Chapter 1

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1985

 

As Amelia lay curled up in the underbrush by the riverbank, her blood-soaked nightgown felt cold against her skin and made her shiver.  She knew she was dying.  Nothing was going to stop that now.

Her last thoughts were of the decisions that had brought her here.  She contemplated the terrible secret that she had protected for so long and that had finally caught up with her.  She was being punished for that secret now.

She also thought about Robert, remembering how in love they had been on their wedding day seven years before.  That day had been the turning point.  If she had not married him, then maybe she wouldn’t be where she was now.  Maybe she wouldn’t be hiding here in the bushes, her feet caked with mud and her hair a tangle of leaves and twigs, as blood loss and hypothermia fought to see which one would kill her the fastest.  But as she fought through the cold and the pain and the fatigue she knew that, deep in her heart, she still loved him.  And had she known what was in store for her, she still would have made the same choice.

The cold was unbearable, but somehow her body stopped shaking.  It was as though she simply did not have the energy for it anymore.  Her eyelids felt heavy and she closed them.  And she slept.

 

2015

 

It was my first week back.  I was working at Rick and Rhonda’s, the little restaurant that my parents owned.  It was not my first choice for a career, but it was where my life seemed to be headed at the moment.

Like a lot of girls—well, people in general, really—who grow up in small towns, I had big dreams, but before I could live those dreams, I had to get out.  And I did.  At twenty-two years old I graduated from college with a degree in dramatic arts.  The very next day I hopped on a plane that took me to Los Angeles and what I hoped would be a successful acting career.  The irony is that I spent most of my time there working in restaurants—the very fate I had been hoping to avoid when I first decided to leave home. 

I stayed for three years.  The first thing I discovered was that it was going to be hard for a Baptist girl from the Bible Belt to assimilate into the culture of Hollywood.  But I needed to assimilate, so I made a decision to change my religious practices.  I thought maybe it would help me fit in better.  In my working life—both in the restaurants and in the few acting jobs I was able to land—I was surrounded by people who were either atheists, new age spiritualists, or Catholics.  Not being ready to give up on Jesus completely, I chose to align myself with the Catholics, but that ended up leading to my second discovery, the one that eventually prompted me to return home.

It quickly became evident that, despite my four years of intensive study and the money my parents had poured into my education, as an actress I was mediocre at best.  I was, however, young, tall, slender, and blond.  So casting directors were interested in me.  Or perhaps I should say they were interested in my headshots.  Once they met me it was a different story.  Good little Baptist girl turned good little Catholic girl that I was, I proved to be rather uncooperative as an actress.  I refused to take off my shirt, I giggled if I was asked to kiss anyone, and I actually slapped a young actor who tried to fondle my breast, even though he was only doing what the director told him to do.  My colleagues—fellow waitresses who were also waiting for their big break—told me I was nuts.  That I was killing my career before it even started.

“It’s not like you have to actually have sex with anyone!  It’s just pretending,” was one response that I received from a well-meaning friend.

Other, less friendly comments contained words like “prude” and “goody-goody.”

I stuck with it, though.  I pointed out that there were lots of actresses out there who had never done a nude scene, and whose sex scenes were at least tasteful.  That was the kind of career I was after, and I knew it existed.  What I didn’t realize was that those actresses had something I did not have—talent.  Not that I was terrible.  There was just too much competition for me to be able to make my mark. 

So after three years, four print ads, one television commercial, and a couple of movies in which I didn’t even have lines, I decided that I had had enough.  I packed my things and I went back to Georgia, but not like the young man in the Gladys Knight song.  I was not going home.  In fact I wasn’t even sure where home was.  I may have been too conservative for Hollywood, but I was definitely too liberal for rural Georgia.  And I was Catholic, which was almost worse than being atheist in the minds of Southern Baptists. 

Now I know that a lot of the stereotypes about the South being backwards and racist and who knows what else are mostly exaggerated and outdated, but the fact remains that stereotypes wouldn’t exist to begin with if there were not people who lived up to the image.  And I certainly knew some of those.  There were mornings at my parents’ restaurant when I found myself pouring coffee for crusty rednecks who missed the good old days of segregated schools—which in our little town existed until the early 1970s.  Not everyone was like that, in fact most were not, but just knowing that those people were out there made me uncomfortable.  And this was not the only area in which I was surrounded by people I fundamentally disagreed with.  It was virtually impossible for me to join in on any political debate because I was so afraid of saying something that would offend everyone in the room. After my shameful return home in the wake of my failed career, what I needed more than anything in the world was to be accepted, even if I had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. 

And then he showed up.

It was half an hour before closing and the restaurant was mostly empty.  An old couple was finishing their dessert and I was ringing up their bill, happy in the thought that they were probably the last costumers of the day.  It was mid-August, a miserable month in Georgia, and our air conditioner was threatening to stop working at any minute.  It must have been eighty-five degrees in that restaurant, and at least ninety outside, even at nine o’clock at night.  A few drops of rain had started to fall, promising us some relief, and I was grateful.

I’ll never forget the moment he walked in.  I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight, but I do know that there was something about him that caught my attention.  He was still young—maybe thirty years old—and handsome, with a quality about his features that could be described as delicate without being at all effeminate.  His face retained something of the boyish charm that he must have possessed as a teen, but which it seemed was being gradually overshadowed by the sophistication that age and education had lent him.  He sat at the table in the corner, alone, and I went to wait on him.

“Good evening, can I get you something to drink?”

He turned his face toward mine and when I looked into his soft brown eyes I suddenly felt something that I had never before experienced in my life.  I felt at home.  It was as if he understood me completely, and I understood him, though we had never even spoken.  A lock of dark wavy hair fell across his forehead and as he brushed it aside he smiled at me—a smile that betrayed the shy young man who was obviously hiding behind the mask of confidence that he wore.

“I would like water, please.”

“Okay, I’ll go ahead and bring that out to you,” I said, sliding a menu onto the table in front of him.

“Actually,” he said as I turned to walk away, “I’m here to meet someone. Do you know Mr. Rick Hathaway? I’m assuming he’s the Rick whose name is on the sign outside.”

I didn’t know what to make of this.  Who was this man, and what did he want with my father?  I cleared my throat.  “Yes, he’s the owner.”

“Well, if you would do me a favor and give him a message for me, I would really appreciate it.  My name is David Jenson.  Could you tell him I need to talk to him?”

“Of course I can tell him.  Would you like to give me your phone number or email or something?”

David shook his head.  “No, no.  I need to talk to him in person.  Just tell him I’ll come back tomorrow around noon.”

“Okay, I’ll tell him.”

I think I was hypnotized because I did not move.  I stood there silently for a moment, looking down at this mysterious man who had just blown into my world, this man who seemed to know my dad but would not leave any contact information.  This man who seemed to know me down to the very bottom of my soul after only a couple of minutes of small talk.  My mind burned with curiosity, but I was unsure what to say.  Unsure if he would even answer me if I did know what to ask him.  Completely sure that it was none of my business.

“I’ll take that water now,” he said, still smiling.

I jerked myself back to reality, feeling foolish and not even exactly sure how long I had been standing there, and turned to go back to the kitchen.  I brought him his water, he ordered his meal, and I went to stand by the cash register where I pretended to work while I observed this handsome stranger.  Who are you and where did you come from? I asked in my head, and then quickly looked down as he turned to glance my way, almost as if he had heard me.  My heart skipped a beat for a moment, and then I quickly dismissed the idea.  Whatever connection I felt to this man, he most certainly could not hear my thoughts.  I blushed as I contemplated the idea, realizing that there were some thoughts I probably would not want him to hear.

 

******

 

After David left and I oversaw the closing up of the restaurant, I walked the three blocks to my parents’ house.  It was the only ugly ranch house on a street lined with little white farm-style houses and quaint Victorians.  It was nice enough on the inside—my mother had some talent as a decorator—but it was not the place I wanted to call home.  Nothing about this town was what I had envisioned for myself, yet here I was, walking up the driveway at ten pm after a long monotonous day working a job that I loathed.

The rain was falling a little harder and I was thankful that I had remembered my umbrella that morning.  The door was still unlocked so I knew someone was awake inside.

I entered to find Dad reclining on the sofa and watching a rerun of The X-files.  “Hey,” he called out in greeting when he saw me come in.

“Hey, Dad.  Mom already in bed?”

“Yeah, she’s gotta open up early tomorrow.  Friday, remember?”

I nodded.  Friday was the day that the Bible study group from my parents’ church met at the restaurant at six am.  The rest of the week we opened at six thirty, so Fridays were a bit of a challenge.  But Brother Jim, their preacher, had done so much for our family over the years, my parents were more than happy to accommodate him one morning a week.

I hesitated a moment before speaking again.  “Hey Dad?”

He looked up at me.  “Yeah?”

“Do you know somebody named David Jenson?”

He thought for a minute and then answered, “Doesn’t sound familiar.  Why?”

“A guy came into the restaurant tonight.  Said his name was David Jenson and that he needs to talk to you.”

“Talk to me about what?”

“I don’t know.  He didn’t offer any information and I didn’t ask.  He just said he would stop by the restaurant again tomorrow around noon.”

Dad shook his head.  “Hmm, can’t think what that’s about.  Did he look familiar to you?”

“I’ve never seen him before, but of course I’ve been gone for a few years.”

He laughed.  “Like that matters.  This town hasn’t changed much.”

“Then I guess you don’t know him either.”

“Could be somebody I went to school with.”

Now it was my turn to laugh.  “I seriously doubt that.  He’s a little closer to my age than yours.  But maybe you knew his parents or something.”

“Yeah, maybe.  Well I guess I’ll find out.  You working tomorrow?”

“I kind of have to now don’t I?  So I can introduce you to your mystery date.”

We both had another chuckle and then I kissed my dad goodnight and went down the hall.  Lying on my bed in my room—still decorated exactly as it had been before I left for college—I thought to myself for the hundredth time since my reluctant return how much I truly did not want to be here.  But as sleep overtook me my thoughts turned to more pleasant things and in my dreams I saw only the face of a handsome young man whose kind eyes seemed to look right through me and read my innermost thoughts.



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