84 - I Just Don't Know

“Hi, Mom.”

Delaney absorbed every feature of the face she hadn't laid eyes on in over five years.  Yes, she'd seen Poppy more recently than that, but not with this face.  This was the face of the girl she’d supported through midnight study sessions, broken hearts, and every other imaginable teenage milestone.  It was sweet and familiar instead of filled with hate, and for that reason, Delaney found it more beautiful than a supermodel's.    

She wore a stylish polka-dotted top with her leggings and sandals, and as Jon said, had auburn tips and dark roots to her hair.  There were hints of creases at the edges of her mouth and eyes, and expertly highlighted cheekbones were more prominent.  The makeup was applied with a mature hand instead of a teenager, but this was still her Poppy.  The one she’d missed so dearly. 

Finally. 

You will not cry.  You’re stronger than that.

“Hello, Poppy.”

A shadow fleeted through eyes that were an exact replica of her own, and her daughter quietly corrected, “Zoi.”

“I didn’t name you Zoi.  I named you Penelope,” she blurted before thinking. 

“Then call me Penelope, if you have to.  Just not Poppy.”

Great Ceasar’s ghost, Delaney.  Don’t pick an argument in the first ten seconds.

“I’m sorry.  I’m just…  This is unexpected.  I’m flustered.”  Jon’s thumb skated in the curve of her spine, and the gesture wasn't so much soothing as a reminder.  “Jon, this is my daughter Penelope.”

“Zoi,” he greeted quietly.  “Good to see you.” 

“Hi again, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

“Just Jon.”

The hair swayed against a fragile jawline as Poppy – Penelope – ducked her head in acknowledgement.  “Jon, Mom… This is Oliver.  My boyfriend.” 

The young man who stood behind Penelope much as Jon stood behind Delaney finally stepped forward to speak and offer his hand.  “Ma’am.  I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He’s too old for her.

Then again, Penelope was twenty-four, not nineteen.  The hipster sporting a full dark beard and high-and-tight hairstyle whose top was held away from his face by a plethora of shiny hair product was probably not much older than that.  His urban work boots, lightly patterned button-down and jeans could be found on fifty-percent of the mid-twenties age bracket.  He was age-appropriate in every way.

“Wish I could say the same,” she apologized  with a tight smile, releasing the hand that wasn’t quite as well groomed as the rest of him.  The kid was no stranger to work, it seemed. 

“How about we sit?”

“Oh.  Right.”  Shooting Jon a grateful look for the murmured suggestion as Oliver took a backward step, Delaney gestured to the corner opposite her desk.  The scarred, round table and four chairs served as a makeshift lunch area that was oddly uncluttered today with nothing but a handful of napkins and plastic forks piled in the center.  “Please sit.  Would you like some coffee?  Water?  Something?”

Penelope gave a negative shake of her head as Oliver scooted a chair close to the one she chose, and Jon did the same, situating his seat close enough to Delaney's for their thighs to touch when he sat.   It was one couple across from the other as the younger woman folded hands on the worn wooden surface and one of her boyfriend’s palms subtly draped her thigh beneath it.    

“As much as I dread this, the inane pleasantries are worse, Mom.  You look good, I look good, we both obviously have protective partners who also look good.  There.  Now can we just… talk, please?”

“Okay," she agreed with a voice that would barely accommodate her.  Her throat had tried to close off at the odd comfort of her daughter's familiar no-nonsense approach.  "I guess you'd like to start, since you came here?  Which I’m glad you did, by the way.”

Jon squeezed her knee with either a show of support or silent message to get her act together. She couldn’t tell which without looking at him, and she was afraid to.  There was an irrational fear that if her eyes left Penelope, even for an instant, that the girl would disappear as a figment of imagination.

“You might change your mind about that,” warned the young woman whose tone revealed to Delaney that she wasn’t the only one experiencing fear.   

Realization that her self-confident daughter was afraid of what reaction this news would bring is what galvanized Delaney into Mama Bear mode.  Whatever was said couldn’t be any worse than what they already suspected – what they would somehow work through – and letting the uncertainty linger was unnecessarily cruel. 

“No, I won’t,” she resolved evenly into the eyes that were a mirror-image of her own. “Nothing you say will make me sorry you came, Penelope.  Nothing.”

There was a slow blink.  And then another as the subliminal message took root.  “You already know, don’t you?”

“Know what?”

She may know it in her heart, but there was no way she would put those words in Penelope’s mouth.  They had to come out all on their own, and there was a slight tremble to the girl’s chin before she steadied it to confirm Delaney’s worst fear. 

“That I killed Violet.”

It was funny how such a horrific truth could instill such serenity.  She’d thought Jon’s unconditional acceptance of her dilapidated soul was the sweetest peace she’d ever know, but this…. 

Nothing compared to the tranquility that came with snapping that last, long-sought piece of puzzle into place.  With the full picture revealed, Delaney was no longer left floundering helplessly in ignorance.  Now she could finally do something to resolve the situation she so desperately hated.    

“You didn’t kill her,” she declared with purpose and authority.  “Whoever laced that heroin with fentanyl killed her.”

“Mother, please.”

“What?  You think I don’t realize you badgered her into taking it?  No, the video Kyle’s stepdad gave me showed that quite clearly, thanks.  You also badgered her into learning how to walk, ride a bike, drive, get an A in History and at least one other accomplishment every day of her life.  That’s what you did, baby.  You challenged Violet to live.”  

Penelope swallowed a groan and rolled frustrated eyes to the young man at her side. 

“Mrs. Gardener,” Oliver solemnly assumed the lead.  “I understand you mean well, but Zoi’s spent a lot of time preparing for this.  There are very specific things she feels the need to say, and I think she’ll be more likely to listen to what you’re saying if she can get those off her chest first.”

His authoritativeness, as respectful as it was, carried the impact of a physical blow.  Delaney physically retreated, withdrawing until Jon’s hand between her shoulder blades wouldn’t allow her to go any further. 

Okay, then.  So maybe this wasn’t her Poppy. 

This was Oliver’s Zoi, and while the two might share a resemblance on the surface, Delaney had just been politely informed that she didn’t know the young woman across the table.  Not really.  She knew when she lost her first tooth, when she started her period and her senior prom date, but as for who Penelope had become as a person?  The cruel truth was that even Jon probably had a better idea than she did.

It was Delaney’s first indication that this might not turn out to be the happily ever after she’d been dreaming of for so long.

“Of course.  Yeah.”  She dipped her chin as Jon’s thumb kneaded the tense spot in her right shoulder.  The man could read her mind, and as appreciative as she was, it didn’t do anything to ease her renewed tension.  “By all means, go ahead.”

Jon silently willed his souley to not close herself off.  She possessed the power to fix this, but not without a contribution from her daughter.  If she didn’t let Penelope try, this would be nothing more than Chicago, take two. 

Delaney needed to be receptive, and on cue, she caught his gaze from the corner of her eye.  A subtle nod and deliberate unclenching of shoulders gave the promise that she would.  It was irrelevant whether she felt his coaching or “heard” it.  She got the message, and he relaxed.

“It’s no great secret that we were mad at you that night,” Penelope launched into her script and withdrew a hand from the table to grasp her boyfriend’s, Jon assumed.  “I’ll be honest.  Now, it seems really stupid and childish, but at the time we were furious that you and Dad didn’t talk to us at all about the divorce.  You just dropped the bomb and expected us to accept it in an instant, when you guys had spent months getting used to the idea.  God, we were pissed.”

Jon gave Delaney serious kudos for biting her tongue.  She wanted so badly to defend herself, but Mou just fisted the hands in her lap and let the girl go on.

“Ironically enough, I thought Violet was going to kill us with the way she was driving.  I didn’t think we’d make it to Kyle’s house without wrapping around a tree or something, so I made up an excuse to stop on the way.  Then, when I got back in the car, I made her let me drive.”

“Where did you stop?”  Delaney wanted to keep her mouth shut and just listen, but she was too agitated to do it.  It ended up being a moot point, though, since her daughter didn’t bother acknowledging that anyone had spoken.

“She was so wound up.  I was upset but Vi….  I thought she was going to give herself a stroke.  You know what a drama queen she could be, and after listening to her go off for a solid hour, I’d had enough.  She needed to chill, so I made her take…”  The sentence faded away, and she inhaled to deliberately finish, “I convinced her it would make her feel better.  I thought one time wouldn’t hurt either of us, then she spilled half of it down the bathroom sink.  There was only enough left for one and she needed it worse than I did.”

Delaney’s heart constricted with an overbearing grief she thought she’d gotten past in the cemetery last week.  That grief was for Violet, and she evidently had a whole separate supply for Penelope.   She’d been living with the guilt of believing she sacrificed for her sister, when she’d actually ended up sacrificing her sister.   She’d lived when they both would’ve died.

It didn’t excuse what she did, but Penelope had paid for that mistake with what must’ve been torturous pain.

“Why’d you turn on your mom?”  Jon quizzed without accusation.  “Why did you lay the blame at her feet?  Had her arrested, for fuck’s sake.”

Lifeless eyes flitted to Jon before shifting to Delaney for a subdued, “I thought it would be easier having her hate me for being a bitch rather than for killing my sister.  Turns out I hated me enough for both of us.  And it took me five years for me to be able to say that.”

Delaney was nauseous.  Sick to her very core with sympathy at what her child had endured – and anger that she’d purposely endured it alone. 

“Can I talk now?”

There was some type of movement under the table, and Delaney presumed that Oliver was offering a physical gesture of support as Penelope squared her shoulders.  “Go ahead, Mom.”

“Were – are – you an addict?  Is that why you sent me away when I came to Chicago?”

“No.  No drugs.  Ever.” she declared with a lifted chin.  “I wasn’t in a good place when you showed up.  It was the first anniversary, and I was already emotional after an ugly therapy session.  I just…  I couldn’t cope with the hopeful look in your eyes, knowing that the least bit of honesty would steal it away.  I did what I had to do to get you out of there.”

There was little emotion in the delivery, but remorse pooled in her daughter’s eyes.  It was a tragic glimmer of promise.   

“We would’ve worked through it, Penelope,” she chided without heat.  “All you did with that restraining order was prolong the pain.”

“I revoked it within a week.”

“You what?”

When Delaney’s jaw went slack, Jon swore silently.  He should’ve told her about this already, but Katya and her damn phone call had upstaged everything.    

“Sorry.  I forgot to mention it last night,” he contritely murmured, assuming responsibility.  “She also dropped the battery charges.”

“He’s right.  The next morning, I told them it was all a misunderstanding, but they wouldn’t release the restraining order until later.”

His Mou wasn’t impressed. 

“Well that’s a lovely gesture that nobody bothered to freeping tell me about.  I’ve spent four years under the assumption that I’d be arrested for coming near you.”

“Mrs. Gardener, if it helps any, I don’t think it was wasted time.  Zoi needed to heal herself before she could face you.”

A petite spine went rigid under Jon’s touch, and while the angle of her head prevented him from seeing her eyes, he would bet anything they’d gone white with a barrage of lightning flashes.

Oh, kid.  You done fucked up.

“No, Oliver,” she countered coldly.  “What Zoi needed was to tell me the truth so we could both heal!  Instead, she was selfish.  She left me to fester in ignorance with my grief and pain until such time that she decided I’d suffered enough.” 

Jon couldn’t find anything about that to disagree with, so he didn’t put himself in the path of her anger. 

Unfazed by the glowering man that was twice her size, Delaney leaned forward to address her daughter directly.  “I would’ve forgiven you.  If you’d given me the freeping chance, I would have told you exactly what I’ve already said – that you didn’t kill Violet.  I would have forgiven you!”

Dead silence reigned for a beat.  Then two.  Then one more before…

“Does that mean you’re not going to forgive me now?”

Okay, now Jon actually felt sorry for the girl.  She was trying her damnedest to remain unaffected and act as though the answer didn’t matter, but he saw the quiver of her chin.  It was impossible to miss the flutter of eyelids over misty eyes. 

Her mama’s answer mattered a whole hell of a lot – and it wasn’t the one she hoped for. 

“I don’t know, Penelope.  I just don’t know.”