Leaving Scarlet Read online

  Leaving Scarlet

  By J. Lynn Bailey

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2021 by J. Lynn Bailey

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved.

  Visit my website: www.jlynnbaileybooks.com

  Cover Designer: Hang Le, By Hang Le, www.byhangle.com

  Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Julie Deaton

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7367492-1-0

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by J. Lynn Bailey

  1

  Scarlet: Age 7

  Dillon Creek, California

  “But I don’t want to leave Grandma and Granddad, Mommy. I don’t want to leave Cash, and I don’t want to leave Dillon Creek. I love it here.”

  My mother’s head shot back, her stare sharp, her lips tight. “What have I told you about that, Scarlet Jean?” If a tone could bleed bitterness, hers would. She threw another pair of jeans in her suitcase. “It’s Mother or Devon. But not Mommy. Never Mommy. That, Scarlet”—she sighed—“is a sign of weakness.”

  My eyes filled with tears as I stared back at my mother. “But”—my throat grew tight—“can’t I just stay?”

  Even though I was a small child, I knew when Devon Brockmeyer had had enough.

  “Go pack your clothes,” my mother barked.

  I hesitated. I wanted to stay with my grandparents because they were soft and lovable and gave good hugs. They let me have ice cream on the weekends when my mother wasn’t home, and they always told me they loved me. But I couldn’t hurt my mother. Besides, she shouldn’t be alone at night. That was when she began to say things that didn’t make sense, and she’d stumble and bounce from wall to wall. I couldn’t let her move alone even though, secretly, I wanted to.

  When I didn’t move, my mother grew more impatient. “Are you just going to stand there all day, Scarlet? Go pack your things now.”

  As I turned to go, my mother spewed her ugliness onto me. “If you dare allow those tears to fall, so help me God, Scarlet Jean Brockmeyer, I will give you something to cry about.”

  My mother never touched me. Not in a mean way, not in a nice way. She just never touched me, so I had to learn to console myself.

  I turned and left her room and hid the tears well. I did not in fact allow them to fall. With a lump in my throat and pain in my heart, I went to my room, grabbed my suitcase from under my bed, and started to pack my clothes.

  I heard my mother’s footsteps thundering down the hallway toward my bedroom.

  “And don’t even think about packing those silly dolls. We don’t have room. Leave them here, and you’ll get them next summer when you come to visit.”

  “Visit?” I whispered and looked into my mother’s deep, dark eyes. Eyes missing the sparkle that brought joy to life. Something my mother knew nothing about. With that, she turned on her heel and walked back down the hallway to her bedroom.

  My eyes burned. I hadn’t told Cash I was leaving. Moving actually. Leaving would entail a return, and I knew my mother wouldn’t move back here. I’d heard her cry in her bedroom as I stood by the door and listened, night after night.

  “This godforsaken shithole. I’m never coming back. Damn you, JC.”

  I didn’t know who JC was, but I was fairly certain she wasn’t very fond of whoever they were.

  I wanted to comfort her when she cried at night, but I was too scared to open the door. I’d never seen my mother cry. I’d only heard her.

  A knock at the door startled my thoughts, and when I saw my granddad at the door, I wanted to rush into his arms and tell him that I didn’t want to go, that I wanted to stay. Granddad had the kind of eyes that were truthful and bright and blue.

  Quietly, he walked over to my bed and sat down, tapping the pink bedspread next to him. “Come here, kiddo.”

  I could tell he was sad too. I climbed on the bed next to him and buried my head into his side and tried my best not to cry. I couldn’t let my mom down. I couldn’t let my granddad down.

  “Sometimes in life, sweetheart, things just don’t go our way. Your mother says the place you’re moving to is big. It has skyscrapers and beautiful parks and bike trails. The schools are good too.” He rested his cheek on my head.

  I didn’t tell him the truth. That I didn’t want to go. That I’d rather stay here with him and Grandma, that I loved Dillon Creek and my best friend, Cash. But I had a sense of loyalty to my mother. After all, she’d given me life, and she was really good at reminding me of that. And that she gave me a roof over my head and food and water.

  Murmurs came from my mother’s bedroom, and they grew louder.

  Granddad stood and left me there. “I’d better see what’s going on.” And then he left.

  I gazed over at my dolls. They were my comfort when things felt off or uncertain. I walked to them and carefully dressed them in the pajamas. I explained to all of them that Mother and I had to leave and that they’d be looked after by my grandparents.

  I walked to my desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and began to write a letter.

  Dear Grandma and Grandad,

  Please look out for my dolls and tuck them in at night.

  I love you and I will miss you very much.

  Love,

  Scarlet

  The murmurs grew louder, and when I heard Granddad’s thunderous voice, everything else grew silent.

  I ran to my dresser and began to throw things in my suitcase, scared that if Mother saw my lack of progress, she’d grow angry.

  I tried to cover all my bases—underwear, socks, jeans, shirts. That was all I needed.

  “We’re leaving, Scarlet. Get your things. I’ll meet you at the car.” I heard my mother’s voice.

  “Yes, Mother.” But when I looked up, she was gone.

  I quickly closed my suitcase, t
ook one last look at my dolls, my room that Grandma had helped me decorate, the room I loved and felt safe in, my own space for all my life, and now, here it was, slipping through my fingertips.

  “Bye, May, June, July, August, September, and October,” I whispered to each of my dolls.

  Maybe one day, they’d forgive me for leaving.

  When I reached the car, Grandma was crying, and Granddad held her shoulders.

  My mother was angry when she got in the car and slammed the door just as I ran out.

  Grandma looked at me and bent down, and I ran to her with such an overwhelming sense of sadness, knowing that it would be a long time before I saw them again. We’d lived with my grandparents all my life, and now, we were just leaving without an explanation. I did my best to be a good girl and not show “weakness,” as my mother put it.

  Grandma’s voice was shaky when she spoke. “Scarlet Jean Brockmeyer, I love you with all my heart.” Her voice broke, and I hugged her tighter.

  “Don’t worry, Grandma; I’ll be back,” I said with a brave face.

  Granddad knelt down too. “Oh, sweet girl. Don’t lose that beautiful, forgiving soul of yours.”

  And Grandma cried and cried and cried, and I held her as Granddad held me.

  “Get in the car, Scarlet!” my mother barked again.

  “I love you,” I whispered. “I left a note for you on my bed.”

  Reluctantly, they let me go, and I climbed in the car, shut the door, and stared out the lip of the window.

  This is what heartbreak looks like. This is what it feels like, I thought to myself as I stared back at my helpless grandparents and my reflection in the window.

  “If you don’t get attached, Scarlet,” my mother said as she lit a cigarette and hung it outside the window as we drove away in our blue Thunderbird, “it won’t hurt so bad.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked, numb, trying to wrap my mind around what had just transpired.

  “East. Chicago. I got a job there.”

  I didn’t dare ask her why she was looking for jobs in a place called Chicago. I knew the reason deep down. It was all about a person named JC, so instead of asking another question, I tucked my thoughts and feelings deep inside me and allowed them to eat away at my soul. I never wanted to feel like this again, and I allowed the low hum of the car’s tires against the asphalt to lull me sleep.

  I dreamed about being with my grandparents again. That this was all a dream, a nightmare. But when I awoke, I was no longer surrounded by redwood trees and dairy farmers and slow-moving traffic. We were flying down Highway 101 near a place called Santa Rosa.

  I silently mouthed the name of the small city to see what it felt like, and then I asked, “Is this where we’re moving to?”

  But my mother didn’t answer. With the windows rolled down, the country music blaring, and my mom’s long red hair billowing in the wind, she was in her own universe, and I was just a by-product. A chore. Something she felt obligated to take care of.

  “No.”

  She had heard me after all.

  “What’s Chicago like?”

  “Nothing like Dillon Creek.” She laughed, more relaxed. “A big city.”

  My mother took beautiful photographs. She captured the human experience. The emotion and the beauty of moments among people, among animals, among nature. She’d worked for National Geographic before. They’d put her on jobs all around the world, but I almost never went with her. She’d be gone for a few weeks at a time, but she’d always come home. I wondered how my mother had the ability to capture such beauty with such a cold heart.

  I thought she felt like she needed my grandparents for the sole purpose of caring for me.

  “This job is permanent, Scarlet.” I felt the excitement in her tone. “You understand.” She said this like I did.

  Like I understood that leaving my grandparents, my home, my dolls, and my room that I’d known all my life shouldn’t turn my world upside down. I wasn’t sure if she’d said this more for herself, as if trying to convince me that I understood. I didn’t understand though, but I pretended to. Anything to feel closer to my mother.

  “I understand, Mother.” I nodded, my best attempt at convincing myself that everything would be okay.

  I wished I had brought September. She always made me feel less scared. September was my favorite because she smelled of apple pie and reminded me of fall weather. I loved the fall. It was my favorite season of all.

  My mind wandered to Cash.

  Would he know that I wanted to say good-bye?

  Would he know that I was sorry for leaving?

  Would he know that I cared about him as much as I cared about my dolls?

  Out of my suitcase, I grabbed my notebook and a pencil.

  Dear Cash,

  I’m sorry I did not say good-bye.

  I will see you soon.

  Love,

  Scarlet

  My mother smirked as she glanced down at my letter. “One day, you’ll learn that people will always let you down, no matter what. Every single last one of them.” She took a long drag of her cigarette and nodded. “The sooner you learn that, the better. Your best bet in life is for you to rely on you and only you.”

  With her lasting words in my head, playing over and over, we drove down Highway 101, running from ourselves and each other.

  2

  Cash: Age 6

  Dillon Creek, California

  “Scarlet, you aren’t going to believe what I found.” I walked into our spot—an old, abandoned dugout—our place to make plans, the destination we met at the same time once a week to play while my mom went into town. I pulled the bullfrog from my pocket and looked around. “Scarlet?”

  I looked down the street to the Brockmeyers’ place. Scarlet’s mom’s car was gone. Something didn’t feel right. Something in my bones, in my stomach told me a different story. There were no traces of Scarlet, no old pink sheet she’d use for us to sit on, no old bowls for the grass and rock stew we’d have later. Something wasn’t right.

  I shoved the bullfrog back in my pocket and ran down to the Brockmeyers’.

  Erla didn’t look right when she answered the door, and when she saw my face, she burst into tears, unable to speak.

  Don walked up behind her. “Hey, Cash. Come on in. We need to talk.”

  Quickly, I took the bullfrog from my pocket and placed him on the porch. Never, ever would I take another reptile inside again, especially after what had happened last year when I forgot to take the garter snake outside after finding him out on the ranch. Mom had not been too happy when he slithered into her shower the next morning.

  “What do you mean, she’s gone?” I asked after we sat down in the living room. “Like, forever?”

  Erla pushed a strand of my hair from my eyes. “No, she’ll be back next summer. Don’t you worry, Cash.”

  But I could tell by Erla’s look that she wasn’t so sure herself.

  “Maybe I could write a letter?” I stood.

  “As soon as we get an address, we will give it to you.”

  I thought about this. Scarlet always liked a plan. She made all the plans for us. She came prepared with a written list of what we’d play that day. What we’d do. She always asked for my input, but I didn’t care what we played. I just enjoyed her company.

  “Don’t Scarlet and her mom know where they’re going?”

  Both Don and Erla sighed.

  “It’s complicated, Cash,” Erla said.

  And I left it at that.

  I wondered though if Scarlet was scared. She never talked about her mom much. Not that I talked about my parents much. One day, I’d asked her where her dad was, and she said she didn’t have one. I knew she was telling the honest-to-God truth because she reached up and rubbed her earlobe as she told me. Scarlet Jean could never rub her ear and tell a lie at the same time; it just wasn’t possible. Heck, I didn’t know if she ever told a lie, but she could tell me anything, and I’d believe it.
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  “All right then.” I nodded and walked to the door.

  “Let me call your mom, Cash. I can take you home,” Erla said.

  “Nah, it’s okay. I can just wait for her in the dugout.” But the truth was, I just wanted to sit in there, alone, and try to figure out how I was going to survive without Scarlet until next summer.

  “I’ll keep an eye out. Here, wait a second.” Erla came back with an apple, a Capri Sun, and a bag of chips. “For the wait.” She winked through her broken heart.

  “It’ll be okay, Erla; don’t worry. Scarlet is as tough as they come,” I tried to reassure her.

  She nodded. “I know.”

  I took my snacks, thanked Erla and Don, and headed back to the dugout.

  It was hard to explain to my brothers why I was best friends with a girl. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I liked Barrett Holmes and Reid Canelli, but there was something different about Scarlet, something that I loved deep down in my bones. More than I loved catching reptiles, riding horses, and chasing bulls. Sometimes, she’d get real quiet, and I’d ask her what was wrong. She’d smile and tell me it was nothing, but I always wondered where she went in those moments. I didn’t love her like my mom or my dad or my brothers. I loved her like Harry loved Sally, or Jack loved Rose, or Johnny loved Baby—all movies my mom had made me watch with her, just for the record.

  At six years old, I loved Scarlet Jean Brockmeyer, and I also knew I’d do anything in my power to keep her safe. I knew she didn’t need saving. I also knew hard things were better to do in pairs. But I’d already failed. She was on the road to somewhere I’d never been, never heard of.

  My parents were talking about getting a thing called a computer. They said it was a machine that you could send messages through. Not like letters, which seemed to take forever, but a message you could send all the way across the world and it would be received instantly, or something like that, and all we needed was an e-mail address.

  I took a bite of my apple and pondered what I’d say to her if I had the chance. Maybe I’d get a camera, so I could take pictures of Dillon Creek, me, and her grandparents. Maybe I’d send them to her, so she wouldn’t miss home so much. But maybe it would be easier for her to forget home, so I pondered not sending pictures.