The secret between them, p.1
The Secret Between Them, page 1
Title page
Copyright
Copyright © 2024 R.D. Haggins. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author.
ISBN: 979-8-89109-9-197 (paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-89109-9-180 (hardcover)
ISBN: 979-8-89109-9-203 (ebook)
Library of Congress Control Number 20244905993
Printed in the United States (Oklahoma City, Oklahoma)
Dedication
To My First Love
Sadie (Shepard) Looney
My Mom
Quote
“When the floods come, we don’t all make it to shore.”
Prologue: The Choice
She was the most beautiful woman he had known or would ever know. Her beauty extended beyond looks. It was rooted in what old people called gentility. If she traced her African heritage far enough, she would likely discover royalty.
A beautiful soul. Serious-minded. Not easily amused. Her brown eyes stayed wide open, not missing much.
He loved her. He loved watching her, though it frustrated him. Not being able to speak to her or touch her. Not knowing if she would ever feel the same about him.
When the choice cornered him, choosing her was as natural as breathing. He preferred her love to anyone’s. Losing her now would be unbearable. The world wouldn’t hold the same value. It couldn’t. Her death would be like his own. He would never choose that tragic fate, but he would accept it… if he had to.
PART ONE
Chapter 1: Hope vs. Foolishness
The first thing Sage Hamman planned to burn that windy spring night was a sad, pathetic photo of her eight-year-old self. In the snapshot, she grinned bashfully, her head slightly lowered, her eyes peering up at the camera.
Hope. She still had hope back then. Had she known what she knew now, she would have been screaming.
At age eighteen, Sage sat cross-legged on her Aunt Dodie’s back porch. A lit votive candle glowed before her, and a small wicker basket full of photos sat beside her. The night sky was clear despite thunderstorms in the forecast. She could smell the fresh scent of rain on the strong winds already sweeping through Foister.
Above, stars sparkled like clusters of diamonds and gold dust. When Sage felt her lowest, she’d park herself on her aunt’s brick porch, gaze into the heavens, and allow the universe to lecture her on how small she and her troubles really were. But that night, Sage found no comfort in its size or glint.
A sharp headache throbbed above her right eye while an aching pain had settled in her shoulder. She wiped away tears as soon as they spilled down her face.
“Hope?” Sage studied herself in the photo. “Or foolishness?”
She wore a wrinkled pink dress in the picture. Her pretty, flowered one had been left behind at Rory’s house in East Atlanta. She and her mama fled Rory’s with only the clothes on their backs.
“Time to go,” her mama had whispered early one Sunday morning, snatching back Sage’s bed covers and shoving a pair of sneakers in her hands. “Not a word,” she said.
Sage rolled out of bed, wearing jean shorts and a T-shirt. She slipped on the sneakers and trailed her mama through the dim house, out the back door, and down rickety wooden steps.
Cain, Rory’s Rottweiler, stood when he saw them. As soon as her mama’s feet hit the ground, he started barking and leaping up and down. He was double-tied to a post, so the most he could do was jangle the chain fence and watch them sprint through the gate.
Sage remembered thinking that day must be special when her mama headed for the alley. That was a big no-no. “Never, ever cut through the alley,” her mama preached the moment they moved in with Rory. “Drunks and addicts flocked there.” So, Sage was shocked when her mama started down the alley, her purse strapped across her body, her feet leaping over broken glass and garbage.
She matched her mama’s long strides, running as fast as she could. At eight years old, Sage was nearly as tall as her mama, who liked to joke that she got her long legs from her daddy, but everything else she stole from her: light brown eyes, long coiled hair, and curvy hips.
Her mama rounded the first street corner and yanked open the back door of a waiting car. “Go, go, go.” Her hand waved frantically for Sage to hurry, hurry, hurry. Sage dived into the back seat and heard the door slam behind her. Her mama dashed into the front seat seconds before the car jolted into motion. “Stay down,” she yelled too late. Sage had already popped up just enough to peep through the back window, half-expecting to see Rory hanging onto the back of the car with one hand and aiming the gun he kept under his pillow with the other.
Rory was there alright, but he wasn’t riding on the trunk. His tall, skinny frame ran shirtless into the middle of the street. He flung his arms in the air as if asking why. The car whisked them down the street and hung a right, tossing Sage sideways.
That was the last of Rory and Cain. She remembered missing them. Even now, years later, Sage couldn’t hear squealing sirens without thinking of Cain’s howling whenever emergency vehicles raced through the streets. His wailing sent Rory through the roof, especially when other dogs joined in. Rory would swing his fist and shout at Cain through the ripped screen door to shut the hell up. If he had something in his hand (usually an empty beer bottle), he’d hurl it at the dog.
Still, Sage liked living with Rory, even with his short temper and chain-smoking. She favored his house over the noisy shelters and the eerie boarded-up buildings with no water or TV. What she loved the most? Rory’s house was only five blocks away from her school.
Sage walked.
When it rained, she ran.
School was her everything, her favorite place on earth. There, she could be anyone. No one cared if she didn’t belong.
So, when her mama made a move that big (leaving a secure spot like Rory’s), it was normally for an upgrade. Sometimes, they would go from sleeping in a basement corner to lounging like celebrities in a motel room. Her mama would rejoice then, throwing up her hands and praising a Good Samaritan, or the sweet baby Jesus, or just good old-fashioned luck. Whatever the case, normally, her mama would have something better worked out. Not that time.
The car dropped them off at a two-story mansion that looked like it was once a bed and breakfast. It had cascading steps that led up to a huge porch with patio chairs and a swinging bench where people could sit and visit. Sage was impressed until she went inside.
Furniture was scarce in the lobby, as though getting comfortable was discouraged. A narrow coffee table sat between a lumpy-looking couch and mismatched recliners. There was no TV set, and the walls were bare except for a bulletin board with an attached sheet of paper that listed house rules. The first one, Sage quickly noted, was “No Overnight Guests.”
Only women lived in the mansion. Most had kids. Everyone moved around timidly, avoiding eye contact. The kids kept to themselves, which was fine with Sage.
A woman named Ms. Sonya, who appeared to be in charge of everyone, assigned Sage and her mama to a back room for what was supposed to be only a few days. She made sure they had towels and soap in their tiny bathroom and food and water in a half-size refrigerator.
Ms. Sonya looked twice her mama’s age and wore below-the-knee dresses, even on the day she climbed onto a chair and replaced a missing window shade. Her hair was always slicked up in a tight bun, and her only make-up was wine-colored lipstick that heavily covered her thick lips that constantly bounced in and out of a smile. Everyone loved her, mainly because she was the bearer of goodies: clothes, fruit, and wrapped candy.
On Sage’s second day there, Ms. Sonya had strolled into their room and pulled that pink dress from a plastic bag. “Maybe your girl can wear this, Asha,” she said, holding up the dress for all to admire. The dress had been too big, yet Sage proudly modeled it while Ms. Sonya snapped her picture—twice. She kept one for her record and gave the other one to her mama. Sage wore that dress for three days straight. She would have worn it to school if her mama had agreed.
“Sorry, Baby,” was her constant reply, no matter how much Sage begged. “We have to keep clear of our usual places. Rory can’t find us,” she would say. Sage only had a month of school left before the summer break. She was one hundred percent sure she could have kept out of Rory’s sight for at least that long. She was brilliant at hiding in a crowd.
Her mama had never seen her in the schoolyard and had no idea Sage was one of the fastest kids there. So even if Rory saw her, Sage would bet her life that he couldn’t have caught her. But there was no use arguing that subject. Her mama’s word was final. Less than a week later, Sage was on her way to Foister, Oklahoma.
By the time her dad’s sister, Aunt Dodie, showed up at the mansion, Sage had a good routine going. She bathed at night, worked word puzzles after breakfast, and spent the afternoons helping her mama string beads to sell to a street vendor.
Sage knew of her aunt. She had always wanted to meet her and compare her features with her dad’s, but Sage didn’t find a trace of likeness. The petite woman who followed Ms. Sonya through the lobby wasn’t like anyone she knew. She wasn’t tall like her dad had been described or had kind eyes or a playful grin like the photograph of him that her mama kept in her purse.
Aunt Dodie had a strong jawline, accusing eyes, and a stillness that demanded attention. She didn’t necessarily look ferocious but seemed to own the room and everyone in it.
Sage sat in one of the lobby recliners while her mama sat in the other. Her mama popped up like a student in class when the teacher asked someone to read the day’s lesson. “I hope you had a pleasant drive,” her mama said.
“That was a long drive,” her aunt said flatly, acknowledging her mama with a side glance. She was attractive and dressed in a terrycloth zip-up hoodie with matching pants. Her eyes darted around the room and landed on Sage, observing her thoroughly, starting with her hair and finishing at her feet. Sage was so nervous she felt nauseous. She hadn’t washed her hair since they had arrived at the mansion. It was raked back into a long, rumpled braid. Her sneakers were tattered at the toes. Her clothes weren’t much better.
Aunt Dodie watched her and her mama in that disapproving way strangers eyed them. Creepy men would size them up with even creepier grins and say words like… temptress or beguiling. Sage would politely smile, not wanting to be disrespectful, but all the while shaking off their weird stares and whispers. Those types of words bothered her. She handed them over to her guardian angel when she lay down at night.
Her aunt, however, spoke no such words after her stare-down. She said nothing at all. Sage couldn’t tell if she approved of her, but she would come to know after living with her for ten years that very little impressed Aunt Dodie.
After a long, awkward moment, she shifted her attention to Sage’s mama and whined, “And now, without any rest, I have to turn around and drive back home.” Her mama smiled nervously and apologized. “Is she ready, Asha?” her aunt snapped, not interested in what her mama had to say.
“This won’t be forever, Dodie,” her mama said. “I have no real choice here.”
“What would you know about real choices?” Aunt Dodie asked, her eyes narrowing.
Her mama dropped her head. “I’ve made a mess of things. I know.”
Sage’s aunt sighed, smiling briefly as though that confession was the pot of gold. She then turned to Sage and frowned. “Well? Are you coming with me or not?” With that, she turned and walked out of the house.
Her mama remained still until Aunt Dodie had cleared the doorway. She then pulled a heavy backpack from behind Sage’s chair and dropped it into her lap. Sage didn’t know it then, but days later, she would find that pathetic photo of herself inside that bag. Her mama knelt beside her, searching for her eyes. “This won’t be forever,” she repeated in a softer tone than she had used earlier with the aunt. “Sweetheart, you deserve better than this.”
“What about you, Mama? Don’t you deserve better too?”
Her mama smiled instead of answering either question. She teared up and then blinked her eyes dry. Sage frowned, unable to read her expressions anymore. She didn’t understand her anymore. They were family, and families stuck together. Her mama spoke those exact words to her after Sage’s dad was killed.
Thaddeus Hamman, her dad, played the guitar and sang. He was on stage in the middle of a set when a gunman walked into an Atlanta nightclub and opened fire, killing him and four others. No one knew why. Sage was six years old when they lost him. She was seven when they lost their home.
“I want to stay with you,” Sage had argued.
Her mama kissed her forehead and sidetracked her. “You were such a good baby. Quiet. If anything were to happen to you...” She shook her head, allowing the sentence to linger forever.
Sage broke down in tears and hugged her mama for what felt like a full minute. She knew she wasn’t telling her everything, like when she talked about her dad’s death. Her mama would never say the words: died or shot or murdered. She would say he sprouted wings and flew away to a much better place. Once, she claimed her dad received an invitation to perform for some mighty angels, and on quiet nights, she swore she could hear him serenading the entire universe. She was that way—happiest when she was the saddest.
A brave smile gripped her mama’s face and melted. “I love you so much,” she said, smoothing down loose strands of Sage’s hair with her fingertips. “We’ll write all the time, and you’ll go to school every day. And you’ll be safer than safe in Oklahoma with your aunt.”
All lies. Sage had long ago stopped speculating on whether her mama knew at the time she was lying. The big bad wolf huffed and puffed at everyone’s door. So, her mama’s plans to keep up with her could have been blown to bits. In any case, she wrote Sage only once, and that letter served as notice that she had left Atlanta to search for her own scattered family. She gave no return address or hint of where she had gone.
Of course, her mama wasn’t entirely wrong. Sage did go to school and got a diploma. Hallelujah—yes! But was she safer than safe in Foister? On that point, Sage would answer—no.
Hope versus just plain foolishness? Sage held her photo by its upper corner and dipped it into the candle’s flame. As the fire climbed higher and higher, dissolving her image, she let go. Its ashes crumbled inside the glass container. It was gone just like its promise.
There were more memories to scorch. She lifted a lavender corsage from the basket and caressed its silky purple ribbon between her fingers. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” her aunt loved to say. Where would Sage be had she never stepped foot in Foister? What if her mama had been just a little stronger? What if Sage had fought harder to stay in Atlanta? She could have gotten lost in that alley behind Rory’s house or refused to even meet her aunt. What if Aunt Dodie had lived anywhere else on the planet? Sage would have never met Kenneth Duffy, and lives wouldn’t have been ruined.
Less than a month ago, Sage stood with Kenneth Duffy in her front yard. She used her back to block her aunt’s watchful eyes. Duffy’s large hands, perfect for catching a football, struggled to fasten a tiny pin that attached the corsage to her prom dress. The whole time he tussled with the pin, their eyes connected, silently agreeing on their love and commitment. High school graduation was just weeks ahead. Their futures were brimming with possibilities. Right?
Nope. Sage lowered the corsage into the flame. Thin black smoke billowed toward her. She breathed in its sweet fragrance and wished her feelings were as flammable. If she could somehow extract unwanted memories from her head, she would lay them out to die right there on her aunt’s back porch. She would then bury them under the tall oak tree and wait for time to turn them into dust.
Sage grabbed a handful of photos from the basket and sifted through them. The snapshots told her and Duffy’s story in fragments. They met the summer she came to live with Aunt Dodie. His mother was her aunt’s best friend, and Duffy soon became Sage’s best friend. In truth, he was her only friend.
He was two and a half months older than her. When school started, he went to third grade while Sage was given a placement test and held back to redo second grade. Through the years, they were Duffy and Sage. He taught her to ride a bike, drive before she turned sixteen, and French kiss when she was ready to learn. She taught him the cha cha slide, how to use chopsticks, and how to make no-bake oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.
Duffy was a big-deal football running back in high school. Sage remained that out-of-town, hard-to-know, pretty girl all through school. They were a package deal. His friends were her friends, and vice versa. She knew him as well as she knew herself, or so she thought.
Sage was wrong. She had discovered the truth earlier that night—the hard way. The hardest way imaginable. His heart did not belong to their future. Their lives were not knotted together. She didn’t know how long he had lied to her and didn’t care to know. As far as she was concerned, excuses and more lies were not desired parting gifts.
The sight of Duffy’s cruel, lifeless eyes staring at her slipped past her defenses and flashed in her memory. Mental pictures were not so easily destroyed. Sage closed her eyes, fighting back tears and holding those brutal images at bay. She was nowhere near ready to face the entirety of that night. She may never be able to confront its harsh reality. No one would want to capture moments like those in her head. Hysteria and violence weren’t so photographic.
