Chapter Five
Marshall Crawford
“Grandma’s house! Grandma’s house! We’re going to grandma’s house!” Mikey sang from the back seat, excited to see his grandmother. She lived about two hours away from us. Mason grumbled, arms crossed, his head leaning against the window. It was 7AM and I wanted us there the entire day, a getaway of sorts.
A needed one. If one person could ground me and Morgan, it was my mom. Well, my adoptive mom. Margret chuckled weakly from the passenger seat of our Land Rover. “We’ll stop for coffee, we promise Mason.” Morgan was staring out the window, looking a mixture of terrified and lost. She doesn't have her cell phone; Mason explained to her why she doesn’t have it so she knows what’s going on but not everything.
It was in my pocket, still vibrating every so often.
I called my mom around 6AM and told her what was going on with Morgan, and why we were making an emergency trip to which I got a lecture on visiting more often, not just because of family emergencies that went for a good fifteen minutes. I started the car and drove out of the garage, heading to the highway, waving to fellow churchgoers as we passed them.
Margret spoke up. “Kids, make sure to wave to our neighbors.” Mason gave a half wave and I thought Mikey's hand was going to fly off his wrist. And Morgan looked like she wanted the seat to swallow her up.
After we stopped for gas, snacks, and coffee, Mason much happier now that he had his caffeine, we drove. And didn't stop until we hit traffic lights in New Jersey. We were a half hour away now. Mikey was asleep, having tired himself out. Morgan looked like she was getting some sleep too. No doubt bored with the trip without her phone. Mason was still wide awake after his large coffee. I finally turned onto Carlton Street, NJ. My mom’s house is not that far now. I drove more and saw her cream-colored, odd-looking house.
It had cement stairs, bay windows, and potholes everywhere in the driveway, all lined with a chin-linked fence that had to be older than me. And there was mom, outside on her chair, cat in her lap and cigarette in her hand, coffee on the table next to her while she read a gossip magazine with her free hand. I sighed; feeling more relaxed now that I was at Mom’s house. I honked my horn gently to get her attention.
She hadn't done her hair yet. It was everywhere. Thick, curly, and attempted to be kept back with a do-rag around her head while wearing pajamas I remembered her wearing when I was sixteen wrapped in an aged bathrobe with polka dots and bunny slippers.
I went over a pothole, unable to avoid them all. Mikey grumbled and Morgan woke up.
I parked the car as Mom stood up, letting the cat inside before walking down to us. The limp was new, it worried me but I put it in the back of my mind and even if I wanted to address that I didn't have time to visit randomly she started yelling. “There’s my grandbabies! Come give grandma a hug!” Mikey was first out, running to her. “Grandma!” She hugged him close, kissing his head and ruffling his hair.
“I think there’s a certain kitty that has been missing you like crazy, get in there!” He laughed, running up the cement stairs. “Son, don’t run!” I yelled but it went unheard as he ran inside. My mom shrugged with a smile. “He’s gotta learn somehow bublah now give your mother that-you-haven’t-seen-in-three months a hug.”
I rolled my eyes, walking over to her, hugging her tightly, and inhaling the familiar scent of roses. She held my face and kissed both cheeks, making me feel like I was ten. But this time I towered over her 5’3 frame with my own of 6’6. She pulled back then looked at my face, inspecting it before licking her thumb, going to town, rubbing something off my face.
I struggled away but she was relentless. She spoke. “You have something on your face; do you want it there all day?” I heard Margret laughing behind me. I managed to grab my mom’s hand. “Mom! Mom, stop!” She then laughed kindheartedly. “Get inside will ya? I’d like to drink my coffee while it’s hot.” I rolled my eyes, walking up the stairs.
Mikey and Mason were both watching Saturday morning cartoons with bowls of cereal in hand, sitting on the faded floral carpet that took over most of the house.
The exception is the kitchen and bathrooms. Morgan was there too, curled on the couch corner. Going between watching the TV and watching out the window. Most of the rooms were pretty squared off, nothing really different. But she still has the couch that she’s had for over 20 years; pretty sure most of the cushioning is gone. Her cat was in Morgan’s lap. Cats always made me nervous. Always gave me a look like they could see what I really was.
Not even my mom knows about my diet and my children will never know. When I was adopted she knew I came from an abusive, crazy home and knew almost nothing of the outside world. She doesn’t know exactly what kind of crazy they were or that I still practice it on weekends. I don’t think I could take her knowing.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, making me nearly jump. I turned; Margret was there, her hand a gentle anchor in my storm. “Sweetie? Are you alright? You looked like you were gone.” I shook my head. “Sorry. I zoned out for a moment.” She smiled softly before sighing. “Why don’t you go talk to your mother about this while the kids are busy? Get yourself some tea.” I smiled, kissing her, holding her hands gently. “Yes ma’am”
Margret went into the living room, picked up my mother’s tabby cat up off the couch, and sat next to Morgan, trying to get a conversation out of her.
I walked into the squared-off kitchen, being mindful of the shelves on the wall that held various ceramic and blown glass frogs. She loves frogs. I’m not sure why and I probably never will.
I sighed, walking in. “So what are you making?”
“Preparing lunch. Just chicken sandwiches. You caught me on such short notice; someone’s going to have to go to the store to get something for dinner.” She answered. I gave her a look, looking at the clock. “It’s not even eleven yet.”
“Well, I’m making pork roast for dinner, that takes time bublah. Now are you going to tell me what the family emergency is or stand there making small talk? Not that I don’t love seeing you guys more than twice a year.” I gave her a look before going over to the tea kettle, giving my nervous hands something to do. “It’s Morgan. You know how this past year she’s been hanging with the wrong crowd?”
“Yes son, I do.” She looked over, giving me that get-to-the-point look. “Well, we’ve found out why. She’s...Oh how do I say this?”
My hands fidgeted, going between running through my hair and in my pockets. My mom was starting to look very concerned, reaching out, and holding one of my shaking hands. “Marshall, is she ok? Is she hurt?” I sighed, letting the words come out in a breath. “Mason rescued her from this drug house, supposed to meet a Brent there.” I held my mom’s hand tighter, just thinking about this was too much. I continued.
“She was roofied. Covered in bruises and...Mom...I don’t know what to do. She’s fifteen mom. Lord knows what this Brent did to her.” I saw a protective rage fill my mom’s eyes but she kept her calm, placing a hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be ok, in time. She just needs to realize that’s not how she should be treated.”
I swallowed. Keeping my own anger in check. “Mason took her phone when she was at the hospital; I looked at the messages, just in case this guy was planning something.” I paused. Collecting myself. “The messages he left. They were awful. He called her everything in the book.”
“She doesn't have her phone now does she?”
I shook my head. “No. I have it and it stopped vibrating around 8:30 on the way here. I don’t want to look at them. I already know what they’re going to say.” I felt my eyes water, feeling guilt wash over me like a dark cloud. “Did I fail her mom? Did I fail my daughter?”
I felt my mother’s soft hand hold the side of my face. Wiping away a few tears. She smiled sadly. “You haven’t failed bublah. Not at all. It’s easy to mistake this for a rebellious phase.” She sighed, looking away. “I remember when I and your father first adopted you, God rest his soul. You were so shy, so terrified. When you would burst into tears or hyperventilate or just wake up screaming. I never had nightmares myself so I barely knew how to help you. But with your upbringing, that would be normal. But darling I was so scared I was failing you and do you think I failed you?”
I frowned. “No. Not at all. You were a new mother, it’s understandable.”
My mother smiled. “Exactly. No parent is perfect. We’ll get through this.” I nodded, feeling better, and lighter. I hugged her close, inhaling the scent of roses. I smiled sadly. “Thanks.” She smiled, standing on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “We can talk after lunch. Together. Ok?” I nodded. It felt so light to know I didn’t have to carry this cross on my own. That I have help all around me for me and my daughter.
I went outside for some air, taking a few lungfuls of the late summer breeze. I couldn't stand the temptation anymore. I took her cell phone out of my pocket and unlocked it. I did my best to ignore the texts messages, for now. I wanted to see a picture of the young man hurting my daughter. Did he look as evil as I imagined him? I looked through some family photos and school photos. I looked for faces I didn't know. I knew who her old friends were.
I knew some new ones. I knew most of the teachers. Then I saw it. I knew it was Brent. He looked built, even under the Black hoodie and wolf tee shirt. At least a little older. College age and he had an arm wrapped around Morgan, over her chest holding her shoulder with wrapped blunts in their mouths and noticeably high.
I looked through a few more photos. All the pictures on here either made him look like a normal, honor roll student at college or a nobody getting high and drunk. I looked through the messages, going through past ones when I stopped dead. Eyes wide. They sent nudes to each other. And they were graphic. I quickly turned the phone off, taking in a breath, feeling all the rage and fear well up like lava in a volcano. Will Morgan accept help? What’s this Brent guy doing right now? Plotting revenge? Murder? I had to stop thinking. I wanted to throw the phone against the cement wall of my mother’s house but there’s evidence on there, the police needed it. I took a few calming breaths before heading inside.
I helped my mom prepare the chicken for lunch, putting the spices on it and cutting it up. That I could do. Cut tissue up into small bits. Large bits. Cleaning off fat, tendon, and bone. Getting lost in the smooth motion as the blade cuts through tissue and flesh. It’s surprisingly calming. Maybe it was because I couldn't help imagining it was Brent under my knife.
Once all the chicken was cut into small pieces my mom mixed the various spices into it with a few good dollops of mayo to marinate for an hour or so. I let out a breath. “Do you think you and Morgan should talk alone or should Margret and I be there as well?” My mom looked over at me from washing her hands.
She stopped the sink. I continued. “I don’t want to overwhelm her.” She sighed. “You have a point there. Why don’t you two stay close, just outside the room, look like you walked out. Then me and her can have some girl time.” I nodded. It was better than no plan.
Finally, lunchtime rolled around, mom cooked the chicken we prepared then mixed in more mayo and let it cool in the fridge before calling everyone in. Mikey came running in, Mason close behind with Margret who looked drained. I went to her, and she frowned. “She refuses to talk. She says we wouldn't understand and wants to be left alone but I did get some small talk out of her.”
I nodded before speaking. “I’ll tell mom. Go get something to eat, I’ll get her.” Margret kissed me quickly before walking into the kitchen to join the rest of the family.
Morgan was still in the same spot on the couch, my mother’s tabby curled into her lap and she was holding it close. I walked closer. “Morgan, lunch is ready. You really should eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.” She said flatly.
She seemed so withdrawn and small and defeated. She used to be so bright, like a flame. Her attitude was flowing and smart but it felt like that flame had been extinguished. I walked closer, daring to sit on the couch with her. “What’s wrong?” Trying to pretend like I knew nothing of the situation, hoping it would spur her to talk even a little. It was difficult. I wanted to reach out and hold her. Tell her everything will be ok, that no one will ever hurt her again and Brent will never bother her again.
But I couldn't do that. I had to play safe. She let out an unsteady breath and right away I knew just how terrified she was. “What’s wrong is I don’t have my phone and Brent-” She stopped herself before correcting. “My friends will be worried.” I gave her a look. “Do you know what you were in the hospital for?” She seemed to curl more in on herself. Her dark blonde hair covered most of her face. “No. I don’t remember anything.”
I took in a breath. “You were drugged. When you snuck out of the house and went to this drug house, whoever was there gave you a Roofie. It was a date rape drug sweetie. These friends of yours, they are not good people.”
“You don’t even know them.”
“No, I don’t but I do know real friends wouldn't bring this kind of harm on you. These aren’t friends.” She seemed thoughtful for a moment. I pushed. “Please, eat some lunch with us? You know Grandma missed you guys like crazy.”
She was still for a few seconds before nodding. I could see the anxiety and fear ebb away a little but not completely. Not until this Brent was out of her life. She always seemed to open up to me and my mother more than Margret, unless it was girl things and I can certifiably say that is not an area I neither understand nor know. We walked into the kitchen together.
My mom smiled, going over to Morgan. “Here’s the one that tried to get away from me. Hiding away on the couch.” She quickly hugged Morgan who looked reluctant but accepted it. “Hi, grandma. I missed you too.”
They let go and my mother started filling plates with food. Handing one to Morgan. “Eat up sweetie, you could use it. Do you guys feed this girl? You’re a stick.” Morgan blushed and sat down. Margret looked over at my mom and Mikey. “Is this bread gluten-free?”
“Of course not! Do you think I would have that in my house?”
Margret then quickly got Mikey's sandwich away before he could eat it. “Mikey no! It’ll hurt your stomach.” Mikey pouted and Margret sighed. “Rosie, you know Mikey is gluten-free. He has wheat allergies.”
“Well, I’m sorry I don’t keep it stocked. It’s not like I see you every month.” Margret sighed as she put the chicken on Mikey’s plate. “A warning would be nice.” The poor guy did have quite a few allergies. My mom gave me a look. I wasn't sure what to make of it. “This is why you guys are so thin. None of you eat your bread!” Mason raised a hand. “I eat bread.” I heard Morgan chuckle. It was a beautiful sound I hadn't heard in so long I forgot I missed it.