The dark within them, p.7
The Dark Within Them, page 7
“I suppose you’ve already been introduced to my husband.” Amber smiled wryly at Amy.
“The last good one in town!” Amy grinned. “Want to hold him?” She made as if to hand Lucas over to Chad, but he recoiled.
“No.” It came out curt, rude, even, and Amber frowned at him. He met her gaze. “You’re showing me up, Amy! I’m a baby novice,” he added.
Amy leaned towards Amber conspiratorially. “See? I can’t get rid of this burping lump when I try!” Amber grinned and leaned back in her chair. Maybe she’d fit in here. Maybe she had made a friend already. Amy scribbled something on a napkin.
“Amber, this is my number. Let’s hang out sometime, alright?”
She felt the flat of Chad’s palm under her shoulder blade, guiding her out of her chair.
“Amy, sorry. We have to go now, too.”
Do we? she almost said, knowing they had nothing planned for the rest of the day, but obeying the steer of his arm. She grabbed the napkin and pocketed it with a wink at Amy before they headed for the door.
21ST APRIL, 2015
AMBER
Restless. Amber didn’t remember the last time she felt like this. “Just relax,” Chad had told her. “My home is your home.” But she was still shocked to turn over and see a man lying in the bed next to her. That man is your husband, she reminded herself.
“Morning beautiful.” And he thinks you’re beautiful. She rolled over and propped her chin on his bare chest. “I have to go to work in five minutes,” he said.
“Mmm…” She took his nipple between her teeth. “What are we doing this weekend?”
He rubbed sleep from the crusts of his eyes and reached for the window blind toggle, projecting chinks of light onto the bed linen. She estimated they had a few hours before the heat of the day seeped in too. “I go fishing at the weekend. The Mesa Canal.” His eyes widened. “Last week they caught a Channel catfish, AND a Grass carp. Saw it online. Whoopers they were.”
“But with me—what shall we do?”
He looked confused. “You can come.” She withheld an eyeroll. Was it too much to ask: a bit of romance, a date planned, even now they were married?
“I wasn’t thinking of that.” She saw him check the clock and irritation tickled her throat. His leg twitched and he kissed her head as if the conversation was over.
“I’ll go see a friend, then,” she said quickly.
“Who?” He swung his legs out of bed.
“Well, Amy, of course.”
“Why don’t you meet Melanie?” He padded into the ensuite and she heard water slap his face. She waited until the sink plug gurgled.
“Melanie is your friend.”
“Are they not one and the same?”
“No. We don’t need to have the same friends.”
He came back in, bustling for an ironed shirt in the cupboard. He looked confused, the cogs in his brain turning. Perhaps it was cruel to test him at 6 AM? She sat back on her elbows, the pillow crunching around her skin. No. It was good to challenge him. He’d never done marriage before and she wanted this one to be right for her. Equal.
“Why, don’t you want me to meet Amy?” She said it jokingly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
His voice sharpened. “It’s not the same.”
She sat up straighter. “Why not? I like her. She’s part of the church community.”
“She’s not…ladylike.”
She didn’t say anything. Perhaps that was true—but Amy’s brash personality was the reason she had warmed to her. He slicked his hair back in the mirror, yet to put on pants. The order made her smile. “And then there’s the rumour,” he added.
“What rumour?”
“That the kid came out of wedlock.”
Amber bit her tongue. She knew this was an unshakeable belief for Chad. Purity. Public decency. Amber could see how a child could be consumed with love, in any state of relationship. She would never voice it, she had never felt lust was a shameful feeling. What it led to didn’t create shame. Not in her eyes.
“Well. She’s married now,” she offered evenly, stretching out her toes so that they created ghostly imprints against the surface of the sheets. Then he lassoed her left foot, hand clamped.
“Amy is not the right friend for you.”
They locked eyes. His voice wasn’t raised. Her muscles didn’t clench. And yet her heart thumped in her ears.
“Would it embarrass you?”
“Yes.” An instant answer. She nodded slowly. She hadn’t realised Chad cared so much about what others thought.
A wail broke their eye contact. Chad bolted, rearing up on his heels.
“What is that?”
“Ivan. He gets night terrors.” The moan was low and plaintive, infiltrating the thin membrane of the wall.
“Is that normal? For him?” Chad was spooked, unsure of his feet. He seemed to be heading to the door.
“I’ll see to him,” she said, swinging her legs to the side of the bed, standing in front of Chad to block his exit. “It’s not an unusual thing for him.”
“Good.”
“It’s a new place. He gets anxious.”
“Got nothing to be anxious about.”
She sighed audibly and placed a hand on her hip. “He’s different,” she offered. He’s different to you, she meant.
“Well, I hope you can sort it. I can’t listen to that every night.”
She bristled and opened the door with some force—Chad must have realised how he had come across, because he added, “I’m cranky, Amb. I hope he’ll settle in soon. Honest, I do.”
She smiled back at him.
“You know, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me.”
Amber half-frowned, half-twitched the corners of her lips into a laugh. “He doesn’t know you. You’re over-thinking it.”
Chad shrugged, crossing his arms over like a toddler pre-tantrum. He’d have to sort his ego out, she thought, heading towards Ivan’s room.
“Your lunch is in the refrigerator. Don’t forget it.”
9TH MAY 2015
AMBER
“Tell Gilly it’s time to eat,” Chad said, tossing an oven mitt over his shoulder.
“She’s in the bath,” Ivan shrugged, swinging his legs under the kitchen table. “Does that mean I can have hers? So it doesn’t get cold.”
She snorted and ruffled his hair. He threw her hand off on reflex, as expected—he hated his hair being touched—but she knew she’d continue to do it forevermore. Moms were allowed to take liberties, right?
“I’ll call her.”
She went upstairs, Gilly’s singing (loud, gloriously out of tune) greeting her. The radio was on so high in there that Gilly just couldn’t seem to hear her. She rolled her eyes. Well, looked like she would have to eat her dinner cold. She’d been told, twenty minutes only—
A ring tone sounded to her right. Gilly’s room. A low vibration hummed against the dresser.
“Gilly, someone’s calling you!”
There was no reply. The phone sang, insistent. Who was calling? Gilly seemed to make friends easily, whenever they moved, but she was never forthcoming with information about them. And wasn’t it only natural for a mother to take an interest, to want to know the friends she was making?
So, she nudged open the door and reached for the phone. The caller ID read ‘Tyler’ with an emoji love heart. She pursed her lips together and answered,
“Hello?”
“Erm, hi.”
“This is Gilly’s Mom.” There was a pause on the line.
“…Right. Well, that’s a bit weird. So is Gilly about?”
“She’s in the bath.”
“Okay…”
“Who are you?”
The boy laughed. “Just Ty, okay? Ask Gilly. Bye Gilly’s Mom.”
And he called off, leaving her bristling. The call had left Gilly’s phone unlocked. She listened for a few moments, and, hearing Gilly mid-ballad, assessed it was safe to go ahead. She found Tyler’s name and scrolled through messages. The first exchange: “hey. Ty’s number.” Then: “Cool, hey x”, began the same week they’d arrived in Lehi. Right. She scrolled down, a multimedia message asking for permission to download. She pressed ‘allow’. An image of Gilly flooded the screen. A big smile. A finger hooked on her bra strap. The same one Amber had bought her in that fancy boutique. She cried out and dropped the phone.
“What are you doing with my phone?” Gilly flew into the room, the towel wrapped around her whipping at Amber’s legs as she passed. She gathered up the phone like a baby bird. “Fuck, you cracked the screen!”
“Don’t you dare swear at me right now, Gillian Lakes.”
“You’ve been going through my phone.” She looked up from the floor with a scowl.
“No. I just answered a call.”
“What? I can’t believe you! You should have let them call off.”
“Who’s Tyler?”
Gilly got to her feet, clutching at her towel. She just stood there, the tendrils of her hair dripping water off her shoulders and into the carpet, so Amber added: “I’ve seen the photo,” and her voice broke. Her Gilly. Her little girl. Who had run around in muddy dungarees until at least ten. Who had seemed so…self-conscious about her own body. But that picture…When had she grown up? How had she missed this? Was it her fault? That Gilly had developed these desires and she hadn’t been there for her? She’d been too in her own head to sit down, explain that it was…unnatural, sinful to act on desires outside of marriage. That as a woman, she would come to have a certain power over men, but that to use it…“I didn’t raise you like this.”
Gilly’s fist were bunched up, her face turning fuchsia. “Get out of my room!”
Amber reached for Gilly’s flailing arm. “But did you not even think of your own safety? Or of the impact, on all of us?” There was such a rising ball of anger within her, she could barely see.
Gilly’s eyes flashed. “You’re so worried about your reputation, you forget to even care about being happy, Mom. Well, I’m sorry that I’m happy. That I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about me, or what I do. That I’m making friends…”
“…This is not a friend Gilly, a friend…”
Chad muscled through the door. “Why isn’t she changed?”
Gilly moaned. “Oh Christ, everyone just go away!”
Amber released her arm and stood in front of her, a shield from Chad. Though she knew she should involve her husband in this, it felt like a family matter. It felt like…raw embarrassment. That Gilly had exposed them both.
“She’ll get changed now. She’s done…something incredibly stupid. Chad—let’s discuss this in our room.”
He tilted his head, open-mouthed. “Something stupid? What you meaning?”
“Our room. Now.”
Chad glowered at her tone but allowed himself to be shooed. “But at this rate, the food will be stone cold.”
“Never mind about that now, we have the microwave—”
She closed Gilly’s door firmly shut and led the way into the master bedroom. “Gilly’s made a mistake.” She pressed hard against the closed door. Her hands felt clammy against the wood. She had promised Chad her children knew how to behave, but what self-respecting Mormon child sends indecent images to strange boys? Any mistake reflected badly on her, spoke volumes of her parenting.
When she told him of what she had seen, Chad went to perch on the end of the bed, head bent, hands locked, as though in prayer. After a few moments, he threw an arm her way, gestured for her to join him. She crouched down on the floor at his feet and took his palms in hers.
“It’s okay, I don’t blame you,” he said, and she released a jagged exhalation she hadn’t realised she had been holding. “You know, it’s a good thing, this. Spotting the warning signs now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, this is unnatural. Don’t you think?”
Amber chewed on the inside of her cheek. “You think she’s going down the wrong path?”
Chad nodded. “But now that we know, we can guide her.”
Amber joined him on the bed. “How?”
Chad scratched his head. “I don’t know myself. But Brett—I’d go to him with anything—he’ll know.”
“Tell the church?” She felt her breathing reach double time. Surely that was exactly what they wanted to avoid? Reputation in the community was everything.
“Word travels. They’d be finding out about Gilly’s behaviour soon, sure enough. And if we come to them now and ask their advice, they’ll respect that. A problem shared—”
“—is a problem halved. Mom used to say that all the time.”
They smiled at each other. She felt a rush of gratitude—that Chad had answers. That he saw this as a family unit, and this was something they could work out together. The relief was immense. Chad would never turn out cruel like her Jack. He loved her, and here he was, protecting her family, just as she had dreamed.
“Well, I’m happy to put my trust in Brett, like you do, Chad.”
He held her hand. “He’s never let me down before.”
12TH MAY, 2015
AMBER
“You’re not going to let some deluded man put his hands on me in ‘the name of God’!”
Amber counted to ten, pegging sodden t-shirts to the recently erected clothesline in the garden. Gilly’s shrieks came from the open kitchen door and carried across the gardens. The news of Brett’s planned conversion therapy had gone just as badly as expected. She drew a bubble of courage into her diaphragm and faced her daughter.
“And what alternative do I have?”
The meeting with the church community had been Chad’s idea, but she had welcomed it. Everyone had spoken in glowing terms about Brett’s new therapy. Who was she to doubt new treatments; approaches to healing? But she knew Gilly was more sceptical about these things.
“Oh, I don’t know—grow a backbone?”
The answer came immediately, leaving her reeling from her daughter’s spite. Somehow, she was never prepared for it. Her shoulders sagged forward.
“Can you at least see why we’re worried about your behaviour?” She approached Gilly, hoping she might lower her voice and avoid inviting Melanie to the back garden party. Gilly looked down at her sneakers.
“Why can you date and not me? Pretty hypocritical, don’t you think?”
Amber dragged her ring hand over her brow. “I’m not exactly dating Chad at this point, honey, am I?” Gilly shrugged. It had become part of her vocabulary recently. “But that’s beside the point. Dating is…well, a relationship, is built on foundations of trust and respect. Gilly, these photos…A real man wouldn’t ask you for them.” She reached out a hand but her daughter recoiled.
“He didn’t ask for them. It was my idea. You’re just jealous because Chad’s so boring.”
Now it was her turn to reel back. Her daughter had sent those pictures of her own accord? Perhaps Chad was right to involve the church. She wasn’t sure how to deal with this. Was it her fault? A cry for her attention? It was difficult to find the right tone.
“Right. I think…I think we could spend, that we should be, spending more time together. Just you and me.”
But Gilly turned her back on her, leaving Amber to trail after her. She started rummaging in the cupboard, finally emerging triumphant with an electric blue pack of Poptarts. Amber logged the sugar content mentally and then swallowed the comment.
“Did you hear what I said, Gilly?”
“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?” She ripped open the package and placed two tarts in the toaster, leaving sugar on the kitchen counter. “Since Dad, you’ve had all the time.”
Amber felt a sickness rise from her gut. She took a chair and gave her upper body weight to the countertop. “We’ve been over this. It was hard for me. I was a single Mom, trying to make money to look after her kids…anyway. I know you wanted to see a lot more of me back then. And that’s what THIS is,” she gestured around the kitchen. “Stability. Time with my kids. Time for us all to be ourselves, you know? Oh Gilly—Gilly, the tart is burning.”
“Shit!”
“Don’t curse, please.”
“Shit, those were the last ones as well! Fuck it, I’ll eat it anyway. Do you want one?”
Amber snorted at the blackened square of sugar. What kind of olive branch was that? “I’d rather have a hug from my daughter.”
A pause, and then Gilly hopped on top of the counter and placed a sloppy kiss on her forehead.
“Sorry. I’ll try not to be such a bitch all the time.”
“Mmm. You’re not getting out of that treatment with Brett this evening, missy. And you’re finishing hanging out the washing, please.”
Gilly rolled her eyes. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”
14TH MAY, 2015
AMBER
She took a sip from her iced lemonade. The night fell fast here, and she could see the warm glow of a neighbour’s back yard log fire from where she sat on the veranda. The day had been a long one. Gilly had been almost non-verbal since her session with Brett. “It could take a few sessions,” Brett had told her apologetically when she had come to collect her daughter. “Today, confronting her behaviour, has caused Gilly a bit of a shock.” She ran a hand through her hair, assessing the oil levels. “I need a bath,” she said out loud.
A quiet click of the door made her turn her head. Gilly, her eyes like saucers.
“Mom! I didn’t know you were out here.”
Amber pursed her lips, appraising Gilly’s skimpy skirt, and the drawstring bag she clutched. “Well, I am. And where do you think you’re going? It’s past curfew.”
“Curfew,” she heard her daughter say under her breath.
“What’s in the bag, Gilly?”
There was a long pause. “Shoes.”
“For?”
“A local gathering.”
