TIFFANY RENEE HARMON - THE AFTERMATH OF GIVING UP

Tiffany Renee Harmon is a writer and editor based out of Cincinnati, OH. Learn more about her at www.tiffanyreneeharmon.com.

The Aftermath of Giving Up
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Lilah stood at her stove and fiddled with the gas burner. On the third try, it was lit. She tossed a pat of butter on the skillet followed by two eggs.
    “Is Daddy home yet?” her daughter Violet asked.
    “No, sweetie, he isn’t home yet.” Lilah replied. “I told you yesterday that he’d have to spend at least another week at the clinic.” Lilah looked down at her daughter and saw her brow furrowing between her bright blue eyes. Violet had always been daddy’s little girl, and Lilah knew there was no good way to explain how important Jeff thought recovering from his alcoholism would be for the whole family. Heartford Rehabilitation Clinic was the best and most expensive choice, and even though they’d never had much in terms of finances, Jeff had said he was willing to empty his savings account for a chance at getting control of his problems.  
    The phone rang, but Lilah ignored it. She’d been ignoring it a lot lately after maxing out her credit card on a new radiator for her Neon. “Aren’t you going to answer it, Mommy? What if it’s Daddy?”
    “No, I don’t think he’s allowed a phone right now.” Lilah wasn’t entirely sure if this was true, but she imagined it was likely enough. Jeff had skipped over a lot of the details when he left. They had spent the first seven years of wedded bliss without him asking for her opinion, and he wasn’t about to start now. Lilah rubbed her neck. Her muscles were aching this morning.  
     “Your bruises are almost gone again, Mommy.”
    “Yes, they are.” Lilah rubbed the tender skin around her left clavicle. “That’s the thing about bruises. They fade fast and then you can forget they ever happened.” Lilah gave her daughter a half-hearted smile. She knew she was going to miss the bruises if Jeff managed to recover. She hated feeling like she had to hide them, and she hated her growing wardrobe of bulky turtlenecks and assorted scarves, but the bruises were little reminders of the moments when she felt most alive. 
    Lilah didn’t think Jeff was a bad person at all, though he was a little boring sober. She forgave his form of self-expression and sometimes even encouraged it. He only hit her when he was drunk, and even then she knew she had to provoke him a bit to get a response. She didn’t consider herself a masochist, but at least when he hit her, she could see the same passion in his eyes that she had fallen in love with when they were young and foolish. At least in those moments, she could feel something.
    Lilah grabbed a spatula and flipped over the eggs. The grease popped and a few drops splattered onto her arm. She stared at her arm and smiled as the skin sizzled for a second. “The eggs are almost done, Violet. Get us two plates and two mugs.”
    Violet was only six, but she had always seemed older to Lilah. She rarely smiled or got angry. Lilah wasn’t sure if Violet had any friends. She often wished she hadn’t moved in to Jeff’s family farmhouse after getting married. Here, in the middle of nowhere, their nearest neighbors were a Pennsylvania Dutch family a fifteen minute walk away. They were friendly enough, but they were only one step above being Amish, and Lilah didn’t really want to work so hard to find something in common with them.
    Violet placed two porcelain plates and two mugs on the counter. Lilah thanked her and plopped a fried egg on each plate. She took two pieces of toast out of the toaster oven and buttered them. “Do you want jam on your toast, Violet?”
    “Yes, please. Strawberry.”
    Lilah scraped the bottom of the Mason jar with Reverend Allan’s wife’s homemade strawberry jam. She smoothed the jam over the toast and set the toast on the porcelain plate adorned with a painted green ring. She handed the plate to Violet who carefully walked the plate over to her spot at the kitchen table.
    Lilah tossed her plain buttered toast on the plate decorated with a pink ring and silver flowers around the edge. There had once been a time when Lilah dreamed of owning matching China, but those days were long over. She no longer tortured herself by buying and browsing department store catalogues. After years of leafing through the glossy pages and looking at pictures of happy families enjoying dinners at perfectly coordinated kitchen sets, Lilah had decided it would be best to stop looking at things she knew she could never have.
    Lilah rinsed the empty jam jar and left it in the sink. She knew she should wash it thoroughly and return it to Reverend Allan’s wife Georgette, but she just didn’t want to deal with that woman. Georgette thought that marrying a reverend gave her a golden pass through the pearly gates. Georgette never hesitated to spread gossip by calling it a prayer request, and she felt that God had ordained her to lovingly share constant criticism to help shear her husband’s flock. The last time Lilah and Violet had gone to church at Lancaster Methodist was three months ago. After greeting the clergy, Lilah had overheard Georgette whispering to the head deacon’s wife, “I wonder if that’s really their Sunday best. That poor little girl’s dress is so wrinkled in the back, and her left sleeve is fraying. You know, Barb, we ought to be praying for those folks. I hear they haven’t tithed in over a year. Her worthless husband’s probably been drinking again.” 
    Lilah and Violet had left quickly after the service. The next day, Lilah had found the jar of jam on her porch with a note reading, “Praying for you. Love in Christ, Mrs. Reverend Allan.” Lilah had crumpled the note and thrown it away, but she kept the jar of jam. 
    Lilah looked back at the empty jar in the sink. She picked it back up and threw it in the trash can. 
    She put her own plate on the table and grabbed the two mugs. She filled one with milk for Violet and put black coffee in her own. Once they were both seated and ready to eat, Violet asked, “Should we say grace, Mommy?”
    “No, that’s not necessary. Let’s just eat.” Lilah rubbed her left shoulder and the side of her neck. She pressed her fingers firmly against the bruises. 
    “But Daddy always makes us say grace before meals.”
    “Well, your father isn’t here right now, is he?” Lilah picked up her fork and stabbed her fried egg in the middle of its yolk. Yellow liquid oozed from the egg and pooled around the edge of the toast’s crust. She cut up a piece of egg white and shoved it in her mouth. Across from her, Violet silently did the same.
    After breakfast, Violet asked if she could go read in her room. “I’m almost half finished with my book, Mommy.” 
    As much as Lilah would have preferred for Violet to spend her Saturday mornings playing with other little girls, she was extremely proud of her daughter’s fondness for reading. Maybe someday, if she worked hard enough, she would be able to venture out on her own and make something of herself. “That’s great, sweetie. Yes, you can go read.”
    Violet smiled and whirled around in the direction of her room. Lilah grabbed her arm a little more firmly than she intended. “Did you put your dish in the sink?”
    She turned around with a small wince and Lilah dropped her arm. “Sorry, Mommy. I forgot.” Violet walked back to the table and picked up the porcelain plate and her mug and carried them over to the sink before heading to her room. 
    Lilah turned back to the sink to wash the breakfast dishes. The kitchen was far too small for a dishwasher, not that they could really afford one with all of Jeff’s savings going toward his rehab, so she had to wash all the dishes by hand. She plugged the drain and turned on the faucet. She placed her hand under the running water and waited for it to get warm. The pipes below rattled as the water heater sluggishly increased the temperature. The water pulsed through the faucet’s opening and soon steam rose as the water collided with the metal sink. Lilah watched her hand turn pink and then red. Her fingers began to tingle as if covered with tiny pricking needles. She closed her eyes.
    The sound of a vehicle navigating her rocky driveway drew her away from her reverie. She opened her eyes and looked out the kitchen window. A chocolate colored sedan pulled up to the house and parked. The driver’s door opened and Georgette Allan exited the vehicle. Clutching her white quilted purse in one hand and a garment bag in the other, Georgette teetered across the uneven driveway in her delicate kitten heels. Her beige pantsuit seemed perfectly starched and extended down just past her knee to be met by opaque tights with no visible snags. Lilah turned off the faucet and wiped her hands on a dish towel and ran to her bedroom. She opened her top dresser drawer and grabbed a green scarf which she wrapped around her neck to hide the bruises. She didn’t want that gossipy old biddy to have any more ammunition. 
    The doorbell rang. Lilah took a deep breath and walked to the door. For a moment, she considered hiding but decided instead that it was just about time for Georgette Allan to receive a piece of her mind. She opened the door and forced a smile. “Hello, Mrs. Allan. It’s lovely to see you. What brings you here this morning?”
    Georgette smiled back. “Well, I haven’t seen you folks around lately, and I thought I’d just stop by and pay a friendly visit.” With that, she walked up to the opened door and brushed past Lilah into the small foyer. 
    “Lilah, dear, do you have any coffee?” Lilah turned around and saw Georgette was halfway to the kitchen already, her brown hair pinned into a loose bun bouncing after her.
     “Umm, I’ll have to heat it up. It’s been sitting a while.” She followed the woman into the kitchen where Georgette promptly stopped to stand near the side of the sink next to the trash can. Lilah’s stomach churned at the realization that the empty jam jar had been the last thing she had thrown away that morning. As Georgette’s critical eyes scanned the rest of the kitchen with distaste, she hoped that her gaze would not reach down to the receptacle by her feet. As Georgette’s attention shifted from the peeling cabinets to the dirty dishes in the sink, Lilah quickly asked, “Won’t you have a seat Mrs. Allan?” 
    Georgette looked at her and smiled. “Please, call me Georgette. Mrs. Allan is my frightful mother-in-law. I’d rather not claim that title just yet.” She walked over to the small table in the center of the room and placed her purse and the garment bag on the table before sitting down. She delicately crossed her ankles and folded her hands. Lilah thought she’d never seen someone look quite so similar to the Queen of England in rural Pennsylvania. She turned to the cabinet above the microwave and looked for two clean mugs and was disheartened when she couldn’t find two that matched. She didn’t want to impress Georgette or meet her approval with fine China. She just didn’t want Georgette to be right about her state of life. She wanted to prove her wrong and put the old woman in her place. Begrudgingly she grabbed the two nearest mugs, poured coffee in them, and shoved them into the microwave. 
    She turned around and looked at Georgette. She contemplated whether or not she should be more direct. So, far, pleasantries had not fared well.  “We’re not going back to church, Georgette.”
    Georgette smiled. “I don’t recall asking you to, dear.”   
    The microwave beeped. Lilah pulled out the mugs of coffee and walked them over to the table. “Do you want cream or sugar?”
    “No, I like my coffee black.” 
    Lilah sat down. “So, why are you here?”
    Georgette patted the garment bag. “I found a dress I thought Violet might like.” 
    Lilah’s eyes narrowed. “We don’t need your charity. We are just fine. I know you think I can’t raise a decent child because sometimes her dresses crease and I can’t get her hair not to look messy, but I’m a damn fine mother and I don’t appreciate you just showing up at my door to insult me.” 
    Georgette’s eyes widened with curiosity. Her expression showed no signs of the shock Lilah had been hoping to see. “I don’t think you’re a bad mother, sweetie.”
    “Oh,” she said, feeling suddenly deflated. “Well, we still don’t need you buying things for us. We’re just fine.”
    “I’m sure you are, dear. I just thought it looked like something Violet might like when I saw it on sale at the store, so I went ahead and got it. You don’t need to go reading so much into this.” She unzipped the garment bag and revealed a cream-colored tea-length dress adorned with tiny violets stitched flawlessly into the fabric. Lilah knew her daughter would love it just as much as she knew that, even on sale, there was no way she ever could have afforded this dress. She tried to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t form on her lips, so she sat in silence running her hand over the delicate fabric wishing she could feel more ungrateful.
    “It’s a little warm for a scarf in here, isn’t it, dear?” 
    Lilah inhaled sharply and unconsciously moved her hand up to her neck. “It matches my outfit.” She pressed her fingers against the scarf until she could feel the tender bruises. She poked them a few times with her index finger.
    Georgette’s smile faded. “No, it does not match at all.” She took a deep breath and looked at Lilah sternly. “Jeff has always had a temper problem when drinking. You know, his mother Bitsy and I were best friends before she died. You never got to meet Bitsy, did you? She died a few years before you and Jeff met. She was a lovely woman, but Jeff’s father didn’t handle alcohol very well either.”
    Lilah pressed harder against the scarf until it felt like she could barely suppress wincing. “You have no idea what goes on within these walls. My marriage is fine, and I love my husband. He doesn’t even need to be at….to be…he’s not…”
    “I know he’s at the Heartford, dear. The grapevines here are very small.” Georgette took a sip of her coffee. “I just wanted you to know that I’m here for you just like I was here for his mother.” 
    Lilah opened her mouth to protest again, but Georgette interrupted before she could speak. “My cousin Doris has a barn cat that just had kittens. They’ll be weaned within the month. Do you think Violet would like one of them?”
    “No, she’s too young for a pet. I’d just end up taking care of it.”
    “Well, maybe it would do you both good. You don’t seem to leave the house much, Lilah. Have you ever thought about looking for a job?”
    “How the hell is that any of your business?”
    Georgette smiled primly. “There’s no need to shout, dear. I just thought it might be nice for you to make some extra money on your own. Not that you need it, of course, but it might be nice to have if you ever found yourself in the position of wanting to be…more independent.” Lilah’s mouth hung open without response, so Georgette continued. “Bitsy never wanted to have a job either. She thought her place was in the home raising her son, but I think she would have been happier if she had a job. You know, that woman could quilt better than the Amish. I always told her she needed to go into business somewhere.” 
    Lilah stood up and grabbed both coffee mugs. “I think it’s time for you to leave. My patience for this shit is running pretty low. My life is fine. My marriage is fine. I don’t need a nosy bitch like you coming into my house and telling me how to live.”
    Georgette stood and tried to grab the coffee cup she had been using away from Lilah’s hand. “Oh, sit down, Lilah. I’m not the one being the bitch here.” Lilah gasped, and Georgette smiled again. “What? You think because I married a pastor that I’ve forgotten how to swear. My father was in the Navy. Now, let’s sit down and talk like civilized adults.” She tugged on the coffee cup again, and it fell out of Lilah’s hand onto the floor. The cup shattered into sharp fragments. “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. Let me get a dish towel to help clean this up.”
Lilah, in a rage, ignored Georgette’s words and fell to her knees. She reached out and began picking up the pieces of the broken cup with her hands, feeling each tiny shard slice into her fingers. Her heartbeat began to race. With each beat she felt more and more alive. The cuts were shallow, but the pain was intense. Tiny droplets of blood dripped from her hands and mixed with the puddle of black coffee on the floor. 
She felt hands on her shoulders lift her up from the ground. Georgette walked Lilah over to the trash can and forced her to let go of the shards of broken porcelain. She showed no indication of seeing her mason jar at the top of the pile of trash even after the porcelain clinked against the glass. She forced Lilah’s hands under the sink and turned on the faucet. After a few seconds, she turned it off and grabbed the nearest dish towel which she gingerly wrapped around Lilah’s hands. 
“I’m fine,” Lilah said. “You need to leave.”
“You’re not fine. Now, sit down.” 
Lilah sat in silence and watched the woman lean down and clean up the rest of the mess with another dish towel. After a few moments, Georgette stood and washed her hands. She walked back over to the table and picked up her purse. “I’ll let myself out.” She turned to leave the kitchen but stopped to look back at Lilah one last time. “I will be back tomorrow to check up on you and Violet, especially Violet. I can be every bit as stubborn as you, dear. Like it or not, you do need help.” 
Lilah took a few minutes to breathe as she heard the front door close and the sound of Georgette’s brown sedan leave the driveway. She unwrapped her hands from the dish towel. The tiny cuts were already beginning to scab over. She wondered how many people Georgette was going to tell about their little incident. She felt sure that everyone in the county would know by the evening, and she felt another surge of rage at the thought of the gossipy old woman trying to manufacture problems and drama where there wasn’t any. She knew she didn’t have a problem. Everything was being blown way out of proportion.
    She walked through the narrow hallway and went straight to Violet’s room. Violet was sitting in a child-sized wooden rocking chair reading a worn copy of Sarah, Plain and Tall. As Lilah entered the room, Violet glanced up briefly and then immediately returned to her book.    Lilah sat on Violet’s twin bed and ran her fingers over the light pink comforter. “Are you enjoying your book?”
    “Yes. Who was at the door?”
    “No one important. What’s your book about, sweetie?”
    Violet smiled and began to rock gently in her chair. “It’s about a woman who makes a new family.”
    Lilah smiled and reached out her arm to weave her fingers between strands of her daughter’s soft hair. “That’s what I did when I married your Daddy. I moved here and made you, and we became a family.” As she said the words, she wished they weren’t true. She wished to be free of everything that held her back: the farmhouse, her recovering husband, the gossiping old women, everything. 
    “Was it hard for the woman to move and start over?” she asked Violet.
    “Yes, at first, but now she loves them, so it’s okay.”
    Lilah smiled. “You know, you have more family up north. You have three cousins.”
    Violet frowned. “I know. I saw them on their Christmas card last year. I bet they smell.”
    Lilah laughed. “Why would you say that?”
    “The girl in my book says that little boys always smell.” Lilah hoped her daughter would hold on to that sentiment well through her teen years. She looked at Violet and thought about what was most important in life. The worth of her whole life belonged to another person that she had created, and she wasn’t about to risk having her daughter taken away from her. Georgette’s tone might have been intended as concern, but Lilah took it as a threat. No one was ever going to separate her from the only thing in the world that mattered.
    “Sweetie, I have a surprise for you. I think it’s time we go north for a while and meet your cousins.” Lilah stood up and opened Violet’s dresser drawers and began pulling out some clothes and placing them on her bed. She found a red sweater with only one tiny hole. “Here, Violet. Why don’t you put this on? It might be a bit cooler up north.”
    Violet obediently left her chair and put her book down. She walked over to grab the sweater and slowly pulled off the t-shirt she was wearing. Lilah looked down at her and noticed the faint outline of a healing bruise on her left shoulder. She inhaled sharply at the sight and kneeled down to examine it more closely. “That son of a bitch! He was never supposed to hurt you too.” She gently traced the bruise with her finger as a few tears welled at the corners of her eyes. “He is never going to hurt you again.” She wrapped her arms around her daughter.
    “Daddy didn’t do that.”
    Lilah released Violet. “What?”
    “Daddy didn’t cause those bruises. You did.”
    “No, no, I would never do that. I have never hurt you. You’re my little girl.” Quickly, she grabbed the red sweater and started helping Violet dress. She didn’t want to look at the bruise any more. “I have never hurt you.” 
    “You didn’t mean to. It was last week though when you grabbed my shoulder to tell me not to get too close to the pond. You didn’t mean to. You just didn’t want me to fall in.” 
    Lilah sat on the floor and looked at her lap. She couldn’t look back up at her daughter. How could she have done such a thing and not even have known? Was she the real monster in this family? Suddenly, Georgette’s words came flooding back to her, and for the first time in a long time, Lilah knew she wasn’t alright. 

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