pillar of salt. Normal, even a bad normal, is sometimes comforting.
Roy starts to go up the stairs to the porch. He must have forgotten something. He turns back toward the truck, reaches onto the seat for something, and he slams the door.
The entire ground shakes beneath us. We are thrown from one side of the Escalade to the other. I notice that the U-Haul is fighting the urge to topple over. I also realize that I just saw my soon-to-be-exhusband thrust into the air and slammed onto the ground from the explosion.
I ask everyone if they are okay. We are all emotionally shaken, but physically fine. Gerald parks the U-Haul, and he walks back toward us. "Was it C4?" I ask anyone willing to answer me.
Daddy slowly nods. "It would make sense that it was."
Momma is crying. The boys are silent and holding onto me. Gerald throws the separation papers onto my lap. "We will not be needing these. Let me call 911."
CHAPTER 3April 6, 2016
One month ago, I watched my abusive husband get blown to bits because of his obsessions. You would think that I would be devastated. I watched a man die. This man fathered my children and exchanged vows with me. However, I am relieved. The explosion was an epic way to end that horrible Chapter of my life.
I left the memorial service details to Roy's family. They idolized him. Unfortunately, it became worse after his death. They literally built a memorial to him in their front yard, complete with a plaque, flowers, flag pole, 50 10-inch landscaping blocks, and spotlights. They may call it a memorial, but I call it a shrine. I think it is ridiculous to "honor" someone in death who deserved no respect in life.
However, that is water under the bridge, or, in this case, C4 up in smoke. My life is going on. My children's lives are going on. I cannot help but to think that his death was an act of God's mercy for me and the kids. C4 may have been overkill, but maybe God has a sense of humor.
CHAPTER 4May 17, 2016
My mother, aunt, and grandmother have surprised me with their company. They have brought Pepsi and peanuts — the North Carolina combination. We all pour our peanuts into the glass Pepsi bottles and enjoy the treat. The Pepsi fizzes as we drop each peanut in.
Something is behind this impromptu visit, I deduce. They send the kids out to dig in the freshly plowed garden. Yep, something is up.
My grandmother starts. "Eliza Jane, I love you." She nods toward everyone else. "We love you as much as the day is long."
My Aunt Bitsy chimes in. "I remember when you were four or five, knee-high to a grasshopper, always digging with your girlie dresses on. You'd dig with the boys but still be feminine. Now, that takes Southern charm and grace."
"What we are all trying to tell you is that you seemed to have lost yourself," my mother adds. "Remember when you were Miss Mule Days? Remember your debutante dance? You had such poise, great coiffed hair, a figure to die for. We know that you are still that girl. It is time to knock off the dust and sift through all that shit to find her."
I grasp the arms of the recliner. "Well, I feel both insulted and complimented." I shake my head in disbelief.
"Don't worry, sugar. We have a plan," Aunt Bitsy assures me.
I don't feel assured.
"Carolina Oasis," my grandmother explains. "A lady I play Bunko with has a granddaughter who went. She went for a weekend and came back a beautiful swan."
"What is it?" I ask.
"A spa," my mother answers. "We are sending you away for the weekend."
I start to interrupt.
My mother holds up her hand to stop my arguments. "We are all keeping the boys. We have a cookout, fishing trip, and hayride planned. No excuses. It is paid for. Here are directions. Be there tomorrow at nine." She hands me directions and the pamphlet for it.
I flip through the pamphlet. A day without making grilled cheese sandwiches and cleaning muddy boots? A day without Tonka trucks and Thomas the Train? It looks so luxurious. I hug each one of them.
"One more thing, honey," Aunt Bitsy interrupts. "You are starting Weight Watchers. We signed you up. We are all signed up. All of us have a few pounds to lose. It is time for you to lose your dead weight. Pun intended." She winks at me. She hands me a paper with my user name and password.
"Oh, Sissy!" Mom exclaims and hugs me. "Just think! In six months or less, you will be back to sweating glitter. There's a new day tomorrow, and it ain't been touched!"
CHAPTER 5May 18, 2016
I stop at T-Mart to gas up my car. I crave a T-Mart chicken biscuit drenched in Texas Pete hot sauce. However, a chicken biscuit is fifteen points, and I am only allowed thirty points a day. I did learn that hot sauce itself is zero points. That is a silver lining to this cloud.
As I munch on my apple and pump gas, I hear a voice I'd recognize anywhere. "Well, well. Look who the cat drug in. If it isn't Miss Mule Days."
Barbara Ann Sommers. Just the name alone gives me butterflies in my stomach. I see she still has the gift of passive-aggressive Southern bitchiness. It is a trait that only Southern women understand.
We had both been pageant types in high school. She won second place to me in both Mule Days and Crepe Myrtle contests. I paid dearly for my crowns. She spread every nasty rumor she could about me.
God help me. I want to see an overweight woman with a dark mustache and unplucked brows when I turn around. Damn. She is still beautiful. I see the vindication in her smile. Though her words drip with honey and Christian hospitality, evil is lurking behind the façade.
I am sure that it will be all over Coats by the end of the day that Eliza Jane Winters is now fat, unkempt, and out of control. Goodness knows that Barbara Ann Sommers has enough mouth for ten rows of teeth. A few weeks ago, this might have made me surrender to that chicken biscuit that I cannot help but visualize. It might have made me break down and cry. Now, it simply motivates me.
I call my mother before starting my trek. "Mom, a year to the date of Roy's death, I want a second debutante dance. I want to come out to society again. I want to look and be kick-ass. I am going to work my ass off, quite literally, this next year. What do you think?"
My mother stalls for a moment. "It will be hard work. An entire year of it. However, life may have handed you scraps, but you can make a damn good quilt out of them. Let's do it!"
CHAPTER 6Carolina Oasis is located in Wilmington. Once I near the spa, I roll my windows down to breathe in the distinct sweetness of the nearby salt water. Wilmington is also a college town, home of UNC Wilmington, which is evident by all the young college students that roam the sidewalks. They are so full of life, hope, and wonder.
I am only twenty-seven. When did I lose my spark? The beatings did not begin until after the boys were born, about five years ago. Until then, I was just berated. He slowly planted seeds of doubt until the self-hate dominated my life.
I love my sons. Yes, I would do anything for them, including finding myself. Maybe my mother is right. Maybe I do need to blow off the dust and sift through the shit to find the old me.
The spa has a beach theme, complete with island music, shells as decorations, and muted pinks and blues in the décor. I am greeted with a hug by a metrosexual man with a man bun and an off-the-shoulder, thin gray shirt that reminds me of Flashdance.
"Oh, you must be Eliza Jane!" he greets me, like he has waited an eternity to make my introduction. "I am so excited about you being here this weekend!" he gushes. "My name is Brett. I will be taking care of you this weekend. We do it a little differently at Oasis. Instead of passing you around to different stylists, we each take one client for the entire weekend. That way, you are taken care of as personally as possible. Anything you need ... your wish is my command." He literally bows like the genie in Aladdin.
I giggle. "Brett, I am transforming myself, finding myself ... I need a lot of help."
"Your grandmother told me about your situation." He hugs me again. He surprisingly smells manly. "Let's help you get your groove back!" He takes a few steps back, leans his head back, and yells out for all to hear. "Look out, world! Eliza Jane is going to get her groove back!" Then he howls with wild abandon.
I laugh until I have tears in my eyes.
"Your turn," he announces.
"Excuse me?"
"It is your turn to howl. Try it. It is liberating."
"You want me to howl?"
"Yes. At the top of your lungs."
I let out a small, short howl.
"That does not sound like a howl. Let it all go." He throws his head back and howls wildly again. The sound echoes off the brick veneer.
"Feels good!" he declares. "Try it."
I laugh and take a deep breath. I stand in the middle of the room, hold my arms out, close my eyes, throw my head back, and loudly howl. "That does feel good," I admit. Then I get a fit of giggles. Brett and I laugh crazily until we cannot catch our breath.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Scars and Tattoos by Stephanie Rollins. Copyright © 2016 Stephanie Rollins. Excerpted by permission of Siren Publishing, Inc..
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