APRIL
My family wasn't there for my high school graduation, college graduation, or when Jackson and I got married. They weren't there then, and they aren't here now.
I'm alone at the moment, in an office that badly needs to be furnished. The room feels cavernous without anything on the walls, and a bare floor to match. The only thing standing is my desk, made of cherry wood, that I've worked at for years. I had no choice but to decorate it first.
Lining the edges are photos from momentous times in my life - standing in blue robes when I graduated high school, Jackson at my side. Standing in black robes when I graduated from the University of Michigan with a creative writing degree, Jackson at my side. Standing in a white dress in a field of flowers, a just-married smile on my face - Jackson, of course, by my side.
I went through these milestones without them, but not without the thought of them. As far as I've moved on from my past, it still tends to follow me. I can pretend it doesn't, but that won't chase it away. I'm not sure what could, at this point. It seems the memories will always cling to me, no matter how hard I try and pry them off.
Jackson and I live in Traverse City now, near Lake Michigan. It's a beautiful little tourist town and our house is located on the outskirts, just far enough from the hustle and bustle while still remaining a part of things. We moved from Ann Arbor only a week ago and haven't yet gotten settled, but we will soon. It's winter now; I can't wait to see the town come to life when it gets warmer.
I lean forward to rest on my elbows and tip my head to the side, studying my favorite photos. Eight years have passed since I escaped the farm, eight years since I was introduced to society, and all I've done is flourish.
That's what Jackson says, at least, when I have down days. Because I still do. It'd be impossible to stay positive about losing my old life, losing everything I once identified with - essentially a part of myself. I had to rebuild who I am from the ground up, and to this day I'm still working on that.
He tells me, in a sense, everyone is. I shouldn't feel different than someone passing on the street. We all have struggles, mine just happen to be a bit more extreme than most.
He usually knows what just to say. It's one of the thousands of things I love him for. He's always there to support me. He dried my tears when I walked across the stage after 12th grade, and held my hand when I received my Bachelor's. Of course, when he got both his degrees, I held him just as tightly.
I'm a freelance writer and a poet now. I've been published numerous times. He works as a speech pathologist, and is soon opening his own practice, which is the reason we moved here. He's 29 now, and since getting his degree, it was his goal to do as much before his 30th birthday.
We've handed over our secrets and made each other promises that will always be kept. Since I fell in love with him, he's shown me the world and given me as much as he can from it. And on our wedding day, he stood in front of me and promised he'd do the same for the rest of our lives.
Looking out into the audience that day, I couldn't help but notice how empty my 'family' side was. It wasn't just sparse, the seats were completely bare of blood relatives. There were no redheads in the audience with freckles and green eyes, no weeping mom or proud dad. No sisters at my side acting as my bridesmaids, not a single Kepner to be seen. And after the ceremony was over, the only Kepner in the building left as an Avery.
But the seats that the absence of my family left empty were filled with an overflow of friends. From high school, college, and work. People came because they loved us and they wanted to witness the joining of our love for each other. That was an amazing feeling - other people supporting me, and us, because they believed in what we could do and what we already had.
Before this stage of my life, I'd never experienced that feeling. And now, I receive it in droves.
I sit back in my chair and pull out the drawer so it grazes my stomach, then lift out the battered, dilapidated red notebook. Though it's filled-up and worn down, I can't bear to do away with it. It's as much a part of me as anything else.
Sitting there at my old desk in my new house, I flip through the pages while being hit with the familiar scent of my old life. The faded pen marks, the rips in the corners, the scribbling-out of what I hadn't liked, it's all there. It's almost like a life story, or a chapter that's been long closed that I can't seem to put away.
I smile softly at the old poems that I'd written without any knowledge of the craft. I didn't need it back then - these words came from my heart, my struggle. They were the only things on that farm that I could call my own, the only things no one could take from me. That is, until Jackson came along. Then, I had him. And I'll always have him.
His footsteps are hard to miss in this creaky house, and I hear them coming up the stairs long before he arrives in the doorway of my office. I'm already looking that way when he appears, and he meets my eyes with a soft smile.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, then lifts the bundle in his hand. "Got the mail. New issue came."
I raise my eyebrows, expression lit with excitement. I have a poem inside this month's issue of Poetry Magazine, and it's the fourth time I've been published with them.
"Ooh, let me see," I say, reaching as he hands it over. I look at the table of contents for a moment before flipping to the page that holds my poem, then soak it in.
Prayer Pulse
BY APRIL AVERY
I dug a hole with my hands
and buried my prayer inside.
I buried how my young hands clasped other young hands,
and spoke words they'd been taught.
Brown soil caked my fingernails
and I pressed the dirt until it again was flat and even.
But laying with my ear to the earth,
I can still hear its heartbeat:
Dear God, Dear God, Dear God.
"It's a good one, babe," Jackson says, flashing a proud grin. "Pretty soon, we won't be able to keep the paparazzi away from this place. Damn, it's a good thing we moved. I had a feeling they were onto us."
I snort and set the magazine down, slipping it into a drawer with the others.
"How's the writing coming?" he asks, referencing the freelance work I do.
I gesture towards the closed laptop. "Not quite as I planned," I admit. "I got distracted."
"You'll feel better once the office is put together," he says.
I stand up from the desk and walk over to him, heart heavy as I wrap my arms around his waist. I'm not sure exactly what it is that's bringing me down, but it's something. And being close to him always makes me feel better.
"What's wrong, sweets?" he asks, dragging his nails up and down my back. He plants a kiss on my forehead when I look up at him and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
"I don't know," I say, quietly. "Just doing a lot of thinking. The big change, you know. Stirs things up."
"Sure does," he says. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I say.
"I can help you unpack, if you wanna get your mind on something else," he says, and I agree.
We turn some music on - something by Taylor Swift that Jackson claims not to like, but he actually loves - and the mood lightens considerably. We make each other smile and laugh as we pull open boxes and dust things off that haven't seen the light of day since we packed them in Ann Arbor. Somehow, I can't even remember packing some of these things.
Jackson is shaking his hips animatedly to an upbeat track when I pop open a new box, humming along. On the very top, above everything else, as if it was placed there deliberately, sits a bible. And not just any bible - the one I had while at the farm. The one that taught me everything, the one I carried to church and back, the one I marked up with study notes and highlighted my favorite scriptures in. I'd recognize this soft, leather cover anywhere.
With trembling hands, I open the cover to check the inside, just to make sure. My predictions are confirmed when I see my name scribbled in the upper left-hand corner. It's in wobbly, straight, 7-year-old handwriting, which is how old I was when this bible was gifted to me.
I left the farm a long, long time ago, but I still remember what I took when I left. I hadn't had time to pack a bag, but I must have been clutching this book. The book that had, at one time, been my comfort and solace, the book that I depended on for everything. Alongside my red notebook, it was my everything. It used to make up the person who I was - and I'd forgotten about it. What does that say about my old life?
"Honey, you good?" Jackson asks, noticing my silence.
"I… yeah," I say, still staring at the book in my hands. It looks so small. Was it always this small?
"Whatcha got?" he asks.
I frown, turning it over a couple times before answering. "My bible," I finally say. "From… my old bible."
I'm too afraid to open it. I don't want to know what I'll see - I don't think I'd be okay seeing my mother's handwriting, even after all these years. I'm sure it's inside, if only in small doses. Reading it will send me back. And I haven't been there in many, many years - even figuratively.
"Oh," Jackson says, setting down a lamp he'd gotten from a tall box. He walks over slowly, gauging my reaction while watching my face.
I chew the inside of my lower lip, stroking the cover with my thumbs. I don't know how to feel, because I'm feeling everything at once. I have no choice in the matter; I'm being inundated with emotions.
My eyes grow hot and my face heats up, too, out of my control. I start to breathe harder and deeper, a sure sign that I'm going to cry soon.
"Hey," Jackson says, very gently. "Hey. It's okay to be sad. It's okay to miss them."
I sniff loudly and blink hard. He's usually good at reading my mind, but he doesn't hit the nail on the head this time. I shake my head slightly and put the bible down, feeling instantly better once it's out of my grip.
"I don't miss them," I say, shiny eyes concentrated on his face. "I'm glad you're my family now."
"Yeah," he says, holding my shoulders. "I know, me too. But I also know it's more complicated than that. There's a lot of gray area."
I swallow hard. "I don't know what it is lately," I say. "But I've felt like something is missing. I can't put my finger on what, it's…" I sigh. "I don't know what you'll say when I tell you what I'm thinking."
He tips his head to one side. "Try me," he says.
I close my eyes for a moment and take a cleansing breath. He keeps a firm hold on my shoulders, planting me to the ground so I can't go anywhere. That's the last thing I want, though. I plan on spending the rest of my life right here in front of him.
"I want to have a baby," I say.
It's been eight years since he and I met, back at 18. Now, I'm 26 with a steady-paying job. Jackson is opening his own practice and we just moved into a beautiful house with three bedrooms and a big yard. Our life yearns for a child, and I think a baby might be able to fill the hole that aches inside my chest. I think that empty space is begging for a little life, a perfect culmination of Jackson and me.
"A baby," he says, and his expression lifts. "Yes. God, yes. Of course. A freakin' baby."
My mouth opens in a wide, incredulous smile. "You want… you want one, too?" I ask.
"Yes!" he says, wrapping his arms around my waist to lift me off the floor. "Yes, kitty."
"You want me to have your babies?" I giggle, centimeters away from his face.
"I want you to mother my children, I want you to bear my fruit, I want to plant my seed in-"
"Enough, enough!" I say, waving him off and wriggling to be put down.
The heavy feeling from before is gone, replaced with a whirling ball of white light inside my chest. We're going to try for a baby, and there's no reason to wait.
We find each other in bed that night like always, but this time there's no reaching for condoms. There's no pulling out so he can come on my stomach or back, there's no preventative measures taken. He gives me everything within him and I receive it with open arms, closing my eyes and relishing the moment while hoping and praying that it'll work.
Our baby will be made out of love. Not out of obligation, not necessity, but pure, untapped love between two people who cherish each other above everything else. Our baby will be created by parents who came together due to the most unlikely of circumstances and walked through fire, hand-in-hand. Our baby will know strength and softness, how to fight for what they believe in, and most importantly, how to love without bounds.
We'll give our child everything. All the love I never had, and the affection both of us have to offer. They'll be born into a family that has waited for them, prayed for them, and loves them beyond all means.
…
Once it grows big enough, both Jackson and I are obsessed with my bump. We sit on the couch with our hands pressed to it and feel her - yes, her - twirl, and he sings to our baby. I hadn't ever heard him sing until she started spinning in response to his voice, and after that, he wouldn't stop.
Thea Lucine is what we're going to call her, a name we chose very carefully. And we can't wait to meet her in two short months.
Before Jackson, the thought of being pregnant never crossed my mind. I never thought about it because I understood nothing about it, but now my life is much different. I have no complaints about the weight gain, the swollenness, or any of the other symptoms, because I'm carrying a life inside me.
It makes me feel powerful while being very, very humbling at the same time. It's not an experience I take for granted in any way. When baby Thea wakes me up in the middle of the night with her kicks and twirls, I wake Jackson up, too, so we can both relish it. Usually, he'll fall back to sleep with his head on my lap, lulled by our child's steady movements, quick as a butterfly's wings.
Tonight, I fall asleep first, as usual, lying on my side with one leg wrapped around him as he reads, glasses on. I drift off slowly and then all at once, body twitching as I settle closer against my husband, and he strokes my hair with a free hand. It's not easy to get comfortable with my big belly, but this is a position that never fails. And he always obliges.
A while later, though, I feel him move. He shifts after lifting my leg lightly off of his, then slides off the bed.
"Where're you going?" I ask, squinting against the yellow light of the bedside lamp.
"I heard a knock," he says, frowning. He takes his glasses off, folds them, and puts them on the dresser while slipping into his house shoes. "Wait here."
He leaves and I curiously follow, of course. There's no way I could stay in our bedroom while he goes to investigate, even if it's nothing dangerous. I watch from the top of the stairs while he disappears around the corner, but he calls my name only moments later.
"April," he says, sounding urgent. "April."
By the tone of his voice, I know whatever's happening down there is serious. So, with one hand braced on my round belly, I descend the stairs with a determined, concerned look on my face, and turn the corner to the front door.
All I see is Jackson's back at first; he's shrouding whoever is standing in the doorway. But when I get closer, I come to a dead stop and stare for a moment. In the doorway, looking more grown up than I could have ever imagined, is Alice. My littlest sister, the one I'd lost for so long, the one whom I've only known written down for the past eight years. She's standing here in the flesh, red hair in curls down her back and a suitcase at her feet.
"Sissy," she says, and her voice breaks. One look at me in my pregnant state, and tears are running down her cheeks. Jackson steps aside and I envelop my baby sister in my arms, pressing my face into her neck, squeezing as tightly as I can. "You're pregnant."
"It's you," I whisper urgently, swaying back and forth. I kiss the side of her face with my eyes pressed shut, still not letting go. "You found us. You came."
I pull away and hold her face, wiping her tears with my thumbs. Her face is freckled, mature, and beautiful. She is gorgeous, so adult, and real. She's standing in front of me, where I can see her. I have her. She's safe, and she's with me. Where she's supposed to be.
"Oh, Allie," I say, openly sobbing, shoulders rattling. "It's really you. You made it here, you… you…"
She smiles sadly, lips pulling up without showing any teeth. She leans one cheek against my palm and closes her eyes, taking a big breath to let it out slowly.
When she opens her eyes again, she looks right into mine and says, "I'm free."
…
We told Alice she could stay with us for as long as she needed. There's no time limit, because she's family. After the baby was born, I realized that the hole in my heart was too big to be filled by just one person. But now that both of them - Thea and Alice - have found their way into my life, I've never felt more complete. More at peace.
We're all sitting in the dining room eating dinner, which happened to overlap with Thea's eating schedule tonight. So, even though I have a violently grumbling stomach, I'm feeding her first.
"You hungry, mama?" Jackson asks, looking my way.
"Yeah," I say. "But I'm fine."
"You know she takes forever," he says, lightheartedly. "Here. I'll help you."
He scoots his chair closer to me, and picks up a spoonful of fried rice from my plate to feed it to me. I smile in a wordless thank-you, and stroke the baby's soft skin while she nurses.
Barely two months old, Thea is a tiny masterpiece. She barely ever cries, and she's a mama's girl through and through. She loves Jackson like crazy, but I'm the one who she defaults to. He likes to pretend to get his feelings hurt over it, but I know how much he loves watching us together.
"It's still so crazy to me," Alice says, from the other side of the table. "You guys are married. You have a baby. Think about how this all started."
"Yeah," Jackson says, spoon-feeding me another bite. "I think about it plenty. It is very strange."
"It was meant to be," I say, mouth full of rice.
Alice giggles, taking a sip of her water. "You guys are so good together," she says. "You're like a team. How did you get so good at it?"
I think about that for a long moment, having never looked at it from such an angle. "I don't know," I say. "He's my partner, that's how I see it. In life, in everything. I need help, he's there. He needs help, I'm right there, too. I wouldn't be sitting here right now if it weren't for him. I couldn't have navigated life on my own."
"You could've," he says, wiping crumbs from the corner of my mouth.
"No," I say, looking him in the eye. "I couldn't have gotten off that farm if it weren't for you."
I look across the table and watch Alice's expression morph into something much heavier. Her eyebrows come together as she sets down her fork, and I adjust the baby. Jackson sets down my spoon, too, knowing that the moment has changed and my next bite of food can wait.
"Allie," I say, trying to catch her attention again.
We haven't talked about home since she came. The two months have flown by, and since I was so far along in my pregnancy, most of that time was spent preparing and talking about the baby. There was no room to fit anything else in, but now I realize I should've tried. It was selfish not to ask her to open up, to see if she was okay. Sure, a big moment was happening for me and Jackson, too, but she had just escaped from purgatory. I know what that's like; I should've been the first to make sure she was coping.
"Was it bad after I left?" I ask.
I almost don't want to know the answer. She never gave specifics in her letters, and I never asked for them. I'm sure that Mom and Dad were reading both the incoming and outgoing mail, like a prison system. We had no choice but to keep it cordial.
"Alice," I say. "How did you get out?"
She places her hands on her lap and gnaws the inside of her cheek; it's clear this isn't a comfortable subject. It isn't for me, either - Jackson and I rarely bring it up. Recalling the past only brings pain, but that wound has to be cleaned before it can heal properly.
"I found someone at church," she says. "They drove me to the city limits, and I found your house after walking around for hours."
Thea pulls away from my breast, and Jackson helps me adjust my shirt while I lift the baby to burp her. I pat her back and keep my eyes on my sister, watching her come to grips with all she went through.
"Did they hit you?" I ask, and she knows who the 'they' is.
"Mom did," she says. "A couple times, when I said I wanted to be with you. She said there was no reason for me to go and find you, because you'd only corrupt me. She called you horrible things, and Daddy got really angry with her."
She's begun to shake, I can see it from here. Without hesitation, Jackson stands and hurries over, holding her shoulders in his strong arms. She leans her head against his chest and cries, and he soothes her like he's done for me on countless nights.
"We got you," he says, voice low. He rubs her upper arm, and I watch from afar. "You're safe here. They can't do anything to you now. Right? Look at April. She's been out for almost ten damn years. And she's doing just fine. You're gonna be just fine, too. I promise."
…
The four of us grow together - me, Jackson, Thea, and Alice - as a family. I'd been happy when it was just Jackson and me, but now, the house has come to life. It has a heartbeat, and it's a home with all of us in it.
Thea gets bigger, and it's the joy of my life to watch her grow from a baby to a toddler. When she started to walk, she took those unsteady steps right into Jackson's arms and Alice got it on video. Her first word was 'kitty,' not because we have one, but because of Jackson's nickname for me.
Alice takes the baby to swim lessons every Wednesday, and Catherine comes over every Saturday to have dinner. Though my family on the farm was bigger, I've never felt more connected to a unit than I do to them.
This Saturday, we're all sitting in the living room with soft music playing while 18-month-old Thea falls asleep in my arms. Alice and Jackson are talking quietly over a trivia game they're playing and I'm saying quiet prayers with my daughter as she drifts off.
God hasn't left my life. For a while, I was lost on the concept of religion and what it could mean if He let my parents treat me so poorly. For years, I felt forsaken by Him and most of all, forgotten.
That changed, though, when Thea was born. I looked at her face in the delivery room and was in complete and total awe of her. God hadn't left me. I had just been taught wrong, and the people who taught me had been grossly misled. As I looked into the eyes of my daughter that day, I found my faith again. She reminded me that there's no force bigger on this earth than God's love - shown the right way.
Except for, maybe, a mother's love.
"Dear Father in heaven," I begin, very softly as I rock her back and forth. "Look down from above. Bless Mommy and Daddy, and those who I love. May angels guard over my slumbers, and when the morning is breaking, awake me. Amen."
I kiss the side of her head and run my fingers through her curls, breathing in the scent that I know and love so well. When I lift my gaze, Jackson's eyes are already on me, exuding warmth.
"My poet," he says.
"Did you make that up?" Catherine asks, looking over as well.
"Oh, no," I say, arms wrapped loosely around Thea's pudgy belly. "I used to say that one when I was little. Remember, Alice?"
She smiles subtly, going back to the game without much acknowledgement. She's not at a place where she can look back to find any fond memories amongst the muck we escaped from, but I am. I remember being a happy child who didn't know any better. I reveled in making my parents proud, and that prayer made me feel safe at night. I want Thea to know those same feelings too, if that's the only thing I give her from my old life.
"Do you think you'll ever let them meet her?" Catherine asks later, sitting close to me and my daughter on the couch.
Alice has gone to bed, and Jackson sits on my other side with a hand on my thigh. He's paying attention to the conversation, too, but passively. He knows what kind of relationship his mother and I have - and he understands that some parts don't include him.
"No," I answer, instantly. I've tossed the question around before and have always come to the same conclusion. Thea is perfect, an absolute gift, and my parents did nothing to deserve to know of her existence. And she doesn't need to know them, either. "No," I say again, equally as firm.
Jackson leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek, one hand flat on the baby's back. He knows her well, and knows me better. We came to the decision together - that we'd never allow her to be privy to how I was raised. When she's much, much older, I'll tell her about it. But not until she can understand the pain I went through without feeling it for me.
I don't want to keep secrets, but protecting my child is the most important job I have. I'll never let her shoulder the weight I bore for all those years, until I was brave enough to leave.
…
A few months later, we're in the middle of a hike on a late summer afternoon when we find the pond. It's in the middle of the woods on Muncie Lakes Pathway, and we stop and stare like we might be hallucinating because it's so hot.
"Water!" Thea cheers from her place in the carrier on Jackson's back. I'd already taken my turn and gotten exhausted, so he's in the middle of his. "Go swim! Water!"
She's two now, and the spitting image of her father. He'll say that she looks like me when she makes any dramatic expression - whether it be laughing, crying, or pouting - but I take one look at her and all I see is him. From the eyes, to the freckles, to the bow of her lips.
"Should we?" I ask, hands on the straps of my bag.
"I'm so hot," he says.
"Hot! Hot!" Thea says, palms up and fingers spread wide. "Don't touch, hot."
"Very good," I say, and throw my backpack off. "We're gonna get in this water to cool down, how's that sound, babes?"
Thea screams as I unbuckle her from the contraption and lift her onto my hip. Our sweaty skin sticks together, and Jackson lets out a sigh of relief as he takes everything off - shoes included.
"I'm getting in," he says.
He strips all the way down to his boxers, and I laugh while taking Thea's damp clothes off her. Before long, she's as naked as the day she was born, arms out wide as she follows Jackson to the water's edge.
"We going in, baby girl?" he says, lifting her chunky body into his arms to take her in the water with him. "Come on, kitty!"
"Kitty! Kitty!" Thea squeals, and I laugh to myself.
"What am I supposed to wear?" I ask.
"Your skivvies," he says, eyes lit up. "Just like old times."
My mouth screws up in a devious smirk as I'm unable to stop the memories from flooding in. I see Jackson and me at that secluded pond in the woods behind the farmhouse, stripped naked and vulnerable. We discovered each other on the shore of that water hole as naive, horny kids.
Now, we've grown so much, yet we're somehow back in the same position. But this time, there's a baby between us. A baby that we made because of how we fell in love lying atop the smooth rocks by the pond.
"What if people see?" I ask, looking to my left and right.
"No one's around," he says, grinning widely. "Babes is out here naked as a jaybird. I only kept my boxers on to spare her the mental scarring, but you get in the bath with her all the damn time. Get in here, kitty cat."
"Kee-cat!" Thea says, slapping the surface of the water with her palms.
I roll my eyes playfully and give in. "Fine!" I say. "But if we get caught and charged with indecent exposure-"
"I'll blame it on the baby. Now, come on."
I undress quickly, down to nothing, and hurry into the water. It's nice and refreshing, cool but not cold, and I instantly feel better out of the heat. I swim under the water and come back up with my hair slicked down, and Thea has never been more amused. She claps her hands together and smiles - big and bright, just like Daddy.
"What's Mama doin'?" he asks, coming closer. "Huh? What's your little mama doin'?"
"Mama!" she urges, reaching her arms out for me.
I stand to my full height so I can take her from Jackson and subsequently lift my chest from the water, exposing my breasts to the open air. His eyes roam downward as he takes in the sight, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Now we're talkin'," he says.
"Don't be gross," I say, but inch closer. He wraps both arms around my waist and lets his hands do a little exploring until they find my ass and give it a hearty squeeze. "Jackson!" I scold.
"Fine, fine," he says, laughing. "No hands."
Instead, he uses his hands for something sweeter. He rests one on Thea's back and presses his lips to the top of her head, and she bends her neck so she can look at him upside-down. She makes a happy sound and stretches an arm with one finger pointed, touching his bearded chin. He pretends to eat her finger with his lips covering his teeth, and she giggles that infectious giggle we both love.
Then, he uses both hands to cup my jaw and kiss me slow. When he pulls away, I don't let him get far before taking his wrist and kissing each of his fingertips, looking steadily into his eyes. Even after all these years, sometimes I still can't believe he's mine.
When we met, he was a dream. A faraway vision that I didn't let myself hope for, because I knew we would never work. I never thought I'd get off that farm and escape my parents, escape what had been arranged for me, and escape the life already written.
But I did. And he made it happen.
In my tiny twin bed with the flowered sheets on the farm, I used to lie awake and dream of a future that was never real enough to touch. I dreamed of a husband who loved me, a life full of freedom, and a family of my own. I dreamed of a life where I had agency, where I could make my own decisions, one where I never had to ask permission.
I was always too scared to wish for it to come true. But now, I don't have to dream anymore - the life I never thought I could live is right in front of me. And it's better than I ever thought possible.