Post by Thomas on Feb 7, 2015 9:42:31 GMT -5
That night Thomas had sent her a message saying that he couldn't come over. Something unruly had happened at Starless Bar and he needed to stay to take care of it. The unspoken part of it was that he didn't want her to come by to help. He could handle it, he reassured her. He preferred to handle it on his own in an attempt to shield her from some of the violent chaos that surrounded his kind. The way she had met Henri was something he desperately wanted to avoid the second time around with her.
At about eight pm it started raining heavily, which seemed to cue the appearance of her mother. She rushed through the doorway, grumbling unhappily at how the rain had seem to come from no where and how her hair was ruined. It poured down so heavily, the sort of cold rain that made people ill. She just knew the paper would be ruined. It was a lucky day, though, the paperboy had finally gotten the foresight to double bag the paper and leave it on the stoop instead of in a puddle on the drive where it would get ground into paper mache. She tossed the mail and the newspaper on top of the dining room table, calling, "Alisha, are you home dear?" She started unwrapping the paper from its plastic sleeve, balling up the wet plastic to throw it away before it ruined the finish on the table.
"Ok, I love you. XOXOXO" she sent the text to Thomas and continued on with her nightly ritual.
While her mother was out, she stood in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. Alisha had been taking to eating lighter, healthier and every meal had some sort of green, leafy vegetable and a healthy portion of steak. Tonight it was fried chicken livers. She left off the bacon and bacon grease for her mother's sake. The livers were breaded lightly and fried in less than a teaspoon of olive oil. They were tossed into a cale and spinach salad with a honey-olive oil viniagrette. To her surprise, it was actually quite good. So by the time her mother, sodden with rain, stumbled through the door the dinner was on the table. "Oh Mother," she chuckled and helped her mom with removing of her jacket and reaching for a towel for her mother's hair. She then gathered the mail and the newspaper to set it aside. All of that could wait until they'd eaten. "You look adorable. Like a drowned rat."
"This is not adorable." Her voice was low with warning at being teased, but she quickly managed a little smile afterward as if able to see humor in it now that Alisha pointed it out. The light pink towel was raked through her hair as she walked to the wall where there was a decorative mirror made out of many circular mirrors adhered on top of one another, "So much for bothering to curl it today." A frown before her finger went up, smoothing a wayward line of mascara that was running from the corner of her eye. It was after the fussing that she was able to appreciate the smell of a hot meal, "You've become quite the cook." Her mother was appreciating that about her. Since the whole search for the cure and frantically trying to win Jessie over, she hadn't been taking care of herself and was feeling more and more exhausted lately. The upset with Alisha and Thomas had left her worried, but instead of increasing the rift between them, previous offenses were amended and she felt that their relationship, while strained from the known and now forgotten moments, was better.
"Momma, go wash your face, I'll make you a plate," she smiled at her mother. Seeing her in less than pristine condition was something that she'd grown used to as a child. Picking up beer bottles or vodka bottles and cleaning up vomit was something Alisha had done from an early age. Now that her mother was sober, the unkempt hair and make up was not something she saw very often, but it was a welcome sight. It reminded her of where they came from and made her more appreciative of where they were today. "I'll be staying home tonight. Thomas said there was some kind of commotion at the bar and for me to stay put."
"He did? I hope everything is all right," she muttered, reaching to her earlobes to pull her large, gold clip-on ear rings off as she walked to the back room. When her mother reemerged her makeup was gone, which made her eyebrows seem to disappear off her pale face. Her hair was brushed back like a lion's mane and she was wearing her cotton pajamas with the flower print and a white robe over it with a persistent concealer stain she couldn't get out of the neck of it. Smiling at Alisha she took a seat at the table and began picking around the dish she had prepared, "I get worried about you being at the bar with him sometimes. Bars attract unsavory people." She knew, she had been one of them.
Alisha was already sitting at the table, eating her salad and drinking from a glass of wine. "I know you worry," she put down her fork to reach out and gently cover her mother's hand with her own for reassurance. "But Thomas won't let anything bad happen to me. And the other vampires have all heard that I have no recollection of the cure, so I should be safe." She smiled then and picked up her fork again. She wasn't going to compare her mother's experiences with her own. There was no reason to beat that dead horse.
"I know, it's just," she remembered what Jessie said about not pushing Alisha. About letting some of those things go. She just took another bite from the chicken and then turned her fork in her hand, "There is supposed to be a special on A&E tonight about Barbara Walters," She wiped at her mouth and then smiled at Alisha, "You're welcome to watch it with me if you like. I've been wanting to see it for the past two days but I've been so busy. I want to knit Amelia a blanket but I think she'll be going to college by the time I finish." It wasn't easy when you were just learning. She had a certain lag to learning those things.
"Sure, I'll watch it with you," she smiled and took the last bite of salad. "You can knit while you're watching and I'll catch up with what's new in the world," she stood up to take her plate into the kitchen. "Besides the Market being blown to smithereens for the upteenth time," she chuckled. It was a sad fact that living in Rhy'din had made her immune to the tragedy of a weekly bombing of the Market. Especially when it always seemed to recover so quickly. "Do you want me to make you some tea?"
"No, I think a water will do. If I have any tea I'll be up until the wee hours." She laughed, standing up slowly. One hand went to her back as she frowned, "Don't ever get old, Alisha, everything just starts to fall apart." Then she smiled and left her plate, assuming Alisha would take it for her to the kitchen. Beside the bed was, well, the pink abomination that she was trying to make Amelia. The rows she had knitted had started out too loose and now they were tight so it seemed like the blanket had gotten caught on something and stretched. It was only four feet long and she carried it with the ball of yarn and needles to the living room to turn on the tv.
"Ok Momma," she smiled and continued with the chores until the sink was empty and the table wiped clean. A doily and vase were set onto the table before she picked up the mail and newspaper to follow her mother into the living room. "Oh, water!" she laughed at herself. Setting the paper and mail down beside her chair, she hurried into the kitchen to get two glasses of ice water. She returned and set the drinks down on coasters before settling into her chair. Her shoes were kicked off and she curled her legs up under her. "The blanket looks nicer the more you knit."
Her mother had to put her reading glasses on for this. One loop over, right? Knit, stitch. No, pearl, stitch. There was a commercial on the television screen. Her mother didn't like wearing her reading glasses, they made her feel like she looked old. Like the grandmother she was. When Alisha sat beside her she groaned, "Yes, but that means I have to undo the whole thing and start at the beginning if I want to make it all look even. I haven't had the heart to unravel it just yet."
"I don't think you should unravel it," she mused and picked up the newspaper. "I mean, it's not perfect, but it shows how much effort you put into it and how much you've learned. Besides, you could just buy a perfectly knitted blanket, right? This is from Grandma Wygant. It's special just the way it is." She opened up the newspaper and settled in for a good read.
"She's going to grow up thinking I had a few screws loose," she held it up for judgement and laughed, shaking her head before she went back to her knitting and pearling. There was quiet between them as the Barbara Walters special came on. She had liked watching her when she was in rehab, she thought the woman was interesting and trustworthy. She was also a familiar face for her when she was growing up. At the commercial break she smiled at Alisha, "I think I'll make you a hat, next. Or a sock, whatever fits better."
Alisha really paid no mind to the television, she was skimming through the paper, looking at the headlines for anything that would catch her eye. When her mother spoke, she lowered the paper and gave her mother a look. "A single sock? Really?" Alisha giggled and picked the paper back up. "She's going to know you've got screws loose. We all do. Especially if we only knit one sock."
"Some socks lose their partner, you know. It could be the back up sock so that the other one isn't alone." She was smiling because she knew it was a bit absurd. But also, "Or just two wonky hats." One knitting needle was free for her to point at Alisha with a grin before trying her hand at another row on the blanket, "I should have gotten the multicolored yarn, it's kind of boring looking. Like a pink and white instead of just pink."
Alisha giggled at her mother's explanation. Leaning over, she kissed her mother's cheek. "Love you, Mom," she smiled and then went back to her reading. "You could always buy some white yarn and trim it around the edges and put little white bows so it looks polka dotted," she tried to help.
"I think I like the bow idea," she said, frowning as she missed two pearls and a stitch. She pulled out the line and started the row anew, "I could just tie them in and then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to get the pattern right. Might dress it up a little bit so it doesn't look so plain. Might even hide that it's a bit misshapen. I should have learned how to do this fifteen years ago." She couldn't bring herself to join any of the knitting circles. All the women there were practiced hands at it. They discussed what needle size they liked and the differences between yarn brands. Some of them even went to stores that were closing or special ordered the stuff. It was all a bit too much for someone just getting started.
"There you go," she agreed and flipped the page. Leaning her head forward, she brought the paper closer so she could get a good look at a photo that caught her eye. "Hey Mom?" she sounded a bit distracted, as if she were trying to remember something. She pulled the paper away from her face and folded it so that she could hold it out for her mother to see. "Don't you know this guy?" The picture was from an obituary of a John Doe.
"Hmm?" she leaned forward, lowering her hands holding the needles with yarn to her lap as she leaned in. Her jaw jumped in thought, as if she were actually chewing on her memory. Then she shook her head no, "No, I have no idea who that is. Poor sod's got no one out there to claim him." She started knitting again, "I wonder if the government pays to have them buried. Funerals aren't cheap."
"But Momma, I saw his picture!" She put the paper down and got up from her spot on the couch. "I'll show you," she disappeared into the hallway and then her mother's room. When she returned, she had a beaten up old photo album and was thumbing through the pages. "See, here he is," she turned the album around in her hands and held it out to her mother. "Right there. It looks like it's even the same picture."
"Well," she looked unsettled at Alisha's insistence, "It must be a coincidence," though the images were identical, coincidence seemed to be the way that she wanted to sweep it out under the rug, "The likeness is... unsettling. They must have put the wrong picture in the paper."
"Mom," she sat down and put the album on the coffee table. "If this guy is your friend, even from a long time ago, you owe it to him to identify him so that his family can know what's happened to him. What if he has a wife and children? You know it's the right thing to do."
"I'll make the call tomorrow," she frowned, looking down at her needles as she started to knit again pensively, "I'll tell them that I think I know who it is and they they can take it from there." Her mother was completely uninterested in going downtown to identify a body of someone she knew from so long ago, "I didn't know him well, Alisha. He was more like an acquaintance. I have been meaning to clean out those old books."
Alisha picked up the book and flipped the page. There was a photo strip from one of those booths like at a carnival. "Mom?" She picked up the strip and held it up so she could see. "He looks like more than an acquaintance. You two look cute together," she smiled gently and placed the photos back into the book. "He was important enough for you to keep his picture. Who was he?"
"Some guy I met at a bar," she put the needles down and reached over, gently taking the strip of pictures from her. She had forgotten how his sheepish smile had grown elated as the night went on. The top image where he was laughing at her, hands held out in the air as if in the middle of an explanation, made her smile. Shortly after, she put the photo back down and admitted, feeling shame harden her voice, "He was your father."
Alisha watched as her mother's expression softened and she leaned forward to listen. There wasn't much said and she put her hand onto her mother's shoulder to provide support if she needed it. But the last four words out of her mouth had Alisha sitting back with her jaw dropped. She felt a numbness go through her and her mind went completely blank. Astonishment washed over her like a cold blanket and she shivered as she drew her hand away from her mother's shoulder. "Come again?"
"I would hit the bars, you know," she said with a sigh, extending the photo strip for Alisha to see, "Me and my girlfriends liked to party and we would pick up boys and have fun. We were so careless, and stupid. I was on antibiotics for something-- can't remember what now-- and wound up getting pregnant. I had an idea of who might be the father but after three tests that left just him," she sighed, "he skipped town after that night and I hadn't seen him since."
There are certain things in life a child does not want to know. There are also certain things in life that cannot be unheard. Her mother was laying both of those things on her now. "Three tests?" Her jaw dropped again and she sat back, stunned. "Four guys in one weekend?" Her gaze flickered up to her mother. Seeing her looking so despondent brought Alisha out of her surprised stupor. "No wonder you're always so worried about me."
"No, it was over a week and a half. You had to wait until you missed your period then to know if you were pregnant." Not that it changed the nature of her story so much. She sighed and then nodded, "I told you, bars encourage depraved behavior." She put the photo strip down, "We were all doing shots at Meryl's Bar and there was this carnival that had opened down the street. He was at the bar by himself and looked lonely so... I invited him to join us. After some drinks we went across the street," but that was as far as she wanted to share the story. "It was a long time ago. I don't need to look at him now but I'll make the phone call."
"Oh Mom," Alisha scoot closer and put her arms around her mother to hold her and comfort her. Barbara Walters was talking in the background, but neither of them were paying much attention. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." She sat back and gently smoothed her hands over her mother's hair. "So that's my dad?" she picked up the strip from the album and looked down at it. "He looks nice."
"He was," she said with a sigh, clearing her throat to change the subject, "Sweetie, it's late and I think I need to go to bed or I'm going to fall asleep on the couch." She wasn't that tired a moment ago. The needles and the yarn were wrapped together and set on the end table beside the couch. She kissed her daughter on the cheek and smiled, "Don't forget to turn off the lights when you go to bed. I don't want my bills goin' through the roof."
Her phone buzzed. It was Thomas' text message, "Breakfast?"
Alisha reached up to gently touch her mother's cheek as her own was kissed. "Good night, Mom," she murmured and watched as she left the room. She wondered if she would have done the same as her mother, if the tables were turned. It was with this thought in mind that she picked up her phone and glanced down at the screen. She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she turned off the television, the lights and went into her own bedroom. Her head was still reeling with the news her mother had laid on her. Plopping down onto the bed, she lay on her stomach and pushed a button so she could Facetime with Thomas.
The cops were gone and he had finally shut down the bar. But it was late for him. He was wearing a grey cotton weave shirt with the shoulders rolled up. She had caught him when he was at the bar, just finishing the 'clean up' that was necessary. The phone was propped on the bar top against the side of his drink, "Hey Dove, sorry about tonight. I tried to get everything wrapped up as soon as I could," he looked away at a clock and then back to her, "I know it's late."
"Hi." The moment she saw his smiling face and those trusting eyes, Alisha's tears began to well. She canted her head and then lay her forehead down on her folded arms and she began to weep.
"I'm sorry," he frowned, "I didn't mean to disappoint you tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow morning, I promise." He wasn't going to tell her that he thought she was over reacting, but she was experiencing a lot with him. It could be overwhelming, those experiences.
Alisha shook her head and lifted her tear stained face. "It's not you," she croaked. "I just found out that my father is dead." Her lower lip quivered and she sniffled hard to keep herself under control. "I didn't even know who he was until about five minutes ago."
"What?" He raked a hand through his hair and frowned. He wanted to say something about her mother then, she had been a sour point for him plenty of times, "Look, why don't I just come over? The bar is closed so I can leave now, I just didn't think you'd still be awake."
"Please come over," she whimpered and reached to touch the phone where his face was. "I don't want to be alone and I don't want my mom to see me like this. I could tell that she was upset, but she tries to be tough, you know?" Alisha wiped a tear that had escaped onto her cheek.
"Sounds familiar," he smiled, but it disappeared under the weight of her distress quickly, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Just make sure the front door is unlocked for me, all right?" When they hung up he washed his hands before stepping outside. Thomas forgot his coat, but he didn't care. It wasn't something that he needed, anyway, and was more of a ritual practiced to blend in. The world seemed wet and cold as if covered in a black ice. He smoked three cigarettes in succession on his way, not meaning to have their essence linger on him like it did when he strolled up to the front of the house, typing a 'here' for her.
"O-okay," she nodded and the screen went black and then to her picture of him as background. She stared at it for a long time. Hadn't she done the same as her mother? From the stories told, she met Thomas in a bar. She'd done lewd things, horrible things with him. The only differences in the stories were that she couldn't get pregnant by Thomas and that Thomas hadn't disappeared. She couldn't imagine the struggle and the pain her mother must have been through. Before she knew it, a text came through. Thomas was at the house. She left her phone on the bed when she got up and rushed for the front door. She hugged her robe around herself and opened the door.
"Hey," he breathed and went in to her, wrapping his arms around her. He wanted to hold her as tightly as he could but she seemed fragile, "You all right, Dove?" His hold loosened enough that he could get the space to look her in the eye. Voice was hushed because he wasn't sure where her mother was, exactly.
Alisha fell into his arms and buried her head into his shoulder. She didn't speak, even when he asked her how she was doing. And when she lifted her face to meet his gaze, her green eyes were awash with tears. "I don't know why I'm crying," she admitted as she buried her face into his shoulder again. "I didn't even know him. Did he even know about me?" She felt like a little girl, scared of the boogey man under her bed.
"I don't know," he wanted to tell her something more comforting. Chances were, he didn't. If she didn't know about him how could he know about her? Well, he might have been a dead beat. One hand slipped through her hair to cradle the back of her head as she pressed against him, "It's okay to be sad, even if it doesn't make any sense."
"I don't know if I'm angry or sad or guilty or disgusted," she shook her head, took a deep breath and then looked up into Thomas' eyes. "She met him in a bar and took him to a cheap motel. And he wasn't the only one. She went through three men, had them tested and by matter of elimination, this guy's my father."
"I... I'm sorry." He was going to tell her that he didn't know what to say. Her mother's sketchy past had never been a secret, but they had never been confronted with such vivid details. Placing a kiss on her cheek he looked towards the hall, "Let's go to your room and shut the door."
Alisha nodded and took a step back from Thomas. It was only then that she realized the front door was still wide open. She hoped that her nosy neighbor Norma wasn't listening in on the conversation. She closed the door and then took Thomas by the hand to lead him into her bedroom.
There was a glance as he watched her shut the door before they went down the hallway to her room. Once inside he shut her bedroom door behind him, sitting on the edge of her mattress with her, "How did you find this out?" How did this news suddenly hit her this way?
Alisha leaned against him when he sat down. "There was a picture in the paper. I recognized it from one of mom's old photo albums. She said she didn't know him, at first. But then I showed her the album and she... she.. just told me that he was my father. She said she's going to call the police tomorrow and say she knows who he is. But... I think I should go."
"What did she tell you about your father before this?" he blinked, one of his arms wrapping around her to bring her in close to him. The idea of going to see him made Thomas frown, "Are you sure?" Was it healthy to meet a dead father?
"Nothing," she whispered with a shake of her head. Alisha closed her eyes and sighed heavily. She wanted to rewind time, go back to before the night's revelations. But she couldn't do that. She had to face facts and move forward. "I'm sure," she nodded and her eyes blinked open to look into Thomas' eyes. "I want to know who he was, how he lived. I want to know if he... if he..."
"If he what?" He kissed the side of her head and whispered in her ear, "You don't have to decide right now. Why don't you see how you feel in the morning and if you want to go, you can. I can... go with you if you like. You don't have to be alone." Another kiss to her temple.
"if he even knew I existed," she sighed again and simply held onto Thomas for strength, comfort. "I feel like I've been turned upside down and inside out." Turning her head, she rested her ear on his shoulder and placed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. "I wish she had told me sooner."
"It's all right," he kept her close to him and sighed, kissing the top of her head and rocking her gently, "It'll be better for you once you're not in shock anymore." Her mother always seemed so full of secrets and whenever one was unveiled, it was rotten. It didn't surprise him that she had lied to Alisha. Thomas had seen her lie before, but to Alisha this was the first major deception she had to cope with.
Alisha stretched in his arms and yawned against his neck. "Stay with me, please," she begged. "I don't want to be alone." Alisha was bone tired and weary from the evening's events.
"Of course." he brushed her hair aside and kissed her. When his lips broke away he stood up, peeling the sheets to her bed back before he kneeled in front of her at the foot of the bed, slipping one of her socks off and then the other, "You won't be. I'll be right here, as long as you'll let me."
Alisha peeled away the shirt and jeans she'd been wearing, and then the bra and panties. A cotton nightgown was chosen from her closet and then she slipped into the bed that Thomas had turned down for her. She reached for him, then. "I don't want you to go, even when Mom gets up and gets angry because you're here. Just, don't say anything to her about my father. She's already upset enough."
"I won't," he said with a subdued smile, slipping out of his long sleeved shirt, shoes, socks and pants to crawl in next to her in his dark grey boxers. He had imagined that the first time he would sleep over, at least to her, would have been under better circumstances. It was the only time he wished that he felt warm and soothing to her instead of having the crisp, cool feel of untouched winter sheets, "I think she'll understand why you wanted me here."
"Thomas," she closed her eyes and pressed her back into his cold chest. "Feed from me." It may have been an odd request, but not to Alisha. She needed to feel connected to something, somebody. Her mind had almost completely shut down as the thoughts, memories of a little girl being slapped by her mother for asking who her father was, questions about why he wasn't in her life, feelings of abandonment and extreme loneliness.
Gently, as if her hair would break, his hand lifted her brown locks away from her neck. One of his arms wrapped her in closer to him and his breath released along her neck. Selfishly, she said what he wanted, but it felt callous to indulge when she was in pain. He kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, "You'll need all your strength tomorrow." Was she so upset that she was self destructive, that she wanted a little pain to ease her hurt?
Of course, Thomas was right. Alisha closed her eyes and hugged his arm to her chest. And in the comfort of his arms, she wept bitterly until exhaustion took over, and then she slept.
"It's going to be all right." Somehow, it had to be. His hand combed through her hair until he was certain she was asleep, but Tommy couldn't sleep. He laid against her, watching her measured breathing and the way her eyes jumped behind their lids as she slept restlessly in his arms. What had her mother done? Eventually, sleep too him as well.
At about eight pm it started raining heavily, which seemed to cue the appearance of her mother. She rushed through the doorway, grumbling unhappily at how the rain had seem to come from no where and how her hair was ruined. It poured down so heavily, the sort of cold rain that made people ill. She just knew the paper would be ruined. It was a lucky day, though, the paperboy had finally gotten the foresight to double bag the paper and leave it on the stoop instead of in a puddle on the drive where it would get ground into paper mache. She tossed the mail and the newspaper on top of the dining room table, calling, "Alisha, are you home dear?" She started unwrapping the paper from its plastic sleeve, balling up the wet plastic to throw it away before it ruined the finish on the table.
"Ok, I love you. XOXOXO" she sent the text to Thomas and continued on with her nightly ritual.
While her mother was out, she stood in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. Alisha had been taking to eating lighter, healthier and every meal had some sort of green, leafy vegetable and a healthy portion of steak. Tonight it was fried chicken livers. She left off the bacon and bacon grease for her mother's sake. The livers were breaded lightly and fried in less than a teaspoon of olive oil. They were tossed into a cale and spinach salad with a honey-olive oil viniagrette. To her surprise, it was actually quite good. So by the time her mother, sodden with rain, stumbled through the door the dinner was on the table. "Oh Mother," she chuckled and helped her mom with removing of her jacket and reaching for a towel for her mother's hair. She then gathered the mail and the newspaper to set it aside. All of that could wait until they'd eaten. "You look adorable. Like a drowned rat."
"This is not adorable." Her voice was low with warning at being teased, but she quickly managed a little smile afterward as if able to see humor in it now that Alisha pointed it out. The light pink towel was raked through her hair as she walked to the wall where there was a decorative mirror made out of many circular mirrors adhered on top of one another, "So much for bothering to curl it today." A frown before her finger went up, smoothing a wayward line of mascara that was running from the corner of her eye. It was after the fussing that she was able to appreciate the smell of a hot meal, "You've become quite the cook." Her mother was appreciating that about her. Since the whole search for the cure and frantically trying to win Jessie over, she hadn't been taking care of herself and was feeling more and more exhausted lately. The upset with Alisha and Thomas had left her worried, but instead of increasing the rift between them, previous offenses were amended and she felt that their relationship, while strained from the known and now forgotten moments, was better.
"Momma, go wash your face, I'll make you a plate," she smiled at her mother. Seeing her in less than pristine condition was something that she'd grown used to as a child. Picking up beer bottles or vodka bottles and cleaning up vomit was something Alisha had done from an early age. Now that her mother was sober, the unkempt hair and make up was not something she saw very often, but it was a welcome sight. It reminded her of where they came from and made her more appreciative of where they were today. "I'll be staying home tonight. Thomas said there was some kind of commotion at the bar and for me to stay put."
"He did? I hope everything is all right," she muttered, reaching to her earlobes to pull her large, gold clip-on ear rings off as she walked to the back room. When her mother reemerged her makeup was gone, which made her eyebrows seem to disappear off her pale face. Her hair was brushed back like a lion's mane and she was wearing her cotton pajamas with the flower print and a white robe over it with a persistent concealer stain she couldn't get out of the neck of it. Smiling at Alisha she took a seat at the table and began picking around the dish she had prepared, "I get worried about you being at the bar with him sometimes. Bars attract unsavory people." She knew, she had been one of them.
Alisha was already sitting at the table, eating her salad and drinking from a glass of wine. "I know you worry," she put down her fork to reach out and gently cover her mother's hand with her own for reassurance. "But Thomas won't let anything bad happen to me. And the other vampires have all heard that I have no recollection of the cure, so I should be safe." She smiled then and picked up her fork again. She wasn't going to compare her mother's experiences with her own. There was no reason to beat that dead horse.
"I know, it's just," she remembered what Jessie said about not pushing Alisha. About letting some of those things go. She just took another bite from the chicken and then turned her fork in her hand, "There is supposed to be a special on A&E tonight about Barbara Walters," She wiped at her mouth and then smiled at Alisha, "You're welcome to watch it with me if you like. I've been wanting to see it for the past two days but I've been so busy. I want to knit Amelia a blanket but I think she'll be going to college by the time I finish." It wasn't easy when you were just learning. She had a certain lag to learning those things.
"Sure, I'll watch it with you," she smiled and took the last bite of salad. "You can knit while you're watching and I'll catch up with what's new in the world," she stood up to take her plate into the kitchen. "Besides the Market being blown to smithereens for the upteenth time," she chuckled. It was a sad fact that living in Rhy'din had made her immune to the tragedy of a weekly bombing of the Market. Especially when it always seemed to recover so quickly. "Do you want me to make you some tea?"
"No, I think a water will do. If I have any tea I'll be up until the wee hours." She laughed, standing up slowly. One hand went to her back as she frowned, "Don't ever get old, Alisha, everything just starts to fall apart." Then she smiled and left her plate, assuming Alisha would take it for her to the kitchen. Beside the bed was, well, the pink abomination that she was trying to make Amelia. The rows she had knitted had started out too loose and now they were tight so it seemed like the blanket had gotten caught on something and stretched. It was only four feet long and she carried it with the ball of yarn and needles to the living room to turn on the tv.
"Ok Momma," she smiled and continued with the chores until the sink was empty and the table wiped clean. A doily and vase were set onto the table before she picked up the mail and newspaper to follow her mother into the living room. "Oh, water!" she laughed at herself. Setting the paper and mail down beside her chair, she hurried into the kitchen to get two glasses of ice water. She returned and set the drinks down on coasters before settling into her chair. Her shoes were kicked off and she curled her legs up under her. "The blanket looks nicer the more you knit."
Her mother had to put her reading glasses on for this. One loop over, right? Knit, stitch. No, pearl, stitch. There was a commercial on the television screen. Her mother didn't like wearing her reading glasses, they made her feel like she looked old. Like the grandmother she was. When Alisha sat beside her she groaned, "Yes, but that means I have to undo the whole thing and start at the beginning if I want to make it all look even. I haven't had the heart to unravel it just yet."
"I don't think you should unravel it," she mused and picked up the newspaper. "I mean, it's not perfect, but it shows how much effort you put into it and how much you've learned. Besides, you could just buy a perfectly knitted blanket, right? This is from Grandma Wygant. It's special just the way it is." She opened up the newspaper and settled in for a good read.
"She's going to grow up thinking I had a few screws loose," she held it up for judgement and laughed, shaking her head before she went back to her knitting and pearling. There was quiet between them as the Barbara Walters special came on. She had liked watching her when she was in rehab, she thought the woman was interesting and trustworthy. She was also a familiar face for her when she was growing up. At the commercial break she smiled at Alisha, "I think I'll make you a hat, next. Or a sock, whatever fits better."
Alisha really paid no mind to the television, she was skimming through the paper, looking at the headlines for anything that would catch her eye. When her mother spoke, she lowered the paper and gave her mother a look. "A single sock? Really?" Alisha giggled and picked the paper back up. "She's going to know you've got screws loose. We all do. Especially if we only knit one sock."
"Some socks lose their partner, you know. It could be the back up sock so that the other one isn't alone." She was smiling because she knew it was a bit absurd. But also, "Or just two wonky hats." One knitting needle was free for her to point at Alisha with a grin before trying her hand at another row on the blanket, "I should have gotten the multicolored yarn, it's kind of boring looking. Like a pink and white instead of just pink."
Alisha giggled at her mother's explanation. Leaning over, she kissed her mother's cheek. "Love you, Mom," she smiled and then went back to her reading. "You could always buy some white yarn and trim it around the edges and put little white bows so it looks polka dotted," she tried to help.
"I think I like the bow idea," she said, frowning as she missed two pearls and a stitch. She pulled out the line and started the row anew, "I could just tie them in and then I wouldn't have to worry about trying to get the pattern right. Might dress it up a little bit so it doesn't look so plain. Might even hide that it's a bit misshapen. I should have learned how to do this fifteen years ago." She couldn't bring herself to join any of the knitting circles. All the women there were practiced hands at it. They discussed what needle size they liked and the differences between yarn brands. Some of them even went to stores that were closing or special ordered the stuff. It was all a bit too much for someone just getting started.
"There you go," she agreed and flipped the page. Leaning her head forward, she brought the paper closer so she could get a good look at a photo that caught her eye. "Hey Mom?" she sounded a bit distracted, as if she were trying to remember something. She pulled the paper away from her face and folded it so that she could hold it out for her mother to see. "Don't you know this guy?" The picture was from an obituary of a John Doe.
"Hmm?" she leaned forward, lowering her hands holding the needles with yarn to her lap as she leaned in. Her jaw jumped in thought, as if she were actually chewing on her memory. Then she shook her head no, "No, I have no idea who that is. Poor sod's got no one out there to claim him." She started knitting again, "I wonder if the government pays to have them buried. Funerals aren't cheap."
"But Momma, I saw his picture!" She put the paper down and got up from her spot on the couch. "I'll show you," she disappeared into the hallway and then her mother's room. When she returned, she had a beaten up old photo album and was thumbing through the pages. "See, here he is," she turned the album around in her hands and held it out to her mother. "Right there. It looks like it's even the same picture."
"Well," she looked unsettled at Alisha's insistence, "It must be a coincidence," though the images were identical, coincidence seemed to be the way that she wanted to sweep it out under the rug, "The likeness is... unsettling. They must have put the wrong picture in the paper."
"Mom," she sat down and put the album on the coffee table. "If this guy is your friend, even from a long time ago, you owe it to him to identify him so that his family can know what's happened to him. What if he has a wife and children? You know it's the right thing to do."
"I'll make the call tomorrow," she frowned, looking down at her needles as she started to knit again pensively, "I'll tell them that I think I know who it is and they they can take it from there." Her mother was completely uninterested in going downtown to identify a body of someone she knew from so long ago, "I didn't know him well, Alisha. He was more like an acquaintance. I have been meaning to clean out those old books."
Alisha picked up the book and flipped the page. There was a photo strip from one of those booths like at a carnival. "Mom?" She picked up the strip and held it up so she could see. "He looks like more than an acquaintance. You two look cute together," she smiled gently and placed the photos back into the book. "He was important enough for you to keep his picture. Who was he?"
"Some guy I met at a bar," she put the needles down and reached over, gently taking the strip of pictures from her. She had forgotten how his sheepish smile had grown elated as the night went on. The top image where he was laughing at her, hands held out in the air as if in the middle of an explanation, made her smile. Shortly after, she put the photo back down and admitted, feeling shame harden her voice, "He was your father."
Alisha watched as her mother's expression softened and she leaned forward to listen. There wasn't much said and she put her hand onto her mother's shoulder to provide support if she needed it. But the last four words out of her mouth had Alisha sitting back with her jaw dropped. She felt a numbness go through her and her mind went completely blank. Astonishment washed over her like a cold blanket and she shivered as she drew her hand away from her mother's shoulder. "Come again?"
"I would hit the bars, you know," she said with a sigh, extending the photo strip for Alisha to see, "Me and my girlfriends liked to party and we would pick up boys and have fun. We were so careless, and stupid. I was on antibiotics for something-- can't remember what now-- and wound up getting pregnant. I had an idea of who might be the father but after three tests that left just him," she sighed, "he skipped town after that night and I hadn't seen him since."
There are certain things in life a child does not want to know. There are also certain things in life that cannot be unheard. Her mother was laying both of those things on her now. "Three tests?" Her jaw dropped again and she sat back, stunned. "Four guys in one weekend?" Her gaze flickered up to her mother. Seeing her looking so despondent brought Alisha out of her surprised stupor. "No wonder you're always so worried about me."
"No, it was over a week and a half. You had to wait until you missed your period then to know if you were pregnant." Not that it changed the nature of her story so much. She sighed and then nodded, "I told you, bars encourage depraved behavior." She put the photo strip down, "We were all doing shots at Meryl's Bar and there was this carnival that had opened down the street. He was at the bar by himself and looked lonely so... I invited him to join us. After some drinks we went across the street," but that was as far as she wanted to share the story. "It was a long time ago. I don't need to look at him now but I'll make the phone call."
"Oh Mom," Alisha scoot closer and put her arms around her mother to hold her and comfort her. Barbara Walters was talking in the background, but neither of them were paying much attention. "I'm sorry, Momma. I didn't mean to make you feel bad." She sat back and gently smoothed her hands over her mother's hair. "So that's my dad?" she picked up the strip from the album and looked down at it. "He looks nice."
"He was," she said with a sigh, clearing her throat to change the subject, "Sweetie, it's late and I think I need to go to bed or I'm going to fall asleep on the couch." She wasn't that tired a moment ago. The needles and the yarn were wrapped together and set on the end table beside the couch. She kissed her daughter on the cheek and smiled, "Don't forget to turn off the lights when you go to bed. I don't want my bills goin' through the roof."
Her phone buzzed. It was Thomas' text message, "Breakfast?"
Alisha reached up to gently touch her mother's cheek as her own was kissed. "Good night, Mom," she murmured and watched as she left the room. She wondered if she would have done the same as her mother, if the tables were turned. It was with this thought in mind that she picked up her phone and glanced down at the screen. She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she turned off the television, the lights and went into her own bedroom. Her head was still reeling with the news her mother had laid on her. Plopping down onto the bed, she lay on her stomach and pushed a button so she could Facetime with Thomas.
The cops were gone and he had finally shut down the bar. But it was late for him. He was wearing a grey cotton weave shirt with the shoulders rolled up. She had caught him when he was at the bar, just finishing the 'clean up' that was necessary. The phone was propped on the bar top against the side of his drink, "Hey Dove, sorry about tonight. I tried to get everything wrapped up as soon as I could," he looked away at a clock and then back to her, "I know it's late."
"Hi." The moment she saw his smiling face and those trusting eyes, Alisha's tears began to well. She canted her head and then lay her forehead down on her folded arms and she began to weep.
"I'm sorry," he frowned, "I didn't mean to disappoint you tonight. I'll make it up to you tomorrow morning, I promise." He wasn't going to tell her that he thought she was over reacting, but she was experiencing a lot with him. It could be overwhelming, those experiences.
Alisha shook her head and lifted her tear stained face. "It's not you," she croaked. "I just found out that my father is dead." Her lower lip quivered and she sniffled hard to keep herself under control. "I didn't even know who he was until about five minutes ago."
"What?" He raked a hand through his hair and frowned. He wanted to say something about her mother then, she had been a sour point for him plenty of times, "Look, why don't I just come over? The bar is closed so I can leave now, I just didn't think you'd still be awake."
"Please come over," she whimpered and reached to touch the phone where his face was. "I don't want to be alone and I don't want my mom to see me like this. I could tell that she was upset, but she tries to be tough, you know?" Alisha wiped a tear that had escaped onto her cheek.
"Sounds familiar," he smiled, but it disappeared under the weight of her distress quickly, "I'll be there as soon as I can. Just make sure the front door is unlocked for me, all right?" When they hung up he washed his hands before stepping outside. Thomas forgot his coat, but he didn't care. It wasn't something that he needed, anyway, and was more of a ritual practiced to blend in. The world seemed wet and cold as if covered in a black ice. He smoked three cigarettes in succession on his way, not meaning to have their essence linger on him like it did when he strolled up to the front of the house, typing a 'here' for her.
"O-okay," she nodded and the screen went black and then to her picture of him as background. She stared at it for a long time. Hadn't she done the same as her mother? From the stories told, she met Thomas in a bar. She'd done lewd things, horrible things with him. The only differences in the stories were that she couldn't get pregnant by Thomas and that Thomas hadn't disappeared. She couldn't imagine the struggle and the pain her mother must have been through. Before she knew it, a text came through. Thomas was at the house. She left her phone on the bed when she got up and rushed for the front door. She hugged her robe around herself and opened the door.
"Hey," he breathed and went in to her, wrapping his arms around her. He wanted to hold her as tightly as he could but she seemed fragile, "You all right, Dove?" His hold loosened enough that he could get the space to look her in the eye. Voice was hushed because he wasn't sure where her mother was, exactly.
Alisha fell into his arms and buried her head into his shoulder. She didn't speak, even when he asked her how she was doing. And when she lifted her face to meet his gaze, her green eyes were awash with tears. "I don't know why I'm crying," she admitted as she buried her face into his shoulder again. "I didn't even know him. Did he even know about me?" She felt like a little girl, scared of the boogey man under her bed.
"I don't know," he wanted to tell her something more comforting. Chances were, he didn't. If she didn't know about him how could he know about her? Well, he might have been a dead beat. One hand slipped through her hair to cradle the back of her head as she pressed against him, "It's okay to be sad, even if it doesn't make any sense."
"I don't know if I'm angry or sad or guilty or disgusted," she shook her head, took a deep breath and then looked up into Thomas' eyes. "She met him in a bar and took him to a cheap motel. And he wasn't the only one. She went through three men, had them tested and by matter of elimination, this guy's my father."
"I... I'm sorry." He was going to tell her that he didn't know what to say. Her mother's sketchy past had never been a secret, but they had never been confronted with such vivid details. Placing a kiss on her cheek he looked towards the hall, "Let's go to your room and shut the door."
Alisha nodded and took a step back from Thomas. It was only then that she realized the front door was still wide open. She hoped that her nosy neighbor Norma wasn't listening in on the conversation. She closed the door and then took Thomas by the hand to lead him into her bedroom.
There was a glance as he watched her shut the door before they went down the hallway to her room. Once inside he shut her bedroom door behind him, sitting on the edge of her mattress with her, "How did you find this out?" How did this news suddenly hit her this way?
Alisha leaned against him when he sat down. "There was a picture in the paper. I recognized it from one of mom's old photo albums. She said she didn't know him, at first. But then I showed her the album and she... she.. just told me that he was my father. She said she's going to call the police tomorrow and say she knows who he is. But... I think I should go."
"What did she tell you about your father before this?" he blinked, one of his arms wrapping around her to bring her in close to him. The idea of going to see him made Thomas frown, "Are you sure?" Was it healthy to meet a dead father?
"Nothing," she whispered with a shake of her head. Alisha closed her eyes and sighed heavily. She wanted to rewind time, go back to before the night's revelations. But she couldn't do that. She had to face facts and move forward. "I'm sure," she nodded and her eyes blinked open to look into Thomas' eyes. "I want to know who he was, how he lived. I want to know if he... if he..."
"If he what?" He kissed the side of her head and whispered in her ear, "You don't have to decide right now. Why don't you see how you feel in the morning and if you want to go, you can. I can... go with you if you like. You don't have to be alone." Another kiss to her temple.
"if he even knew I existed," she sighed again and simply held onto Thomas for strength, comfort. "I feel like I've been turned upside down and inside out." Turning her head, she rested her ear on his shoulder and placed a soft kiss to the side of his neck. "I wish she had told me sooner."
"It's all right," he kept her close to him and sighed, kissing the top of her head and rocking her gently, "It'll be better for you once you're not in shock anymore." Her mother always seemed so full of secrets and whenever one was unveiled, it was rotten. It didn't surprise him that she had lied to Alisha. Thomas had seen her lie before, but to Alisha this was the first major deception she had to cope with.
Alisha stretched in his arms and yawned against his neck. "Stay with me, please," she begged. "I don't want to be alone." Alisha was bone tired and weary from the evening's events.
"Of course." he brushed her hair aside and kissed her. When his lips broke away he stood up, peeling the sheets to her bed back before he kneeled in front of her at the foot of the bed, slipping one of her socks off and then the other, "You won't be. I'll be right here, as long as you'll let me."
Alisha peeled away the shirt and jeans she'd been wearing, and then the bra and panties. A cotton nightgown was chosen from her closet and then she slipped into the bed that Thomas had turned down for her. She reached for him, then. "I don't want you to go, even when Mom gets up and gets angry because you're here. Just, don't say anything to her about my father. She's already upset enough."
"I won't," he said with a subdued smile, slipping out of his long sleeved shirt, shoes, socks and pants to crawl in next to her in his dark grey boxers. He had imagined that the first time he would sleep over, at least to her, would have been under better circumstances. It was the only time he wished that he felt warm and soothing to her instead of having the crisp, cool feel of untouched winter sheets, "I think she'll understand why you wanted me here."
"Thomas," she closed her eyes and pressed her back into his cold chest. "Feed from me." It may have been an odd request, but not to Alisha. She needed to feel connected to something, somebody. Her mind had almost completely shut down as the thoughts, memories of a little girl being slapped by her mother for asking who her father was, questions about why he wasn't in her life, feelings of abandonment and extreme loneliness.
Gently, as if her hair would break, his hand lifted her brown locks away from her neck. One of his arms wrapped her in closer to him and his breath released along her neck. Selfishly, she said what he wanted, but it felt callous to indulge when she was in pain. He kissed her neck and whispered in her ear, "You'll need all your strength tomorrow." Was she so upset that she was self destructive, that she wanted a little pain to ease her hurt?
Of course, Thomas was right. Alisha closed her eyes and hugged his arm to her chest. And in the comfort of his arms, she wept bitterly until exhaustion took over, and then she slept.
"It's going to be all right." Somehow, it had to be. His hand combed through her hair until he was certain she was asleep, but Tommy couldn't sleep. He laid against her, watching her measured breathing and the way her eyes jumped behind their lids as she slept restlessly in his arms. What had her mother done? Eventually, sleep too him as well.