Covered Edges

Chapter 30

Jessica's laughing face twists into one of puzzlement, "Huh?"

I open my mouth to explain, but I realize I have no idea what to say. I don't even know how to explain it myself as I stare at the girl who is about ten years older than I expected her to be. So, I just end up with, "Yeah."

"Are you sure you have the right person? I'm an only child." She states.

"So was I, up until a few hours ago. Apparently, we have the same father, and I know about you because my boyfr--uh--best friend's older brother is the prosecutor on his case."

"Well, if he's your dad too, what's his name then?"

My father's name, something I haven't said or heard in a very long time.

"Travis. Travis White."

"That is actually public information. You could've looked him up." She replies.

I can tell immediately that just a few flimsy facts won't convince this girl, and the suspicion is probably no doubt from years of living with Travis. It looks like we already have something in common. I need to supply some kind of solid information, something no random person would be able to know about our dad to convince her.

"He has a scar, below his right collarbone; it's shaped like an "L". He used to pull down the neckline of his shirt whenever I would complain about not having enough food and remind me that it's my fault he got that scar so I should be grateful for what I had. I think he lied though because I can't ever remember giving it to him."

Suddenly, I see Jessica's eyes begin to well up, but I catch the ghost of a smile form.

"He used to blame me for it too."

She opens the door wide and ushers me inside. The inside is just as cute as the outside, full of vintage furniture and colorful knickknacks.

"My mom collects," she says quickly.

I nod and smile, reassuring her that I don't think her mom is crazy. Jessica motions towards the light green couch so I take a seat. Instead of sinking in, I end up bouncing back up. I run my hand over the old floral texture while watching Jessica fold her legs criss-cross into a magenta armchair. She swishes her head to the side to move her curls out of her face then she looks towards me.

"Sooo, how does this conversation even start?" she asks.

I laugh and agree, "I have no clue."

"Well," she starts, "Which one of us is older? They'll have the beginning of the story."

"True, I'm 18," I respond.

"16. Looks like you're first."

"Alright, well my mom was married to our dad a long time ago, but they divorced when I was 8. But he must have been having an affair during that time, and you're the proof of that. When I was 12, my parents finally had a custody battle over me--before it was just joint custody--and ever since then I've been with my mom and I haven't seen or heard from him since."

"I guess that makes a little sense," Jessica ponders, "Because my parents--well, partly yours too--didn't get married until I was 10, which would be a little after your custody battle. He always said he was busy or had other things on his mind rather than marriage; but now I realize he was already married and dealing with your family too. He must've thought since he lost his wife and his daughter after the battle, he might as well marry mom," she scoffs.

"I'm assuming all of the abuse and stuff didn't only start happening after they got married, so why did your mom stay with him?" I ask.

"No, it didn't, and I wish my mom had the courage like yours. She was just, is just, so in love with him, she's blinded by it."