Chapter One

Jesus Don’t Forget Me

By: Jennifer Demeter

Chapter One

The court house was quiet. Hushed conversations, the clicking of heels and soft crying were the only sound. The scent of cleaning products and despair filled my nose. I stared at my shoes, scuffed black flats, and found comfort in familiarity.

The woman at my side tapped her foot, her fingers beating a tattoo on the back of the bench. Once more she checked her watch, and then looked to the main doors. To anyone else she would probably look like she was OCD. The thought brought a faint smile to my lips.

“Maybe she won’t show.” The hope in my voice was pitiful. I hated the way it sounded.

“Ashley,” Caroline Fisher, my caseworker, turned to me her voice comforting.

“Mrs. Kessler is a very nice woman. And though I can’t call her prompt, she’s always shown up. We’ve places several children with her over the years and have had no complaints.” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The move was so natural it brought tears to my eyes.

I looked up at her, my breath catching painfully in my lungs. For the last six months it had been like that, so natural, so right. For the last six months this woman had been my friend, counselor, and sister. And now I was being forced to leave her.

I’d never known anyone quite like Caroline. She honestly cared about the well being of everyone in her care. She put her heart and soul into her job. I worried that before long the system would win, as the system always won, and she would lose that purity that made her unique.

She was so lovely. Her skin was like milk chocolate and caramel, a drastic to my fair complexion. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun. I wished it was down. It was so pretty when she wore it down, the brown tresses tending to curl.

Fiercely I wished we were at her house, laughing on the couch and sharing popcorn. Watching one of the old movies she loved.

The memories hurt, like so many did now. My knuckles went white on the handle of my bag, I had to force myself to relax and let go. Once more I was about to lose everything.

“Why can’t I stay with you?” Tears choked my voice, straining my words.

“I wish you could, more than you know. More than anything, you have to know that. It’s…It’s just not allowed.” Her voice trailed off, her hand closing around mine. Heat against ice.

“She’s here.” Caroline’s voice was soft with emotion as she turned to me, a fake smile on her face.

“Smile now, darling.”

I rose numbly from the bench, my stomach fluttering with nerves, and pasted a smile on my face. A short, plump woman hurried toward us. She had frizzy red hair, cream colored skin and over bright eyes.

“Ashley Jones, this is Margret Kessler, She’ll be your foster mother.”

“Hello, darling. Aren’t you just lovely?” The woman’s voice was smooth and rich, the opposite of the image she portrayed. Before I could speak her chubby arms pulled me in a too warm embrace, her perfume invading my senses.

Numbly I went through the motions. Smile, now nod. Yes, school would be starting again soon. Smile again.

I jumped when Margret took my hand. She had my bag and was pulling me toward the door.

“Come on now, darling. It’s time to go.” She spoke as if I were a skittish horse, unpredictable and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. I looked over my shoulder, committing Caroline’s face to memory. I fought tears as Mrs. Kessler and I walked away from Caroline. From my sanity it seemed.

“Ashley, wait.” Caroline’s heels clicked on the polished marble floor as she ran to me. I broke free of Margret and threw myself into Caroline’s arms. Her arms held a quiet strength as she wrapped them around me, pressing kisses to my temples, forehead and nose.

“Be good. Promise me you’ll be good.” Her voice was rough with unshed tears as she held my face in her hands. I didn’t want to let her go. She was home.

Mutely I nodded. I could deny her nothing. Tears slid down my cheeks, my eyes filled with questions as she slid something into my back pocket.

“Call me if you ever need anything. I’ll be there.” She cupped my cheek in her palm, placed a kiss on my forehead, then turned and walked away.

Sobs backed up in my throat; somehow I managed to hold them back.

“I love you, Caroline!” I cried my voice breaking. Her step faltered, shoulders shaking. My heart slammed against my ribs, waiting.

“I love you too, Ashley.”

Reluctantly I returned to Mrs. Kessler, slipping my hand into hers as we walked from the court house. The sun stung my eyes, making me blink. I followed Margret toward a blue minivan. A sticker that cheerfully boasted “Moms Taxi!” clung to the back window. I looked over my shoulder, I couldn’t help it. Caroline stood on the steps, watching me. She lifted a hand, a final farewell, then turned and walked away.

My heart broke as I climbed into the van. We drove out of town proper and into suburbia, down identical streets with perfect houses. I wondered how people didn’t get lost, or go to the wrong house on streets like these.

I blinked.

Margret pulled into the driveway of a two story Spanish style home. The grey stone walkway was lined with friendly flowers, the grass manicured to perfection. Margret hauled my bag out of the back then hurried to my side, as if worried I would disappear if she didn’t keep her eyes on me.

“Come on; let’s introduce you to the rest of the crew.” She beamed at me, bustling up the walk, my bag throwing off her balance. I followed, like a beaten puppy.

The entrance way was spacious and welcoming. Shoes of varying sizes lined one wall; a key hook claimed “Home is where the Heart is”. The hall was simple beige, the baseboards white, the floor a pale green tile. The colors shouldn’t have gone together, but somehow they worked.

To the left lie a large family room; the couches were white, set around a simple wooden coffee table. Toys and books were scattered around and a children’s program was playing on T.V.

The kitchen was also large, and all tile. An island separated the kitchen proper from the dining area. The room was homey, quaint. Margret hurried over to check the contents of a large silver pot sitting on the stove. I wondered how she could see inside without the use of a step stool. You could probably fit a small child in there.

I blinked. Margret was standing at the stairs calling to the other children.

“Kids! Come meet our newest member!” She turned her merry eyes on me as she hurried back into the kitchen. Feet stomped down the stairs as children filed into the kitchen.

They ranged in ages from six to eighteen. The youngest and oldest were boys, with three girls between them. I focused on the youngest. He was holding a worn teddy bear that looked as if he’d seen better days. Hadn’t we all. He smiled at me, proudly showing off the gap where his two front teeth should have been. I couldn’t help but smile back.

Margret made an odd cooing noise and rushed over to stand beside the children. She wasn’t much taller than one of the younger girls, and would have been lost were it not for her unruly red hair.

“Ashley, I’d like to introduce you to my brood. The little one here is Benny.” A shy little wave. “Then we have Theresa, Mena, and Jessica. The oldest is Kirk, he’s mine by blood.”

Margret beamed as she informed me of this, drawing a scowl from the boy. The resemblance was there, though not very obvious. He was tall where she was short, lean where she was pudgy. His dark hair was carefully combed and perfect, his grey polo tucked into wrinkleless khakis. His grey eyes traveled my body, taking in my black skirt and blue sweater, making me uncomfortable.

I turned my attention to the girls, who were whispering amongst themselves. I wondered how a person could be completely surrounded and feel so alone.

“Hello,” My voice was rough, unused. I offered a small wave, wondering how long I would be subjected to this meet and greet. I longed to find my room and some quiet.

“Okay, gang. Dinner will be ready in an hour.” Margret kissed her son, either ignoring or not noticing the scowl he shot after her.

Mena stepped forward, lifting my bag and beaming a smile. She was younger than I, ten maybe twelve. Tan skin, blonde curling hair, the stereotypical California girl. I followed her up the stairs and down the hall, half listening to her monologue about the house and the people in it.

“Benny’s new too. He’s only been here a few months. Theresa and I have been here for two years, and Jess has been here the longest. Margret got her when she was a baby, and somehow managed to keep her. She’s seventeen and thinks she knows everything. Theresa and I are the same age, which makes it easier.”

“And how old are you?” I inquired, looking at the school photographs the lined the walls.

“I’m twelve and a half.” She announced proudly, stopping at a blue door.

“The doors are color coded. Green is for girls thirteen and under, red for boys. The black door is Kirk’s. You’ll be rooming with Jess.”

I pushed open the door and stepped into the room. It was decently sized, furnished with two twin beds and two chests of drawers. There was a large closet spanning one wall. The line between what Jessica owned and my side was clearly drawn. Sprayed rather. Red spray paint cut the room violently in two. The gruesome line discolored the soft beige carpet before climbing up pale grey walls and ending just short of the ceiling.

On Jessica’s side the walls, what you could see of them beneath the posters, were blood red. The artwork screamed out at me, posters of popular bands and this month’s heartthrobs. I wondered how she slept with so many eyes on her.

Mena smiled and plopped down on Jessica’s bed, bouncing and sending her curls swinging.

“Isn’t Jessica so hip?” She beamed with the admiration of a child as she ran her fingers along the red comforter, the satin whispered beneath her fingers.

I sat on the bed meant for me, my eyes drawn to the pale grey walls, beige carpet and the ugly red line. The timelessness of the faded grey quilt soothed me. It reminded me of something my mother would have owned. The bed springs gave slightly under my weight.

“Do you miss your old room?” Mena lifted a decorative pillow, also red; I was beginning to sense an obsession, and toyed with the bead work.

I chewed my lower lip, tucking my hair behind my ear. I thought about my room, the soft pink walls, my cream and ivory bedspread, the lamp in the shape of a ballerina doing a grand jete. The lamp had been my grandmothers.

But he’d come into my room. Soiled it.

My thoughts drifted to the couch at Caroline’s, her maroon walls and blue carpets. The memories made me swallow tears.

“Yes and no.”

“I get that. I do, sometimes. Margret lets us decorate however we want. Theresa and I decorated our room orange and green. There’s a big pink flower on the wall too. It’s pretty.” Her voice trailed off at my seeming lack of interest.

I smiled at her, wondering how much longer I would be allowed to hide before dinner.

“Margret’s really nice, Ashley. She’s great to us all here.” Mena said softly, looking down at the pillow.

My heart broke. She was trying so hard, and I just couldn’t give it back. Stupidly I nodded, my eyes staring blankly a head. I wished I could give her an inch. My heart screamed for it. But I just couldn’t.

“Okay the…I’ll come and get you for dinner, okay?” Offering a small smile, she walked out, quietly shutting the door behind me.

Sighing I let my head drop into my hands, my long hair swinging forward to curtain me from the world. Good hair, sweet, protective hair. Tears burned my throat, screaming to be shed. I kept them at bay. Leaning back, I allowed gravity to take over. I enjoyed the slow fall to the bed, bouncing once when I hit the mattress. I thought of my Mother. And the tears gained their freedom.

I still couldn’t believe she was gone. The coroner’s report had stated that she’s died on impact, but I knew better. She’d been dead long before that night.

I found it ironic that the man who’d clipped her wings had been the man who’d allowed her to fly.

I missed my mother. But I was happy to have seen her one last time. Smiling I brought to mind the last image I carried of my mother. Her blue eyes had been fierce as she’d come through the door. Her blonde hair waving behind her like a banner, the green dress she’s worn shimmered around her, Goddess like.

That night she’d been a warrior. MY warrior. Wiping tears from my cheeks I forced myself into a sitting position. Dropping to the floor I opened my suitcase.

An envelope sat on top of my clothes. It was from him. I didn’t want to touch it, but I lifted the vile thing and removed the letter.

Harold’s neat handwriting jumped off the page. It was a short note. His lawyer probably pushed him to write it. It contained information about my inheritance. Since Harold would be spending the remainder of his life in jail, I would receive the amount in full on the day I turned twenty-one, and until then I could not touch it. He had the nerve to end the letter with a request for me to visit.

Scoffing, I stuffed the letter back into the envelope. I couldn’t believe the sum of money I would receive in seven years. Most people work their whole lives and never see that amount. All it’d taken for me was to lose everything I cared about.

Pulling clothes from my suitcase I began randomly filling drawers. It would drive me insane later, but at the moment I couldn’t care. I lifted a turquoise cashmere sweater my mother had given me on my last birthday. I brought the sweater to my face when another envelop fell into my lap.

My breath caught at my name written in my mother’s flowing script. With shaking hands I lifted the letter, afraid to breath for fear it would evaporate.

Opening the flap, I was overwhelmed with my mother’s scent. Gently I removed the letter, tears already blurring my vision, my eyes hungrily reading her words.

When did she write this? Did she know, in a blissful moment of lucidness, what my father was planning? Did she suspect he was planning to attempt something more evil than abuse?

“My dearest Ashley,

You sleep even as I write this. The rise and fall of your chest is comforting on such a dark night. All the apologies in the world will never be able to alleviate the pain I’ve forced upon you. I am not sorry I chose your father, for without him I would not have you, my love. I am sorry for the man he has become. Please believe he was not always so. He used to be kind, sweet, caring…But that was long ago. I am so sorry, my sweet child, for the woman I have become. For not being strong enough to do what is right by the both of us.

I often watch you sleep, though you never know. I find joy in your peace. I fear for our lives.

You are too young to understand, too young to see…But I am not. He thinks he’s so smart, so careful. But I watch. I see, and I know. I only hope I can find the courage to do as I must, before it is too late. A wild hope some would say, yet hope none the less.

If I do not succeed, you must find the courage to go on and escape. He will kill me, I am sure of it. That is my cross to bear, my love, and Jesus will be waiting for me with open arms. My only hope is to see you safely away from here before that happens.

Hope. It’s a funny little word. So simple. So deep. I always wanted to name you Hope.

Always remember my love for you, my baby. I will always be with you.

I love you always,

Mother.”

Sobs wracked my body. Tears fell onto the page, warping the words. The ink ran like phantom tears.

“Mother…” I whispered, hugging the paper to my chest. Breathing in the scent of her, her love. Carefully I folded the letter and replaced it. Rising I put it in my top drawer, beneath my underwear.

I stared at the mirror above my dresser for a long time, imagining my mother’s face superimposed over mine. I’d seen a picture of my mother when she was a teenager, I looked just like her. That was before Boppie had died. Before my mother had been left with no family to turn to.

I closed my eyes, remembering Boppie’s farm, her strong hugs and too sweet lemonade.

Why, God? Why take them all from me. I opened my eyes, gasping as I found myself staring into my mother’s beautiful face.

A light knock shattered the image.

“Ashley, its Mena. Dinner’s ready.”

I wasn’t hungry, but I knew Caroline would want me to join in on my first night. Opening the door I looked down into Mena’s eyes. She smiled up at me, her smile so sweet, so genuine, I couldn’t help but respond.

“Margret made spaghetti. She makes her own sauce and meatballs! I got to help.”

The savory aroma hit us as we descended the stairs. The kitchen and adjoining dining room were busy with preparations. Jessica and Theresa were setting the table. Kirk was slicing garlic bread. Mena trotted into the kitchen and wrapped her slender arms around Margret’s waist. Margret whispered something, patting her head. She looked up at me, a smile pouring from her eyes. Detaching herself from Mena she walked over and wrapped her arms around me.

“If you’re not hungry, you don’t have to stay down here. I understand.” Her husky voice whispered in my ear. I looked at her in shock. My escape had been permitted. Most of me wanted to turn tail and run back upstairs and hide in bed.

I looked around, at Mena’s eyes, wide and hopeful. The sneer in Jessica’s. Kirk was watching me, his gaze sliding over me. The need to run intensified. I sensed evil in him. It put me on guard.

“I’d like to stay.” I didn’t realize I’d thought the words, let alone spoke them. But the sheer joy in Margret’s eyes made it worth it. Sliding my own toward the snarl in Kirk’s, I felt a smile, a true smile, light my face.

Dinner was pure chaos of chatter and clinking silverware. I couldn’t believe the noise. I’d never had a meal like this before. People were talking over one another, throwing bits of bread; Margret’s half hearted attempts at order were comical.

At Caroline’s the noise had just been laughter, and the TV in the background. At home, it had usually been Harold screaming about my mother’s short comings.

I blinked.

Dinner was over and clean up had begun. Theresa and Mena were loading the dishwasher. Jessica and Kirk were nowhere to be seen. I could hear Benny laughing in the family room.

Margret excused me from dishes, it being my first night. I climbed the stairs, studying the photographs a bit more closely. Most were of Kirk at varying stages of life. In all the pictures his dark eyes glared out at the viewer.

Chills ran down my spine as realization hit. I’d seen those eyes before. Kirk had eyes like Harold.

I rushed up the rest of the stairs, the blue door like a beacon in the night. I sighed at the simple peace of my side of the room. Lying out on my bed, I soaked up the cold from the sheets. I wondered how many other lost souls had cried into this pillow, hidden under these sheets.

I blinked.

I woke with a start. Teen pop blared from boom box speakers. I sat up, pulling the hair from my eyes. Jessica lay on her bed, a text book open before her. She was chewing on the end of her pen, bopping her head to the beat.

I stared at her, wondering. She was beautiful. Long dark red hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Jade green eyes scrutinized the page from beneath thickly lashed nests. Her skin was skillfully tanned, not the fake and bake look. Her skin brought to mind beaches in the summer.

“Got a problem?”

Her question, and the attitude within the tone, caught me off guard. I sat there, blinking stupidly for a moment before I found my voice.

“I’m sorry. The music woke me and I…”

“Well I’m not going to apologize. I do my homework to music. If you don’t like it, get ear plugs.”

That being said, she went back to her reading. I was dumbfounded. Unsure of what to do next, I chewed my lower lip. My second one-on-one meeting wasn’t going so well. Of course, winning over a seventeen year old wasn’t going to be as easy as a twelve and a half year old.

“Do you like school?” God, what a lame question. Was my brain that muddled? I could think of nothing better, and I found myself suddenly hungry for conversation.

Jessica sighed and slapped her book closed. She pushed herself into a sitting position. Her dark hair swinging around her shoulders, she leveled me with a look that could melt iron.

“Look, new girl, let me break down the rules for you. I’ve had this room to myself for one blissful year. I enjoy listening to my music and not being bothered by a child while I’m doing homework. I have a very large chapter I have to read by tomorrow, and an even larger English paper due. I don’t have time for chit-chat, got it?”

My tongue seemed glued to the roof of my mouth, my heart thrummed in my chest. Swallowing hard I sat up straighter and stared her down.

“I am not a child. I am fourteen years old, only four years younger than you.” My voice was braver than I felt.

Jessica arched a brow and growled her impatience. I hurried on before she could stop me.

“I love school. I’ve always been good at it. I was taking Sophomore English at my old school. I got straight A’s. I could help you with your report.” The truth was I’d been so good in school because it was my escape. I had no choice but to do my work and do it well. It had been my mother’s dream to see me into college. It was hard to think of what my mother would think of me now. Using my brain as a bargaining chip.

Jessica wasn’t stupid. She pursed her lips, considering.

“And what would you want in return?”

I inhaled deeply, wiping my damp palms on my skirt. There was no turning back now.

“I’m going to be the new girl at a new school, in the middle of the semester. Let me sit with you at lunch, walk with me to class a few times, and I’ll write your paper for you. If you can help me fit in quicker, I’ll write your senior project for you.”

Her red tipped fingers tapped a steady tattoo on her knees. She stood and paced the red line separating the room. I watched in silent hell as my heart slammed against my ribs.

“Let me get this straight.” Jessica turned toward me, hands on her hips and a gleam in her eye. “All you want is to be popular?”

“No. I just want this to be as easy as possible. I’d rather not waste weeks as the strange new girl.”

Chewing her lower lip, she eyed me. Stepping across the line she sat on the end of my bed facing me.

“I help you get acquainted with school, and you’ll do my Senior project?” She tapped her lips with her index finger, her green eyes sharp with mischief.

“This will take time, and effort on my part. I’m a business woman and I won’t sell myself short.”

“What do you want?” I asked nervously. What could I give?

“Two English papers, my senior project and one household chore a month, of my choosing.” She extended her hand, a sickly sweet smile curving her lips. “Deal?”

“Deal.” What choice did I have? I clasped her hand with mine and shook it brusquely.

“Pleasure doing business with you, newbie. Nighty-night.”

As I lay in bed listening to Jessica’s music, I wondered just what I had gotten myself into.