The Truth Lucy Saw (The Truth Turned Upside Down Book 1) Read online

  Lucy’s dad was the part of her life that baffled her the most. A highly educated pharmacist, he had all the makings of a successful person. He was relatively attractive and had been quite an athlete in college. John possessed lots of great qualities; he was humorous, charming, loyal, and hard-working when he felt passionate about his job. He went to church, took walks in the park, enjoyed going out to eat, and could blend in generally with the rest of the world.

  He purchased grocery store bouquets and brought them home every Friday, creating sweet weekly traditions for Dianna. He gave the girls Valentine’s cards and candy every year, placing five-dollar bills inside the envelopes long after five-dollars felt like a lot of money to either of the girls. People often said that Lucy was a lot like her dad, but this made her feel embarrassed and ashamed.

  If Anne was more like Dianna, then it was reasonable to assume that being unlike her mother, she must be more like her dad. But Lucy did not want this to be true. Her dad’s duality was almost schizophrenic. He was one way in public, at work, or out in the yard but, inside their house, he was borderline mad. Mad as in physically abusive and unaware of the hurt and trauma he inflicted on his family.

  “This room is disgusting.” John bellowed, tearing her dresser drawers open and throwing Lucy’s unfolded t-shirts and waded up shorts about her floor,” not caring it was twelve-thirty at night and that Lucy had been asleep for two hours already.

  Her dad ran their home just like a pharmacy, with everyone dispensing obedience to him at all times. Dianna teetered between absolute subservience to John and alcoholic escape. Anne typically held most of her feelings inside, rarely raging out against him, usually shutting him and everyone else out. But Lucy, being who she was, could not accept her dad’s savage behavior, shut him out or let it go. Each day she watched vigilantly for signs that her dad would erupt, and when his burst of wrath was happening, she stood up to him regardless of the cost and rallied for changes that sadly never came.

  As a powerless little girl, Lucy made up her mind that things were decidedly askew within her family, and she had the magic within herself to fix it. The high probability that she was wrong never occurred to her even while kneeling on shoes in her parent’s closet as her father’s belt struck her legs and back relentlessly-her mother- nowhere to be found.

  2

  Saturday

  Lucy slowly woke to the hum of the vacuum cleaner right outside her bedroom. It was Saturday morning and glaringly sunny outside. She reached both arms up over her head and turned over on one side, stretching her calves as she opened her tired eyes.

  The room revealed walls that were painted mustard yellow with a celestial navy and gold wallpaper border. The floor littered with sticker books, Barbie doll clothes, and last night’s purple bath towel was unsightly, but no one was coming over today, and she needed a few more glorious minutes to wake up.

  She pulled the comforter back over her head and cast a blue tint over her arms and legs, making it seem like she was someplace else and it was cold there. The boom of a door slamming reminded her that she was indeed home and that Anne must be awake. Her sister’s loud and screeching voice confirmed that Anne was up.

  “Hello, Saturday morning,” Lucy said as she slid out of bed and wandered down the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen where her sister stood, hands on her hips in full rant mode.

  The kitchen was huge, like a massive rectangle and mostly white. The being mostly white part helped because it was filled with pleasing sunlight most of the time, and the family spent a lot of time passing in and out of it. Lucy went and sat at the wooden dining table to get a better view of what was unfolding between her mom and her sister, which usually proved to be somewhat entertaining.

  “Do you have any idea how shitty it is that you vacuum the hallway at eight o’clock in the morning on a Saturday?” Anne spit across the counter at her mom, who was now engrossed in a cooking project. “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself, ever?” Anne bellowed, “I mean, are you even capable of doing that?”

  Dianna said nothing but continued to rattle around in the spice cabinet for something that seemed to elude her. She stopped for a moment, looked at Anne, and then walked over to the bar and wrote something down on a yellow sheet of lined paper. Lucy had seen this particular act play out many times before between her mom and sister. One of them yelling, the other ignoring until both shutdown and seemed to fold into themselves and vanish, leaving a husk that looked human on the outside but was frozen solid internally. They could both operate in this frozen husk mode for days or weeks, and there was nothing to do but navigate them like holograms until they thawed. Lucy impulsively cleared her voice and did something she had not thought through entirely while tracing the letters of her name on the table with the tips of her unpainted fingers; she spoke her mind.

  “I hate it too when you vacuum early, Mom, it’s so loud, and then Anne starts screaming, and it sucks to wake up like this on Saturday.”

  Before Lucy even finished the last few words, she knew she had messed up. Her mother slammed down the blue ink pen and burst into hot, angry tears. Dianna covered her face with both hands, and her slim shoulders began to heave up and down violently.

  “If I could just get some help from anyone in this house, then I wouldn’t have to vacuum at eight o’clock in the morning,” she wailed. “You sit at that table like some special queen who needs waiting on with smart-ass things to say about how I can and cannot clean my own home, meanwhile your room looks like a fat pig lives in there,” Dianna wept. “When was the last time you cleaned your room, Lucy?” Her mother asked. “When was the last time you did anything, but tell people what to do?”

  Lucy blinked, her eyes darting between her mom and her sister, now both glaring at her with disdain.

  “I can go clean up my room, Mom.” was all Lucy could think to say, and she rose slowly from her chair and made her way back across the kitchen.

  As she turned the knob of the door leading into her room, Lucy heard her mom say gently to Anne, “I’m sorry I woke you up sweetie, I just need to hurry and get to the grocery store this morning. I’m trying out this new bread recipe,” to which her sister hastily replied.

  “It’s ok, Mom. She needs to learn to shut her little mouth and mind her own damn business.”

  Lucy pulled her door shut silently, and started picking up her sticker books. The curious thing about the incident in the kitchen was that scenes like this played out frequently in their home. A triangle of sorts between the three of them wherein the end; all the anger and blame fell on Lucy, who then took it and carried it away, leaving her mom and sister smiling and happy, unscathed, unaccountable, and unrepentant. Sometimes Lucy let herself feel quite angry at them, but most of the time, she told herself it did not matter how they treated her, but this was not true.

  Less than an hour later, she had her room looking pretty organized and neat. It was not the worst way to spend her time, and Lucy liked cleaning once she got into the mood. It made her feel steady and capable, plus she would enjoy walking back into this sparkly room later today. This imagery lifted her spirits, and she imagined herself reading under the covers late in the afternoon, all alone with her books and her thoughts, and it felt worth it even if her mother had treated her unkindly.

  The rest of the day, as far as Lucy knew, was unplanned. She got dressed, rummaged around in her closet for shoes, and then ran a brush through her long red hair. It was reasonably good hair, she thought, not bumpy, frizzy, or orange, but the color was so noticeable. Lucy liked it best when she went unnoticed, under no scrutinizing attention, and free of the need to give anyone a correct or timed response. It was this inward state of solidarity that felt most homey to Lucy, but she did enjoy the company of her one best friend, Finn.

  As if on cue, Lucy heard the loud crunch of tires on rocks and ran to her bedroom window. Finn was home, or maybe he was back, Lucy thought, and she threw the brush on her bed and made her way down the hall for t
he second time this morning.

  This time the kitchen was clear, and there was a loaf of fresh bread sitting on the counter smelling delicious. Lucy paused to look at it and wondered if it was for them to eat now or if her mom had made it for dinner later that evening. Quickly, she tore off an edge of the rounded loaf and located a flat butter knife intending to smear her warm treasure generously with butter and grape jelly. She would have to wait to see how this turned out later, her stomach overriding any empathy for her mom or her mom’s dinner plans.

  With one free hand, Lucy opened the back door that led into the small unkempt laundry room and stepped out into her very own weekend. Looking out over their backyard was one of Lucy’s favorite things to do. It was a large backyard with three tiers that one by one descended lower and lower until it met the edge of the woods right behind her house.

  The porch off the back of the house was higher than all the tiers, so it was like being on a cruise ship looking out over the ocean. Around the porch were tall, flowering hydrangea bushes that produced giant cornflower blue snowballs of foliage for months at a time in the early spring through late summer. Today, dozens of them dotted the edges of the porch like a living blue and green carpet. Lucy reached out to run her hand over the closest sprawling blooms as she walked in the direction of Finn’s house and cheerily thought, one day, hydrangeas would be beautiful at her wedding.

  3

  Finn

  Finn’s dad pulling up noisily in his pick-up truck prompted Lucy to believe her best friend was home from his soccer game. Finn’s house was maybe 30 steps away from Lucy’s back porch, and as she made her way up the short slope between the two houses, she heard people whispering by the front door.

  She worried for a moment that it was Finn’s mom, Charlotte, fussing over dirty cleats and whether they would smell up his soccer bag. If the cleats were wet, she would have to wash them and the bag, making sure any dirt tracked into his room was cleaned up properly, which might delay their play date. But when Lucy rounded the corner, she did not see Mrs. Smith talking with her husband; she saw Anne.

  Lucy was surprised to see her sister standing there, oddly out of place. She paused and waited silently, staring confused at the pair, thinking they were unwelcome in the simple script she had written for her Saturday morning.

  “Hi Lucy,” Mr. Smith said brightly, giving her a big smile and a head nod. Anne refused to acknowledge her and tossed her long, brown hair back, crossing her arms rigidly. “Finn just got back from his soccer game, and he’s probably already in the shower, would you like to wait in the house?” he asked. Mr. Smith pointed a long tanned finger at their front door and used his other hand to give her a robust thumbs-up, in case she missed the first cue.

  Lucy slowly smiled back and shook her head agreeably. She loved going to Finn’s house, there were usually lots of snacks, and it always felt safe. She triumphantly swung by her sister, ignoring her curled painted lips and opened the flimsy screen door into Finn’s cozy, simple living room. The noise of a busy blender snuck around the corner, beckoning Lucy to follow it into the kitchen.

  Finn’s mom, Charlotte, was standing by the blender surrounded by banana peels, pieces of apple, and swaths of kale. She looked up and seeing Lucy, gave a dramatic eyebrow lift which was her way of saying-come in here, girl -you belong- and I am glad to see you today! At least that was Lucy’s take on Charlotte’s eyebrow lifts. Finn’s mom was so different from her mom that it often took Lucy a minute to adjust to their paradoxical modes of operation.

  For example, last summer Finn and Lucy had gotten in the habit of stealing food and sneaking it out into the woods to eat as much as they wanted throughout the day. It seemed to Lucy that Charlotte had known for a while and decided to teach them a lesson, she would let them eat cake!

  On one unsuspecting summer night, as Lucy and Finn sat down to eat spaghetti at Finn’s house, Charlotte asked them how hungry they were. Both of them grinning, giggled mischievously and replied they were starving because they had not eaten anything since lunchtime. Of course, this was a lie as their food hoarding and binging had become almost a daily routine. Finn, not too concerned with hiding his transgressions, eventually fell out of his chair, laughing and holding his belly full of cheese puffs and soda. Charlotte, knowing but patient, turned around amused and reached into the fridge to get a cold stick of butter.

  “Well, that’s exactly what I want to hear because I have been baking all day long, and I cannot wait to get some honest feedback from you kids.”

  At this, Lucy burst out laughing at the thought of them gorging on snacks just minutes ago down in the woods, mere steps away from where they all sat. Meanwhile, Charlotte had stood in her kitchen, utterly oblivious to their careful and clever scheming.

  Charlotte loaded the kid’s plates up with spaghetti and a generous slab of warm, French bread. Steam rose from Lucy’s plate, and she blew at it while watching Finn kick off his shoes and sit Indian style in his dining chair. Lucy mimicked him and found this relaxed position allowed for a bit more comfort than sitting upright and politely as her mom might demand.

  Both kids were able to get half a plate of spaghetti down reasonably easy. At the same time, Charlotte breezily talked about random things and asked what they had found to keep their genius-level minds busy all day. Neither of them mentioned that they had spent a great deal of time hiding and eating junk food in the woods.

  Finn’s mom was a teacher and had summers off, which was great for Finn and Lucy. She was usually free to drive them around to various summer activities. She was also busy enough with next year’s school projects that they typically found some time to engage in innocent childhood scheming.

  Charlotte suddenly stopped talking. She looked at the two half-full plates as a considerable problem that needed addressing, her eyes wide, hands going up in the air.

  “I need the two of you to hurry and finish. I have three different desserts for you to try,” she said, clasping her fingers and then releasing them into a pair of waving jazz hands.

  And then she stood, cleared her plate, and began making room on the table for the said desserts. Finn looked at Lucy and made a blowfish face, as if to say, he could not eat another bite, and Lucy shook her head in agreement.

  As they watched Charlotte collect cake plates and fresh silverware, they began to take small bites of the pasta left in front of them. Lucy’s tummy was full, but she loved Charlotte and would easily take a bellyache for her. After all, Lucy was the one who asked Finn to bring out the cheese puffs this afternoon. Finn was less ready to finish his meal and not nearly as willing to impress his mom, who watched him, while smiling.

  As promised, Charlotte carefully set down three cakes in the middle of the table, each more elaborate than the last. She had used the glass cake stands that usually sat on display on a shelf directly across from where Lucy was sitting.

  Finn’s eyes gestured to three empty spots waiting patiently for someone to eat all this cake. The sight of those gaping holes on the shelf made Lucy feel just the slightest bit sick, and she swallowed hard and made a point to breathe.

  The first cake stand was made from amber Indiana glass with a domed top beveled to look like a honeycomb. Underneath sat a plump peach cake with buttercream frosting and tiny ribbons of candied ginger and almonds. The cake looked like it belonged in a magazine featuring Easter dinner. Lucy wondered precisely what you had to do to ginger to make it candied right after Charlotte identified the toppings for her.

  “This peach cake was my grandmother’s recipe,” Charlotte spoke softly while lifting the dome. “My grandmother made this just for me, especially when I came to visit her in the summertime.”

  Lucy’s face began to warm, and she avoided looking at Finn across the table. The second dessert was a tall, skinny German chocolate cake on a simple milk-glass stand. The cake base, woven like a wicker basket popped white against the ebony cake, and Charlotte had dabbled chocolate flowers all around the edges for a special
touch. Lucy imagined her standing in the kitchen, carefully turning the cake stand, shaping each flower to match the one before it perfectly. All this had occurred while they chugged cans of grape soda, leaning against trees, hiding, and lobbing the cans at each other once they were empty and crushed. The sting of fingernails biting into her palms signaled it was time to relax her hands, which she had balled into unmoving, white-knuckled fists inside her crossed legs.

  The final cake was breath-holding, sitting in anticipation atop its colorful carnival glass throne. Lucy saw it was a stately angel food bundt cake iced lightly and topped with ripe strawberries and lemon peel. Lucy had taught herself to make lemon peel, which was a bit of a pain, so she knew the work involved and appreciated right away, the effort a touch like this required. Charlotte looked at the three cakes with pride and excitement, and then she turned to both children and asked which cake they should cut first.

  Lucy remembered being able to try some of all three cakes, but it was not her full belly that had been so uncomfortable that night. It had been the feeling of disappointing Charlotte that brought on nausea and a dull headache.

  Charlotte served them just like she had done for years with smiling eyes and a playful heart. The kids hardly ever snuck junk food into the woods after that. Although Finn swore that those cakes and their sins were in no way connected, Lucy felt differently. She rather liked the clear message she believed Charlotte had sent them that night, which allowed her the dignity to make better choices with no shame attached to her person.