In Harmony(114)

Willow



The ride from Braxton to my cottage was silent. I sat in the back of Dad’s BMW and Mom sat with me, all ten of my fingers twined up in hers. It seemed my hand hadn’t been out of hers for hours now. She hadn’t broken physical contact since we left the Renaissance Hotel and followed Isaac to the station.

Isaac…

He appeared in the ballroom, and at first I couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. My worst nightmare, Xavier, followed by the greatest wish of my heart. Isaac’s face had been bloodied and bruised, but in my turbulent chaotic swirl of the emotions, I imagined it was his battle wounds of everything that happened between us.

And like plot twist, the police were there to put handcuffs on Isaac while Xavier’s hands were free. It was then a calmness fell over me, the kind that comes when you know exactly what you need to do. Xavier’s threats about closing the theater had bought a few minutes of my silence, but seeing Isaac had broken me free. If I wanted a chance at happiness, I had to get the poison out. The price for keeping silent was too high, not just for me, but for any other girl Xavier might’ve assaulted, or any he’d target in the future.

With Mom holding my hand the whole time, I told the police my story in my own words. No standing ovation at the end. No rounds of applause. But I felt better. Cleaner. Years of black ink seeping out of my skin and washing away. The darkness lifting, my flame standing tall and bright.

I imagined my grandmother was proud of me.

Exhaustion laced my bones by the time Dad pulled up in front of my little house.

“Are you sure you want to be alone?” my mother asked as they walked me to my front door. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Daniel, what do you think?”

“She can make her own decisions,” Dad said, his voice gravelly and rough. “Whatever she wants.”

The dim porch light made both of them look weary. Tonight wasn’t so much a bomb dropping as it was a pebble in a pond. Ripples would slowly spread out, farther and farther. Maybe Xavier would feel the impact one day. Maybe not. Right now, my parents stood at the epicenter of the damage.

“Whatever she wants,” Dad said again.

“I’m sorry,” Mom whispered. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes. Dark, dried tear tracks down one cheek, her hair falling out of its twist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she said.

“I think I like you better this way.”

My mother threw her arms around me and held me close. “I think I knew. Or suspected.”

I closed my eyes.

“I was so scared to say anything. Not because of your dad’s job, that was my cover. I was scared of failing you. Because I did. This feeling inside me right now? It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever known. I didn’t protect you, and I’m sorry. I failed you and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom.”

“No, it’s not. Nothing is okay.”

“But it will be.”

She released me and Dad stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “You’ll probably lose your job.”

“I’m done with them. And you have nothing to be sorry for.” His jaw worked. “Willow…”

I felt the enormity of what happened between us pressing him down now, too. He didn’t know how to cope with it. There was no memo to write or order to send.

“We’ll talk more later, okay?” I said. “Right now it’s late and everyone is tired. Let’s just try to get some sleep.”

Relief sagged his shoulders, but he forced himself to look at me.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said. “And I’m… I hope it’s not too late.”

I smiled and gave him a small peck on the cheek. “It never is.”





Inside my little cottage, I stood for a quiet moment, breathing. The weight I’d been carrying for so long was lighter. Halved. I could breathe again. Still, a hole remained in my heart that had nothing to do with my black and ugly past, and everything to do with my future.

A knock came at the door.

My future.

Isaac stood on the porch, his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. He’d washed the blood from his face, but blue and purple colored the skin around his right eye. A little slash tore the corner of his lower lip.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi.”

“It’s late. You must be tired. But I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He raised his eyes to mine. “Are you?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “I am.”

He nodded. “Okay. Good.”

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah, I do.”

I opened the door wider and he stepped inside. A waft of expensive clothes and cologne as he passed, instead of gasoline and smoke. I felt a stab of fear that the Isaac I knew was gone. That three years of Hollywood had turned him into someone else.

I closed the door behind me. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“Did you quit smoking?”

He nodded.

“I’m glad. Though I miss the smell a little.” I swallowed. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Willow. So fucking much.”