Forgive Us Our Trespasses Read online

  Copyright © 2014 M.L. Steinbrunn

  Interior Design by Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Cover Design by Arijana Karcic, Cover it Designs

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2014

  For my husband and children. You have been my moon and stars who have guided me on this fantastic journey.

  For my mother. She was both a mother and a father to our little family and I’m so grateful for the courage she had to take on that daunting task. I am a better mother today because of her powerful example. She was my inspiration for Vivian, and she will always be my compass.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  1990

  “Please, Daddy, don’t go. Your favorite show is on tonight; we could pop popcorn and all watch together.”

  Pushing his blonde shaggy hair out of his face, my father puts his overnight bag on the floor and crouches down beside me. “Oh, Princess, I can’t tonight. I have to get everything ready for the grand opening tomorrow, but I promise we will have some special time once the new store opens.”

  “Okay, but I get to pick the show.”

  “Deal,” he says, pulling me into his lap and then standing with me. “After school tomorrow your momma is bringing you to the new store for the party. When it’s all over, we will come home and veg out with snacks and Disney movies. Amanda and Charlotte can help build the fort.”

  “No way, Manda’s too little; she always pulls down the blankets.”

  “Well, we’ll figure out some job for her.” He kisses my cheek, scratching me with his stubble, making me giggle and I pull away. “Love you, Princess. You have a good day at school tomorrow, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

  He puts me down on my feet and steps away to give my sisters and my mom a kiss before stepping out the door.

  I’m restless the rest of the evening, picking out the best blankets and selecting a variety of movies that we could all agree upon for father/daughter night. My dress for the grand opening is already laid out, as are my school clothes for the next day. So, I toss and turn, hoping the sun will come up and the day can begin.

  My dad is not home often, so these special nights are few and far between. But he always keeps his promises, always. We live just outside Colorado Springs in a relatively small suburb. My mom has been trying to convince my dad to move to her hometown, which is even smaller, but my dad insists that we need to stay in the city for work. She is a secretary at one of the doctor’s offices downtown, and my dad owns a hardware store on the northern end of the city. He has always worked long hours, but when he decided to open up a second location, we have seen him even less.

  I’m awake before my mom comes into my room to get me up for school. I quickly get dressed, grab a muffin from the counter, and am waiting on everyone else to load into the car. I’m only five, but I’m fairly independent, to my parents’ dismay. Besides, if I step out of line, Charlotte usually corrals us back in. She’s only three years older, but thinks she can tell us all what to do.

  My day at school is nothing spectacular. We put letters together to make single syllable words, recess, lunch, and I’m not sure what kind of meat was on my tray, so I’ve blocked out that part, story time and tissue paper craft- time. I’m now holding my rainbow paper picture when Mrs. Adler pulls into the front of the school to pick Charlotte, Amanda, and me up.

  Mrs. Adler lives next door and watched all of us when we were little. Since she stays home, she and my mom made a deal to have her take us home each day and watch us for an hour or so until my mom gets off work.

  “Hi, Mrs. Adler,” we all shout as we wave and climb into her Buick. The poor car has seen better days; there’s rust on the outside, and there’s duct tape holding the upholstery together on the bench seat in the back. When she backs up, she has to hold the rear view mirror to see because it fell off the windshield ages ago.

  “Hello, girls,” she says as we buckle in. Instead of asking us about our day or my picture, something she always does, she just stares straight ahead, not giving us a second glance. She is one of the most cheerful people we know, so I just figure one of her boys must have gotten in trouble again; they always seem to be grounded.

  “I made a picture today, Mrs. Adler,” I say, trying to make her forget about her naughty sons.

  “That’s great, sweetheart,” she responds, still looking ahead at the road in front of her, her voice lacking enthusiasm. I’m definitely going to have to sic Charlotte on the boys when we get home.

  It’s a short ride, and soon we are pulling into her driveway. I jump out, gathering my backpack and picture.

  “Can we play with the boys before we have to get ready for the party, or are they in too much trouble?” I ask, putting my arms through the handles of my backpack.

  Mrs. Adler wipes away a tear that slips down her cheek; those boys must be in BIG trouble. “No, Vivian today is not a good day for you guys to come and play. Your momma came home early and needs you girls to go on home.”

  I step around the car and hand her my picture, “I was going to give this to my daddy tonight at the party, but I think you need it more. I hope it cheers you up.” I quickly turn and jog to follow behind Charlotte, who has Amanda in her grasp and is halfway across our front lawn already.

  There are cars lining the street, and I have to maneuver around more vehicles in the driveway to reach the front door. “I thought the party was going to be at the new store. Why did everyone come to our house instead?” I ask Charlotte.

  “The party is supposed to be at the store; I don’t know why we have company,” she answers turning the handle to the front door.

  As soon as we pass through the doorway, I quickly realize that there will be no party. Our house is filled with people, some hugging, some crying, many I don’t know, but none of them look like they are here to celebrate.

  Just as I get my backpack off to hang on the front hook, my mom appears through the crowd. The sea of bodies parts for her as she walks toward us. She’s wearing the same navy blue dress that she left for work in this morning, but it’s not as crisp. The tension of the day is apparent with wrinkles stretching all across the front. Her face is pale and her eyes are fiery red. I’ve only seen my mother cry a few times, but it was enough to remember what the aftermath looked like, and I can tell she’s been crying.

>   “Come with me, girls,” she says quietly, picking up Amanda and placing her on her hip before grabbing my hand. Charlotte trails behind us until we reach my parents’ bedroom.

  The room is dark, but instead of turning on the main light, she clicks on the bedside lamp, leaving a soft glow in its wake. “Please, sit down on the bed girls, I need to tell you something very important,” she says before turning to close the door behind us and moving to sit on the bed with us.

  I’m feeling anxious and worried, not understanding what’s going on. Something bad has happened, but I don’t know what. The scenarios are swirling around in my mind. Did they cancel the party? Did Daddy have to close the store? A boy in my class said that his parents were getting a divorce; maybe that’s what my mother needs to tell us. Never in all the situations in my head did I ever come up with the actual truth.

  My mother takes a steadying breath and gathers our hands in hers, lightly stroking the knuckles of each of our hands. “Your daddy was very excited about opening the new store today. Last night, he went back to the store to make sure everything was just perfect for the grand opening.”

  “We know; why aren’t we getting ready to go to the party? Why is everyone here? Did the party move?” Charlotte asks.

  Tears build in my mother’s eyes, but she fights to keep them at bay. “Baby, there isn’t going to be a party anymore. Last night, when your daddy was at the store, someone came in and hurt him very badly.”

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  “No, Viv. No one knew that he was hurt; there was no one there to help him.” She pauses, just looking at us for what feels like an eternity. “He died girls.” The sob that she’s been holding back breaks free, and she begins to fight to breathe through her tears.

  “He’s not coming back?” Amanda asks as she begins to cry.

  “No, baby, he’s not.”

  “NO!” I shout, startling everyone. “He promised that we would build our princess fort tonight after the party. Daddy always keeps his promises. He is not in Heaven; he’s coming home tonight,” I insist.

  My mother pulls me close to her. “I’m sorry, Vivian, but he’s not coming home, sweetheart. It’s just going to be us girls from now on.”

  “Who did this?” Charlotte demands. She has been quiet up until this point, not even shedding a tear. I see more anger than grief in her expression.

  My mother sighs; her patience is clearly wearing. Normally the epitome of understanding, the emotional strain of the situation has frayed my mother’s nerves. “Don’t worry about that, Charlotte. The police know who the man is that hurt your daddy; they are looking for him now. When they find him, he will be going to jail for a long time.”

  “Do we know him?” she asks again.

  “Charlotte, it doesn’t matter; he can’t hurt us any more than he already has. There are some things you guys don’t need to know about.”

  “Somebody took our daddy away from us; I want to know who did it,” I add in.

  My mother stands quickly, nearly bouncing Amanda from the bed. I can almost see how my words cause this woman to finally snap.

  “He’s gone, Vivian Grace, and he’s not ever coming back!” she shouts. “You want to know who killed him, like that will bring him back. Raymond Michaels strangled your father, and knowing that will never make one bit of difference of whether he walks through that door again or not. Raymond was a friend of your father’s; he worked for him, we trusted him, and look where that trust got him!”

  I put my head down, listening to her switch gears from weeping to hollering her rant. “Does that make you feel any better about not having a daddy anymore, Vivian?”

  “No,” I whisper.

  She finally collects her bearings, realizing the damage being done with her outburst of emotions. “I’m sorry, Vivian, but I don’t know what to say,” she sighs. “He was our friend, and he took your daddy from us. I don’t know why this happened, but I do know that sometimes people make bad choices- choices that you can’t take back. This was one of those mistakes.”

  “I’m sorry that I yelled, Viv. I’m just scared and sad.” She gathers me in her arms and squeezes me tightly. “I won’t let anyone ever hurt you guys; you are my everything now. We will figure this out together, okay?”

  I bury my face into her neck and nod, the gravity of the situation crashing down on my little body. My daddy is never coming back, and someone he loved took him away. Listening to my mother and sisters’ cries, my emotions come to a halt and I begin to feel numb.

  It is in this moment that I become the master of emotional avoidance. I vow never to get too close to people, to love people, because opening yourself up to others creates weakness. That weakness is what gets you hurt. I decide to build the fort my daddy promised me, but this one would be a citadel around my heart. When times get rough, and my fight or flight kicks in, I will fly. The day my father died is the day that I grew wings.

  Vivian

  “Holy crap, Viv! Could you have brought any more stuff with you? I swear I’ll be hunch-backed by the time we finish moving you into the dorms. Are you trafficking small children in these duffel bags?”

  Aw yes, Amanda, my younger and colorful sister. I’m sure if I were sneaking college boys in those duffel bags, we wouldn’t have heard a peep from her. “Come on, Manda, we are almost there. Besides, this is the only load,” I reason.

  “Yeah, and then I get to help carry whatever doesn’t fit back to the truck; I can hardly contain my excitement,” she hisses.

  Manual labor has never been her forte, but somehow my sister always manages to find some handsome and, of course, hopeful young man to complete any task she felt beneath her. Amanda could get guys to do pretty much anything. The reason: my sister is gorgeous. Long, tan legs, wavy blonde hair that she does nothing with–yet it looks like something professionally done–and everything else is toned and perfect. She is serious model caliber. I know it, guys know it, but worst of all, she knows it, and uses it to her fullest advantage. This weekend she can’t put her skills to use, hence the attitude. While she and I have always been relatively close, I’m sure her conscripted moving duties did nothing to help our relationship.

  “Enough, girls,” my mother says in that quiet but stern tone that you know means you are embarrassing her in public, and repercussions will surely match her strife. The silence and glares that ensue could freeze the wheels on the elevator that was transporting me to my new independent college life.

  I worked hard to get accepted into Colorado State University; it is one of the best teaching schools in Colorado, so it is the place I absolutely want to be. It’s an added bonus that it is on the other side of the state from my teeny tiny hometown. No more cows or chickens. Goodbye to small-town gossip; hello to streetlights and classrooms full of boys I’m not related to. To say I am looking forward to college is putting it mildly. I don’t even care if my roommates are a gang of sluts, the guys on my floor are douche nozzles, or my professors can give Professor Snape a run for his money. My excitement to have the freedom that college would provide has me bubbling. I’m sure the stupid toothy grin I am sporting does nothing to hide it either.

  As the elevator doors slide open, we are greeted with a dorm floor bursting at the seams. The hallways are jam-packed with freshmen and their families, everyone lugging huge bags. The massive amount of people in such a small space is causing a serious increase in room temperature, and the body-funk that is permeating through the dorm has my stomach turning inside out. Great, I’m going to throw up in front of all my new housing buddies. With the constant bumping of strangers, incessantly saying, “excuse me”, and tight smiles that say, “I’m sorry for whacking you in the head with my bag,” we slowly weave our way through.

  “Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. There is your door,” Amanda announces. Yes, thank you. I swear that if I have to hear Amanda for one more minute, I am going to trip her and let the herd around me trample her.

  My door flies open and I’m
surprised to see that I’m the first of the roommates to move in. My dorm is not your typical room; it really resembles an apartment more than a dorm room. There is a small living room and kitchenette, a hallway with two bedrooms to the right, and a bathroom to the left. Yes, my actual bedroom is smaller than my closet back home and I’ll have to share it, hopefully with someone that won’t want to smother me in my sleep, but it’s mine, and I already feel different. I feel grown up, independent, and I’m excited that I’ll finally get to be just me. No one’s little shadow, no more sisterly beauty comparisons, no more reputations to protect, secrets to keep, no more rumors or pretending. Yes, college and I are going to get along great.

  I throw my bags on to the ground in front of my bed, Amanda, of course, flings herself on the couch like she gets to live here, and my mom gets busy making my bed. I can see Amanda is no longer going to be of any use to me, so I quickly get to work unpacking and organizing my cramped little cubicle of a room.

  The knock and hesitant “hello” breaks my feverish work, but the boisterous screech that follows forces my attention to the door. Stumbling through is the cutest slight of a girl with short blonde curls, blue eyes, and a death glare directed at her mother, who from the looks of it, pushed her into the room.

  “Dammit, Jen, these people out here are going to stage a revolt; get through the door.” The pixy’s mother comes to an abrupt standstill when she notices us in the room, and her eyes go wide. Amanda, once again, joins the land of the living and we follow the woman’s gaze directed at my mother.

  “Evelyn,” she gasps, “I haven’t seen you since the trial; it’s been so long.” I see my mother begin to tear up, and the lady rushes to her and pulls her into a strong embrace. Pixy and I look at each other like we are lost in translation, with no answers for one another, just waiting on our mothers to clue us in.

  “I’m fine, thank you, Kim. Yes, it has been a long time. Thirteen years this fall,” my mother says, stepping away from the bear hug she is engulfed in. “Vivian, this is Kim; she worked with your father. Jen, it’s good to see you again, sweetheart. The two of you used to play together when you were little. You were getting ready to go to the same preschool before we moved.”