Forgetmenots and Second Thoughts

Wren had fallen asleep in Billie Joe’s arms that night, her mind filled with wondrous thoughts about the next morning. She could not take her mind off of what had just happened—she decided that Billie was the first good thing to come along since she had moved to Rodeo. He treated her with the utmost respect, and he really cared about her. Her eyelids drooped and a yawn parted her lips as she slowly drifted off to sleep, Billie caressing her back with one hand, and intertwining his fingers in her chestnut hair, tugging and playing with it gently.

The next morning, she found herself lying in the same spot with Billie as she had been the previous night; only now a thick navy blue comforter was placed messily over their bodies. With her ear still pressed against Billie’s chest, she could hear his rhythmic breathing and the subtle beat of his heart. A smile inched the corners of her lips upward as she rose slightly and gently kissed his exposed collar bone. Billie inhaled deeply and stirred, slowly lifting his eyelids open, revealing his vibrant hazel-green eyes. He glanced downward at her and grinned. He pressed his mouth to the top of her head and held it there for a second.

“Morning, beautiful.” He said to her, his voice groggy. He steadily sat up, throwing the heavy blanket off of them. He raised his arms in the air, stretching, as a long yawn escaped through his lips. He put a hand through his messy, auburn curls and stood. Wren giggled quietly to herself and sat up as well.

“Good morning.” She said, repeating his words. She balled her small hands into fists and rubbed her eyes gently, causing the leftover mascara to flake off underneath her eyes and smudge onto her fingers. “Damn... do you think I could use your shower?” She asked Billie, who was over by his dresser, rustling through a messy drawer of clothes in attempt to find something clean to put on. He quickly glanced over to her.

“No, I’m going to make you stay like that all day.” He replied sarcastically with a toothy smile, pointing to his under eyes. “You can use the one downstairs. I assume you know where the bathroom is?” Wren nodded and hopped off the bed. As she passed him, Billie Joe gave her a sly wink and watched her as she left the room.

Wren skipped happily down the steps and swung herself around a corner, trying to remember where the bathroom was. She scurried through the entire house and eventually found it. Beside the door frame hung a small, round face clock that told Wren it was ten twenty-two. She had never been allowed to sleep in that late—the sense of freedom from Ingrid excited Wren as she entered through the door, jumped out of her clothes, and speedily showered.

She felt utterly rejuvenated as the warm water sprinkled over her face, seemingly washing away every impurity and imperfection on her stone pale body. The rich lather that foamed in her hair smelt of fresh lavender and relaxed her, calmed her. When she finally finished, she stepped out carefully and placed a hand on the cream coloured wall beside her. She pulled on the light denim jeans and black v-neck tee shirt she had previously been wearing and finger combed her long hair in attempt to free its natural curl. She then flicked the light switch off and left the room.

Wren was leisurely easing toward the hallway which contained the staircase when she heard muffled voices coming from the room opposite to where she was in the house. She pressed her ear quietly to the wall in a failed attempt to listen to what the voices had to say. They were barely audible, but Wren could tell that one of them belonged to Billie. She stood on her tip-toes and began to creep forward, being careful not to walk too fast, frightened that she may make some sort of noise. She made her way over to the doorframe and hid around the bend.

“What do you mean she is not safe at her own home?” She heard a woman exclaim. Wren sucked in a deep breath and held it.

“Ma, please.” Billie Joe said in a hushed voice. “She might hear you. Just meet her. She’s not like the other girls that have come over.” Wren felt her heart sink into her stomach, and her stomach drop into her intestines. She smiled to herself.

“Billie Joe, I don’t know...” His mother sighed. Wren gnawed on her pained lip nervously, wondering what she should do next. She knew that she could not hide for much longer—either Billie or his mother would be coming around the corner at any given moment. She closed her blue eyes, her thick set of lashes brushing gently against the tops of her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply once more.

“Hi.” She said quietly, revealing herself to the two of them. Both Billie and his mother looked stunned, shocked at her sudden appearance. Wren brought her arms up from her sides and folded them across her chest apprehensively. The woman stepped forward.

She was small and frail and had very short and curly dyed blonde hair. She wore a simple black pea coat and a pair of jeans and carried a red handbag around one of her shoulders. Her skin was almost as pale as Wren’s was, yet it had an olive tone to it. Her cheeks were rosy and her lips were thin, and her eyes just as vividly green as her son’s. Billie Joe uneasily walked over toward Wren and slipped an arm protectively around her waist, apprehensively awaiting the woman’s response to Wren’s sudden appearance.

“Sweetheart, my name is Ollie.” She said through pursed lips. Wren managed a small grin and nodded slightly. “You are welcome here for as long as you need.” And without another word, Ollie turned on her heels and walked out of the room, past the two stunned teenagers. Wren’s eyes clouded over with tears, blurring her vision slightly. She glanced up at Billie, and then buried her face in his chest. He stroked her back soothingly, unsure of why she was crying. Wren choked back her silent sobs and looked up again.

“I know she does not want me here, Billie.” She said quietly, almost inaudibly. “I was listening to the conversation.” She pulled away from his grasp and let out a deep sigh. Billie Joe shook his head.

“Then you misinterpreted. We both did.” He raised a hand to his face and scratched the side of his nose. “She would not have just told you what she did if she didn’t mean it.” Wren shrugged her shoulders and crossed her arms back over her chest, her eyes looking downward at her feet. Billie stepped up and cupped her face with one of his hands and used his thumb to wipe away the stray tears that had found their way down her flushed cheeks.

“Alright.” She said simply, attempting to smile. She was not sure if Billie was just telling her this to make her feel better or if he was truly being sincere, and to be quite frank she did not care. She was happy—she was going to be able to feel safe for the first time since moving from Delaware. She lifted her arms and threw them around Billie’s neck and stared intently into his eyes. Billie Joe dipped his head down and pressed his lips to hers gently and held them there for a few seconds before Wren pulled back sharply and looked away.

“What are we doing, Billie?” She asked his half-confusedly, nibbling on her lip nervously. He scratched his head, his eyes expression baffled and pained.

“I don’t know Wren.” He told her honestly, “What do you want this to mean? Because I know that I want to be with you. I want to protect you from that sick bastard that hurt you.” He exhaled a small sigh and threw his hands down to his sides. “I don’t ever want to see you get hurt again. And I’ll do everything in my power to prevent that.” Wren’s mouth was open so wide, she was sure that the bottom of her jaw was touching the floor. She was utterly speechless.

“I...” She tried to say, “I-I...Thank you Billie.” She managed to stifle out. Billie Joe smiled and took her hands in his, intertwining their fingers. He leant in and pecked her cheek softly, causing Wren to melt inside. She loved his touch, the way he made her feel.

“You know, Wren.” He began slowly, “You do need to go back to your house to get necessities. Y’know, your clothes and girly crap.” Wren’s facial expressions suddenly turned sour, a look of bitterness settling in her eyes.

“I cannot go back there, Billie. There is no way.” She spat icily through clenched teeth.

“I’ll come with you. It’ll be fine.” He told her, yet she still seemed tense. “Don’t worry. We can drive up today and be in and out.” Wren solemnly nodded and did not speak another word.

++

Ollie Armstrong’s family station wagon pulled into Wren’s driveway with Billie Joe at the wheel shortly after their heated conversation. Wren was utterly afraid. Her stomach was queasy and felt nauseas and every bit of color that had remained in her face was completely gone, leaving her skin pasty white. She repeatedly got chills though the morning air was warm. She did not want to encounter Charlie again, and especially not with Billie Joe around.

The sun was high in the ceil blue sky and was partially covered by rich clouds, which were tinted slightly with different shades of grey. There was a hint of a breeze in the air, yet it was still humid. As they pulled up to the house, a swarm of butterflies began to circle throughout Wren’s insides, making her squirm in her seat and want to throw up. She had a feeling that this visit was not a very good idea, that it was going to turn out very badly. Yet, Billie Joe continued along, ignoring her silent pleas.

“Billie, I can’t do this.” Wren said as they sat parked in the driveway. Billie glanced over in her direction, wariness evident in his hazel eyes. He placed a hand over hers.

“You can. You have nothing with you, Wren.” He explained to her calmly, “You need clothes. My sisters barely left anything, and you can’t wear mine. They would not fit.” Wren knew he was right and didn’t want to admit it. She did not want to face her ongoing nightmares because they were more than just a bad dream; they were reality.

The two teenagers walked up to the front door with their fingers laced together, Wren’s head leant on Billie Joe’s upper arm. Her heart rate had increased and she was beginning to tremble with each step she took. Her knees were weak, and she was thankful to have Billie be her support.

Wren creaked open the door fretfully, hoping that no one would hear them come inside and question them. Billie looked completely dumbfounded yet impressed as he looked around the main entrance, taking in the sights of the thickly varnished mahogany floor and the pale grey walls surrounding them. Wren yanked off her low topped Chuck Taylors and insolently threw them onto the tuft navy carpet that lay beneath their feet. Billie followed her actions with a little more respect and they continued their way down the hallway. When they reached the center, Wren slowly peered around the open archway that led into the family sitting room, checking to see if the coast was clear.

Charlie was sitting in his same recliner, an open newspaper draped across his lap, his eyes firmly shut. His chest was slowly rising and falling at equal increments, indicating that Wren and Billie Joe were home free. Wren led the way toward the end of the hall and down the short staircase into her bedroom.

Wren picked up a stray cardboard box that she had neglected when unpacking and went over to her dresser. She opened each drawer and rapidly threw an assortment of tee shirts, camisoles and sweaters inside. She then raided her closet for a few mere pairs of shorts and two pairs of jeans. As she collected other belongings that were scattered throughout her room, Billie Joe wandered around snooping.

“Going somewhere?” They heard a stern female voice ask. Wren glanced over her shoulder to see Ingrid standing in the open doorway, her hands placed upon her hips and a look of disappointment plastered on her face. “I thought I’d heard the door open.”

“As a matter of fact, I am.” She said with hints of attitude. Her mother was not satisfied.

“And where might that be?” She said, nailing her with questions.

“Away.” Wren stated sardonically, “For a while, anyway.” She continued to gather a few more items, until her box was overflowing with a plethora of possessions. Billie was as still as a stone statue, not making a sound as he stood in the back beside her bed. His green eyes rolled back and forth from each girl as they spoke. Ingrid’s facial expressions had not softened one bit.

“I can’t say I’m pleased with this, Brenna.” She told her daughter. Wren shook her head and shrugged her shoulders and picked up the now heavy cardboard box.

“I do not really care.” Wren stated with a small grin apparent on her lips. Wren looked her mother up and down. She was in a pair of long black sweat pants and a deep green scoop neck tee shirt. A cream coloured sweater was draped over her shoulders, and the fine gold chain she had received from Charlie was still dangling around her neck. Her russet hair unexpectedly brushed her shoulders instead of being pulled away from her face and secured tightly. Wren was shocked; she would not usually dress like this. It was unusual to see her out of her usual conservative slacks and cardigans and blazers.

“And who is that?” Ingrid spat in Billie Joe’s direction, her eyes glaring at him, burning holes through his skin.

“Billie Joe.” She said, eliminating any chance of a proper introduction. “I am staying with him.” Ingrid gave her a look of absolute disgust.

“I do not approve, you hear me?” She told her coldly.

“You don’t need to ‘approve’”, Wren answered with the use of finger quotes. Ingrid was fuming; invisible smoke could be seen pouring out of her ears at any moment. Her usual pale complexion was turning a bright, cherry red. Wren pushed past her on her way out of the room, Billie following closely behind.

“Wren, please stay. If this is about the new house, or town, or environment—or even Charlie...” Ingrid trailed off, sounding sombre, “It is my job to help any way I can so you can adjust. I am your mom.” Wren stopped to a dead halt and spun around on her heels with a look of satisfaction on her face, as though she had heard exactly what she needed to.

“You may be my mother,” She said slowly, “But you’re not my mom.” Wren turned back to Billie Joe, and the two walked back outside to the station wagon, leaving Ingrid alone looking bowled over, astonished.

The air was still clammy and warm and smelt of wet dog mixed with an overabundance of factory smoke. Billie opened the trunk of the car and took hold of the box and stuffed in it the back. Wren helped herself into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. She did up her seat belt just as Billie entered the car. He closed his door and stared at her with intent.

“That was pretty intense...”He said with a small smile curving the corners of his lips upward. Wren just nodded and returned the smile. Billie started the engine and backed out of the long, drawn out driveway gradually. Wren stared out her window and slumped in her seat. Billie Joe did not say a word until they were safely on the road back to his house.

“You okay?” He asked her soothingly. Wren looked over at him and mouthed ‘I am fine’, before sitting back up in her seat. Billie nodded. “You know, I have been meaning to ask you something lately. I am just afraid you’d take it the wrong way or get upset or something.” Wren perked up somewhat and fixed her sapphire blue eyes on his.

“What’s that?” She asked curiously. Billie took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, avoiding her inquisitive gaze.

“What about your father?” He asked steadily, unsure if he should continue. “I mean, where is he? You’ve never mentioned him.” Wren’s stare fell to her lap.

“I don’t know, Billie. Really, I don’t.”She looked up and out the front window. “I wish I did, though. Ingrid told me once that he was dead, though I have never seen any pictures of him nor his headstone.” She paused for a moment, and continued on. “I don’t even know his name...” Her voice trailed off to nothing as she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath of air. Billie reached over and touched her arm, stroking it relaxingly.

“Then I guess that is something we should figure out.” He told her simply, caringly as they got nearer and nearer to Wren’s new, safe home. Wren liked the idea of this. She always felt like there was a part of her missing, something that she could not explain. She always figured that she was just another child growing up without a father and never questioned it—just another child from a broken home. To find out just one piece of information about him—absolutely anything—would give her the feeling of being whole again.