Strapped Down Read online

  “I can’t keep what I find out to myself.”

  “I understand, but that’s different than some sort of crusade to — I don’t know what the fuck — find out something that will make a difference. I know everything I need to know. Your mother said what she had to say to me a long time ago. And I am grateful to her, you know that, but that was decades ago. If I wanted to dig up the past, kick up dirt, I could have. I have the resources to do it, you know that. But my mother is dead and I still believe what I feel about her. Maybe some of the details have changed, but the ones that count haven’t.”

  His mother. Lyla being alive could change everything. Again, I decide to push that revelation aside until I have more information. Just like he said, if she is still dead, it changes nothing.

  “You were a beautiful child,” I tell Taylor.

  “Likewise. You were like a butterball turkey with a little bushel of hair.” I yank a piece of his hair. “Ow!”

  “Shhhh! So you’re okay?” I ask.

  “Are you? This revelation is really more about you than it is about me. You need to stop worrying about how it affects me.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just can’t believe that all these years have passed, and that we would lead entirely separate lives. I mean your dad didn’t want anything to do with us, and yet we found each other anyway.”

  “What did you say about my father?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you. He didn’t want my mother to ever get in touch with you.”

  “She said that?”

  “Yes. I mean, it makes sense from his perspective. He thought she was one of them.”

  Taylor says nothing, but his facial expression changes, from relaxed to pensive. I wonder what’s on his mind, but I know better than to try and pry it out of him. In that moment, the world is so still, it’s almost too quiet. It’s like we are flies trapped in a spider web, waiting for the threads to quiver. It can’t be this simple. You don’t get a bomb dropped on you like this and just go along your merry way. The web of lies, secrets, and betrayals in which we are entangled only grows larger and more complex, tying me closer to Taylor, but making it all the more difficult to untangle ourselves from the threats that may lie ahead.

  “I should go back in.”

  “It’s so peaceful out here. We should just hide out here together.”

  “I wish I could spend all day with you. I want to be close to you. But, I have to talk to my mother before getting to work. Speaking of which, work is going to suck so hard today. As you know, I cannot function without my beauty rest.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think you’re going to make it.”

  “I better start brewing the coffee now. I’m going to be staying here until my mother leaves.”

  “I figured.”

  As we stand up, Taylor grabs the robe belt from the floor, gently wraps it around my waist and ties it. “Well, text me if you find yourself snoozing on the job.”

  “That’s almost a guarantee.”

  He gives me a gentle jab on the chin, and we both smile, but beneath it, I can see melancholy in his eyes. I watch him walk down the stairs as I prepare to face my mother again. Then he turns back.

  “Shyla.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m not my mother, and you’re not your father.”

  I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling it wasn’t me he was trying to convince.

  ***

  It’s about five in the morning when I walk back into the apartment. The scent of coffee brewing awakes my mother.

  “Good morning,” I say as she rises from the couch.

  “Good morning. Where did you go last night?”

  “No where in particular. I just wanted to be alone.”

  “You went to see him, didn’t you?”

  I don’t respond. In this case, it’s me that should be asking the questions. She sits in silence for a while.

  “Will you ever forgive me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m confused, mom. I understand why you did it, but it’s still hard to come to terms with the fact that much of what I have known about myself—about you—is a lie.”

  “I always feared this day would come and you would never speak to me again.”

  “Mom, I’m not going to stop talking to you. That is, unless there is more you haven’t told me.”

  “No, that’s most of it. I mean, there are stories, these were years of my life, but as far as pertaining to you…”

  “What about Taylor? You said there is so much he couldn’t understand.”

  “Does he know? About me?”

  “Yes. I told him.”

  “Does he…does he want to see me?” She asks so pathetically, it hurts my heart.

  “I don’t think he’s ready. He’s not that little boy anymore and he has done so much to try and move past this. I don’t know if he wants to bring it all back up. He has always had a philosophy about moving forward.” That is one hell of a positive spin on it.

  “Shyla, it would mean the world for me to see him. To tell him about his mother.”

  “It’s a very touchy subject for him.”

  “I can only imagine, but I have to tell him. He has to know. I owe it to her and to him.”

  “I promise I’ll try, but he’s very strong-headed.”

  “I have to ask you a question. I know you’re very private, but I need to know this…”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you in love with him?”

  I turn away to pour coffee into my mug to buy some time. I never liked talking about my relationships with my mother. Call me immature, but it just felt…icky. I’m not prepared to share with her the depths of how strongly I feel about Taylor. I am very protective of our relationship, our secret universe. I have become so guarded about it that I haven’t even really told Kristin, the person to whom I tell everything, how deep my feelings have become for Taylor.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes well up and I am not sure if it’s from joy or dread. “I can’t believe you two found each other.”

  “I’m still trying to process all of this,” I say as I bring her a mug of coffee. “Did you meet Lyla in C.O.S?”

  “Yes, I was a member before her.”

  “Then why did you come back to her hometown? You weren’t from here, right?”

  “Right. I was born and raised in California. I came here because I wanted to be close to her and foolishly I hoped she might show up here one day, for me and Taylor. She’s gone though.”

  “Gone as in ran away, or dead?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Whether or not you meet Taylor, this needs to stay between us. This is very important.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Do you think it’s possible Lyla could still be alive?”

  “Are you asking because her body was never found?”

  “Yes.”

  “Trust me, I hoped for that. But I knew if she was alive, that after a few years, once the dust settled, she would find me. I moved here because I thought if she were to surface, she would know where to find me and Taylor. It was our original plan after all, to move here and start new lives. I thought there was still a chance we would do that, it would just take her a little longer to come around from where ever she may have hiddden. When she didn’t, I came to terms with the fact she’s never coming back. She’s dead. If she was alive, she would have come back to us. Every so often though, I do wonder, but it’s just a childish fantasy,” she looks wistfully into the distance.

  “You think she was killed before the suicide?”

  “I can only speculate, but I always thought that when you and I escaped, Alan figured out Lyla helped us and became enraged. Like I said, in is own twisted way, he loved you very much. He would have been very angry, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to lose it.” Hearing how much he loved me is of little comfort. To think Taylor’s mother may have been murdered spe
cifically because she helped me escape only adds to my vague sense of guilt for contributing to Taylor’s suffering.

  “But mom, it doesn’t make sense that he would spare Taylor. You said yourself he was jealous of him.”

  “Maybe it was plain luck, or maybe he was sick enough to think the greatest torture of all would be to leave that child alone in this world without his mother.” If that was Alan’s plan, it worked out perfectly. “There is one thing, but again, I don’t think it holds much weight.”

  “What is it?”

  “In the shoebox, there are a few postcards.” She grabs the box to search for them. “They were sent to my attorney at the time. All of us got plenty of mail, some from admirers and a lot of hate mail, but these were odd as they were from various cities throughout the US, but there was nothing written on them. After almost a year, they stopped.”

  “Who do you think it was?”

  “I thought — I hoped — Lyla. We used to fantasize about traveling, but after the year was up and I no longer got any postcards, I figured it was a weird admirer. I don’t see why she would have just stopped like that. Like I said, she wouldn’t just leave us like that. I thought about going to the last state to search, but where would I even start?”

  She hands over the old, discolored postcards, held together by a rubberband. The only text is typewritten and addressed to Marie Portero. “Marie Portero?” It was the name Mr. MacAllister found in the old articles about the suicide.

  “That’s my real maiden name.”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course, Ball was completely made up, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Auntie Gigi really even your sister?”

  “Of course, but she knew. I ran away from my family to join C.O.S and she welcomed me back. She agreed we should not tell you about all of this unless it was necessary.”

  “So your maiden name is not Kyle, your married name is not Ball.” Just like that, my name feels artificial, without history or roots.

  “So I am really Shyla Peters.”

  “You are whoever you want to be.”

  “This is so bizarre. Can I keep these?”

  “It’s all yours. The whole box” I scan them and find the last postcard was from Iowa about 24 years ago. This might be the break Mr. MacAllister needs.

  “I have to get ready to go to work, mom.”

  “Sure. I’m heading out this afternoon. I figured you would want some time alone to work all this out. Whenever Taylor is ready to meet, I am too.”

  “I need time mom. This is going to take me a while,” I say through a frown.

  “I understand, but please remember we did what we thought was best at the time.”

  I know she wants me to hug her, to make her feel like she did the right thing, but I can’t allow her to believe decades of lies can be forgiven in one night.

  ***

  The office is empty when I arrive early in the morning, hoping to ride my second wind before the inevitable crash from lack of sleep. After unsuccessfully attempting to concentrate on my work, I text Taylor.

  Shyla:

  Got to work early, but I can’t focus.

  Mr. Sexypants:

  I don’t blame you.

  Shyla:

  My mom wants to meet you. She’s pressuring me.

  Mr. Sexypants:

  No.

  Shyla:

  She says there are thing she wants to tell you, face to face.

  Mr. Sexypants:

  I told you, it’s pointless. This is between you and her.

  Shyla:

  You were so young, you couldn’t possibly have remembered everything. Memories change. Shit, I’m not the person who we thought I was.

  Mr. Sexypants:

  You’re still you. I’m not going to discuss this over a text. When will I see you?

  Shyla:

  My mother is leaving this afternoon. I’ll come over after work.

  Over lunch, I meet MacAllister at a deli, and give him the postcards explaining to him that these were sent to a friend of Lyla’s years ago and may possibly trace back to her. The lead reinvigorated the grizzled P.I., and he seemed eager to follow this new trail. I don’t tell him that my mother is Marie, though he’ll likely find out himself if he keeps digging around. I haven’t properly wrapped my own mind around my newfound identity, let alone disclosed it to someone I barely know.

  I drag ass at work all day, trying not to nod off at my desk, simmering with a plethora of feelings I am unable to vent. Again, I am forced to keep the news from Kristin until I can craft a way to tell her without spilling Taylor’s part of the story. While I have gained so much from my relationship with Taylor, I feel as though I am slipping away from the world. His pull is so strong, that as I become closer and closer to him, I slowly drift away from everyone else around me. I am still very close to Kristin, but small things have changed. My relationship with her is more contrived as I have to navigate the bits of information I can divulge to her in a way I have never had to before. Like Taylor, I am carefully beginning to mold an exterior image of myself that is far different from the person I actually am.

  I doze off in the back of the car as Harrison drives me home. I was never one who could pull an all-nighter and operate like a normal human being the next day. The back seat of a vehicle has never felt so comfortable. The car stops, but since Harrison doesn’t mention we’re back, I assume we are at a stop sign or light. When the back door opens, I startle.

  “Shhh…” Taylor leans in, taking my arm and wrapping it around his neck. He carries me into the house as I nuzzle my face into the warm crook under his jaw. It brings to heart warm feelings of being carried to my bedroom as a child; those were much simpler days. Or so I thought.

  When I wake up alone in the bedroom, it is pitch dark. I feel around for Taylor and find I am alone. I shake my head to rid myself of the drowsiness and blurred vision and see it’s 10:34pm; my head is engulfed in that disoriented feeling one gets from a really hard nap. The house is dark except for a light on in the great room, where I find Taylor reading a book.

  “I thought you’d sleep through the morning.”

  “Then I’d miss out on seeing you tonight,” I say groggily.

  “Well, here I am,” he says, throwing his arms up.

  Taylor wears a pair of thin rimmed glasses, and a white t-shirt over a pair of navy lounge pants. I find the mix of sophistication and casual to be especially appealing. “How did the rest of the time with your mother go?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t know what to tell her. It’s like a I am feeling every emotion at once. Not just mad, or sad, or even forgiving. I don’t know what to feel. What am I supposed to do now? Change my name?”

  “It’s just a name.”

  “But it’s fake. Ball doesn’t exist.”

  “Every family name started somewhere. So what did you think your dad’s name was?”

  “Desmond Ball.”

  “Desmond? Interesting.”

  “Yeah, I know. Desmond the crackhead. It sounds so fake now that I know it is.”

  “Wait — Desmond. Des. Desi…Ball. Was your mom a fan of I Love Lucy?”

  “You don’t think? No!”

  “I think she sort of used I Love Lucy to rename you.”

  “Oh my god, she did!” We both laugh, finally adding some levity to the weight of things. “Speaking of names…my first name…” Should I tell him?

  “Go on.”

  “Nevermind.”

  “You think I could figure out that she named your fake father after Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, but I can’t put together the fact that you’re named after my mother?” My mind wanders for a moment to our discussion in Costa Rica about children. We will never have children, he will never allow Peter’s legacy to live on. “Come. I need to show you something.”

  He slides on a pair of shoes and instructs me to do the same. We take the elevator to the garage level, the same elevator where we had sex the night I fou
nd the journal. I scan the floor and find one of my buttons in the corner.

  “Looks like Irma missed a spot.”

  “I told her to leave it there,” he says with a wicked smirk.

  “She must think you are so weird.”

  “She got over my bullshit a long time ago.”

  We exit at the garage, rows of fluorescent lights turn on sequentially when we step out. He leads me past all of his cars to a door with a keypad on it. After punching a few numbers, he opens the doors and flips on a light switch. In front of me is a two-lane shooting range. To my left is a cabinet containing several pistols and revolvers.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “It’s time you learned how to protect yourself.”

  “Can’t I take tae kwon do or something?”

  “Come on, you’re like 80 pounds soaking wet.”

  “I wish. Not even close to 80, but like 5 pounds less what I am now would be great.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Seriously, I don’t want you depending on anyone else. If you ever find yourself in a bind, you’re going to learn how to bust a cap in someone’s ass.”

  “Bust a cap?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Why now?”

  Taylor thinks to himself for a moment. “Because I’ve failed once. And I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you have everything you need to be safe. They’ll have to get through me and Harrison, but I want you to empower yourself.”

  “You didn’t fail. There’s nothing you could have done. Eric is gone. Plus, I’m really scared of guns.”

  “You won’t be after I teach you. And I know Eric is gone, but apparently there is a lot we don’t know.”

  “I don’t know. You know how to shoot?”

  “Yup. My father used to hunt and now I keep guns in the house for personal safety. With all of these new developments…more than ever, I don’t trust anyone. I think the timing is right. I know you feel like things are out of control. I want you to feel in control; I think this will help.”

  He pulls out several handguns and boxes of bullets.