Familiar Stranger Read online

  Familiar Stranger

  Dara Girard

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  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright 2013 Sade Odubiyi

  Published by: ILORI PRESS BOOKS, LLC

  Cover and Layout Copyright 2014 ILORI PRESS BOOKS LLC

  Cover Photo pitrs/123rf

  Thank You.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  More Books by Dara

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  She was officially back in hell. All because she'd taken the advice of her seventy-eight year old grandmother. Greta Rodgers resisted the urge to bang her head against the wall as she hid inside a toilet stall in her old high school. It was reasonably clean but she still didn't want to touch anything. She'd spent plenty of time in the stalls, between classrooms, to get away from the gauntlet of taunts that usually greeted her in the hallway. The jocks and cheerleaders had been her biggest tormentors--trying their best to flaunt their position of power at the top of the high school food chain. Why had she come back? Greta shook her head. She already knew the answer: Her grandmother had insisted and she always liked to please her.

  "You should go," her grandmother had said when Greta had confided in her about her upcoming twenty year high school reunion. They sat in her grandmother's private room, in the senior resident apartment where she lived. The room was spotless with a small side table, placed directly under the window, displaying a porcelain tea set, which they never used. Her grandmother just liked it for decoration. Her grandmother, who she affectionately called ‘Minnie’, wasn't an imposing figure, but looked like she could be, if she wanted to.

  She was a very attractive woman who always dressed well, although throughout her life she'd never made the income to equal her finer tastes. She'd been born in Jamaica, and had fallen in love with, and married, an African American who was visiting the island on business. She had come to the States in her early twenties. Within four years she'd had three children, gained a new life, and lost her husband to an au pair from Belgium he had met on one of his business trips. When he disappeared, instead of returning to her family in Jamaica, she stayed and worked several odd jobs, to support her family. Greta greatly admired Minnie and used her experience as an immigrant as a constant source of inspiration.

  "But I don't like reunions," Greta said. "Because I don't believe in rehashing the past."

  "I've enjoyed every reunion I've gone to."

  Greta grinned. "You've never gone to a reunion."

  "I would have enjoyed myself if I had." She laughed.

  No doubt. Her grandmother was still popular and had lots of friends. She had the kind of beauty that didn't fade. In addition to her smooth cocoa skin, and her thick white hair, which she kept in two braids twisted on top of her head, she had bright brown eyes and a beautiful smile that erased her years.

  Greta was the opposite. She had few friends, especially in high school, and didn't want to go back and see them. "I'm happy with my life."

  Her grandmother sent her a look, stripping away the false ring of her words.

  "Most of it anyway," Greta clarified. "There's no one I want to see."

  Her grandmother rested her hands in her lap. "Don't you want more?"

  Yes. But what Greta wanted seemed out of reach. Her life revolved around her family. Greta’s sister, Marlene, had kicked a nasty drug habit six months ago and was now trying to rebuild her life. Marlene had gotten a new job and her own apartment, and her fortune teller had told her (for a price) that her life was headed for love and riches. Greta was glad her sister was happy, but wasn’t pleased her sister was spending what little money she made on a fortune teller she saw as her lifeline. Greta distrusted anything non-scientific; Marlene, however, could be sold magic beans. She was easily manipulated. That was how she'd ended up with a drug habit at fifteen. Her first boyfriend in high school convinced her that using drugs would make her cool. Two years later she'd had a daughter with a man she’d known only a month, who’d said he loved her. No, Greta didn't trust her sister's judgment but in spite of this, she loved her and hoped that her life had finally turned around.

  Her older sister had mirrored their mother, Rita's, life— many men and several rehabs later. Rita, like her mother Minnie, had managed to keep her good looks and could pick up a man whenever she felt in the mood, which was often. But she’d never been able to hold a job and now, at sixty, blamed ageism for her latest job disaster. Greta knew that her mother's recent job loss was due more to her mother's tardiness and attitude than her age. But her mother never took responsibility for anything. Which was why, for the past twenty-six years, Greta had been providing for the entire household.

  Minnie had never gotten on with her only daughter Rita, and after a major shouting match, that left them both hoarse, her grandmother packed up her bags and moved in with her son who lived in South Carolina. It had been a big loss for Greta. Initially, she felt abandoned by the one person she depended on. Her grandmother couldn’t fight for custody of Greta, because at the time Minnie wasn't a citizen and did not have permanent status (her husband had never gotten around to filing her papers, and by the time he disappeared, her visa had expired), and was afraid that Rita would disclose her status as an illegal immigrant. (Minnie later applied for and got her green card). So Minnie did what she could, sending her granddaughter cards filled with money and calling once a month.

  Greta had just turned eight when she discovered why her grandmother had been so angry with her mother. A kid at school, who was annoyed with Greta for being such a "smarty pants", had sniffed and said "Doesn't matter 'cause your Mom’s a druggie!"

  This explained many things about her mother's behavior--the mood swings, the mess, the men. Fortunately, her mother was clean now, but she was totally dependent on her.

  After her grandmother left, a tiny war started between Greta and her mother. No matter where they lived, their tiny apartment would end up hosting a number of her mother's "friends".

  By twelve, Greta decided to take over and set down the rules. Their apartment was to be a "woman only" household. If her mother wanted a man to move in, Greta would be gone. Her mother had laughed. "You're just a little girl and you think you can tell me what to do? You two need a father and I'm trying to get you one."<
br />
  "I don't need a father," Greta shot back. "I don't want one. I don't like the men you get." Once, she'd been excited about having a ‘father’. She was eight. Minnie was gone and she was eager to have a family like the ones she'd seen on TV. But she'd soon learned that all men weren't meant to be fathers. One guy always passed out stone drunk on the living room floor; another guy was sweet, but he always smelled like weed, and didn't work. By twelve she'd cast her dream of being a typical American family aside. Listening to some of the girls at school, she'd heard what stepdads and boyfriends could do and after seeing it happen up close (her mother's boyfriend pretended to lose his way and went into Marlene's room and assaulted her) Greta was determined she would be the head of the household.

  Always resourceful, she'd taken in cleaning for other residents in the apartment building where they lived. She did housekeeping chores, washed, ironed and folded laundry for extra money. For those who couldn't pay, she accepted old clothing, used furniture and food in exchange. When Minnie had lived with them, Greta had always stayed close to her and had learned, at an early age, how to wash and iron clothes.

  She loved when Minnie told her stories of how she made a living washing clothes by hand for rich families, and how skilled she was at ironing. Greta hadn’t spent her time playing with local kids, instead she was always by Minnie’s side, learning how to sort the colors, so that they wouldn't get ruined, and learning how to iron shirts and blouses. Minnie also took her shopping and taught her how to cook delicious meals, using a variety of seasonings and spices to enhance the flavor. Marlene never showed an interest in being domestic, and her mother was too busy pleasing whichever man she was with, so most of the responsibility had fallen to Greta.

  She never complained, she cherished her time alone with Minnie, and loved being "special". Once Minnie was no longer around, and she could see that both her mother and sister were unstable, Greta knew the role she had to play. She'd keep them safe. But her mother wouldn't agree to her rules and the men kept coming, until one fateful day when Greta was forced to take control. Her mother's latest boyfriend had lasted the longest (eight months to be exact) and Greta didn't mind him too much, because he helped pay the rent, instead of giving the money to her mother to blow on drugs. Greta didn’t mind having him stay around, until that day.

  She was sharing a room with Marlene, who was seventeen at the time, and her nine month old niece, Brianna. She'd come home from school and found her mother’s boyfriend in their bedroom. He was on their bed, straddled on top of her sister with his pants and underwear around his ankles.

  Brianna was in her cot and Marlene was passed out on the bed. The man was too busy looking at Marlene to notice Greta standing frozen in the doorway. Greta took in everything, especially the look on his face. She instantly knew it wasn't love. She couldn't quite categorize it, all she knew was that his look scared her and she needed to do something fast. Greta raced to the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife then returned to the bedroom and shouted. "Get out!"

  The man spun around and swore. "I was just jerking off, I wasn't going to do anything."

  "Get out!" Greta approached him with the knife held out.

  Her niece started to cry. Her sister didn't move.

  The man scrambled off the bed and pulled up his pants. "Where's Rita?"

  Greta gripped the knife tighter, her fear growing. He wasn't afraid. She wanted him to be, but he looked calm, almost smug. He wasn't intimidated by the knife or her. She was just a kid and he wasn't going to leave. She darted to the bed and pretended to search for something under the mattress.

  "What you doing?"

  "Looking for my mother's gun."

  The man jumped over the bed and yanked her up by the collar of her shirt. "You don't need that. Nothing happened."

  "Get out!"

  He covered her mouth, pressing her body tight against his. His voice was soft. "No one needs to know about this." He held her in a way so that she couldn't bite him. "It's going to be okay. I'll take care of all of you." His free hand slid down her chest, over her budding breasts. "Hmm, you're starting to fill out. You're a young woman now."

  Bile rose up in Greta’s throat, but she waited for him to lose his hold.

  "Okay now?"

  She nodded.

  "Good." He released her and the moment he did she spun around and sunk the knife blade into his shoulder. He screamed.

  Rita came into the room holding her head. "What's the screaming for?"

  "The bitch stabbed me," the man said, gripping his shoulder while blood seeped through his fingers.

  "He was in here with his pants down," Greta said.

  "Marlene asked me to. You’ve seen how she's been looking at me."

  At that moment Greta saw her mother looking at her daughter as a rival, instead of a victim. And Greta knew the man was trying to ruin her family with lies. She lunged at him again, but her mother grabbed her. Rita slapped her hard across the face and shoved her against the wall. "Watch yourself girl."

  "I can't believe she stabbed me."

  "Get in the car," Rita told him. "I know someone who can help you." Her mother glared at her daughter. "We'll talk when I get back." She left.

  Greta grabbed her crying niece, rocking her to calm her. "Don't worry, he won't come back. You'll be safe now." She looked at her sister, still passed out, wishing she would act like the older sister and take care of them. She hated being small. Thankfully, neither her niece nor her sister remembered what happened. But Greta knew she wouldn’t always be around to rescue them. Marlene was very pretty, and available, and men often took advantage of her. She had learned, at an early age, to use her looks to get what she wanted, just like their mother.

  Hours later Rita returned, without the man. Greta sat in the kitchen feeding Brianna. Her mother slammed her purse on the table. "You stupid bitch. You just got rid of our meal ticket."

  "I'll take care of us."

  "He was just having fun. Your sister’s pretty; jerking off is what men do. Besides, it's not like he's her father."

  "It's not right."

  "You're going to regret this."

  But she didn't. When she turned sixteen, Greta managed to get an after school and week-end job that supported them all. Her mother had to keep her men and drug dealers outside the house. Her mother, and unfortunately her sister, continued using, and at times they would come home wasted, but there wasn't much Greta could do. During these difficult times, school had been her sanctuary.

  And, since that incident with Marlene and the man on top of her, men hadn’t played a part in her life. Not that she didn’t want them to. But she didn't have the time, and the few guys she was attracted to didn't show any interest in her. So it hadn’t been hard for her to stay single. It was expected.

  At least ten years ago, she'd been able to move her family out of the city and into the fresh air of suburbia. Rita found the suburbs boring, but stayed; her niece, Brianna, thrived. But when Marlene got clean, she and Brianna abruptly up and left. It hurt Greta that Brianna chose to live with Marlene, instead of her.

  Since the day Marlene had brought Brianna home from the hospital, Greta had played the role of mother. She was the one who fed her when she woke up in the middle of the night; she was the one who made sure there was money to pay for the medicine she needed when she had gotten bronchitis; Greta was the one who had been there when Brianna had taken her first steps, and who made sure the ‘tooth-fairy’ left a dollar bill for every tooth she place under her pillow. It was Greta, not Marlene who had gone with her on the first day of school and who had arranged for her to go with a neighbor and her children, when walking to and from school. By the time they moved out, Minnie had moved back to the area and was now living in the senior community. This had been a comfort. "She knows her mother needs her," she'd told Greta.

  "And I don't?"

  "No, you need your own life."

  And that was the same argument her grandmother used to convince her to go to
the reunion.

  "You need to do something for yourself. You're at a critical stage in your life Greta."

  "The biological clock ticking and all that?" Greta said with a laugh.

  "No, it's much more than that. Now is the time for you to reflect on what you want your future to look like."

  "By going back to my past?"

  "Yes, you are ready."

  "Ready for what?"

  "Your life to begin."

  "It already has."

  Minnie shook her head, looking a little sad. "Not fully. You've put your personal life on hold to take care of your family and if you're not careful, you'll be doing that for the rest of your life."

  "No, I won't. Marlene is clean now and Brianna is doing great at her part time job."

  "And your mother?"

  "Hasn't gotten into trouble for the past year." Which was saying a lot.

  "You have to go to the reunion. Just to get out of your rut. Your destiny could be there. I had a dream about that."

  "I don't believe in destiny."

  "How about love?"

  "Maybe."

  "Then what about that. What if a man from your past is your true love?"

  "You're just a romantic."

  "Is there anyone you can remember with fondness?"

  "From high school?"

  "Yes."

  Greta couldn't think of anyone she'd want to see again. All she could remember were the typical uncreative taunts—Four Eyes, geek, ugly. And there were the more creative ones, like coconut or Oreo (brown on the outside but white on the inside), loser, weirdo. She'd been a smart kid in a school, where beauty and athletics ruled. Even the teachers thought her ambition to become a prominent scientist strange. No one expected much from the students. They were just kids who attended a poor DC public school with a low graduation rate, and no expectations of aspiration. But, in spite of the peeling paint, broken desks, used text books, and a disinterested teaching staff, school had still been a better place than home. It was a place where Greta was able to imagine her life being something more. She thought for a moment. She couldn't think of any boy from the past who she’d want to see.