Sabin, A Seven Novel Read online

  Pull your shit together. You don’t have room for this kind of thinking.

  I turn the water off and shake off the excess as I step out. I really need to regroup here. I can’t face my team with this much turmoil going on in my head. That won’t set a good example at all.

  Juliette and Kade. They must be kept safe. Always. And Judgment Day must be located. Whoever grabbed it from the sea must’ve been there the same time Juliette threw it overboard. Verus thought he had a lead, but it didn’t pan out. We’ve traced it all over the damn place … from the Caribbean back to the U.S. And then back to the Caribbean. It ended up in North Carolina for a while. Verus believes he has a new lead. He thinks whoever has it is a deep sea diver. He also believes the reason we’re having difficulties is because that individual keeps passing the damn thing around like a fucking toy.

  Time to go to work, to pull my act together, and take the reins again. I need to stuff my sappy-assed self away and face the fact that we have a potential disaster facing us if we don’t get our hands on whoever has Judgment Day, and fast.

  I plunge my aching arms into my shirt, and then tug on my pants. Pushing away all other thoughts, my mind focuses on what it needs to—finding Judgment Day. Once I’m dressed, I hurry back to the sec center where Rafe and Edge wait and Verus is on the complink.

  “Let’s roll. Show me what you’ve got, Verus.”

  Home. Or that’s what it’s supposed to be. The old, two-story structure, more unwelcoming now than ever, causes a sense of dread to rush through me as I pull my duffle bag out of the trunk. More than anything, I’d like to get back in the car and get the hell out of here. It’s like this every time I visit them. My parents complaining about everything from how awful I look to telling me I need to get a better job. Some things never change.

  When I was young, life with them sucked, for lack of a better word. I didn’t recognize it then because I assumed all parents were like that. Wrong. They were ancient compared to all the other moms and dads. And I was bullied, not specifically because of that, but because of the way they dressed me and forced me to wear my hair. I was their little accident, their mistake. My arrival threw a monkey wrench in their carefully planned out retirement. Suddenly, they were two fifty-year-olds with an infant. My sisters are twenty-five and twenty-three years older than I am. They clearly did not want me. So they pulled all their old baby items out of the attic, things they should have thrown away years before, and dressed me in them. As I grew older, I was given clothes that had been stored up there for decades. They were disgusting, and no matter how many times they were washed, that musty mothball odor clung to them like glue. But Mom refused to buy new ones, saying they couldn’t afford it. The kids in school didn’t whisper about me; they made fun of me to my face. I don’t think I had a day in school where I didn’t suffer some sort of nasty humiliation.

  Serena, you stink.

  Serena, where did you get that outfit?

  What hole did you crawl out of, Serena?

  Has anyone ever told you how ugly you are? Who’s your date to the prom, Frankenstein?

  “Remind me not to shop where you do—Clothes Aren’t Us!

  When’s the last time you took a bath, Serena? Do you live in a barn?

  No one wanted to sit next to me, claiming I made them sick to their stomachs. Sometimes, they would write ugly things on the back of my blouses during class with a Sharpie. I would be forced to walk around all day like that, and though the teachers would send the boys to the principal’s office, that didn’t stop them. It only made it worse. And it went on and on. In middle school, they started cutting off chunks of my hair. One day I was sitting on the bus and they were all laughing, which was nothing unusual. One of the girls poked me in the back and asked how I liked my new hairstyle. When I touched my hair, I realized what they had done. The tears flowed unchecked and it only made them laugh harder. Normally I didn’t dare let them see how hurt and upset I was, but I couldn’t prevent it that day. It was like everything came crumbling down. When the bus got to my stop, I didn’t get up. The driver finally had to get out of her seat, grab my arm, and drag me to the door. When I got home, it was only to face one more nightmare.

  “Please don’t cut my hair, Mom.”

  “Shut up, Serena. You’re nothing but trouble. Every day of my life. Now get over here.”

  “But if you cut my hair, it will only be worse. They’ll make even more fun of me.”

  “Stop complaining. All you do is complain. I’m tired of all the notes I get from your school. Every day it’s something else. Why can’t you act right? I never had these kinds of problems with your sisters. What’s wrong with you?”

  Thinking back, I can’t understand why my mom didn’t care enough about me to buy me new clothes. And how could kids be so cruel? What did it accomplish? I never did anything to them. I was just some poorly dressed student who happened to be in their class, but I never bothered anyone. In fact I did everything possible not to be noticed and to stay clear of them.

  Going home brings it all back to me, these terrible memories. It took me a while to get comfortable with making friends. It’s a trust thing. I was treated so horribly for those formative years that it was difficult to tear down the walls and let anyone in. It took about a year after I went to college, but eventually I got there. When I listen to my friends talk about the good old days—middle school and high school, where they participated in fun pranks and spend the night parties consisting of sneaking out at night and doing crazy things, I have a blank slate. My memories are nothing but tears, loneliness, shame, and humiliation. And of wanting to get the hell out of here and away from those awful people. And then there are my parents. They almost made me feel too guilty to go away to college. They tried to persuade me to stay home to take care of them, do their housework and chores, even though I had been offered a full scholarship to Duke University. Thank God for my guidance counselor! She understood my situation and explained I would be passing up a chance of a lifetime. As I sit in my parent’s home, I still remember hearing them complain about what a financial burden I was. I didn’t have any idea what “financial burden” meant, so I would dream it was a fancy term for beautiful princess. Beautiful princess, my ass. No toys or stuffed animals to keep me company. No new dresses with pretty lace and bows. Even my shoes were hand me downs. Had I not listened to my counselor, I would still be here, probably wearing those damn mothball scented clothes.

  My mother stares at me with pinched lips. “You look sour-faced,” she says. Like she doesn’t? Sadly, I never remember her smiling.

  No wonder. I want to say to her, “How should I look coming back into the land of the unloved and unwanted?” But I don’t. I stretch my lips into a thin smile and say, “I’m tired. Work has been a bit tough these past few weeks.”

  “You need a real job, Serena, like your sisters have. I don’t know why you insist on that silly underwater stuff. You should be a secretary.”

  Here we go again. “Mother, I don’t want to be a secretary. I’ve told you this already. Dozens of times. I love what I do. Let’s not get into this again.”

  “I just don’t understand you. Wearing all that, that horrible equipment or whatever you call it. You’re going to die down there. It’s not a place for people.”

  “Mother, stop it. That’s a terrible thing to say to your daughter.”

  “It’s the truth, and you know it.” She points a long, fat finger at me.

  “No, I don’t know it. If I thought it was unsafe, I wouldn’t do it. But the fact is if done properly, SCUBA diving is perfectly safe. Now let’s end this discussion.”

  “I just don’t understand…”

  Groaning, I say, “I know you don’t. I love marine biology. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t be working on my Ph.D. And I love SCUBA diving. So that’s that.”

  She makes her usual harrumph sound, and then I hear the clicking of her false teeth. God help me if I ever have to wear dentures. If so, I hope I ca
n get the kind that actually stay in my mouth. At least I take care of my teeth now. My parents never took me to the dentist because it cost money, so when I got to college I made my first ever appointment in the dental school clinic. It was embarrassing going to the dentist for the first time at the age of eighteen, but I did it. Luckily, my teeth were in pretty good shape. So now I practice great dental hygiene so I can avoid the denture trap. Click click click.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Napping.”

  I guess I wasn’t important enough for him to stay awake. “How are Joan and Kathy?” I don’t speak to my sisters much. They were angry with me for leaving because they no longer had their built-in nursing home provider. All of a sudden, they knew they would actually have to do something for their parents. It was ugly for the first year. The phone calls and letters were hateful. Looking back, I feel like an outcast in this family of mine. Maybe I need to have genetic testing done, because I don’t feel at all related to them.

  “Fine. Harold has been promoted to branch manager.” Harold is Joan’s husband and he works at the local bank. “Dougie is doing well at his engine shop, but Kathy complains about his greasy pants and fingers. I can’t blame her.” Dougie is Kathy’s husband, poor guy.

  “What does she expect? He works with engines. Engines are greasy. The man can’t help it.”

  “She thinks he should wear latex gloves and I agree with her. But he says it makes it too hard for his hands to handle the tiny parts.”

  “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

  My mother harrumphs again. She does that a lot. “Nevertheless, I gave Kathy money so she could have a shower installed in their garage and a special washing machine out there just for Dougie. He can clean up before he comes inside.”

  Oh my god. I’ve heard it all. There was never enough money to buy me new clothes, but she gives my sister money to install a shower in her garage so her husband won’t get their house greasy. Once again, I’m reminded of where I fit into this family. “What about in the winter when it’s cold?”

  “He’s a man. He can toughen up then.”

  No doubt about it. I must have foreign blood in me. Maybe the stork really did drop me on the front porch. These people are damn crazy. I don’t say a word. “What about the kids?”

  Another harrumph and this time it’s accompanied by a long, drawn out moan. “The oldest, Evelyn, is a cashier at the Zippy Mart. She’s hoping to climb the ladder soon.”

  “What’s she shooting for? Head cashier?” I snicker, trying to hide my face. Evelyn is my age, twenty-five. I know, my niece is the same age as me. Weird.

  “Yes, she has high aspirations.” My sarcasm isn’t lost on my mother. “Serena, not everyone wants to swim underwater and look at the guppies.”

  “That’s not what I do, Mother.”

  “So you say.”

  “What about Harold Junior?”

  “He’s going to the community college. He wants to be a plumber, of all things. He won’t amount to much.”

  I rub my forehead. Never a kind word. I’m sure she hasn’t any idea what kind of money good plumbers can actually make. It’s probably because she’s sat on her ass her whole life. “And Kathy and Dougie’s kids?”

  “Ruth is still working at the hospital cafeteria and Little Dougie is still in high school. He wants to follow Big Dougie into the business. He’ll have greasy hands just like his daddy. He won’t amount to much, either. Kids these days. ”

  “Poor things,” I mutter under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “Oh, that’s nice. I see they’re all in challenging careers. Very stimulating.”

  “Yes, and that’s what you should’ve done. Instead of studying goldfish. I just don’t understand you, Serena.”

  “I know you don’t, Mother.”

  “So what time is dinner tonight?” she asks.

  My friends talk about how they get spoiled when they go home and visit their family. Not me. My mother treats me like a servant, sent to her to cook and clean. This is why I only stay for a couple of days. It’s about all I can deal with at a time.

  “Whenever,” I mumble. “I guess I need to get the laundry started so I have clean sheets to sleep on.”

  “And when your father wakes up from his nap, you’ll need to grab the ones off our bed, too.” And here it begins. “Don’t forget to mop and dust. All the rugs need vacuuming and the bathrooms need scrubbing.”

  “Just out of curiosity, do Kathy or Joan ever do any of this stuff for you?”

  She stares at me like I have a tree growing out of my head. “Why would they do that? They never sleep here.”

  Silly me. I should’ve known the answer to that. Face palm. Thank the lord I’m only staying for two nights. Otherwise they’d have to institutionalize me.

  Two hours later, clean sheets are on my bed, the house is dusted, vacuumed, and my father is up from his nap and hasn’t spoken a single word to me. Who are these people?

  “Mother? Do you ever do your own housework? There was so much dust in here I had to use the vacuum attachment.”

  She blows out enough air to fill a hot air balloon. “Serena, I am incapable of that. You of all people should know. I’m too old.”

  Now it’s my turn to look at her like she’s fucking crazy. She’s seventy-five. While that’s not young by any means, that is certainly not too old to dust for Pete’s sake. And I tell her as much.

  Her mouth twists into a hateful snarl. “Let me tell you one thing, missy. When I birthed you through my loins, you ruined me. You ripped my innards to shreds and destroyed me, you thankless little ingrate. And here you stand and dare to tell me I’m not too old? You have some nerve!”

  Birthed you through my loins? Ripped my innards to shreds? What the fuck? Who is this woman and what century is she living in?

  “Excuse me, Mother. I was just saying that sitting all day does not help your situation. It only worsens it. Maybe if you got up and moved around a little you would feel better.”

  “Oh, and how would you know this? Did your guppies tell you that?”

  All the years of pent up frustration and disgust for the way I’ve been treated my entire life unleashes before I can stop myself. “No, Mother, they did not. Go ahead and sit in your recliner. You sit there until you rot away, because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to you, by God. I’ve had enough. You people are crazy. I don’t know how I ever was born into this family unless an alien beamed me here. I swear to God, I do not have your DNA in me.”

  For a moment, we are both frozen, stunned that I had the nerve to speak up for once. And for a half a second, I’m ashamed of what I said. As much as they deserve payback for everything I’ve suffered over the years, I also don’t want to be nasty to them. I want to be the better person.

  Once that bubble of time bursts and she gets over that I’ve stood up for myself, her eyes bug out of her head in a cartoon-like fashion and she jerks her arm toward the door. “Get out of this home right now. Your father and I slaved, Serena, we slaved so you could have the life that you do today. And this is the gratitude we receive. I will not have that kind of talk bandied about.”

  Slaved? I was the slave around here. And I was the one who worked for what I have. If I hadn’t poured myself into my studies, I would be working as a cashier, right next to Evelyn. And I did it all while taking care of her home, vacuuming, dusting, scrubbing bathrooms, doing laundry, and cooking so she could sit on her ass and do nothing. I was a young child, for fuck’s sake. Did I ever receive any thanks? Not once. Did I ever receive any hugs or kisses? Never. Did she tuck me in at night and read me bedtime stories? Not once. Did she hold me while I cried because the kids were so mean to me? Never. The only thing she did was tell me I was nothing but trouble for her.

  I massage my temples in a weak attempt to stave off the impending headache. They only come when I visit home. I don’t even bother to consider why.

  “I meant what I
said, but I don’t wish you harm. You are my mom, and I only want the best for you even if you don’t want the same for me.” I trudge back up to my room and grab my duffle. This visit, though short, has made me weary. On the way out I say, “You have my number. You know where to find me if you need me.” In the end, they are still my parents and if not for them, I would have never found my love for the sea because I wouldn't exist.

  I don’t wait for a response, because I know there won’t be any. My wheels squeal and spit gravel as I back out of the driveway. It’s not because I lay down the gas pedal; it’s because I need new tires and they can’t find purchase on the less than ideal surface. Money isn’t exactly flowing for me. I can’t say that I’m happy for the way things turned out, but honestly, I’m not sad either. I don’t feel the least bit attached to my parents, nor do I feel the tiniest bit of affection for them. For a mother who “birthed me through her loins,” she never formed any kind of attachment to me. No bonding there at all. I feel no sense of loss, and it’s because I’ve been alone my whole life. My friends take a greater interest in me than my parents.

  The drive back doesn’t take long, as it’s only about three hours from Magnolia, South Carolina to Beaufort, where I’m living for the summer. I’m only here for a few more weeks and then it’s back to Duke to continue working on my Ph.D. Good thing I’m unattached. Sure does make moving a ton easier.