by Emily Sharpe
As expected, Asahi frowned as she worked. "Hiroya is quite handsome. And he is courteous and brave also. And smart. Why he would not be a woman's type, I would not know."
Donna nodded. "I just meant he isn't Eric, that's all."
Asahi considered this. "Oh. Well." She began her work again, carefully slicing tuna for sashimi.
As Donna finished her tea, Eric and Roy came into the kitchen, each carrying something out of view. When Roy sidled up to Asahi and cleared his throat, she held her knife up to him in mock threat. "Yes, Hiroya? What can I do for you?"
Roy pulled a beautiful bouquet of flowers from behind his back. "You can accompany me to the Steins' party. I have already spoken with them and they are hiring extra servers so that you have nothing to do that night but stay by my side."
Asahi's eyes sparkled. So quietly that Donna could barely hear her speak, she said, "I will go with you to the party, Hiroya." She took the flowers and bowed. "Thank you for the flowers. They are beautiful."
Roy gave her a little bow in return. "As is the one who holds them." He winked at Eric and excused himself as Asahi searched for a vase.
Donna was glad Eric had gone with Roy—he probably needed that encouragement to make a move. That was worth missing him for a few hours.
"And for you, babe," Eric said, handing her a white box.
Donna put the box on the island and opened it. Inside, was a beautiful fuchsia sundress and matching scarf, large enough that it could serve as a wrap on a chilly night. "It's gorgeous! But how did—"
"You think I don't know my wife's size by now?" Eric scoffed. "Plus, I checked all your labels and guessed. I knew you were expecting us to be home by now. You wouldn't have packed a party dress. Or these…" He lifted up the dress to reveal a pair of delicate sandals the exact color of the dress, as well as intricate silver earrings and matching choker. It all looked very expensive.
He saw the question in her eyes. "I haven't told you what I got paid," he whispered in her ear.
The flight back home was Donna's first experience flying first class. "I could get used to this," she murmured as she settled into the roomy seat.
"A few more jobs like that one and you can," Eric said.
Donna's eyes flashed as she sat up. "Oh, no, you don't. I am not going to sit at home missing you while you go gallivanting all over the world laying Italian-fucking-stone."
Eric hushed her with a kiss. "You won't have to. One of the businessmen at the party has an office in the city and wants to build a home there too. Lots of stonework. Lots of connections. He thinks he can keep me very busy." He paused. "We might even be able to start looking for a house of our own. We might even think about starting a family one of these days."
Donna beamed, resting back in the seat for takeoff. A house. A home. A real home. Children. Was she ready for that? What kind of father would Eric be? Father. She was surprised to feel a tear roll down her cheek. "Oh, Eric." She began to cry quietly.
Immediately, he was concerned. "What's the matter?"
For the remainder of the flight, Donna painfully but thoroughly took Eric through her childhood memories. Her mother's addiction, her dad's drinking. On her twelfth birthday, he had taken her out for ice cream. As they walked along the sidewalk outside, licking their cones, he had said, "You're really growing up, you know."
"That meant so much to me," Donna said. Her tiny breasts probably didn't need a bra yet, but she had begged just the same. She had started her period. She'd even had a growth spurt. Still shorter than most of the girls in her class, there was real hope of catching up eventually. And she was so proud of her father, this tall, burly man who had raised her. He drank too much, but what was too much, really? He only spanked her if she was really naughty, and never too hard. He gave her an allowance for doing all the cleaning and the cooking.
"I was okay, even without a mother, until that night," Donna sniffled. "We were okay." She paused to blow her nose.
Eric hoped silently that he didn't know what was coming next; he had a sinking feeling that he did. "Until?"
Donna's head fell back, and she closed her eyes, seeing it all too clearly. "After we got home, I undressed and put on my nightgown, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair a hundred times, all the things twelve-year-old girls do. I called goodnight to him and climbed into bed." She bit her lip. "After a few minutes, he came to my room. He climbed into bed with me. I could smell the liquor on his breath when he kissed me on the cheek. He kept saying he loved me. He loved me so much. I-I didn't know he was doing anything wrong. Not yet."
Eric stopped her with his hand. "You don't have to tell me anything else. I think I have a pretty good picture."
She shook her head and frowned. "I've never told anyone, Eric. I have to finally tell someone, and it has to be you. Don't you see? I'm still letting him hurt me by keeping it all inside. Maybe that's what appealed to me at the club… I have this rage inside that I've hung onto."
Eric frowned. Would sharing her story with him impact their relationship? He enjoyed things the way they were. But she clearly was in pain. "Go on, then."
"It hurt. How could it not? He was a grown man. But he was also gentle. He told me it would get easier the more we did it. I didn't even know what 'it' was. No mother, no instructions. I was so stupid, so naive…"
"You were a child," Eric said roughly. His hands had clenched as she spoke quietly and calmly of the abuse. "Is he still alive? Because right now I'd like to—"
Donna laid a hand on the fist not partially encased in the cast. "He died when I was eighteen," she said in a soothing tone. "I'd left home at sixteen, moved in with a friend from school, told her family it was because of the drinking. And he never asked me to come home." Her voice was low. "Sometimes I wonder if he'd still be alive if I hadn't left. Maybe I should have just endured it for his sake. Or told someone… but he'd have gone to prison, and I didn't want that. God help me, he was a monster, but he was a kind one. You have to understand that, Eric. He was never cruel to me."
Eric shook his head and repeated himself, "You. Were. A. Child."
Donna nodded and smiled sadly. "I'm not a child any more, Eric. And I can't live with rage. I've hidden it. I've even used it. But just saying the words out loud? I see that he was in pain. I was the closest thing to my mom that he could reach. I even looked like her. The alcohol was a factor. His loneliness. My loneliness." She saw the disapproval in his face. "I'm not excusing what he did, Eric. But maybe I've started to finally forgive him. For all I know, he was abused himself. My mom, too, maybe. They didn't know how to deal with their pain. I don't want to carry mine any longer."
Eric was silent as an announcement came over the sound system. They'd be landing soon. His arm throbbed. Two more weeks of this damn cast. Selfishly, he wondered if Donna's new attitude would affect him negatively. Had he been a surrogate, the father figure she loved to whip? Things have been so good between us and now this. He sighed deeply, but the sound of the airplane's engine masked it.
"You look great!" Jessica gushed, twirling Donna around the next day at the office. "What's different? Tanner, for sure. Your biceps look more toned, too."
Donna laughed. "Well, we did get out in the sun a bit—Florida is great, and you wouldn't believe the house we stayed in." She curled one arm beside her head. "Welcome to the gun show," she said with a giggle. "These muscles are well-earned, let me tell you."
Jessica shook her head. "I am so thankful Eric wasn't hurt worse, Donna. When I think what might have happened…"
Donna hugged her friend. "I know. With Layla, too." Just arrived at the office, they were getting coffee in the break area. "How is the baby doing?"
In answer, Jessica pulled out her phone and showed Donna her latest photos. "So sweet. Angela Michelle, after Keith's mother. She was in the NICU for a few days but did so well, they're both home now. The doctor thinks maybe Layla was even further along than they'd thought. At any rate, everything's copacetic."
"Copa-what?" L
ance Glover had stepped into the room unnoticed. "Welcome home, Donnalet." He pulled two camera lenses out of his fishing vest and held them up to his eyes like mismatched binoculars. "Look, ladies—I'm a Peeping Tom!" A few coworkers in the room laughed at the joke.
Donna did not. Her eyebrows shot up, but she said nothing. Obviously ignoring him, she nodded to Jessica as she walked out. "Back to work!"
Jessica followed, whispering loudly as they walked, "What's that all about?"
Donna shrugged. "I don't like him, and I think I just figured out why."
"Well?"
"He reminds me of my father."
"Did everything go all right at the doctor, babe?" Donna asked when Eric called that afternoon.
"Right as rain," he replied. "Two more weeks, just like the doc in Florida said. I can do anything I feel like, but I think I'll wait on calling the guy about the stone until the cast is off." They discussed dinner plans, which reminded Donna to let Madame X know she was back, in case she was needed to fill in for a few hours. She'd made it clear that she couldn't work much, not on top of the magazine, and that it was just until Eric was back, anyway, but if she was needed here and there, she didn't mind.
"Which babe was at the doctor?" Lance was watching her lazily from the cubicle at her back, eavesdropping on the call. "The man-babe or the lady-babe?"
"The what?" Donna whipped around in her chair.
Lance crossed his arms and was smug. "I saw you and boss lady come out of that club a few weeks ago, that's all. Looked like something more than friends."
Donna smiled in spite of herself. I'm not angry, she thought with surprise. He's just a dickhead who thinks he has everything figured out. The rage is gone. What do you know? Instead of a sharp retort, Donna laughed. "Boy, do you have it wrong. I'm as hetero as they come, happily married, thank you very much. My husband broke his arm over Christmas if you must know. Stop hovering, Lance. Don't you have some photos to shoot?"
A few heads turned their way, but Lance just shrugged. "My bad. Whatever you say, Donnalet."
Walking back to the photo room, Lance's mind returned to the club. Maybe she hadn't been there with Jessica, but she was there. And hubby's out of commission.
13
Things Come to a Head
Several nights later, Donna worked late at the magazine. Engrossed in typing up a profile on a most interesting city councilwoman, the hours slipped away. When she finally looked up from her laptop, she was surprised to see an empty room. The custodian had left the lights on, but she vaguely remembered him sweeping around her within the last few hours. She packed her things. A night watchman for the entire building would be by later to check on things, but she would lock up anyway.
No sooner had she flipped the main switch for the room than she remembered the half a sub in the break room refrigerator she'd intended to take home for Eric. Navigating from years of experience working there, she easily made it to the break room in the darkened office. One arm was encumbered with a notebook and both purse and laptop case straps. She opened the fridge with the other and reached in for the sandwich bag.
As she bent over, Lance Glover appeared from a dark corner. Suddenly, one arm cinched around her waist, pinning her to him. Backing up, she was helpless to do anything but step back with him in an awkward, frightening dance. The refrigerator door shut, and they were in almost total darkness. Only the red lights of the exit signs in various places around the room, and the hallway lighting coming in from a fixed window beside the main door, were evident.
Donna still didn't know for sure who had her, but she could guess. "Let me go this minute," she hissed. "It's not funny."
Lance had an iron grip on her left arm and now hooked her right arm tightly, speaking quietly into her ear. "No, it's not funny at all. But you've heard several people laugh at me because of you. You laughed at me the other day. But you're not laughing now, are you?"
Think, Donna. The guard will come around soon. Keep him talking until then. "I'm sorry, Lance. I didn't mean to hurt you. You're new here. We joke around. You'll see. I didn't mean anything by it, honest."
"Let me tell you about honesty, Donnalet. And then you're going to let me do what I've been wanting to do to you since the day we met. Remember, Donnalet? You were in line at the copier with pretty Paul, but you were flirting with me."
"I was no—"
Lance pulled her tighter into his twisted embrace, and she could feel his erection at her back. Where is that guard? "Yes, I flirted with you. I'm sorry if you got the wrong idea, though. I was about to be married—"
"And then you bent over in front of me that day; you had to have known I was looking. I could practically smell your cooch from where I was. I'll bet you didn't even wear panties that day." With a quick move, he pinned both her arms with one of his so that he could reach between her legs.
Thank God I wore slacks today. That will take up some time.
"Hmm," he said. "I can't tell if you're wearing them now or not, but I'll know soon enough." His voice was thick with desire.
Good. Get as hard and needy as you can, dickhead. You'll have to kill me first.
"Everything all right in there?" There was a flash of light. The night watchman had found the door open and heard voices.
Lance released his grip, but not before warning her, "I was just kidding, of course. Don't make a big deal out of anything, or you'll be sorry."
Donna fairly ran out of the break room, greeting the guard with a big smile. "Hey! Yes, all's well. Working a little late, that's all. Listen… this late, would you be a dear and walk me out to my car? I'm a little wary of going alone."
The guard frowned as Lance came toward them. Donna could see the wheels turning in his mind and nodded toward Lance. "He would, of course, but he's going the other way and is already running late."
The guard shrugged. "Sure. No problem at all."
Only when Donna was safely locked inside her car and out onto the open street, did she breathe easily. She'd always been afraid something like this would happen, had always been careful to stay in groups, to never be caught alone in the dark… like I was on my twelfth birthday. She gasped. I've been afraid of my father all this time, but he's dead. Another very alive man had accosted her tonight. And I wasn't afraid. I knew the guard would come. She breathed a prayer of thanks.
Tomorrow, she would explain the whole thing to Worth, she decided as she drove. One less photographer at the magazine by tomorrow evening. A thought occurred to her. Should I tell Eric? Physically, he was not in the best shape for confrontation. It occurred to her that Eric's personality was naturally passive, too. She'd seen him disappointed and disapproving and concerned, but not really angry. The angriest she'd seen him was on the plane, when she told him about her father—and that was because of her age more than anything. He'd told her Lance was nothing to worry about. He wouldn't do anything, not that there's anything to do. Lance will deny it all. I can't prove anything. It's my word against his.
Unbidden, another voice spoke deep inside. What proof could you have shown about your father? Mightn't he have found a way to turn it all against you? You were just a child, making stories up because he wouldn't let you have your way.
Donna took a deep breath. Of course, she would tell Eric. But after she spoke with Worth. That would surely put an end to things.
"Are you sure you have to leave, Kris? We love having you here." Layla nursed little Angela in the rocking chair of her bedroom. Her younger sister was folding laundry on the bed, carefully putting it in a basket as she did.
"We do!" Keith called from the nearby kitchen. "You've been a tremendous help."
Kristina Myers smiled shyly. "You're sweet to say so, and I've loved it—well, I loved it when I knew you and Angela were going to be okay. Up to that point, I was terrified."
Layla switched the baby to the other side and adjusted her robe. Breastfeeding was such an intimate, satisfying experience. She never would have guessed. "Did you know that the
same hormone released during orgasm is released during nursing?"
Kristina blushed and giggled quietly as she worked. "No. I suppose that explains why you nurse so often."
Layla laughed softly. It was good to hear Kristina giggle—she'd gotten so serious this past year. When she'd arrived, Layla had actually been shocked by Kristina's appearance. Formerly vivacious and outgoing, meticulous with her makeup, hair, and clothes, Kristina was now painfully quiet. Clean, but a bit disheveled. Something had happened to change her, or was it the strain of working with challenging students? She and Keith had both tried to coax more information from her during her visit, but Kristina was well-versed in deflecting questions or avoiding conflict. Plus, they'd had other things on their minds, with the baby.
"I nurse often because this wee girl is hungry all the time," Layla said, stroking her daughter's pink cheek. "Every two hours around the clock. But it really is amazing, knowing that all of her nourishment comes directly from me." The baby stopped suckling and looked up at her mother's face. "That's right, Angela. I was talking about you. You are such a pretty baby, yes, you are."
Kristina balanced the now-full basket of baby clothes on her hip, chuckling at her big sister's baby talk. "Your milk must be pure cream. Angela's getting fatter every day. I'm just gonna go put these away next door." Although Angela still slept in the room with Keith and Layla, the guest room would be transformed into a nursery soon. Already, there was a dresser bulging with hand-crocheted blankets and gowns of the softest cotton. Boxes and boxes of tiny diapers to fit a preemie were neatly stacked in the closet.
Layla stopped rocking. "I know you have to go back to school. If Angela was autistic, or is ever diagnosed as being autistic, I would want you for her teacher. I know we'd be keeping you from other children who need you." She pooched out her lower lip. "But we will miss you. Thank you again for giving up your entire Christmas break to spend with us. You've been a phenomenal help."