The Devil in her Angelic Face

Her main goal in life was to be anything other than her father. So far, it had worked out pretty well. Lena was a college graduate. She paid her bills on time. She had friends. None of her relationships had ended with a restraining order. Sometimes it seemed like one may even call her “successful.” She was even able to afford a baby monitor and a stroller when she got pregnant, this of course, came at a cost.  

She looked at the baby monitor, praying for twenty minutes of quiet. She needed to finish her manuscript today. Her editor had about lost his wits with her. She had been avoiding this last chapter, not wanting to loosen the memory, fearful of the blackness that would descend. Out of her entire childhood, this memory had left the deepest scar but it was also the one that got her this book deal. No matter how gruesome or horrid, people were both drawn to and pulled away from incestuous stories. 

Her book was a memoir. A revelation of the quiet, suburban moments, her father’s incessant belief in pyramid schemes, her mother’s estrangement and her sister’s ability to pretend like nothing happened. Her father was a tall man, with broad shoulders, a firm handshake and a devil or a psychopath, depending on who you asked. Her sister, Molly had escaped the world when she was eighteen, eventually recreating herself. Her husband didn’t even know about her true childhood. Instead, she described elaborate memories, inspired from Thanksgiving and Christmas specials on television. The only way that Molly allowed Lena to re-enter her life was with a blood-pact to never tell Molly’s husband.

Lena quickly wrote out the missing chapter. It was, she knew, the easiest chapter that she would have to write. She did not have to fight for ways to describe it or adjectives so that the readers felt that they were there, it was as simple as closing her eyes before she fell asleep. The shadows simply took over. They weaved and danced in front of her, cutting off her screams, binding her arms and legs and entrapping her as she waited for the inevitable. 

A cry escaped from the baby monitor and Lena tried to distinguish whether it was a cry of hunger, a demand for a diaper change or a request to be held. After a few moments, the cry quieted and she quickly read over the chapter, tweaking a few of the words. It wasn’t perfect but her editor would demand her to make multiple changes anyways, so it was good enough for now. She attached the word document to her email and heard the little “whoosh” as it was sent into cyberspace, officially marking the release of those family secrets into the world. 

The taste of salt unleashed itself on her tongue and only then did she notice that she was crying. She should be happy. She should be celebrating. She finished her first book, at least before her editor’s comments. She thought that she should take her daughter for a walk, next to the dog park. Her daughter’s smile would help put her in a celebratory mood. She wanted to tell someone that she had finished, someone other than her baby, but there was no one to tell. Most of her friends didn’t know that she was writing a book, she was too shameful of the details inside of it. She was tempted to tell her sister, but she knew it wouldn’t be a celebratory call. In fact, Lena hadn’t talked to Molly for over a year, since she told her that she was writing this book. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Molly accused her on a sticky summer afternoon. They had gone in to get popsicles and watermelon for Molly’s kids and husband, who were hanging out by the kiddy pool. Lena had finally told Molly that she would be writing a book about their childhood. “I can’t believe you would do this - to you, to me, to my family, to your baby.” Molly pointed at Lena’s stomach. She was five-months along, her baby bump slightly visible underneath her summer dress. “You literally could write about anything else, but you’ve chosen this  topic.”

“It’s not like that. It’s about being free of the demons.” Lena protested but Molly quickly rejected her, “To hell with that. You can write about whatever the damn you want and share it with your sacred therapist. But you don’t have to make it public.” Molly was right. Lena didn’t have to tell their story, she didn’t need or even want the whole world to know. But she didn’t have a choice. She was pregnant. She needed to have a source of income. Living paycheck to paycheck as a copyright editor just wasn’t enough to pay the doctors’ bills. 

“It’s not personal,” Lena pleaded. “I just need the money. I don’t have a stable income like you.” Molly wouldn’t hear it. She was never sympathetic or forgiving of mistakes. She didn’t understand how an advance on this book provided Lena the security that she needed, even though it came at the small cost of exposing every excruciating detail of their childhood. 

“Listen to yourself,” Molly hissed. “This isn’t buying your security. It’s buying your imprisonment. You’ll be labeled and called an outcast. You’ll get some money for this book and then you’ll never get a writing job again. You’ll be tainted.” 

“I’m not changing my decision. It’s final.” Lena stated firmly, not wanting to betray the new uncertainty in her voice. It's possible that Molly had a good point but Lena had already signed the contract and used some of her advance to pay for her medical bills. 

“I can’t believe you,” Molly choked, holding back tears. “You are just like Dad. You will degrade yourself and others around them. Just for money.” She grabbed the bowl of watermelon and headed to the sliding door. “I think you should leave now.” 

It had been a year since that conversation. Molly’s husband had tried reconciling them a few times with little success. Lena had sent pictures of her daughter when she was born, but that also made no difference. Lena missed her nephews, she missed her sister. She was lonely most of the time. She’d gone to a few writing circles and publishing events at her editor’s insistence but she was too timid to join most of the conversations. Moreover, she figured the book would make her an outcast. Lena, therefore decided that it would be easier to start out as an outcast because then she wouldn’t notice the change in others' behaviors towards her once the book was published. She already felt the searing of the scarlet A being invisibly tattooed on her forehead 

Lena made her way to her daughter's crib. She was sleeping quietly, at peace with the world.   Her dad’s face was etched into her daughter’s face. Their similarity was striking. Lena internally debated whether it was some type of divine punishment or cosmic joke from God to have her Devil reflected on the angelic face of her daughter. The doorbell rang and Lena, who was not expecting anyone, quickly put on a sweater to hide the spit up on her shirt. She opened the door and Molly was standing there.

“Hi,” Lena remarked in surprise.

“Hey,” Molly replied and then with a quick intake of breath, she sputtered out, “I have a proposition for you.” 

“Come on in,” Lena said, noticing the envelope in Molly’s hand. “I actually just finished my...,” and Lena, who was about to say “book” quickly realized the potentially grave mistake of this sentence. “Finished making my coffee,” she sputtered out. Molly, who could almost always read Lena’s mind gave her a knowing, sad smile and followed Lena into the apartment.