Day 33 Page 4

  It was still daylight when she arrived to her house so Evita sat in the car for a bit. She manually leaned her driver’s seat back into a lateral position and closed her eyes. She dozed off for a second, but startled herself awake, fearful of a lucid nightmare. She grabbed her keys from the ignition and walked toward her front porch. Dark gray clouds quickly formed overhead and drops of rain gushed down seemingly out of nowhere.

  Evita lightly jogged the rest of the way to her door and fumbled with the lock. Her keys fell into a quickly growing puddle beside her feet. As Evita bent over to pick them up, she felt a small tickle down her spine. She jumped upward and quickly turned around. There she was, the little girl from the well, drenched, still wearing her dark red dress. Bloody tears flowed from her eyeballs, down the side of her cheeks and onto her neck, only to be stopped by the collar of her dress. Oddly enough, the little girl was smiling. Evita blinked her eyes at lightning speed, trying to clear the daunting image from her sight to no avail. She was standing there, continuously bleeding, and staining her brown face with a red tint.

  When Evita woke up, she was still parked in front of Diana’s office. It was night time by now and the cars were empty from the parking lot. Her cell phone had six missed calls from Diana’s personal number, so Evita called her back. “I noticed you were asleep in your car, but I didn’t want to wake you, are you okay?” It was a nice gesture, but “what the fuck, Diana?” was all Evita had running through her mind. Evita checked her surroundings once more, nobody was there. “I’m fine, I’m still here.” Diana was startled by this information and asked if she needed to come back and see Evita. Evita insisted that Diana enjoy her night and that she’d be okay. After all, Evita had just awakened from a very restful nap. She went home and continued sleeping through the night. And for the rest of the week, the little girl in the red dress, visited her with blood-stained cheeks.

  DAY 17

  THAT SUNDAY, Brennan packed the car. Evita was silent most of the way to her father’s house and Brennan’s dry humor didn’t break the ice. She texted Kasha about her trip, who called immediately, for this was the first she had heard of it. She warned Evita that she shouldn’t go back; who knows what she’d find out? But Evita assured her that this was something she had to do. When Evita called Reverend Thomas a few days prior to prepare him for her arrival, he sounded surprised, and in a bad way. He didn’t want to see her; she could hear it in his voice.

  It brought back flashbacks of the times he would get angry with Evita during her youth. Evita thought she’d released everything from this past life she worked so hard to forget, but his angry tone triggered her. When Evita was a teenager, The Reverend would make sure to remind her it was her mother’s traits getting her into the most trouble.

  “You’ve got your mother’s attitude” or “You chew like your mother.” This time felt like “Why won’t you just disappear like your mother?”

  Evita couldn’t vividly recall any tumultuous arguments between her parents, but then again, she couldn’t recall ever seeing them together. She was either homemaking with her mother, or in church with her father. There was rarely a moment she spent with the two of them together.

  The ladies of the household would spend 2 hours baking and cooking Sunday dinners for the church’s guests, and The Reverend and his First Lady were always front and center, ready to entertain. Other than that, it was Evita and Vivian 24/7 with a special guest star every now and then, Reverend Thomas. The Reverend would come in around 4:30 in the evening, always ten minutes before Evita would arrive home from school. He would grab an already-prepared to-go plate, a thermos of coffee from the counter top, and reassured his wife that he’d be back. He’d return around just past midnight every time. He’d warm up his second already prepared plate, hoping to soak his toxicity, and proceed to wake Vivian with loud, heavy, inebriated snoring.

  The scent of dark liquor would seep through the crack in his lips. Vivian would sit up, wondering how the very thing that brought darkness into her life, also brought her light. As this man rumbled like a freight train and lie like a lump of coal, Vivian was able to see the resemblance between him and his daughter. She could understand the fallen angel aspect of the devil. Everyone had good and bad in them, and Vivian convinced herself the good of The Reverend manifested in their daughter and had left his soul forever.

  Vivian witnessed The Reverend’s double life day in and day out. He’d go to the church and parade a noble lifestyle, just to finish the night as a neglectful husband and father. For this reason, she could never bring herself to set foot in the church. As a child, Evita could sense her mother actively and intentionally staying away, which made it harder for her to attend everyday once Vivian was gone.

  This car ride was the first time in Evita’s life that she took time to actually contemplate her upbringing. If she was just now confronting the truth of her childhood at 26, how was she supposed to solve the mystery of her mother’s death in the span of a four-day visit? Evita reminded herself that she had her therapist’s personal cell number in case she needed to talk.

  Evita fell asleep for a few minutes during the ride, waking up to Brennan blasting some heavy metal from the speakers. “Sorry babe, was the music too loud?” What did he think? Evita yawned and grabbed her phone noticing another black x on her right hand, the same as the one the bouncer at the bar drew on her hands the night she had drinks with Kasha.

  “Why do you play so much?” Evita asked Brennan referring to the mark, accusing him of putting it there while her eyes were shut.

  “My bad, I’ll turn the music down.”

  “No, I mean this” as she lifted her hand, she noticed the black x was gone.

  “What are you talking about?” Brennan asked. Evita looked up from her hand and noticed Reverend Thomas was driving instead. She was internally startled but kept a calm exterior, assuming she was still half asleep. Evita rubbed her eyes; her father was still in the driver’s seat. Her heart dropped into her pelvis. The Reverend let go of the steering wheel, and completely turned his body to face Evita. His eyes opened as wide as they could and purple veins popped from his dark, moist forehead. His body was still as his face exploded with emotion.

  “Go home, now!” Reverend Thomas yelled at the top of his lungs. Evita awakened in the passenger seat, feeling around the car door and seat, to ensure she was still there. She immediately slammed on the automatic window button and stuck her head outside for more oxygen. Brennan gave Evita a side eye as he continued to drive. He didn’t really know what to do.

  “Babe? Am I driving too fast? You okay? Another dream?” This was too many questions at once. Evita yelled at him, telling him to be quiet. Brennan faced forward and kept driving, probably confirming in his own mind that Evita was indeed crazy.

  They finally pulled up into a gravel driveway, at least half a mile long, leading to Evita’s childhood home. The house had the same foundation, but with new modern-day additions that only a megachurch reverend’s salary could afford. There were 5 more rooms added to the back and sides of the house, with stained glass windows depicting a likeness of The Reverend preaching from the pulpit.

  The yard was enclosed by a pale gray picket gate, and bright green grass spanned the entire lawn with sprinkles of rose and lavender bushes randomly throughout. The cement stairway was the same gray color as the gate, and the railings that ran alongside the steps, were a beautiful, internationally imported, solid royal blue, marble. The once mellow yellow home, was repainted a bright ivory, which would never stain with the help of well-paid gardeners and their handy dandy power washers.

  The bushes were pruned into perfect cubes and the garden that was once on the far left side of the house was replaced with a professional grade tennis court and swimming pool. As the breeze flew through, Evita could remember the wind chimes that were made from hand painted glass bottles, which use to hang from the front of the awning. Now, in its place, were solar powered crystal lamps trimmed in gol
d plated brass. This wasn’t Vivian’s home. This wasn’t Evita’s home.

  “You ready for this?” There was Brennan again with his untimely humor. They climbed out of the car and noticed at least ten to fifteen cars parked on the right side, some in the driveway and some in the lawn, yards away.

  “Is something going on today?” That’s when Evita remembered, it was Sunday, which meant her father was most likely hosting Sunday dinner. It was alarming and relieving, because although Evita would have to fake-smile and small talk until dusk, she didn’t have to directly interact with her dad just yet. Brennan grabbed their rolling suitcases from the trunk as Evita stood next to the passenger side door in a trance, analyzing the changes made to her once peaceful sanctuary.

  Clarice, the cliché estranged step-mother, opened the front door with a face plastered in a manufactured grin. She was much smaller than Vivian was, in height and frame. Her skin was pale and discolored in places, but luckily did not have too many wrinkles considering her age and inevitable stress levels.

  She didn’t have the ability to light up a room and her hair was never braided or curled in any type of curated style. It just sat there, flat-ironed against the sides of her shoulders; millions of dead, deep black, strands. She was dressed in a light pink three-piece, tailored suit with the skirt’s split hemmed closed. Her hand was unrealistically stiff as she waved it from side to side. When she stepped out of the door’s frame, the loud laughter of all the church members oozed from behind.

  “Hello Evita”, Clarice blurted from an empty vessel. Nothing else moved along with her lips as she spoke. Her teeth were perfectly white, as she served robotic looks. Brennan gazed over to Evita for reassurance that she too, noticed the weird vibes beaming from Clarice’s body language. Evita returned the look, to reassure Brennan they were in this together. In the back of her mind, Evita believed this could be the last straw to finally run Brennan away.

  Evita met Brennan two months after she moved to DC. They never discussed her childhood much at all, other than a few stories about the great relationship she had with Vivian before she passed. Evita was at a local bar with Kasha, which was the last time Evita had seen her since moving to DC, prior to their recent bar outing. Evita was celebrating her new move and initiated a one-night stand with Brennan after three double shots and two martinis. After all, he was over six feet tall with large bulging brown muscles, with a strong hairline, wearing a white tee and $200 jeans. Who could resist? The couple never really took much time to get to know one another below the surface.

  Brennan had lost his legal assistant job with a law firm after nude photos of him from an incident in Las Vegas were leaked online a few months prior. After a week of late night excursions, Evita decided against her better judgement to move Brennan into her home as a way to help him out. Brennan found employment at a local human resources agency, and was eventually able to split the living expenses, so he never left. A beautiful love story.

  This was their 8th year of being together, on and off, of course. Brennan left and moved back every 6 months it seemed. Evita only became acquainted with his family, on accident, at a cookout that she wasn’t even planning on attending. This was the first Brennan ever even heard of Evita’s step-mother, to put the depth of their relationship into clear perspective.

  Brennan hesitated to walk toward the house, so Evita took the lead.

  “Hi Clarice”, Evita greeted loudly with a bleak smile as she approached the porch.

  “And who might this be?” Clarice said, gesturing toward Brennan with the smile still stiffly painted on her face. Evita explained Brennan was her boyfriend who’d be staying with her for the next few days.

  “Well, you know your father won’t have you two in the same room”, Clarice giggled, “you can put your bags in the hall, and we’ll take them to your rooms later. Follow me”, Brennan placed their suitcases by the front stainless-steel door and proceeded into the beautifully renovated home. “It’s dinner time, the food is ready and the people are loud.” This was Clarice’s idea of a joke.

  There was so much fake, giggly laughter erupting in the distance, Evita wanted to throw up. Clarice led them both through the foyer, which was adorned with freshly polished oak wood floors into the large dining room. The room was two times bigger than Evita remembered it be as a little girl. There was gold encrusted chandeliers and two china cabinets on each side of the room, filled with golden dishes and utensils. A large, hand-stitched Arabian rug lie from wall to wall and was covered in tan, burgundy, and cream-colored designs of intricacy.

  A hand-crafted oak table with golden accents along the edges of the tabletop was the centerpiece of the room and was covered from the head to foot in delicious smelling foods of all different types. Evita could tell Clarice spent all weekend cooking it. There were two turkeys, one ham, macaroni and cheese, potato salad, candied yams, steamed broccoli, green bean casserole, collard greens with smoked turkey necks, dinner rolls made from scratch, and a porcelain bowl of mints on each corner of the table.

  Clarice sat Brennan and Evita near the end of the table where The Reverend would be sitting. Brennan was in a trance, staring at all of the dishes and inhaling all of the aromas. He playfully insisted that he and Evita would be back for Christmas next month since they’d be leaving a couple days before Thanksgiving. Clarice stood behind them and noticed the whispers between the couple. Wanting to disrupt, Clarice grabbed everyone’s attention around the room.

  All of the people in the room were decades older than Brennan and Evita. Evita recognized some faces from her childhood, which brought back more memories that weren’t so fond, and she didn’t have the time to process them right away. Flashes of people yelling at her, hitting her hands, and her father’s angry returns home after leading his services.

  “Everyone!” Clarice shouted as loud as she could stretch her mousy tone, “this is The Reverend’s daughter, Evita”. Clarice still referred to her own husband of 12 years as “The Reverend”. Half of the room smiled, remembering Evita as a small, oblivious, cheerful child. The other half of the room was filled with newer church members and looked as if they had no clue The Reverend had any children at all.

  Clarice introduced Brennan as Evita’s friend, with a voice inflection that insinuated more than the title’s typical meaning. Evita turned and whispered an inquiry about her dad’s whereabouts. Clarice leaned over, placing her hand on Evita’s shoulder and assured her that The Reverend would come downstairs soon. Apparently, he had to change his suit after a day filled with three back-to-back sermons.

  Sundays were always the tensest from what Evita could remember. Even when her mother was alive, Vivian would slave in the kitchen from four in the morning until The Reverend came home at four in the evening. It was the only time Evita could remember her mother having a strong disdain for household duties. Monday through Saturday, Vivian would harvest tomatoes, greens, carrots, peppers, and potatoes from the garden and cook the most beautiful, colorful plates of food for lunch and dinner. Berries with hand baked bread for breakfast filled the house with scents that would later disappear along with Vivian. She sang, whistled and smiled at Evita in between chopping onions and squeezing lemon juice over top of fresh salmon from the market.

  Once dinner was complete, Evita would help her mother by setting the table in the dining room, which back then, didn’t have any gold accents at all. It was a table built from one the oldest trees in the neighborhood by a local carpenter who was a good friend of Vivian’s. A more simplistic china cabinet was filled with white porcelain plates, bowls, crystal cups and figurines. Each piece was a gift to Vivian from a family member or an old friend, small evidence of how much she was truly loved. The rug underneath it all was made by Vivian’s aunt as a gift for Evita’s arrival.

  Everything was so personable when Vivian was alive. Two months after she passed, Reverend Thomas held a garage sell at the church, giving all of her possessions away for very little money. Evita begged
him to keep some of things so that she could remember her mother in a more tangible way, but The Reverend banished her to her to the church’s back office during the event and the topic was never brought up again. Sitting in this foreign room with these semi-unrecognizable people, brought all of that back to the surface.

  “So, when are you getting married?” Georgia asked. She was a 72-year-old woman with thinning gray curls, a large frame and about three chins, sat to the right of Evita, and was very nosey. Evita remembered Georgia being much smaller when she was a girl. Georgia was the church choir director and bible study instructor, so she spent a lot of time so-called guiding Evita through her most impressionable years.

  Georgia was the type of woman who quoted a bible verses for any moment throughout every single day, and if you didn’t agree with her way of thinking, she automatically shunned you. If you were a child, she told your parents to punish you. Georgia was responsible for most of Evita’s groundings, especially in her teenage years, when Evita began to grow more curious and ask questions about biblical stories.

  “We’re not sure yet”, Evita snapped out of her reminiscent trance, while Brennan kept his head down staring at his cell phone. Georgia’s smile dropped from her face, she rolled her eyes, and turned to speak to the rest of the table. Evita nudged Brennan.

  “These people are weird babe, I see why you’re crazy yourself”, Brennan joked. Evita’s initial, arbitrary giggle faded to a somber stare as she observed this house. It was almost as if she and Vivian never lived here. The room instantly fell silent as Clarice and Reverend Thomas stood at the archway of the dining room.

  “Good evening everyone, thank you for coming to my home today. My wife has cooked a glorious meal for you all to enjoy”, The Reverend grabbed his wife’s hand and made a gesture for the room to stand. Brennan and Evita looked around, clueless, missing the cue completely. They caught on 10 seconds later when The Reverend’s artificial smile turned into an authentic frown, directed toward them. Everyone around the table interlocked fingers with one another and lowered their heads.