Love Unrehearsed
Page 144
When I got Kelcie pregnant, I honestly thought my life was starting over. I’d hoped that her mom would at least be understanding, but instead she kicked her own daughter out onto the street. And Kelcie’s dad . . . that bastard ruled with an iron fist. To this day, I still think he used to beat her mom, but I could never prove it. Both of them were not good people.”
Thoughts of having “not good people” as a set of grandparents I’d never meet crossed my mind.
“Anyway, I tried to get her out of there.
We even thought that if she’d get pregnant my parents would take sympathy on her and let her move in.” He laughed. “Yeah, that wasn’t one of our brightest ideas.” Ryan sat forward. Something had un-settled him.
“Don’t get me wrong, we both wanted you,” Joe said, backpedaling. “It’s just, well, my dad got laid off and my mom wasn’t making all that much at her job. Kelcie tried to get on welfare to help feed you. We were just kids, barely able to wipe our own noses.”
“I always dream about you having black hair,” I said, unconsciously touching my hair.
Joe appeared taken aback. “You do? Huh.
I actually used to dye it. I wanted to be a punk rocker. My mom almost cried when I traded in piano lessons for a guitar with an anarchy sticker on it.”
Ryan glanced over at me. “Well, now we know where your musical talents come from.”
I smiled. My mom couldn’t even tune the car stereo.
Joe’s eyes widened. “You play?” I nodded. “Started on piano and taught myself acoustic guitar.”
Ryan brushed my arm, smiling. “And she’s got a beautiful voice, too.” Joe seemed impressed. “Wow! That’s excellent!”
After a few moments of silence, I went for the question that burned the most in my mind. “I dream about you quite often, Joe.
Whenever I do, my dad, Dan, is always there, too. And you two are fighting. I mean, physically fighting. And then there’s blood. Lots of blood. Your teeth, your mouth.” Joe winced, shaking his head. “Taryn . . .”
“No, I need to know. It’s always the same dream and after all of these years, I need answers. I have nightmares—scary, horrible nightmares.”
Ryan’s mouth opened, realization dawning on him. I nodded at his silent conclusion, knowing I’d never fully explained why I sometimes woke up terrified. Now he understood. I squeezed his hand harder.
Joe stared across the short distance between his seat and mine, his lips mashed into a hard line.
“And they always end the same way. You say ‘I’d never hurt you, baby girl’ and then your teeth turn red with blood.” I knew I was goading him, but I didn’t care. It was time to find out just how fucked-up this situation really was.
Ryan’s face fell, coated with pitiful sorrow.
This was news I’d never shared before. I thought he might be miffed about finding out this way, but I’d just have to deal with him later.
“Taryn,” Joe started, using a tone that was obviously a warning.
“No, I need to know. Why? Why do I have the same dream over and over again?” He hesitated, holding his breath, but I was tired of waiting. My dream was always the same, and now I knew it wasn’t just a fig-ment of my imagination. I’d been recalling a memory over and over again.
“Just tell me. Please.”
Joe huffed, then rolled his gaze back to me. “It was the Fourth of July, right before I shipped off to boot camp. You know your birth mom got killed in a car crash, right?” I nodded. “Your mom told me.” Joe frowned, pained by this walk down memory lane. “It was right after Christmas when it had happened. You weren’t even two yet. Your mom—Jennifer—and Uncle Dan, well, they were both doing well financially.
He’d just gotten that big promotion at Corn-ing and my parents were just about to lose the house.”
I swallowed hard as answers started to fill the empty spaces.
“Aunt Jennifer wanted you real bad. And I did something really stupid. I . . . I was up to no good, and I got tangled up with the wrong sort of people.”
I held up a hand, not wanting to know I was used as barter. “Is this the reason why our mothers stopped talking to each other?” Joe’s face blanked, and then he gave me one nod of confirmation.
“Taryn,” Ryan groaned. I knew he was telling me not to feel guilty about that.
I gave Ryan my own pleading warning. I still had unanswered questions. “So then what happened on the Fourth?” Joe hesitated, gazing at the ornate rug beneath his feet instead of answering.
Thoughts of having “not good people” as a set of grandparents I’d never meet crossed my mind.
“Anyway, I tried to get her out of there.
We even thought that if she’d get pregnant my parents would take sympathy on her and let her move in.” He laughed. “Yeah, that wasn’t one of our brightest ideas.” Ryan sat forward. Something had un-settled him.
“Don’t get me wrong, we both wanted you,” Joe said, backpedaling. “It’s just, well, my dad got laid off and my mom wasn’t making all that much at her job. Kelcie tried to get on welfare to help feed you. We were just kids, barely able to wipe our own noses.”
“I always dream about you having black hair,” I said, unconsciously touching my hair.
Joe appeared taken aback. “You do? Huh.
I actually used to dye it. I wanted to be a punk rocker. My mom almost cried when I traded in piano lessons for a guitar with an anarchy sticker on it.”
Ryan glanced over at me. “Well, now we know where your musical talents come from.”
I smiled. My mom couldn’t even tune the car stereo.
Joe’s eyes widened. “You play?” I nodded. “Started on piano and taught myself acoustic guitar.”
Ryan brushed my arm, smiling. “And she’s got a beautiful voice, too.” Joe seemed impressed. “Wow! That’s excellent!”
After a few moments of silence, I went for the question that burned the most in my mind. “I dream about you quite often, Joe.
Whenever I do, my dad, Dan, is always there, too. And you two are fighting. I mean, physically fighting. And then there’s blood. Lots of blood. Your teeth, your mouth.” Joe winced, shaking his head. “Taryn . . .”
“No, I need to know. It’s always the same dream and after all of these years, I need answers. I have nightmares—scary, horrible nightmares.”
Ryan’s mouth opened, realization dawning on him. I nodded at his silent conclusion, knowing I’d never fully explained why I sometimes woke up terrified. Now he understood. I squeezed his hand harder.
Joe stared across the short distance between his seat and mine, his lips mashed into a hard line.
“And they always end the same way. You say ‘I’d never hurt you, baby girl’ and then your teeth turn red with blood.” I knew I was goading him, but I didn’t care. It was time to find out just how fucked-up this situation really was.
Ryan’s face fell, coated with pitiful sorrow.
This was news I’d never shared before. I thought he might be miffed about finding out this way, but I’d just have to deal with him later.
“Taryn,” Joe started, using a tone that was obviously a warning.
“No, I need to know. Why? Why do I have the same dream over and over again?” He hesitated, holding his breath, but I was tired of waiting. My dream was always the same, and now I knew it wasn’t just a fig-ment of my imagination. I’d been recalling a memory over and over again.
“Just tell me. Please.”
Joe huffed, then rolled his gaze back to me. “It was the Fourth of July, right before I shipped off to boot camp. You know your birth mom got killed in a car crash, right?” I nodded. “Your mom told me.” Joe frowned, pained by this walk down memory lane. “It was right after Christmas when it had happened. You weren’t even two yet. Your mom—Jennifer—and Uncle Dan, well, they were both doing well financially.
He’d just gotten that big promotion at Corn-ing and my parents were just about to lose the house.”
I swallowed hard as answers started to fill the empty spaces.
“Aunt Jennifer wanted you real bad. And I did something really stupid. I . . . I was up to no good, and I got tangled up with the wrong sort of people.”
I held up a hand, not wanting to know I was used as barter. “Is this the reason why our mothers stopped talking to each other?” Joe’s face blanked, and then he gave me one nod of confirmation.
“Taryn,” Ryan groaned. I knew he was telling me not to feel guilty about that.
I gave Ryan my own pleading warning. I still had unanswered questions. “So then what happened on the Fourth?” Joe hesitated, gazing at the ornate rug beneath his feet instead of answering.
