CHAPTER ONE
Closure . . . Keep on Moving Candice . . .
As I sit in my master bath, half of me feels overwhelmed with happiness because I know I am blessed. However, the other half of me feels a sense of guilt and unworthiness with it all. I’ve learned everything happens for a reason, but did we have to endure so much pain and abuse in our lives in order to get to where we are right now? I’d never question God. I sometimes don’t understand how and why we had to be abused physically, mentally, and emotionally to see what the other side of poverty and unhappiness looks like.
I flick on the bathroom television; my pastor just so happens to be on the screen. The more I listen to him, the more everything that I’ve been feeling fades away.
“We were all born in sin, and because we were born in sin, sin will run rampant and will have its way,” my pastor says on the TV. “God gave us a choice between good and evil. Unfortunately, some choose evil. That evil is and can be fully packed and loaded with hate, mistreatment, abuse, lying, stealing, cheating, you name it . . .”
As tears of clarity and understanding drench my olive-brown skin, I turn the television off. I have heard all that I need to hear. It confirmed what my new therapist said to me earlier today. I’ve been struggling with adjusting to her, as I am so accustomed to Dr. Binet and the way she says and does things. However, some good things have to come to an end, so others can flourish, but that bittersweet moment still stings a little. I think back on it now.
“Good evening, Candice. I want to have a word with you, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course, Dr. Binet. Have a seat. Is it serious? You’re being extremely formal right now.”
“I apologize. It’s not serious. Well, maybe it is . . . but nothing for you to be alarmed about.”
“Okay. I am listening.”
“First, I want to say how proud I am of you. You’ve come such a long way, and I am honored to have been a part of your journey.”
“Thank you, Dr. Binet.” I started to tear up.
“Now you’re making me tear up,” she said as she wiped an eye. Then she took a deep breath. “Okay, let me take a different approach.” She exhaled. “You know that I’ve grown to love all of you, as if we are family, right?”
“Yes, some or one more than the rest of us.” I giggled.
“Yes, which is the reason this is so hard for me. In order for me to work here at New Beginnings, as well as further my blossoming relationship with Jenna, I must discontinue counseling you. It would be a conflict of interest for me to continue counseling you and the other girls. I will eventually speak with each of them. I just wanted to come to you first, because there is so much more at stake. I hope you understand, Candice, but I cannot be what you need me to be here at New Beginnings, and I cannot be what I need to be to Jenna if I continue being your therapist. It’s just too much. I’ve played different scenarios in my head, but ethically, I cannot do both, in all honesty.”
“Dr. Binet, you owe me no explanation. I had a feeling it would come to this. I just didn’t expect or want it to happen so soon.”
“You did?”
“Um, since when did you start canceling and rescheduling sessions? We haven’t met in about two weeks, even though I have seen you and have spent countless hours with you during those two weeks.”
“Now, you know I was here getting things situated for the grand opening, Candice.”
“I’m just kidding. But I had a feeling we’d have to part ways at some point because it’d become too much on your plate eventually.”
“Mommy, can you tell Dylan and Darren to get out of my room?” Amiya shouts from the other side of the door, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I’ll be in there as soon as I get out of the bathroom, Amiya.” I shake my head.
These kids. I grin.
After getting the kids settled in bed for the night, I make my way back to my bedroom to take off my robe and put some pajamas on. As I shuffle through my delicates drawer, my hand swipes over the latest assignment that my new therapist gave me. Dr. Raysor said it’ll bring closure for me. However, I’m afraid it might end up leading me into opening up a new can of wounds and reinjuring myself. I know one thing: the assignments in school are so much easier than those dealing with my issues. I’m great at being an ear and offering a word of advice for everyone else, but I don’t seem to have much to offer myself.
When I move a pair of socks in the drawer, I see the letter. My problem is that I shut down every time I see this letter. From the onset, being moved from New York to Connecticut’s Hope House, it was a place that was supposed to live up its name and give hope. Instead, it stripped us of that very thing. Having the place demolished was the best thing that I could have done for myself and for my house sisters in terms of our ability to move on. During the demo work, the demolitions expert in charge of leveling Hope House found a locked safe, and inside it were additional monies that Ms. Nancy had left behind and a letter she had written to me. I’ve never read that letter. When I received it, I tucked it in this drawer, and it has been here ever since. I’ve tried so hard to ignore it, and once I even decided to throw it away, but I couldn’t. Something in me won’t allow me to rest until I read it.
When I mentioned this to Dr. Raysor, she informed me that an abuse survivor needs to find closure with his or her abuser. Although Ms. Nancy didn’t physically harm me—Paul and Anthony did that—she’s considered an abuser because she allowed it to happen. Dr. Raysor said my refusal to open the letter is an indication of my hurt and pain. In order for me to completely let go, it is crucial for me to face the contents of that letter. No matter how big or small that letter is, I need to face it. She also said that reading this letter would bring the closure that I need. And I also need to take it a step further by writing my own letters to my abusers and then burning all the letters together.
“I guess there’s no time like the present,” I say aloud to myself. I take a look around me, and then I slowly remove the letter from the drawer and fumble to get the envelope open. I slip the letter out of the envelope, unfold it, and then I read it silently to myself.
Dear Candice ,
First and foremost, I want to extend my sincerest apology to you first and then to Nakita, Samantha, Simone, and Judith. I have realized that I am and was my own problem. I blamed all black women for my failed marriage. I am a white woman who was married to the most amazing man. He just so happened to have been African American. That man is your father, Dale. Before I met him, I didn’t think love or falling in love was in the cards for me. But when I heard his voice the day that we met, there was something in him that made my heart stop. Especially the moment we made eye contact. Right away I felt a connection. One that I’ve never encountered or experienced with another human being until this day.
After two months of getting to know one another, we married. I thought my life was complete. I know you don’t want to hear about this. I just wanted you to see your dad through my eyes. Also, to try to understand how hurt I was to learn that he’d been taking monies from me the whole time we were together. The day I came to this realization was also the same day he served me with divorce papers, saying he had to do right by his unborn child. I then automatically assumed it was with an African American woman.
I thought I could move on with my life following our divorce. However, I developed a deep-rooted hatred toward women of color. Because of my hurt, I allowed Paul and Anthony to have their way with all the girls of color who were sent to Hope House. My heart dropped when your mother called to have you sent to me. After talking to her, I learned she was a woman like me, and my hatred for black women redirected itself to you. Hence Anthony’s obsession with you.
I blamed you for my unhappiness due to your father leaving me. I wasn’t able to take on responsibility for myself, and in turn, I took it out on you. It was unfair to you and the other girls. The more of a bond that you built with them, the more I resented you. Especially your relationship with Nakita, as she no longer needed me because she had you. I allowed your connection to fuel my already lit fire and my anger toward you. For this, I sincerely apologize.
Neither you nor the other girls deserved any of this. I hope and pray that you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. I pray I am long gone by the time you read this. If I am not, please come up to the hospital, so I can apologize to you face-to-face.
Please allow yourself to grow and move on from all this. You are a great mom to your children and epitomize the perfect daughter that I longed for.
Again, I am so sorry for all this, so much so that I want to leave everything to you.
Apologetically,
Ms. Nancy
“Ugh,” I cry out, drop the letter on the floor, and swipe everything off my dresser with one hand.
“Mommy, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Amiya asks me through the bedroom door.
“Y-Yes.” I clear my throat. “Yes, baby. I am fine. I will be out in a minute.”
I tie the sash on my robe, and then I gather myself as much as I can and open the door.
“Mommy, why are you crying?” Amiya looks concerned.
“Mommy’s okay, Amiya. Why aren’t you in bed? I just tucked you in.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Can I sleep in your bed?”
“How about I go in your room with you and stay until you fall asleep? I want you to get used to sleeping in your own pretty bedroom. You’re a big girl now,” I tell her and sniffle.
“Can Adrianna come and sleep over here with us?”
“I will see if they’re awake. After tonight, Amiya, you have to sleep in your room. Okay, baby?” I say as I lead Amiya back to her bedroom.
“Yes, Mommy.” She jumps up on her bed, grinning from ear to ear.
* * *
“Candice, what happened in here?” Nakita gives me a worried glance as we stand in my bedroom, staring at the mess on the floor in front of the dresser.
“Are the girls in bed?” I say, avoiding her question, as I pick Ms. Nancy’s letter up off the floor.
“Yes. They’re asleep. Now tell me what the hell happened in here.”
“That evil woman Ms. Nancy happened. That’s what happened. I don’t want any of this anymore, Nakita. I want nothing from her.” I begin knocking everything within reach off the nightstand.
“No, Candice. Please stop! Don’t let her take you there. What happened?” Nakita drops to the floor and wraps herself around my waist.
“I can’t do this, Nakita. I don’t want her guilt money. I don’t want any of this.”
“This is yours. I don’t care how you got it, but it’s yours. You’re the first one to say that God is a mystery that neither of us can comprehend. He doesn’t cause evil acts, but they happen. I know the only reason you’re this upset is that you read that stupid letter.” Nakita pauses and looks up at me. “I tried to steal it on many occasions,” she confesses as tears stream down her face.
“W-Why did you want to take it?”
“I knew no good could come from that letter. I am no therapist, but I know my heart couldn’t take all of that. Sometimes things are better left unknown.”
“I don’t want to live in denial, Nakita. I want to face what needs to be addressed.”
“Candice, you already knew what that woman did and why she did it. What more could she have to say in a letter?”
“You’re right. I just feel horrible, as if I am being paid off to forget what happened.”
“No matter how hard we try, we will never forget. We will move forward, but pieces of our past will always live with us. That doesn’t mean we have to pick up those pieces and put them back together again.”
“Listen to you,” I say, my voice cracking with emotion.
“I guess all that therapy is paying off.”
“Or we traded places. Look what I’ve done to my bedroom.” I shake my head.
“Girl, it’s about time. Getting mad is good for the soul. Now that that’s out of the way, you mentioned that Dr. Raysor said to burn the letter and let it go.”
“She said to write letters to all my abusers and burn them all. However, I don’t have anything to say. I feel like I’ve said all that needed to be said during my sessions. I am glad I read the letter, because knowing it was here bothered me. I sort of feel a sense of relief, if that makes sense.”
“It makes a lot of sense. I do think burning that letter will do us both some good.”
“I think you’re right,” I tell her, holding up the letter.
We head to the kitchen, where I retrieve a box of matches, and then we step out onto the back patio. I strike a match and light a corner of the letter, and as a flame races toward my fingers, I release the burning paper. It lands on the flagstones, and we watch as fire devours the words and red and yellow sparks fly.
“I am done. It is finished,” I declare when ashes are all that remain of the letter.