Family Tree the Novel: Family Tree

By Andrea N Carr

“Family Tree” by literary fiction novelist Andrea N. Carr with a different family saga. This author chose to use the main character Angel, as her alias. This powerful story combines memoir and creative writing to uncover dark secrets with suspense and pacing that is in comparison to Raymond Carver.

She went to jail and found freedom. Arrested on a minor drug charge when found inside of her car after, giving a ride to a friend. Angel is given a court date then released on her own recognizance. But, it is discovered there is a no bail hold on her to appear for a traffic bench warrant.

Angel is informed she has to be held longer though, she insists this is an error in paperwork from previously being fined for driving on a suspended driver's license.

Angel is less than prepared to deal with what happens next. Being stuck in jail becomes, the least of her worries when she learns that her sister Lady, committed suicide while babysitting her son.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrea N Carr
• Release date: Dec 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311458742

Andrea N Carr

Andrea on line:https://www.facebook.com/FamilyTreeTheNovel/

Book preview

Family Tree, the Novel

Family Tree

ANDREA N. CARR

Copyright © 2012 Andrea Carr

All rights reserved.

Title ID: 4548788

ISBN-13: 978-1494322847

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book is dedicated to

all readers of this book.

THANK YOU.

CHAPTER 1

I was sent to Mental Health, thinking this must be some sort of evaluation. I had no previous jail experience. I was unaware there had been an emergency in my family.

Hi, I’m Dr. Meredith Stein. I’m the clinical psychologist here at Orange County Jail. You are Angel Harper?

Yes.

She reached to check my wristband anyway. There has been an emergency in your family. I’m going to let you call home and talk to your mother, so she can tell you what has happened.

This is not part of the process?

No.

Do you know what the emergency is about? Does it concern my son, Malcolm?

I don’t know the emergency. I know it concerns Lady Penman.

That’s my sister; is she dead?

I don’t know. I’m going to let your mother tell you the emergency. I told her the number; she had it written down already. She made the connecting call. Yes, this is Meredith Stein, at the Orange County Jail. I have your daughter sitting here with me. I will let you talk to her now.

Dr. Stein handed me the telephone.

Angel, Lady hung herself. I could hear my mother sobbing.

Where?

In the backyard.

From a tree? Is she dead?

Yes

Did she read the letter I sent to you all?

No, my mother answered. I was weak with disappointment: not showing Lady the letter, on top of my sadness from the news I had just heard. I wanted to ask Mom why not, but I didn’t. I didn’t want a confrontation with her now anyway.

I mentioned Lady specifically in that letter. I was thanking my sister for helping with ‘Cousin,’ that’s what she called my son. She was taking him places while I was in jail, spending time with him, when I couldn’t. The last time I talked to her, I called my mother’s house to speak to my son and Lady had answered. She told me she was keeping them busy, ‘Cousin’ (Malcolm) and Abraham. Abraham was her son. They had been many places together. Most of the time I couldn’t catch up with them.

How are you paying for all of this? I had asked her. Lady had lost her new job, for not calling or showing up to work. I’ll give you the money back. I told her.

My friend is paying for it, don’t worry about it, she’d said. We’d laughed. Back to her old tricks, I thought. She was always getting some man to pay for what she wanted. I think I thanked her, but I couldn’t remember the details.

At the time, Mom was complaining in the background, Hurry up and get off the phone! while we were talking. I hurried because it was a collect call. I wanted so desperately to remember now what we had said. I was angry with myself for not having picked up on it; something, in her voice, to warn me about what was going to happen. I always believed my relationship with Lady was meaningful, so I should have noticed something wrong. I had been close with her. One thing I do remember, I didn’t tell her I loved her. It was in the letter she never read.

Mom, who found her body?

Your son, he needs you. I felt caged from help.

Mom, I’m in jail.

I know, she said. Then why are you telling me now, I thought. I hated her, right then. How is Malcolm?

I think he should talk to someone. I’m going to take him to St. Joseph’s Hospital.

Let me speak to Malcolm. I wanted to see for myself if he was okay. Take him to Dr. Jerry, he’s a friend of mine. Malcolm saw him before, he’s listed in the directory, I said. Maybe the good Doctor could help find the answers my son may need for himself. I trusted him. I had spent countless hours in his office pouring my life on his lap, trying to make sense of it. Trying to figure out what a normal life was.

Malcolm isn’t here.

Where is he, is he in the hospital? I was confused, and at my mother’s mercy.

No, she said. Philip took them to his house.

Them?

Abraham was with Malcolm when he found her. Abraham’s father is on his way.

Did anything happen? Do you know what would have made her do this?

No. I knew this wasn’t the whole story, coming from Mom. She kept secrets. Things had never been as they appeared. I hung up the phone, and looked at the staff psychologist.

My sister hung herself. My son and hers found her body. I said. I’d like to go back to my cell now. The doctor looked shocked; I should have been. Her forehead wrinkled. However, I had the feeling she already knew the emergency.

Why did you ask if she was dead, when I told you the emergency was about your sister? She asked as she straightened her face, patronizing me.

My sister had some problems, it made sense. It might have even been expected. How much had gone unnoticed?

How old is your son?

We were pregnant at the same time, my sister and I had our children five months apart.

How old are they? she asked.

Thirteen. I answered.

How old was she? She paused, waiting for my answer.

Forty. I spoke like a robot. I was numb. I took the news and got rid of it someplace hidden. I’ll look for it when, I’m ready, I thought. I knew this was not time or place to be dealing with it. I was not ready to grieve.

Why didn’t she wait for me, like I used to wait for her after school when we were children, so she could walk me home? I loved her. Did Lady know how important she had been to me? It was important to me now, that she know. I had problems in the past telling people that I loved them, even if I truly did love them. I’ve since taught myself to tell the ones I love, for times like this. I hadn’t told her lately. It was in the letter.

I was angry. I hadn’t talked to Lady for about a year before she came home. Lady couldn’t fool me with her manipulations, I knew what she was going through, and when she was ready for help she knew I would be there. She had been living with Mother for about a month before killing herself. I had dealt with what she was going through; I wanted to show Lady how to overcome her turmoil. She was so out of control, I didn’t want to see her self-destruct.

There had been times she’d come to my house at 3:00 in the morning, drunk and high, asking for money. Going from door to door checking to see if I had left one unlocked. As I tried to ignore her by hiding in the darkness, I was bruised and scarred by what was she was doing. Lady wouldn’t listen to me. My mother often looked the other way, denying the truth and keeping secrets.

The moment I heard of Lady’s suicide, God became my only friend. I had no one I wanted. I felt the distance between my mother and myself. I didn’t want my mother trying to shield me from the truth. It has never worked. Whenever the truth is revealed, whatever her motive, whether it be to spare my feelings or not, what I remember is she wasn’t truthful.

Secrets outlined my life with my mother, not knowing whatever new drama I was dealing with. In addition, not knowing what secrets would come out later, having to rearrange my grief as the truth surfaced. Through Dr. Jerry I had learned happiness existed but it took work. Lady seemed to have given up on happiness. She didn’t do things I suggested; or know how. It was like she kept fumbling with the wrong combination to a lock.

I thought about when we were children, when we walked from school. I would wait in the schoolyard on a bench until she got out of class. Then we walked home together. I depended on her, and realized her importance to me then. She would open the door with her key, and we would wait together – for someone to come home.

Tears streamed down my face as I recalled: Lady made straight A’s in school, and could draw anything just by looking at it. She would do my homework for me before my mother came home. It was so easy for her. I had often wished I was as