“My parents were out of town when it happened,” she starts. “My mom was gone for the weekend to visit family in New York. I was home with my dad, but then he suddenly had to go out of town as well, so it was just me. It was before the world of continuous glucose monitors, and at twelve they assumed I was responsible enough to check my blood sugar appropriately.”
“Wait.” I hold up a hand as I lean forward. “You were twelve and your parents went out of state, leaving you without supervision? Not a grandparent or aunt or something?”
“I had Asha. She was our…” she trails off, pausing to think. “She was like the manager of the house. She kept everything organized, brought me to school and sports practices, packed my lunch for the day, made sure I had my homework done, that sort of stuff.”
So Asha was her parent. While her parents were off doing other things. A twisted part of my mind wonders if Richard had used the opportunity to spend an overnight with one of his mistresses.
“I was at basketball practice when it happened. I had been fighting a cold for days, felt like shit and knew I was probably running high, but a twelve-year-old doesn’t have that critical thinking that tells them they need to take better care of themselves. I started throwing up, then I guess I passed out and they called an ambulance.
“When I came out of the fog, I was in the ER, awaiting a bed upstairs. The nurse told me she had called my mom, and my mom was going to try to find a flight in the next day or so to come home. She then said they tried to call my dad, but he was busy.”
I grit my teeth together so hard I’m surprised a molar doesn’t crack. If I ever had a child, if there was ever someone that was a true part of my flesh and being and they were in the hospital, I wouldn’t wait for the next day to fly to them. I wouldn’t say I was busy. I’d go rent a car or bus or fucking boat and get to them wherever they were. I’d hitchhike to get to them if I could. Hell, even now, if Annaliese ended up in the hospital and I was on the other end of the earth, I know I’d start working my way back to her.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. Knowing that she won’t tell me how hurt she was by both of her parents’ reactions, or lack thereof, but she won’t admit it. She’s spent years pretending it doesn’t bother her and lets the hurt roll off her shoulders because I’m guessing at some point she realized it didn’t matter how hurt she was, it wouldn’t change their reaction.
“Asha came to see me. She didn’t have to. It wasn’t her job to do something like that, but—”
“But she cared about you,” I interrupt. The fucking nanny cared more about her than her own parents did.
“I was just so lonely. The TV wasn’t a good distraction. I couldn’t sleep. I felt like a baby calling her to say I was sad and alone and wanted a hug. And then when she showed up around midnight with her hair up in a silk bonnet and her pajama set under her jacket, I felt like such an asshole that she came just to see me.”
“Annaliese…” I rise from where I’ve been seated at the edge of the couch and move over to where she’s lying. I don’t dare sit by her head because I know if I do, I'll pull the pillow from under her head and chuck it across the room, demanding she use my lap instead. I know I’ll wrap my arms around her and have to fight myself to let go.
So I settle for sitting at her side, draping a hand over her shoulder as she stares up at me. Her normally sparkling eyes are bright with a sheen of tears, and I offer her a soft smile. “You aren’t the asshole in that situation. You were a kid who needed your parents, and they let you down.”
One singular tear falls, and before she can reach up to swipe it away, I move my hand and catch the droplet along her cheek bone with my thumb. “I think you’re a hell of a lot stronger than I would have been in that situation.” I let my hand linger on the side of her face with my thumb grazing across her cheek, ready to catch any tear that threatens to fall.
“Did you ever tell your parents how that hurt you? Or how you wished they were there?”
Through her tears she scoffs, releasing a sad, painful smile. “People don’t change, Colt. Not unless they want to. I could have cried and screamed until I was blue in the face and it wouldn’t have mattered, so why waste my time? I was a child, and I shouldn’t have had to beg for help.”
My gut clenches, and I nearly double over from her words. That’s always been my mindset when it comes to my own family. It’s why I never begged and pleaded for my dad to leave me alone, because I knew deep down, it wouldn’t have mattered.
He abused me because there was a twisted part of him that liked it. He wouldn’t have changed simply because I asked him to. It was something that needed to come from deep inside his soul, and I knew it never would.
“Do you believe that every cloud has a silver lining?” she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
I pull my hand away from her face and bring it back to drape over her shoulder where it’s in safer territory.
I run my free hand through my hair and let it fall down to grip the back of my neck. “I don’t know, to be honest.” I was dealt a pretty shitty hand as a kid, and I had to work my ass off to get to where I am today. “I can’t recall any experiences where I felt like there was a silver lining afterward, but that’s not to say it can’t happen.”
“Asha stayed with me all night long that night. She curled up in the recliner next to me and told me so many stories about her childhood that I never knew. She grew up so, so poor in the Republic of Congo. She’s seen war, starvation, everything you can think of. She left and came to America so she could work, and sent nearly every penny she made from her salary back to her family so they could eat. It really puts things into perspective, you know?”
I nod along, barely. But that's all I can do at the moment. I fear that if I open my mouth to speak, my voice will crack.
“Asha, she—” Annaliese starts to chuckle. “Oh my gosh, after that hospital stay she was so worried about my blood sugar. Before that, I don’t think she truly understood what it meant that I was diabetic. But afterwards, when she’d pack my lunch for school or for sports practice, she’d always stick these little candies from Africa in there.”
Annaliese brings her hand up, rolling her pointer finger over her thumb to make a small circle. “They were these … little yellow ones, pineapple flavor, but had a hint of mint which was perfect. Begue or something. I can’t really remember. But I loved them. And the fact that she thought enough about me to make sure I had a stash on me all the time, I felt like she really cared for me.”
“She did,” I tell her as I run my hand up and down her back in heavy, soothing strides. She seemed to care about Annaliese in the way that I would, in that way that I know I will be going forward.
“When my parents divorced and I moved to New York with my mom, Asha told my dad to suck it, and she moved to Texas to be with some of her other family that had immigrated with her. We still talk every now and then.”
“What does this have to do with your silver lining?”
She adjusts her position, rolling onto her back, and my hand that had been lying across her back is now draped over her stomach. I leave it there, feeling the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathes.
“If I hadn’t been so alone, if I wasn’t hospitalized, or if my parents were around when I was, I wouldn’t have shared that time with Asha. I wouldn’t have learned about her family and what she went through. Knowing that is what drew me toward wanting to work for Compassion Cruises. When I look at the people that we help, I often wonder if Asha’s family had needed our care before. It was easy to pretend that everyone we met was a part of her, and so I felt this pull to help them. I know it’s selfish of me to want to do that when I can find people in the States that need help. There are people all over the city that are in similar situations, people like your friend Ryan and his wife care for. But it meant a lot to me to go to Africa.”
