Let Go. Mary Collins

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      Let Go

      The Evolution of Charity Shawe

      Dr. Mary R. Collins

      Copyright © 2020 Dr. Mary R. Collins

      All rights reserved

      First Edition

      Fulton Books, Inc.

      Meadville, PA

      Published by Fulton Books 2020

      ISBN 978-1-64654-570-4 (paperback)

      ISBN 978-1-64654-571-1 (digital)

      Printed in the United States of America

      Table of Contents

       Virginia Views

       Mommy and Me

       Hill-brook Mansion Massacre

       Daddy’s Little Girl

       Where Am I?

       The Truth Hurts

       Meet the Champions

      Chapter 1

      Virginia Views

      Growing up in Virginia Beach had made me spoiled. Looking out at the sun trickling over the misty blue waters through my dark-hazel eyes was a vision that I enjoyed every morning. I woke up happy with jilted excitement in my conflicted heart. It’s really hard being me. I was taller than everyone my age—five feet, nine inches at eleven years old, believe it or not. Yeah! Getting straight A’s in school is my priority and I don’t play any sports just in case someone was wondering. My skin looked like a Hershey candy bar. Oh! I couldn’t forget. I held about a solid 180 pounds of weight no matter how much exercise I got.

      My daddy, Ronnie Shawe, had an over six-foot-tall physique. He was slim built and was milky chocolate just like me. Daddy was my hero. He loved me more than life itself. I used to laugh when he would say that, but going through unfortunate events proved to me that he meant it every single time. Mommy was so beautiful. People constantly spoke about her model appearance. She is tall, has almond-tinted skin, and is curvy in all the right places. I would overhear her coworkers say, “Why Renee Shawe does not walk the runway herself is beyond me!”

      Mommy was a fashion designer and was well known as a “fierce diva” all over the world. I was a fierce diva only in my parents’ world. Pretty hysterical how a parent can see only beauty in their children when all their children see is a lack of self-assurance. Since I could remember, Mommy had always been the breadwinner in my family. I never understood if my daddy got paid for what he did or if a job title even existed.

      Daddy was also known around Virginia and the world for different reasons than Mommy. He was feared. Not by me. However, Mommy often acted frightened many times. Daddy left home for weeks at a time. He spent all his time with me and Mommy when he returned. He would cook, play basketball, and dance with me. I was drenched with tears right now just thinking about how much I missed him. Good times like these with family were never truly valued until they were gone.

      “Charity Shawe, the center of my world, my heart, and my little girl.” This was what Daddy sang each time he returned from being away. I missed him so much; it was hard to breathe. Wooo. Hmmm. Wooo. Mommy never cried or had any type of breakdown on the Father’s Day that my daddy died. Unbelievable. He lay in my arms and stared exhaustedly at my face until all signs of life descended from his limp body. All my mom could do was stand beside us in utter silence while clinching her fist tightly together. My gallon of tears covered his neck, hair, face, and his gold ear piercings like a glazed over rainstorm. A little piece of me died that day too.

      Who would have thought that such a vibrant person could die so suddenly? “Ronnie Shawe, unknown causes of heart failure” is what my dad’s death certificate clearly stated. I more often than not sneak through Mommy’s important papers to feel closer to her as well as feel closer to the truth. However, finding my dad’s death certificate eloquently framed in her jewelry drawer after finding pictures of him that I never had seen before (looking uncharacteristically happy with two boys who had identical features) makes me wonder how deep my family secrets go.

      I never asked many questions to my mom out of the fear of finding out unwanted answers, but finding this death certificate and wow! Wow! Hold on. I have to exhale. I cannot even process this. This was the morning of my eleventh birthday (November 15), and I just found a medical valve filled with yellow goo of some sort in my mom’s jewelry box. Wow! This is the same yellow goo I have to take every night before I go to sleep. The label on the medical valve says “Ronnie Shawe.” All of these discoveries have to mean something. If it is the last thing I do, my missing piece of heart where daddy once dwelled is about to be found.

      It’s been about a month since mystery had plagued my brain due to the discoveries I made inside my mother’s jewelry drawer. Mommy’s facial expression is forever embedded in the section of my memory where nightmares hide when I told her that I wanted to find out more about how my daddy died. I forcefully asked her why he looked over his shoulders so much when he was alive. When we were together, he would noticeably look to the right and then to the left in what seemed like every few minutes. She looked at me with a fear that I had only seen once from her before on that Father’s Day that Daddy died.

      Daddy’s look matched the look Mommy gave me on several occasions after asking the multitude of questions I just could not hold in. Who are those boys in the pictures? Are they twins? Are those my brothers? Do you or daddy have children I do not know about? Why do you have a medicine tube with Daddy’s name on it? Is my daddy even dead? I’m stressed. What is going on? Tell me now please. I remember his looks and hers transparently because they both elicited a fear within me. They both had the ability to produce stares piercing enough to stir up emotions while making you feel loved and victimized at the same time. I had no idea what was to fear, but all the same the fear was real.

      “Say something,” I yelled at Mom as she walked away in a trance. The only reaction I could conjure up was tears. I was confused, scared, and hurt as tears that felt like a waterfall streamed down my cheeks. I was an eleven-year-old kid. What was I supposed to do?

      Daddy died at my piano recital while giving me a hug of congratulations for a job well done. Eh. Talk about having your heart broken and your dreams forever crushed. My piano recital is always located at the family Shawe Center. The Shawe Center (previously known as the Kwanlinsy Center) is where my mommy and daddy do business. My mom designs trend-setting clothing and conducts the most extravagant runway shows ever seen since she does own the building from an inheritance due to her parents’ untimely deaths. But my dad…um…I don’t really know still, to be honest, what job he did. The Shawe Center is one of the grandest facilities in all of Virginia. Gorgeous in every aspect of the word.

      I never met my mommy’s parents; therefore, I cannot validate the rumors of the Shawe Center being a product of stealing from the needy to better feed the greedy. Rumor has it, Victor and Sherri Kwanlinsy (my mom’s parents) were high-priced lawyers who only defended the wealthiest of clients. These wealthy clients would dodge prison sentences for prices that paid for my grandparents’ lavish lifestyle. The Shawe Center was renamed by mother and has a full ballroom hall inclusive of four grand pianos. My dad, Ronnie Shawe, was one of their clients and was the one client who put my grandparents completely over their heads and into their graves. My dad was raised in middle-class classifications