The Sacrificial Daughter (35 page)

"I-I-I didn't hate you," Tricia said, warbling with the motion. Jesse stopped shaking the girl and she laid back, noodle limp; she wouldn't turn and look at Jesse's hard, red face. "You-you were different, and everyone had this thing about you. It was almost like we weren't allowed to like you...and I went along with it."

"You tortured me because of peer-pressure?" Jesse asked, dumfounded. The idea seemed too far-fetched to even contemplate.

"Yes," the girl said and then began crying to the point of blubbering. "I was angry at what was happening to my family...and you were easy to blame. And it was easy to go along with everyone else, and...and it was easy to take my frustrations out on you. My life seemed to be falling apart, while you seemed to have everything. I know this may sound stupid since you were always picked on, but I was jealous of you."

"How could you possibly be jealous of me?" None of this made sense to Jesse. Her anger faded as her mind dwelt on Tricia's words.

"You were prettier than everyone else and smarter," Tricia said, now looking up at Jesse. "You had money and we didn't. Even your family was better..."

Jesse climbed off the girl and sat next to her, shaking her head. Her mind in a storm of confusion. "You don't know my family if you think it's great in any way. My mom is always running around helping anyone but me, and my dad...no one was hated more than me except for him."

"No. You're wrong there," Tricia said. "People liked him; deep down they respected him and they knew he was right."

"Then why all the anger? Why was he always vilified?"

Tricia finally turned to Jesse. "It's so stupid. People want it easy. They want everything easy. They want the government to do things for them and give them stuff...you know jobs or dog parks, or bike lanes...even silly things like new windows or cell phones. They want everything, but at the same time they want someone else to pay. You see? They even want stuff they don't need or even use, just as long as it sounds nice or important. Remember we had a counselor for every grade in school? No one ever went to them with any problems unless the principal forced them to go...remember Beth Gill? Her mom was one. We all knew what a complete waste it was, but we were like, whatever. We didn't care since someone else paid for it."

Jesse remembered the counselors. In such a small town where gossip ran on the wind and everyone was related in some way to everyone else, counselors were practically useless. Who would take the chance on ever saying anything meaningful to them?

"And my father was hated because he changed everything," Jesse said.

"Well, yeah. He was like the one adult in the town." Tricia sat up and leaned against the underside of the counter next to Jesse. Their arms touched. It was such a casual thing that Tricia didn't seem to notice, but Jesse did. No one had ever sat so close to her. Tricia went on, "Everyone knew deep down we knew he was right, that the way we were going couldn't last. Still we all threw temper tantrums like a bunch of babies. Looking back, I feel like a moron...I think we all were morons. Except for you."

"No. I did some stupid things..."

Gently, Tricia grabbed Jesse's arm. The simple touch from her one time enemy stopped Jesse's words. "No. You didn't," Tricia said. "You were small and quiet and nice. You did nothing to deserve what we...what I did to you. I really am sorry."

Jesse didn't know what to think. The girl had been so hateful, yet now she was nice. Was Jesse supposed to forgive her simply because of this change of heart?

"My father says that I should forgive my..." Jesse paused. She had been about to say enemies, but clearly Tricia wasn't her enemy anymore. "I mean, he wants me to be open to forgiveness...but I don't know if I can. I don't think I even know what the word means. Do I forgive the boy who did this to me?" Jesse pointed at her face.

Tricia glanced up for a brief second and then looked away, guiltily. "That might as well have been me who did that to you," she said in a whisper. Tricia began to slowly shake her head, while staring at her knees with empty eyes. "I-I don't think I could forgive him. He doesn't deserve it. And neither do I."

"Maybe you don't," Jesse said. "But suddenly I want to forgive you. Maybe time heals all wounds like they say."

"I don't think so," Tricia replied. "Even after six years, the wounds that I caused you are still fresh. Two minutes ago you were going to rip my head off. You scared me half to death."

Jesse laughed guiltily. "I'm sorry, this was all so sudden. Going from the dress, to seeing you and remembering. I didn't mean to scare you so badly."

You did mean it
, her voice of reason said.

What? Was that true? Yes, clearly it was.

"Wait. Hold on... I did mean it," Jesse said. Something about this was clicking in her mind. "I really meant to scare you and even hurt you. And now I'm sorry. And I don't want you to be upset with me...I want you to forgive me. Why?" Jesse asked. She wasn't looking for an answer from Tricia; she was following a line or reason. The idea of forgiveness was like a physics theory that she couldn't quite wrap her head around. "Because, I want you to be my friend...but we can't be friends unless I forgive you as well. The question is, can I?"

Tricia smiled; it did nothing to dim the pain in her brown eyes. "I think you're wrong. What you did just now, getting all angry, was understandable. That's easy to forgive, but what about the things you can't understand? Like what I did to you. I have excuses, but they are so weak it's embarrassing. They aren't even excuses at all. How is it even possible to forgive something like that?"

"Maybe you don't forgive the action...maybe you forgive the person," Jesse replied. "Obviously you've changed. You're not the same girl that you were. This new Tricia seems nice and sweet. I could be friends with her, but not until I can forgive her. We could never go forward with that hanging over our heads." Jesse reached out and grabbed the shop-girl's hand. "I forgive you for what you did to me. I want it to be behind us." The words felt silly and right at the same time. Did normal people walk around saying 'I forgive you'? Or did they just say, 'That's ok'?

Jesse liked the word forgive better. What Tricia had done was far from ok.

Tricia sort of laughed and cried at the same time. She dripped tears onto her scarf. "I really am nice. I...I'm not a bad person. I was never so mean to anyone as I was to you. I want you to know that."

"I know. I saw you with your friends and I saw how you treated the younger kids. They all looked up to you."

Tricia wiped her eyes with her one free hand and then asked, "So are we friends now?"

"I hope so," Jesse said, suddenly shy. Her last real friend had been in the fourth grade and just then Jesse felt a little like an imposter. What did friends do? What did they say to each other? A single second of silence passed between the two girls. It was enough to send Jesse into a panic over losing her first friend in nine years through sheer ineptness. She knew she had to say something, only she had no clue what.

Compliment her
.

Right! Girlfriends gave each other compliments, while boys did the opposite and put each other down.

"I like your scarf. It's cute. Where did you get it?" Jesse asked in a rush.

"I made it," Tricia beamed. "I picked up crocheting back when our cable got disconnected. It's a wonder all the things you can learn when you don't have a TV. Here, stand up." Jesse stood and Tricia slipped the scarf off her neck and looped it around Jesse's. "The pink and white looks great with what you're wearing."

Jesse took in her reflection. The scarf did go well. Reluctantly, she started to take it off, but Tricia stopped her. "No, leave it on. It looks better on you than it does on me." Jesse opened her mouth to protest, however her new friend shushed her with a look. "You can borrow it and that way you'll have an extra reason to come back to Barton."

"Thanks," Jesse said. "It might be a while. I'm going to be so grounded after tonight."

Tricia's large brown eyes went larger still. "You're going to the Ashton ball without your parent's permission?"

"I'm pure evil, I know," Jesse laughed. "But that's why I shouldn't go over a hundred dollars for the gown. Hey, how did you know I'm going to the Ashton ball?"

It took a second for Tricia to answer. Her mind seemed elsewhere for a moment. "Oh, because for the last two weeks we've had a parade of girls coming through here and it was all they talked about." The girl paused for a moment, again thinking. "Wait here, I know the perfect dress for you in your price range."

Tricia hopped up, leaving Jesse eyeing the masks. When she came back she held a large white box in her hands. Grinning she handed it over. Jesse opened it and became confused. "You said this was one-seventy-nine? I can only do a hundred." In the box, neatly folded sat the angel gown.

"I forgot to mention I can give you a discount."

"You can?" Jesse said, getting excited. "That's so sweet of you. Do you want to help me pick out a mask to go with it?"

"You already have a mask, silly. It's at the top of the box." Tricia pulled back the white tissue paper and the matching mask sat there as delicate as snow.

"I-I...this doesn't add up," Jesse said. "I think this has to be more than a hundred dollars."

Tricia smiled large. "It's a gift."

"A gift?" Jesse felt tears come to her eyes. She had a friend. Really and truly she did, but... "I can't take this. I've nothing to give to you and..."

With a loud happy laugh Tricia hugged Jesse. "You're an idiot. You just gave me a gift! And don't say it's not the same thing. I see it in your eyes that you want to. All these years, I couldn't go a week without thinking of what I put you through. You have no idea what it's like to hurt someone so innocent as you were. To be that terrible of a person. Every time I read in the paper about some poor kid killing herself because of bullying, I would say to myself, 'You did that; you're just as guilty as they are'. It's been eating at me. I've even thought about going out to Crisfield to apologize, but I never did. I was too afraid."

Uncomfortable, Jesse shrugged and gave Tricia a crooked smile. "Afraid? Of little old me?"

"Don't make jokes," Tricia chided. "I feared to see the look in your eyes. I was afraid that you would never forgive me. Even now I don't how or why you have. I just know that I feel suddenly great. I feel lighter than air. I feel...grateful like I've never felt before. It feels like saying thank you can't possibly be enough."

"It's more than enough," Jesse replied. And it was. She didn't need the gift of the dress to feel Tricia's gratitude; it came off her in waves. It made Jesse happy just to be near her.

The two girls chatted and laughed and talked for hours. Tricia was giddy at Jesse's description of Ky and breathless at that of the Shadow-man. They talked about Jesse's troubles in Ashton and reminisced about their enmity in Denton, though in this Tricia was always careful to steer the talk in a complimentary way.

Unknown to Jesse, through foresight and quick wits, she had evaded many more traps that had been laid out for her than she realized. Half the school had been out for her blood, yet she had managed to slip away time and again. Even back then Tricia and her friends had marveled at Jesse's intelligence and perseverance.

Their talk lasted until well after lunch and it was with a heavy heart that Jesse finally said good-bye. She hugged Tricia and promised to come out to Barton as soon as her father would let her.

On the way home, Jesse made one scheduled stop, to get hair dye so that she could go back to her natural golden hair color, and one unscheduled stop. Just out of town the gaudy pink and green neon lights of an army surplus store tempted her. Without her chain and lock, she felt partially naked and completely vulnerable.

The surplus store seemed larger on the outside. Inside it was close and cramped, stocked with every oddity that had ever been associated with the military. There were uniforms by the thousands, a confusion of insignia, ranks, and patches and even a small tank. From the ceiling hung green parachutes and black cannons. Scary looking machine guns, strung with huge bullets the size of her forearm, were mounted about the store.

Jesse had big eyes for the spectacle of it all, but also narrow, sharp eyes for what she came for: a weapon. Wandering around the isles, she inspected everything, but nothing really fit her need.

"What you're looking for is all up here." A man, wearing an impossible to button vest over his round belly and sporting a navy cap that read USS Iowa 51-52, gave Jesse a knowing look. He sat on a tall stool leaning on a glass counter. Below his elbows were a myriad of knives and guns.

"Oh, yeah?" Jesse asked as nonchalantly as possible. She slipped along the narrow path between clothing racks and sidled up to the counter. "You think this is what I need?" It didn't seem like it to Jesse. She couldn't use either a gun or a knife, not if she wanted to stay out of jail.

"It's exactly what you need," the man said. "I know a battered girl when I see one. Here..." The man pulled out a short fat handgun. He clicked open the revolving cylinder, eyed down the six empty chambers and snapped it closed with a flick of his wrist. He then held it out, handle first, for Jesse to take.

"I don't...I can't use that," she said.

"Are you afraid to use it?"

"I'm afraid of what will happen to me if I do," Jesse explained, still keeping her hands to herself.

The man gave her a serpent's smile. "Yes...you should be. Our laws aren't designed to protect the good, are they? It almost seems like our laws were made to help evil flourish." He was right, but Jesse only gave him a shrug. She was nervous and the fact that the man still held the gun only made her feel more so.

"Do you have anything less...violent?" she asked.

The man found this funny and coughed out a phlegmy laughter. "Less violent? Judging by your face, you need to step up the violence. Was it a boyfriend?"

"No, it wasn't a boyfriend...and I don't want to step up the violence. I don't really want to hurt anyone; I just want to keep from getting hurt. Do you have a stun gun or anything like that?"

He gave her a sad look. "Not in Michigan. That sort of thing is illegal in this state. If someone breaks into your home, you can shoot 'em in the head with a gun, but for some reason using a Taser on 'em and just stunning 'em is illegal."

"That's stupid."

"That's Michigan." He tried to say it as a joke, but Jesse didn't crack a smile. Her mind was on the Shadow-man. Turning the other cheek...even forgiving someone like John Osterman was a possibility...a very remote possibility, but it wasn't going to work on Harold Brownly. Forgiveness would be lost on the devil.

"What about pepper spray?"

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I'll sell it to you, but use it only as a last resort. In Michigan we want to protect rapists and child molesters so much that legally we can only sell the watered down version of pepper spray. So zap him and run. Don't look back and don't try to fight him. If you do the pepper spray will get in your eyes as well. Just run, ok?"

"Yeah, just run. That I can do."

"Good," the man said with a nod and a smile. He grabbed a small black cylindrical container and plunked it down on the counter. "That's going to be twenty dollars. I'll need to see some ID and..." The man paused looking at Jesse. She had gone stiff digging through her purse. "You are eighteen, aren't you?" he asked.

Jesse shook her head.

"I don't know what to say." The man gave her a pained look. "Maybe you can have one of your parents come in and purchase it for you."

A grim smile swept her face. "That'll never happen. I'll just...I'll figure something out. Sorry to have wasted your time." She turned to leave, but the man called her back.

When she put her hands on the counter, the old man shot out one of his and took her wrist. "Shoplifting hurts everyone, wouldn't you agree?"

Jesse stared at him not knowing at all what he was talking about. "I...I didn't take anything, honest."

The man ignored her words and picked up a pack of bubble gum. "When people shoplift from me, I have to raise my prices to cover the cost...like this gum." He rang up the gum on his register with his free hand. "Because of shoplifting it's twenty dollars now." He plopped the gum in a bag and slid it over to Jesse. The pepper spray slid over with it.

Understanding hit Jesse and nodding her head she dug in her purse for the twenty her father had given her. Wordlessly she handed it over and just as wordlessly he took it and turned his back on her, allowing her to pick up her gum...and the pepper spray.