Free Book | Forest's Redemption

Chapter 44: Jona's POV

FIVE YEARS AGO

A part of me hoped I'd find a dumb, spoiled and weak girl who was too concerned with being nice and pretty, instead of being smart.

Actually, a significant portion of me hoped to find a mess of a person. Mom left me and dad to go start a new life with another man and have a daughter and pretend that she didn't leave a five year old boy behind who had no idea why his mother was no longer tucking him in at bedtime.

However, Charlotte Ericsson is anything but dumb, spoiled, weak or concerned with being liked.

She's concerned with being exceptional and she's better at it than I could ever be.

It was hard not to keep staring at her. There are five tables between us and a dozen people blocking my view in the student lunch spot where she and her friends are eating. However, if I shifted my chair to sit in a particular angle and tilt my head a bit to the left, the view of my half-sister eating from her lunch box won't be obscured.

Everyone at her table has bought something. They are all eating a variety of fast food, except for her. She is sitting all too content with some kind of sandwich, that looks too healthy for my taste, with a bottle of water. Someone even offered her some fries and she declined politely. I couldn't tell what she was saying in response to the person, but she gestured towards her body and then the rest of the table laughed.

I imagine she told them her body doesn't come from eating fries or something along those lines, but she probably phrased it better because everyone around the table seems to be in awe of her; even though they're trying very hard to hide that fact.

I think I'm a little jealous of her.

There's a girl on their table who talks too much. She even speaks over others at times. To the naked eye, one would think she's the leader of the group. However, those smart enough to read between all her words and exaggerated sighs would see that she is desperately trying to look like a leader because she knows that's one thing she will probably never be.

People who have learned how to read body language and group dynamics would be able to tell immediately that the caramel skinned girl with long light brown curly hair is the one this girl is trying to upstage. My sister has a sense of calmness and gentleness in her that seems to speak louder than the other girl's shrill voice.

I could never master that - being smart and being liked.

Being smart is easy, but being liked is a difficult endeavour and often I thought it was useless in the past. I thought I didn't need to be liked. I thought I just needed to be able to do the work and do it well. I didn't understand why I had to pretend to be interested in hearing how someone spent their weekend or which marathon they're training for or look at pictures of kids I prayed I would never meet.

However, it turns out I was wrong. Life is rarely about being smart. It's about being liked and after observing my sister for a week, it's clear she has mastered this skill much faster than me.

I tried to fight it, but small blossoms of pride were blooming in my chest.

My sister will probably fare much better than me in the corporate world. Unlike me, she won't be stuck watching the most incompetent people get promoted while she's stuck as a junior doing all their work. If I could, I would walk up to her right now and tell her not to undermine being liked by people. I'd tell her that people get promoted because the higher ups like them; not because of how well they do their work.

The more I watch her elegantly flutter through conversation after conversation with her friends, the harder I had to try to shove some nasty thoughts to the back of my mind.

Gosh, maybe that's why mom left me.

Perhaps she saw how much I was struggling to connect with kids my age and other people. I found it hard to understand them and it took me longer than most to learn that it rarely matters what people say. What's important is how they say things.

Maybe Charlene Ericsson didn't like that I just wanted to work; evern as a child. I just wanted a corner to myself and a difficult problem or puzzle or riddle to solve with no people to bother me.

She stood up from her table, said goodbye to her friends like a princess giving gentle farewells to her subjects. The talkative girl was too eager to see her leave and thought this would be her chance to get the attention she deserves. However, less than two minutes after my sister left, everyone else started saying their goodbyes.

She looked in Charlotte' direction with a mean scowl while I left my table to follow my sister aroind campus like a creep once again.

"Hey, I hear you mom left you too when you were a kid. In case you didn't know, she's my mom as well. You have a half-brother." I chuckled at what I'd say to her if I ever thought it would be a good idea to make contact with the girl who represents my mother abandoning me.

Or maybe I should say "I know you probably want nothing to do with either of your parents, but your mom had me before she had you. She abandoned me so she could have you. Anyway-"

No.

I shook my head.

Dad would say I need to be nicer. If he were here, he would tell me that people rarely care about the truth. They just care about feeling good, so I should tell her the truth in a way that will make her feel good; or at least not make her feel too bad.

Is that what he used to say? It was such a long time ago. Maybe I have the words jumbled up, but that's unlikely because I inherited mom's sense of memory and recollection.

If Charlene Ericsson had stayed, she would have seen me learn how to smile even when I thought it was unnecessary. She would have seen me try really hard to sit still and listen to someone talk about a dream they had the previous night as if it were some sign from a world beyond our own. And maybe if she had done what dad did ... maybe if she stuck it out with me, she would have been able to help me read people after dad died.

Then it wouldn't have taken me this long to figure out how complex and yet also simple human beings are.

But there's no use thinking of a past that will never see the light of day. All there is now is what lies ahead.

"Hey Forest." I overheard her speaking on the phone. "I'm about to go for a run, but if you want I can go running tonight instead and talk to you right now. I have about an hour before my next class."

I assume the man she's talking to made a joke because she laughed.

She must have her dad's smile.

I missed most of this conversation, fearing that she would notice that I was following her around. However, after an hour, I was close enough to hear her again.

"Forest, I'm serious." She almost reprimanded the person on the other line. "If your friend is having panic attacks, you should be there for her. I'll come another weekend. I have some studying to catch up on anyway, otherwise these upcoming exams will kick me in the butt."

There were more laughs and exchanges of words of affection and then she said her goodbye. "I love you, Forest." She smiled. "And I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

She has a boyfriend. How adorable.

I spent the next three hours scouring her campus again after she entered the lecture hall. After a week of watching her, I know the entire place by heart. I used all the tactics dad taught me when he wanted to shape me into an army man just like him.

I found all the exits, identified all the places with and without cameras, the places with too many people and the places that hardly anyone frequents. I know all her favourite places and I know where she lives.

I feel like a f*****g creep.

When I was done walking through the campus for the umpteenth time, I found myself checking my phone. Then, I found myself hovering over her name on my contact list again without really noticing.

I could call her, scream at her like I've wanted to for years and maybe even ask her how dare she have the audacity to get in contact with me again. I could tell her what life is like for a thirteen year old boy in fostercare.

I could tell her about the week I couldn't sleep at night because I had just gotten the most severe hazing of my life. I could tell her of the time a few boys decided I was too strange so they wrapped me in duct tape and whipped me with towels while I couldn't even scream because they gagged my mouth. I could tell her that grown men, who were as big as dad, have punched me in the face with their full strength more than a dozen times. I could tell her that the only reason I survived is because I clung onto what dad taught me, practiced what that army general taught me and refined it until everyone around me was convinced that I wasn't strange after all.

I got out of my contact list the second I realised that I was actually considering calling her right now.

My past doesn't matter anymore. Dad always said to keep moving forward; no use talking about a past that can never be changed.

I glanced at my watch instead.

She should be done with class any minute now.

When my phone rang, I dreaded to look at who was calling me even though I already knew it was her. It can only be her because I sent her Charlotte's schedule to her so now she also knows that her daughter's class is about to come to an end.

I hesitated. I didn't want to answer the call.

This woman used to bake me cookies. She sang lullabies for me, pushed me on swings and kissed me whenever I got hurt.

What the hell happened to make her leave me and put me and dad through hell?

Dad was the most amazing father and I just know he was an amazing husband. They laughed together. He bought her flowers and I saw them kiss plenty of times. I was only five years old, but there was so much love in my home.

So why did she leave? Why did she leave us for Charlotte?

"Hey, Charlene." I answered the call after the fifth time my phone buzzed.

I heard her swallow the discomfort on the other line. She thought she'd waltz back into my life and find the same naive five year old boy who used to call her 'mom'.

"Hi baby." Her voice caressed through the phone. "Have you eaten yet?"

I ignored her attempt at pleasantries.

"You know", she filled the tension-filled silence, "when you were a little boy, you used to-"

"Stop." I snapped at her. "You abandoned two kids, Charlene. Two! No amount of coeing is going to make me forget that, so just stop. You have me stalking the kid you left me for and you couldn't even stick it out with her either. Tell me why you called so we can end this discussion as soon as possible."

I waited for the defeated sigh that usually follows after I put her in her place.

My dad would probably have had a fit if he saw me act this way towards her, but I also think he would understand. At least that's what I tell myself. I used to have admiration for this woman, but she turned all that admiration into nothing but resentment and contempt.

Dad would understand why I'm speaking to her this way.

I remember her being the best mom. I think I even recall her once confronting the mother of a child who threw a large rock at me while we were playing. I only remember bits and pieces of that exchange, but I remember enough to know that she was once a good person.

I remember dad trying to calm her down that day and her picking up my tiny body and marching to a house I've never seen. Then I remember looking into her eyes when she very calmly said something threatening to a large woman with big brown eyes and the palest skin I had ever seen at that point.

Whatever mom said, it terrified the woman. She couldn't hide her fear, but mom was so calm that it scared even me. And then this glint appeared in her eyes. That glint in her eyes, made the other woman go back inside her house, drag her son to the door and force him to apologise to me and promise never to do it again.

She was once amazing.

Little did I know that I would see that same menacing glint in my own eyes later in life.

"I'm sorry." She said softly. "I won't overstep again. I just called to tell you that Brian Kim landed in the country two hours ago."

"And you really think he might try to hurt her?" I asked a question I've already asked before.

"I don't know." She admitted. "It's been more than a decade. For all I know, he's in the country on business. If we're lucky, he's forgotten all about her."

"But?" I probed.

"But I don't think it's a coincidence that he's in the same state as her." She said nervously. "And I don't think it's a coincidence that he booked a room at a hotel that's an hour away from her school."

We both let the tension simmer between us.

This is really happening. This is Charlotte's life. Her mother, our mother, brought her into this world with a man who may or may not be here to kill her.

"Jona," she said hoarsely, "I tried to protect her against him. I promise, I tried. And I know that when you get a chance to read about what she's been through, you'll hate me even more, but the fact that she's still alive today is because I did what I could to keep her alive when a VERY powerful man wanted her dead."

"Jona?" She asked after I stayed quiet. "Jona, are you still there?"

"Yeah", I decided to answer, "I was just thinking about something dad told me before he left for his last tour. He said nothing is bigger than the lies we tell ourselves. I think you've been lying to yourself for a really long time, Charlene, but I also think you need those lies so you can live with yourself."

"Jona-"

I hung up. Charlotte's class just ended.