Opening Scene: Introduces the antagonist and protagonists, sets the tone, and foreshadows the primary conflict.
Secrets can be cancerous. Eating away, slowly, at every cell of the keeper’s soul. In the McBride/Johnson family secrets were a toxic epidemic, weaving themselves into the very fabric of their family history. They were unspoken, subterranean stories not told around the holiday table. The offspring were all unwitting carriers of their family’s carcinogenic lies and betrayals. The McBride/Johnson clan was a walking petri dish ripe for a viral explosion of family drama. Their matriarch’s death would be the match predestined to ignite the fuel of revelations that would in turn become the catalyst for the discovery of a long-hidden, family secret.
The family should have been preparing for the emotional tsunami heading straight for them. They should have bought the canned meat and bottled water. They should have stocked up on batteries and candles. Instead, they continued building castles in the sand, while the universe made its perilous plan to wash them all away, their blissful innocence receding with the retreating waters.
Naomi and Chrissy stood at their mother Ann’s bedside earlier that evening, as she spoke with their younger sister, Rebecca. Naomi had called Rebecca during one of the few moments their mother was actually awake. She had been asleep most of the last 48 hours. They were glad Rebecca was able to talk to her because they were certain their mother would not make it through the night to say goodbye to her youngest child tomorrow. They didn’t tell this to Rebecca, knowing there was no way she could get out of New York tonight. Withholding this information was really a kindness.
After speaking with Rebecca, Ann began to contemplate her life’s regrets. She imagined it was something most people did when peering into the abyss of death. She had tried for decades to use religion as atonement, but she could never actually allow herself to make any amends. She had made a mistake—a big one—and then allowed it to grow into a massive web of lies and deception stretching over her lifetime. She had threatened loved ones into submission, using emotional blackmail to ensure their silence. If she couldn’t be confident of their complicity, she had cut them out of her life and her children’s lives. She had manipulated the truth and fabricated elaborate stories to explain the absence of friends and family. She had sworn once upon a time to take her secret to her grave. Now, in her final hours on earth she was starting to doubt the wisdom of leaving this world with such a heavy burden in tow.
Ann’s sister, Beth, had quite literally taken Ann’s secret to her grave. To Beth’s credit, she had tried countless times to convince Ann to tell everyone the truth. Each attempt was met with begging, crying, and eventually threats of alienation. She knew Ann would cut her off. Ann had done it in 1974, when she fled to Austin, Texas in the dark of the night in an attempt to outrun her secret.
When his wife died in 1961, Ann’s father had raised his daughters as a single father. He ruled with an iron fist, since that was how his father had raised him. He was furious about the position Ann had put him in when she ran off, but she was his daughter, and he was intent on finding her. She managed to stay hidden for almost six months, until her isolation and loneliness got the best of her. In an attempt to assuage her guilt and excuse her actions, Ann decided to send a letter to her sister to try to get her to intervene on her behalf with her father. Her father intercepted the letter and used the postage stamp to track Ann to a small town near Austin. He drove through the night, her picture in his wallet, simmering with anger and filled with disappointment. He went door-to-door on main street set on finding Ann. His dogged determination paid off when he finally found someone who told him where she worked.
Ann never discussed the night her father found her and neither did he. When their father came home, he told Beth the basic facts, but forbade her from ever speaking about it. She was not allowed to ask any questions, and she did as instructed. Out of respect for her father and fear of her sister’s retribution, Beth swore to continue to keep her sister’s secrets.
Ann was only twenty three when she we ran off to Austin. Her father didn’t view her youthful ignorance as an excuse for the pain she caused. Ann’s selfish choices caused a chasm to grow between Beth and her father. He became overbearing and untrusting. He was always strict, but he turned cold after Ann left. Beth never really forgave Ann for leaving and taking the father she once knew with her.
After their father’s death, Beth tried ardently to persuade Ann to tell her children the truth. She failed. Ann held steadfast to her decision to keep the false narrative going. Over the years her sister brought up the situation less frequently. As time passed, her collusion weighed less heavily on her own conscience. It waned to the point where she stopped considering any need for absolution, even when facing her own impending death.
Ann started to worry about what would happen after she died. Her religious beliefs promised faith-based salvation, but now she was increasingly concerned that it might not be so simple. She considered the possibility her catholic friends might be right—maybe she needed to confess her sins before meeting her maker. Then she contemplated her prospects in a system of reincarnation, concluding she would surely come back a toad or worse under its tenets. She started to think it might be wise to come clean in case her faith in her religion had been misplaced. She knew telling the truth after lying for decades would buy her little favor, but felt it might be a wise cover-your-ass approach nonetheless. So, just in case, she decided she should confess and seek absolution before it was too late. She needed to insure she didn’t end up in hell or living as a cockroach in another life. Unsurprisingly, Ann never gave a thought to how entirely selfish it was to confess at this point.
For the first time in months, Ann Johnson was lucid—too lucid for her comfort—and she decided she needed to up her odds in the afterlife. She knew she had precious little time left to spill a lifetime of secrets and hopefully lighten the load she would surely be carrying straight to hell. A small part of her knew hell was what she deserved, but she was still the same old Ann Johnson, doing little but expecting a lot.
Ann had never admitted to her mistakes or apologized for them. She had no interest in doing the work to become a better version of herself. She was a fighter, a survivor, and a pragmatist. Still, after a lifetime of self-serving betrayals and conspiratorial demands inflicted upon the people in her life, she was feeling remorseful. Sure she was mostly motivated by fear. Fear of her own fate, if she didn’t do the right thing in the end. She knew she couldn’t make amends with everyone she had marginalized or cast aside over the years, but she had to at least tell her children the truth. She attempted to do this in case it ended up benefitting her in the end.
Ann wished she had said something earlier, when she had her youngest daughter on the line, but she was too weak to say much of anything at the time. Rebecca was the one who would handle the news best. Her oldest daughter, Naomi, was rigid and filled with guilt over crimes uncommitted. Her second child, Chrissy, was a typical middle child, over indulgent, always seeking attention. Then there was her son, Jacob, who was a dreamer, but not a doer. She never could get Naomi to lighten up, Chrissy to grow up, or Jacob to step up. Her youngest, Rebecca, was just easy. She achieved without prodding, gave without asking, took only what she needed, and loved without expectation. The possibility that this could be a trauma response never occurred to Ann.
Contemplating opening up to her kids was hard. Ann never talked about feelings with them. She was emotionally distant because she was afraid closeness would breed comfort and comfort might lead to the disclosure of her secrets. All of her children's short comings were directly tied to a lifetime of trying to get into the unoccupied spaces of their mother's heart. Ann couldn't keep a secret as big and potentially explosive as hers and not have casualties.
Maybe Ann truly believed she could still give her kids what they all sought. Maybe she hoped, if she unburdened her heart and shared her truth with them now, she could spare them future pain. In reality, she would only ignite a powder keg of lies, fated to detonate the lives of her children. Ironically, the resulting drama would have been highly entertaining to Ann because it was just the kind of shit show she enjoyed watching.
Now, with a surge of energy and clarity, Ann grasped both her daughters' hands and plunged into the drama ass first. “Girls, there’s something you need to know,” she started.
Chrissy and Naomi were startled by the clarity of her voice and the strength she suddenly seemed to possess. It had been a long time, since they had seen her this strong. Ever the quick wit, Chrissy interjected, “Oh Christ Mom, please don't tell me you're not my mother.”
"Funny you should say that," Ann replied with no hint of irony in her voice, “but I am your mother,” she replied to Chrissy, “sorry to disappoint you.” Naomi and Chrissy laughed nervously. Ann paused, uncertain where to start. She kept clearing her throat, and her eyes began to fill with tears.
“Mom, just say it. You’re really freaking me out," Naomi said in a loud and anxious tone. Naomi was fragile enough to readily believe Ann was not her mother, and the pregnant pauses were little daggers to her heart.
Chrissy shot Naomi a disapproving glare. “It's okay Mom, unburden yourself. It's time.” Chrissy replied calmly. Naomi rolled her eyes at Chrissy. Easy for her to say, Naomi thought. Ann had already admitted to being her mother.
“I saw that Naomi,” Chrissy chided her sister for rolling her eyes at Chrissy’s attempt to show compassion to their mother on her death bed. Naomi ignored her.
Ann knew her time was running out; and she would not be able to control the situation for much longer. Unfortunately, her strength was draining fast. The most she could muster was a weak, “Girls . . . please,” before she began to drift off. Naomi and Chrissy were too busy criticizing each other to hear her.
“You really need to release your negative energy, but here with Mom is not the right time or place,” Chrissy chastised Naomi.
“I just can't even begin to deal with you right now,” Naomi replied.
Ann could still hear her daughters’ voices as the last beats of life were leaving her, knowing their pettiness was a result of her withholding parenting style. She also knew, in her last moments on earth, as she drew her last breaths, she had made a mistake when she chose to keep all those secrets.
“Well, maybe now is—” Chrissy began.
Naomi and Chrissy would never hear their mother say another word. Ann would be saddled with a trunk full of regret, as she ambled toward the white light at the end of the tunnel. The last sounds Ann would hear were the voices of her two eldest daughters bickering. It was Ann’s karma coming to fruition. At that moment all the machines in Ann's room began beeping and flashing. Their mother's hand slipped from their hands. Chrissy stood frozen, while Naomi ran into the hallway looking for anyone who could help. A nurse ran into the room followed closely by Naomi and a second nurse.
Chrissy backed up against a wall in the hospital room and slowly slid down the wall onto the floor, her knees pulled into her chest. As she struggled to control her breathing, tears escaped down her cheeks. Her heart was racing, her palms were sweating, and she began to tremble. Chrissy had felt this way only a few times before today. In those instances, she managed to work her way through it by doing her breath work. She just needed to close her eyes and focus on her breathing. It was difficult to do, with all the commotion in the room.
Naomi was too concerned with Ann’s prognosis to consider where or what Chrissy was doing. She didn’t notice her sitting on the floor, in the far corner of the room. Suddenly Naomi realized Ann hadn’t finished her confession. Naomi just assumed it was a confession of sorts because Ann was clearly anxious to get something off her chest, only moments ago. She felt like death-bed confessions were generally not joy inducing. She shook her head, willing herself to focus on the events unfolding in front of her. Despite her best efforts, worrisome questions kept persistently intruding upon her concentration.
Naomi knew her mother was near death. She had been for weeks. She had steeled herself for her mother’s final moment, playing the scenario in her head multiple times, planning to be strong and assertive. Those plans failed to foresee her mother attempting to drop a nuclear bomb on her. Now, Naomi felt wholly unprepared for Ann’s death. Now, she needed to know what Ann had intended to say, but Ann had slipped into the recesses of her mind and beyond the earthly realm, without so much as a hint. Perhaps there was a tiny hint, in the joke her mother had made, but it wasn’t a hint Naomi wanted to take.
When the doctor called time of death, Naomi was overcome with doubt, rather than sadness. In the midst of her rising panic, she searched the room for Chrissy. She hoped Chrissy would have a more positive—less paranoid—take on their mother’s last words. She scanned the room, saw her sister in an upright fetal position on the floor, and asked, “What are you doing?”
Chrissy didn’t respond. Naomi knew she needed to tread lightly with Chrissy. “Chrissy, are you okay?” She gave no response. Naomi walked toward her, “Give me your hand,” she instructed, as she held her own hand out toward Chrissy. Chrissy didn’t take her hand. In a strong, clear voice, Naomi instructed, “Chrissy, come on, let’s get off the ground.”
Without replying to Naomi, Chrissy reached up and grabbed her hand, allowing Naomi to help her up. Naomi put her arm around Chrissy’s waist, guiding her out of the room, past the nurse’s station, and toward the nearest waiting room. Chrissy seemed to regain her strength with each step away from Ann's room. Just before they entered the waiting room, she finally spoke, “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know, but I’m glad she’s not in pain anymore,” Naomi replied. She took care to avoid any reference to Ann being in a better place because Naomi wasn’t certain she was.
“Me too.”
“We need to call Rebecca again, and we need to call Jacob to let him know too.”
“I know, but right now I’m just really tired.”
“Me too,” Naomi admitted, as they collapsed into the closest two chairs they could find in the waiting room.
