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Treasure Island beachis practically empty as families pack up their stuff after spending the day out in the sun. With it being fall, not many people visit the beach, but it is still hot enough during the day to enjoy the sun and sand. I find a spot far enough away from the water that the tide will not wash up and touch me.
As I take my seat, I inhale a deep breath, enjoying the fresh and salty air in my lungs. When I moved to Florida, I never considered liking the beach. It is a peaceful place and now that I’m settled in the sand and taking in the ocean smell, I wish I had found more time to come out here. It is a nice place to get lost in your thoughts or a good book. Being at the beach during this time is a favorite of mine considering the sun and I are not friends.
The sound of the waves helps to drown out the thoughts and images I haven’t been able to escape all day. I grab the stack of letters burning a hole in my bag and place them in my lap. The familiar perfect cursive written on the front brings back memories of my mother writing thank you notes after any party we had. She would tell me a proper hostess always thanked their guests, no matter the occasion. As I stare at the ten letters sitting on my lap, I can’t help but feel a sense of longing to have a mother who was the kind that would sit around and girl talk with me, take me shopping, and bake in the kitchen together. My mom did none of that. She was distant and cared more about her functions and parties than anything to do with my life. As long as our relationship looked good to her friends and potential donors, she was happy.
My parents were not the loving kind, not to me or to each other. Their relationship seemed too formal from the outside. In public, they had the appearance of the textbook couple with the perfect daughter, but at home they rarely spoke to each other or me. I guess that explains why I am much more comfortable by myself rather than in groups of people or at parties.
The letters on my lap start to feel heavier as they sit there, and I decide to take the leap and open the first one. It’s dated August 26, 2020. It was the start of my freshman year at Braxton and more than two months after I left home. As I run my finger along the seal, my stomach tightens in anticipation of reading what my mother wrote to me long ago.
Dear Blaire,
I’m not sure how to begin this letter to you. You probably do not want to hear from me, and I do not blame you for that. In my life, I have made many mistakes and at the top of that list is how I handled the events of what happened two years ago.
My image in this town became more important to me than my own daughter, and for that I cannot apologize enough. It did not take me until losing you to realize the horrible mistakes I made. I should have been there for you. Your father and I both should have. I cannot speak for your father, as he has his own reasons for how he handled it, but I will speak for myself.
I am sorry, Blaire. I am sorry for how I abandoned you. I am sorry for not being the support system you needed. I should have stood by you in the worst of times.
Though I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me, I understand if you do not. I am not even sure I deserve your forgiveness, but that does not mean I will not hope for it. I do not know if you will even open this letter or throw it away. If you toss it in the trash, I cannot say I blame you.
There is much more I wish I could say to you, but I will end this letter here. I am glad to see you moving on with your life and continuing your education. Braxton University is a wonderful school and I hope you make the best of memories while you are there.
I love you, Blaire. Though I was not the best mother, please know that.
Always,
Mom
My tears drop onto the letter in my hands, and I clutch it to my chest. These are the words I needed to hear as a scared sixteen-year-old. A young, terrified girl who felt abandoned by everyone. My mother’s words about the mistakes she made ring in my ears, and I wonder how she would have done things differently after the rape. If she had stood up for me against Harvey’s family and the town that chose a side.
I open the next letter and begin reading it, the tears continuing as my mother tells me again how sorry she is and how much she wishes she could change the past.
As I read her letters, my tears subside as my mother adds more to what she wrote to me. She updates me about her life, and I notice that she talks little about my father. Her functions have continued, but she does inform me that Harvey’s mother has been voted out of the board. I can’t help but smile. That woman was vile to me. In public, she called me a whore and said I was trying to ruin her son’s life because I spread my legs too easily. Even though what she said was not true, I couldn’t help but feel small as she spewed her venomous words at me.
The sun begins to set, and I have reached the final letter from my mom. Part of me feels sad because there are no more after this, but I am also curious as to what she wrote to me. After reading the first nine letters, I feel lighter and less sad about the current events in my life.
My dearest Blaire,
As you start your junior year of college, I cannot help but wonder how your experiences have been. If you have made new friends, or maybe even met a boy. I hope you are living your life to the fullest. It saddens me to not be able to hear about these experiences and I wish I had spent more time with you during the years you were here. I should have put more focus on you, my beautiful daughter. Taken you shopping or out to dinner. Talked about your life more. I cannot undo the mistakes I have made and will always live with that regret.
I do not feel good about adding this to a letter that I want to focus on how sorry I am and how life is, but I feel like you need to know. Before you read what I am about to tell you, I need you to know that I am more than sorry for what happened when you were sixteen and cannot hate myself more for how I was not there for you. I wish I could be there and hold you in my arms as you find this out.
My body shivers at her words and I’m scared to continue reading. I know I need to, but that does not stop the worry that comes over me as I continue down her letter.
It happened again, Blaire. I am so sorry, but he did it again. Harvey was accepted to Texas A & M. He has been living there for the last two years and rarely visits home. At the end of last semester, apparently there was a party at his frat house. Blaire, he assaulted a freshman girl. She was seventeen, just a year older than you were when it happened.
I hate that you are finding out this way, but I need you to know. He is in prison, Blaire. The girl he attacked is a senator’s daughter and her friend and boyfriend caught him in the act. Harvey’s trial was over the summer, and he was sentenced to seven years in state prison. With the high-profile victim, the judge gave him a longer sentence.
While I am happy he is locked away, I cannot help but feel if your father and I had stood by you and fought him, this never would have happened to this young girl. I hope she finds peace knowing she got justice. I hopeyouhave found peace, Blaire. I do not know if this news will bring you comfort or if you wished I had not told you, but it would not feel right to me if I had kept this from you and continued my letters like usual.
His family has moved from Maskon. His father resigned as police chief when the news broke of what happened and no one knows where they went. Not much of a loss, though. I see now how wrong it was how we handled everything that happened and put our relationship with the Galloways over our daughter.
I love you, sweet girl. I am sorry I did not say that enough or show you how much while you were growing up. If given the chance, I would show you how much I care for you, my darling daughter.
Love,
Mom
