Still Beating

“Miss Lawson?”

I straighten out my pencil skirt and turn from the white board, discovering far too many eyes on me. Questioning eyes. Curious eyes. Some worried, some fascinated. I give a tug to my ponytail and force a smile. “Yes, Jenna?”

It’s my first day back in the classroom. Again. First it was an abduction, then it was a suicide attempt. If my students learn anything from me, I hope it’s some valuable life lessons—that, and the greatness that is Gatsby.

“You’re bleeding.”

I suck in a breath and glance down at myself. My white button-down blouse is dappled with red droplets. My eyes shift to my wrist, where I notice blood is dripping out from beneath my bandage. I didn’t even realize I was scratching it. I clear my throat, flustered and embarrassed, as I reach for a tissue on my desk. “Goodness, I didn’t even realize. Thank you, Jenna.”

I excuse myself for a moment to clean up, the whispers and chatter lingering in my ears long after I’ve walked out of the classroom. I lock myself in a bathroom stall to collect my bearings, pressing my palms against the door and leaning forward, taking in deep, steady breaths. My gaze drifts to the blood stains seeped into the white fabric of my blouse, branding me with a sinister reminder of my pain. It laughs and mocks me, telling me this will never be over.

Deep breath. Deep breath.

Before my tears break through, the bathroom door creaks open and two fellow teachers march inside, gossiping amongst themselves. I go still when my name escapes their lips.

“…feel sorry for her. It’s got to be tough getting back to normal after something like that.”

“Suicide, though? I mean, really. Way to completely botch up your second chance at life. I can’t imagine surviving something like that and then trying to throw it all away.”

I watch through the stall crack, clutching my necklace in a clammy fist as the two women fluff their hair in the mirror and reapply lipstick.

“You’re being way too harsh. I can’t imagine surviving something like that, period. I have no idea how I would cope.”

“With alcohol and ice cream like normal people? Besides, Maryann heard from Kara that it wasn’t even about the kidnapping. She started banging her sister’s husband, the guy who was trapped with her, and the sister found out. She went psycho and OD’d.”

“Whoa. Seriously?”

“That’s what I heard.”

“Shit… Cora doesn’t seem like the type. She’s so sweet.”

“Well, you heard about her liaison with Troy Adilman years back. The girl gets around.”

The women share a laugh, and I think I might get sick.

“I don’t blame her, really. That guy Dean is delicious. I totally creeped his Facebook page. Honestly, I wouldn’t say no to being chained up with him for three weeks…”

The conversation fades out as the teachers retreat from the bathroom, leaving me heaving into the toilet bowl. My necklace remains in my hand, tears streaking down my cheeks, and I tell myself over and over, “I’m okay. It’s still beating. I’m okay.”

I didn’t plan this.

Call it insanity, call it some kind of twisted closure—regardless, it wasn’t planned.

I park my car along the side of Hawthorne Lane, an older subdivision with no sidewalks and an abundance of leafless trees. My boots crunch against the thin layer of snow turned icy from the colder temperatures. I wrap my scarf around my neck as I saunter up the walkway, my nerves the only thing warming me up. When I reach the front door, my hand stops mid-air before my knuckles reach the metal screen. There’s still a Christmas wreath mounted, proudly displayed, even though it’s the end of February.

She is still holding onto something cheerful, long after it has passed.

My eyes close tight and I grit my teeth together, my arm falling to my side.

I can’t do this.

But before I can make a quick escape, the door pulls open, revealing a beautiful, young woman with long hair made of obsidian silk. Her skin is as white as the snow beneath my boots, and her chocolate eyes flash with something akin to recognition, despite having never met her before.

And then I see something else in those eyes—something I am all too familiar with. Something haunting, raw, and painful… something that tethers and binds us like blood.

I know right then that her story is true and guilt eats away at me for even doubting it.

“I had a feeling you would find me. Come in.”

My lips part to speak, but only my breath escapes me, hitting the frosty air like a puff of smoke. I nod my head and step through the threshold as she holds open the screen door. “I’m so sorry to drop by unannounced. I wasn’t sure how to contact you. My name is—”

“Cora Lawson. I know.” Tabitha offers a small smile, closing the door behind us. We share a poignant look, a knowing look, and she guides me to a brown loveseat in the main living area. “Sit down. I’m sure you have questions.”

I pluck my mittens off, one by one, then slide the beanie from my head as my hair spazzes out. I smooth it down and take a seat. “I’m really sorry. This is probably so inappropriate.”

“Nothing is too out there for me,” she says, her smile still lingering. Tabitha sits across from me in a rocking chair. “I thought about reaching out to you, but I know your wounds are a lot fresher than mine. I didn’t want to hinder your healing process.”

I pucker my lips, feeling like a jerk. I had no problem showing up on her doorstep, barging into her life, hindering away. Oof.

Tabitha catches my eyes, her head tilting slightly. “Don’t feel bad, Cora. Maybe it will be good for us to talk through it. Therapeutic, you know?” She wrings her hands together in her lap, releasing a sigh. “No one really understands what we went through.”

I study her with a nod. Gosh, she’s pretty—like a porcelain doll or Snow White… if Snow White had eyes like pain.

A thousand questions swim through my brain, but I bite my lip and ask first, “Did you fall in love with Matthew?”

Tabitha’s almond eyes widen and gloss over, startled by my initial question. “Oh, um…” She heaves in a jagged breath and bobs her head, averting her gaze. “Yes. Very much so.”

Oh, God.

I want to start crying and I’m only one question in. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me, too,” she whispers softly, her own eyes tearing up. “Matthew was my rock the whole time. He gave me hope. He made me feel safe. He was truly my…”

We say the word at the same time: “Lifeline.”

Our eyes meet, hollow and bereaved.

Tabitha pulls her lips between her teeth, taking a moment to regroup before she faces me again. “This is going to sound awful, Cora, so please forgive me, but… when your story broke, I was incredibly jealous of you.”

“You were?”

“Yes. You both made it out. Together.” Tabitha pushes her hair behind her ear and glances just over my shoulder. “I saw that picture of you holding hands. It looked like the end of something terrible, but the start of something beautiful.”

I don’t even realize tears are sliding down my cheeks as I shake my head back and forth. “He’s my sister’s fiancé—or was, at the time. There’s nothing beautiful about that.” I inhale a painful breath. “It’s been a nightmare.”

“I would give anything to live in your nightmare. Mine is very lonely.” She dips her chin, her emotions climbing. “I can still hear him whispering ‘I love you’ over and over as he bled out on the cement, chained to that pole. I was completely helpless to save him.”

No. I rise from the sofa with a strained gasp. “I-I don’t think I can hear this.”

“I’m just trying to show you how it could be. You’re truly blessed, Cora. You both survived.”

I feel queasy and lightheaded, and all I want to do is throw my arms around Dean and hold him tight. I imagine him lying on that basement floor, his life slipping away. It’s too much.

I try to reroute my thoughts and center myself. “Did… did you have feelings for each other prior to the abduction?”

Tabitha watches as I sit back down. “Not really. I mean, he was my teacher and he was gorgeous. He wore these black-rimmed glasses during our lessons that made him look like Clark Kent. All the girls swooned over him.” She smiles wistfully, replaying memories in her mind. “We shared a few stolen glances here and there. There was a connection. A chemistry, you know? But he was off-limits. He was walking me to my car one night after I stayed late working on an assignment, and that’s when…”

She goes quiet and I close my eyes. “How did you get out?”

Tabitha wraps her arms around herself, hugging tight. “Earl developed feelings for me. He couldn’t kill me.”

“God… I never got that impression from him. He seemed entirely void of feelings.”

“I thought so, too, but I worked hard to establish a connection with him. I pretended to enjoy it when he would…” She clenches her jaw. “Well, you know. I developed a rapport with him. I manipulated his emotions—what little he had, anyway. He told me I was his favorite pet.”

My stomach twists with nausea. “Why didn’t you come forward sooner?”

She fiddles with the gold fringes on her long-sleeved tunic, a silence settling between us for a few beats. “I did. I tried.”

“What? They didn’t believe you?”

Tabitha leans back in the chair, rocking it with her feet. “Earl never told us his name, so I had nothing to go on. I had no idea where I was—he knocked me out and dropped me on the side of the road thirty miles away. I gave my story to detectives and did a composite sketch, but they didn’t have any leads. The only thing I had was that basement.”

I lower my head, nodding, feeling awful for branding her a liar and a fraud before I even knew her story. I think back to those two teachers in the bathroom, women I’d formed a friendship with over the last few years, passing misinformed judgements over me. Belittling my trauma to fit into their petty gossip train. I look up at Tabitha, finding her zoned out as she stares at her colorful area rug. “You’re very brave,” I tell her gently, waiting for her eyes to lift to mine. “I couldn’t go through this alone.”

Tabitha slips a faint smile, then nods her head over my shoulder to the corner of the room. “I’m not entirely alone.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

A frown pinches my brow and I twist around, gasping out loud when I catch sight of a baby swing. A tiny infant lies perfectly asleep, quiet and still, bundled up in a pink teddy bear blanket. I swipe away tears with my fingertips, my chest burning with both joy and anguish. “Is she…?”

“She’s Matthew’s,” Tabitha confirms. “Matthew told me he’d always be with me, no matter what. He was telling the truth.” Her watery smile blooms as she admires her daughter. “Her name is Hope.”

I crumble.

My face collapses into my palms, my tears leaking through my fingers. I shake and sob without breaking for air, not even when I feel Tabitha slide up beside me on the loveseat and wrap her arms around my shoulders. I cry for this brave woman, raising her lover’s baby alone. I cry for Matthew who never got to meet her. I cry for little Hope, a product of something so horrible, yet so tragically beautiful.

And I cry for my own baby who never came to be.

Tabitha fingers my locket as I harness my breaths and wipe my face with the back of my hand. I glance down at her careful touch as she pops open the heart. “Still beating,” she voices, her tone somewhat whimsical.

I sniffle with a smile. “Dean got it for me for Christmas. He would tell me that as long as my heart is still beating, I’m okay. It’s a reminder when things get hard.”

“Wow,” Tabitha beams, grazing her finger over the engraved letters. “What an amazing gift.”

My sights shift to the little bundle on my left. “We both have some pretty amazing gifts.”

We spend the next hour sharing stories—some heartbreaking, some sweet. I have made a friend in this young woman, so strong and brave. A vision of healing and perseverance. A kindred soul. We exchange phone numbers and promise to keep in touch, and it’s a promise I intend to keep.

As she walks me to the door and we say our goodbyes, Tabitha calls after me. “Hey, Cora. Can you give Dean a message for me?”

I turn to face her on the snowy pathway. “Sure. What is it?”

“Tell him I say thank you for pulverizing that evil son-of-a-bitch.”

We lock eyes, and I can’t help but smile.