All For Anna (3 page)

It was time.

I had been dreading seeing my parents since the
day Stacie asked me to move back. She was right though. I’d been home for almost
a week and hadn’t yet made time for the inevitable guilt trip I’d receive when
I saw them—as if I didn’t carry enough guilt for one lifetime already.

Hefty Bags gone, boxes
unpacked and paint swatches chosen, I was beginning to feel a bit more settled while
living in Stacie’s brick mansion. A big part of me was still in denial that my
perfect plan to stay in Phoenix forever had failed. I had liked working in the
number two trauma city in the nation. But, perhaps, I had liked the distance
even more. Maintaining relationships had been off my priority radar for some
time now.

If there were an upside
to living in Dallas, it certainly wasn’t the close proximity to certain family
members, but rather the promotion to
first place
on the trauma rating
scale. The work would keep me busy and the busyness would keep me sane—I hoped.

I sighed, thinking
again about the therapy sign off with Dr. Crane. If anything would bring into
question my level of sanity, it would be the hours of talking with her. I
wasn’t much of a socialite. Talking seemed useless to me, unless there was a
patient involved. That, at least, had a purpose.

I pulled on my jean capris
and black tank top and brushed my hair back into a low twist. I secured it
loosely with a few bobby pins. Glancing in the mirror, I surrendered myself to
the help of my makeup bag that often sat unused. This was merely an attempt to
ward off the “Tori, you-look-too-tired” speech from my mother. I had never been
a girl who cared much about makeup or fussed over the perfect accessories,
handbags or shoes. Powder, concealer, eyeliner, mascara and lip-gloss were
about all I owned in the makeup department.

My brown, slightly
auburn hair, was almost always worn up in some simple style that was quick and
easy. I applied the concealer under my eyes and dusted the powder over my face
to set it. The contrast of my olive skin tone to Stacie’s fair, almost translucent
skin had been a running joke in my family for years. Born five years after my
sister, I questioned for nearly a decade if I had been adopted.

My mother could have been
Stacie’s twin in practically every way, including their matching blond hair. My
eyes were dark green while theirs were a brilliant blue. It was yet one more
area I didn’t fit the
Sales’ mold
.

Stacie’s car was
already running in the garage with the air conditioning blasting. Pregnancy had
given her less tolerance for heat as it had been a relentless source of nausea
during her first trimester. Her job as the Marketing Director for the Sales
Real Estate Company our parents owned had been flexible enough, allowing her to
work from home during the worst part of the summer. That also explained why her
house was an unchanging 69 degrees inside.

“You ready to go, Sis?”
Stacie asked in her usual perky tone.

Is a cow ready for
slaughter? No…not ready, just hopeless.

In the
twenty-minute drive to our parents’ house, Stacie filled me in on the latest
news regarding our family friends. She also included the nicknames that she and
Jack had made up for the people they could never remember names for. I laughed
lightly and saw her smile at me, knowing the feelings she couldn’t hide. She
was glad I was here with her.

My mind slipped away as
she gave me an update on the family company. She explained how business had
started to pick back up again after the industry had slowed due to a recessed
economy. Her bubbly personality was the perfect match to any kind of depression
one might face in life. Whether it was economical or emotional, Stacie was
unrelenting in her positive vibes.

We passed the acres of farmland
and corn stalks that were as tall as a full grown adult. A memory of Stacie and
I running in such fields flooded my mind. We had loved to play hide-and-go-seek
in the fall just before it was time to harvest. Farmer Johnson, who lived next
to my parents, had given his blessing for us to play in his fields as long as
we helped sell his corn on the side of the road for a couple weeks after school
was out. He had even paid us, although I was sure we took home more corn than
any monetary wage we might have earned during our two week employment. There
was nothing tastier than fresh, sweet corn on the cob.

One fall in late
September, Stacie called to me just a few feet into the stalks. Her voice was
high-pitched and frantic. A jack rabbit lay on its side, very still, breathing
slow quiet breaths. It had obviously been hopping for a long time with the trap
attached to its right hind-leg, and was too exhausted to keep up the fight.

Our dad had never been
a hunter or trapper. He was too involved in the business world to have a hobby
like that. Yet somehow, I figured out how to release it.

Stacie was crying and
stroking the wild rabbit, beside herself with grief. Once the rabbit was freed
I told Stacie we needed to find it a place to rest so it could heal. I carried
the rabbit home and then found an old cat carrier in the garage to put him in
after wrapping the bloody leg with gauze and tape. Salad scraps, water, and
some newspaper were put inside its new shelter.

Our dad was very proud
of our efforts with the rabbit we eventually named Snowcap, but felt it needed
extra medical attention. After a visit to the vet, antibiotics and lots of
rest, Snowcap was ours to keep. Stacie and I had bonded that day as more than
just sisters, but as partners. We had worked together to save a life.

Stacie reached for my
hand as we pulled into the driveway.

“Tori, I know this is…difficult,
but I am so happy you are home. Jack would have never agreed to go overseas
this long if you hadn’t decided to come. I’m...I’m just so-”

Her eyes welled up with
tears.

“It’s good to be with
you too, Stace. Let’s go in and get this over with, okay?” I said, not wanting
to be stuck in the car with an emotionally-charged pregnant lady any longer
than I had to be.

**********

If Stacie’s house was a
mansion, than my parent’s house was a kingdom. Right in the middle of twenty
acres stood an enormous estate. It featured: six bedrooms, four baths, an
in-home theater, chef’s kitchen, three formal dining areas, a driving range and
a large outdoor swimming pool and spa retreat. The land was meticulously
maintained and manicured down to the minutest detail.

There were rocks,
plants, small bridges, koi ponds, outdoor grills and patio furniture to seat an
army. Japanese lanterns were strung everywhere. It was a spectacle for sure.

The home was built for
a magazine cover, not for real life. But that was my mother: proud, pretty, and
perfect, a southern woman through and through.

I saw her immediately
as I stepped outside onto the patio, my breathing paused with apprehension. I
looked across the yard at the huge crowd that had apparently been invited to
this
intimate
affair. A glass clanged in the distance and my mother
floated over to me in her A-line skirt and heels. She hugged me dramatically in
front of her guests. My eyes darted to Stacie who mouthed, “I’m sorry,” as she
hid behind the food table.

Apparently, I’m in this
alone.

Awesome.

“Everyone, everyone,
may I have your attention please! Our guest of honor has arrived. Please help
us in welcoming our daughter home from Phoenix and in congratulating her on her
new job at Dallas Northwest,” my mother said. Her voice had carried over the
crowd that filled the patio and yard. People I hadn’t seen in years and some I
had never seen clapped and hollered, “Congrats!”, while I stood there
completely speechless.

I turned to my mom, who
wore pink pearls and a silk sleeveless blouse, and stared blankly. She pulled
me in for another hug. This time I felt weak in the knees. I hugged about as
much as I went on coffee dates with my girlfriends— never.

“Victoria, can you say
something to the crowd please? They all came here for you dear,” she whispered.

Does she really believe
I’m that stupid? These people don’t even know me!
Inside I shook with
anger, embarrassment and shock…yet somehow, I managed to speak.

“Uh, wow. Thank you
everyone…for coming out this evening. It’s...nice to be back.”

I forced the last of
the words out of my mouth. What I really felt was quite the opposite. I wanted
to be back in Phoenix, alone in my small cramped apartment, the apartment that
was only large enough to fit me. If I could click my heels and be transported,
I would have in a heartbeat. I heard the toasting and cheers and within seconds
I was headed inside, the unmistakable sound of my mother’s heels coming after
me quickly.

“Were you surprised
darling?” my mother asked.

Calm down. She doesn’t
understand me. She will NEVER understand me.

“Yes Mom…pretty
surprised,” I said, feeling flushed and shaky.

“Well, I know you don’t
like people fussin’ over you, but I thought it would be so nice for everyone to
get a chance to see you. It’s been so long since you’ve been back, Victoria,
and people ask about you all the time,” my mother said through her southern
grin of hospitality.

I’m sure they do, Mom.
Most people don’t know many child killers, especially one who is the daughter
of two wealthy, church-going realtors.

I took a deep breath,
searching for the words to say, when I saw my dad walk through the doorway. At
the sight of him I wanted to crumble. He had always been my rock, my pillar, my
calm within the chaos of the storm that raged inside the Sales house. As such,
he had made the rare effort to understand me for who I was. He seemed to understand
that although I wasn’t a show-stopper the way my mom and sister were, with their
high dramatics and socialisms, that I still held an important place in this
family—or used to, anyway. He smiled hugely as he neared, never taking his eyes
away from my face.

He shook his head
slowly in admiration, “Tori…I’ve missed you baby girl.”

He waited for my silent
permission before extending his long lean arms around my shoulders, pressing
his cheek to the top of my head. In that instant, the anger I held toward my
mom vanished.

“Hi, Dad.”

Emotion filled me in a
way it hadn’t in over a year. I swallowed hard to fight it back down.

“Your mom was pretty
excited about seeing you tonight darlin’ and throwing this big bash for you and
all. I hope you can take one for the team here, Sis,” he said. He winked at me
as he spoke. He was always respectful of my mother, even when he knew she was
over-the-top.

“Yes, of course. Thank
you, Mom,” I said, obediently.

“Great, well let’s get
you back out there then.” She gave me a playful shove and said, “And Victoria,
you look
real
good sweetheart.”

And there it was: looking
good was worth far more than feeling good.

That’s the magic ticket
around these parts.

For the next couple of
hours, I was surface deep with three types of people: those who knew me before
the accident, those who knew my family and heard the reports of the accident,
and those who were curious about how a twenty-three year-old girl survived one
of the most well-known tragedies to happen in this small town just east of
Dallas. I could feel my panic surfacing with each new face that approached me
during the evening, but no one mentioned the accident (thank you Dad for laying
down the ground rules).

I heard a loud splash
followed by rounds of laughter as I watched several young men dive into the
pool. I didn’t hesitate for a second at the crowd’s distraction. I barreled
quickly through the yard glancing around briefly for Stacie. I found her
alright. Feet propped up—laughing hard—with a cup of ice on her lap.

Note to self: Drive my
own car next time
.

I looked for an escape
and saw a hint of my beloved bridge to the far left of the house. I walked
swiftly and with purpose, doing my best to avoid a probing parent or nosy
neighbor. I needed to sit, decompress, and get centered—whatever that meant. As
I approached the bridge, the dusk lighting shifted around a tall shape. At
first I thought it was a tree, but it didn’t move like a tree. I got closer and
realized my idea for finding peace was not that original. I was not the first
to make a claim on this bridge tonight.

“Oh-” I said startled,
“Sorry, I was just…uh-“

WHAT? What was I just?

“Leaving,” I said.

I started to turn;
embarrassed as the man I thought was a tree stepped into the shadowy light. His
features were strong and he had piercingly dark eyes, which, like his hair,
shimmered in the glow of the moonlight.

“Victoria, right?” he
asked, with a voice that was as rich and smooth as decadent chocolate.

“Uh, do I…know you?” I
asked, peering into the darkness.

“No, but you’re the
guest of honor, so I guess everyone knows you now, right?” he joked.