Hope's Corner

by Chris Keniston

  Her gaze wandered a moment to her husband’s Bible, then settled on his dark eyes, laden with concern. “Well.” She took his hand and gave it a tight squeeze, then smiled. “I suppose it won’t be the first time the Lord knows better than I do.”

  “You didn’t have to see me home.” Pam unlocked her front door.

  “What kind of example would I set, if I let a nice girl like you walk home alone in the dark at this time of night?” Jeff teased.

  Shoving open the door, she didn’t know why she was protesting. The truth was her house had seemed a football field away. The thought of traversing the small distance alone only agitated her already frazzled nerves. Not even an afternoon with Miss Abigail or dinner with the Parkers could quash the irrational fear that lingered after a nightmare, robbing her of the courage to face the dark.

  Standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, Jeff shifted from one foot to another. He looked the picture of the hormonal teenage boy fumbling his way through that awkward moment at the end of a first date. If only it were that simple.

  Pam knew what he wanted. To be invited in, not for the anticipated good-night kiss, but to continue the conversation she’d refused to have the night before. It was time to stop stalling. Dropping her keys in the blue-and-white bowl on the entry table, she swung the door open wide. “Is it too late to come in for a cup of coffee?”

  “Love one.” He stepped into the house and peered down the hall to the kitchen and back. “Need some help?”

  Did she ever, but not with the coffee. “Nah, make yourself at home. I’ll put a pot on and be back in a second.”

  The first room in the house she’d painted when she’d moved in was the kitchen. A bright yellow. She’d hoped it would make the room feel like sunshine anytime of day. At the moment it looked more like an army of lemons had run amok. Maybe she should have stuck with tan like the man at the paint store had suggested.

  Taking a deep breath, she willed her body to relax. “Fat chance,” she muttered to herself. Not sure if Jeff could hear her, she leaned around the kitchen doorway and glanced down the hall. If he’d heard her talking to herself, he didn’t show it.

  Sitting in the big old wingback, he flipped through one of the photo albums she kept on the shelf under the coffee table.

  “No point in having him think I’m any more loony than he already does.” She closed the kitchen door. “So what if I talk to myself while I make coffee.” She took another deep breath and opened the cupboard by the coffeepot. “I mean, lots of people talk to themselves or whistle while they work.”

  After putting a new filter in the basket, she measured out two scoops of coffee and paused, wondering if he’d drink more than one cup. She looked at the pot, over to the door, then back. “If he does, that means he’ll have me talking about that night.” Her hand fell to the counter. Glancing out the window, she considered what Miss Abigail’s daddy had said. The trick to fixing a skittish filly is lots of patience. She turned her attention back to the pot and added two more scoops. “I suppose even her daddy might think two years was more than enough patience.”

  She poured eight cups of water into the coffeemaker, closed the lid, pushed the button, and stepped back. The machine spat and sputtered as small bursts of steam puffed through the top. Her gaze once again focused out the window, she blew out a long breath. “If only Travis hadn’t died.”

  “Maybe that’s something we should talk about?”

  She hadn’t heard the door open, or Jeff walk into the room. The sound of his voice had startled her. Heck, it had probably scared a year off her life. Still she hadn’t moved. Hadn’t even flinched, never mind jump out of her skin as she’d done most of the day with the slightest provocation. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He looked at the brewing pot of coffee, and she wondered what he was thinking. There was a focus, an odd sort of concentration, almost as if he expected the coffeepot to speak to him.

  When his gazed turned on her, he extended his hand. “That’s going to take a few minutes. Let’s have a seat in the other room. It’s more comfortable.”

  By the time they reached the living room and sat, it would be time to return for the coffee, but she didn’t protest. Her hand accepted his, and she followed him down the hall, his warmth spreading through her like a heated ray of sunshine. It had been a long time since she’d felt such a steady sense of calm. A total lack of fear. She didn’t ever want to let go.

  Still holding her hand, he sat at the end of the sofa. His back to the armrest, he faced her. She felt the tug of his hand and lowered herself into the seat beside him. Their hands clasped, she stared off down the hall.

  The coffeepot still gurgled. He’d been right. The coffee would take longer. But was he right about her? Was she finally ready? His grip on her hand tightened, and she knew it was time to make a decision. It would be her choice. She didn’t have to see him to know he watched her, waiting.

  Low and gentle, barely above a whisper, like a tender caress, she could feel his voice surround her. “Tell me, Pammy. Tell me what happened.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Pam’s gaze remained on the kitchen at the end of the hall. She hadn’t turned to look at him. Hadn’t acknowledged the question. But Jeff found it comforting that she at least hadn’t let go of his hand.

  Not sure if it would be best to remain quiet or say something to urge her on, his fingers tightened around the small hand still folded in his. The movement seemed to remind her that he was there.

  “I’ve spent so long trying not to remember, I don’t know if…if I can.”

  “I know it’s hard, but there’s a part of you that needs to remember, to know.” His voice still soft and low, he repeated, “Tell me what happened.”

  She blinked, narrowed her eyes, focused on him, then blinked again. When she turned her attention off into the distance, she pulled free and splayed her hands open on each knee. “I don’t know where to start.”

  Her fingers flexed and tightened until her knuckles gleamed bright white. The grip should have been painful but she didn’t loosen the hold. Not sure what else to do, he covered her hand, his thumb casually caressing the top until he felt her grip ease. “You and Travis were driving home.”

  “It was late. I used to volunteer on Wednesday nights at NICU. Sometimes the best medicine for a sick baby is to be held, and so many little ones didn’t have anyone to love on them.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Things were going really well with Travis’s career. The partnership with Greg was growing. They’d taken on another law clerk. We’d just bought a house. Three bedrooms.”

  She shifted and looked up at him. The hard edge of fear that had shone in her eyes most of the evening gave way to a soft, gentle glimmer. He could almost see a smile in her eyes. “Travis had a plan.” This time her mouth tipped in a wistful grin. “He had it all worked out to the day. When we’d buy the house. Then the station wagon. A dog would be next. When there was enough money in the bank for a rainy day, we’d have our first child. I loved my job, but I knew I’d want to stay home to raise my family. We were young. The plan made sense. We thought we had time.”

  Her smile faded, and he resisted the urge to slip an arm around her and hold her until the hurt went away. “So on Wednesday nights you’d go to the hospital and hold the babies?”

  She nodded. “That night I’d gotten to the hospital early. There was this one little boy. His mom had walked out of the hospital after he was born. Just like that, she walked away.” Cocking her head to one side, she stared into his eyes. “How does a mother simply turn her back on her own flesh and blood?”

  A long beat passed before he realized she was waiting for him to answer. “I don’t know.”

  “The baby was born with a list of problems too long to detail. Blind and almost totally deaf were the simpler ones. At only a few days old, he underwent heart surgery and would need more surgeries as he grew. He’d been in an incubator for weeks but his lungs did
n’t want to develop. The neonatologist didn’t want to give up, but she didn’t hold out much hope. After twelve weeks he seemed to finally make enough progress that I could hold him outside the incubator for a few minutes.”

  She shifted in her seat, turning far enough that he could see her whole face and not just her profile. “I told myself, even if he survived, children like him don’t get adopted. His life would be spent in a system that was overcrowded and underfunded. Somewhere I’d started to think maybe Travis and I could take him. Find a way to make it work. I thought, who needs a station wagon? I’d begun to think of the baby as ours.

  “That night everything went wrong. It’s mostly a blur. All the babies were so small and frail. Every time we’d lose one, it always hurt…” She pulled her hand back and held it up to her breastbone. “Right here. But when I lost this baby, I felt a bone-deep hurt that burned so hot I thought I’d never feel that much pain ever again. I tried to tell myself it was for the best. He’d be better off in heaven. But I couldn’t hold it together.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and Jeff wondered if he’d made a mistake in not taking her to a psychologist to tell her story.

  “I wasn’t any help to anyone, so there was no point in staying for the rest of my shift. I told the head nurse, I’d be okay,” Pam continued. “I could drive myself home. But she insisted on calling Travis. The firm had a really huge case coming up for trial. He’d been working until all hours of the night for weeks. It was a make-or-break sort of thing. Had the firm stretched to its financial limits. I hated bothering him.”

  A tear trickled down her cheek, and she swiped at her face. “He told me to stop apologizing. Said that I would always be more important than a stupid case. Told me we could have our own baby if I wanted. Insisted that winning this case would put us years ahead of schedule. I knew they’d sunk a ton of their own money into it. I’d heard him and Greg talking. They were worried. If things didn’t go their way, they could lose everything, but Travis made it sound like the Emerald City was right around the corner.”

  An unexpected pang of jealousy poked at him. Pam’s love for her husband hadn’t been a secret, so it shouldn’t have surprised Jeff to learn Travis returned his wife’s feelings and had treasured her above all else. How could he have expected anything less? Wasn’t he doing the same thing now? Didn’t he want to take away all her pain and make her world right again?

  Pushing aside his own petty jealousies, he focused on Pam. She was all that mattered.

  “When we pulled up to the house, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. We had no reason to suspect a thief had been casing the neighborhood. But before Travis had a chance to close the garage door, a man dressed in black walked in.”

  He felt her stiffen. Her hand grew icy cold, and then she blew out a sardonic snort. “I was so naive, it was several minutes before I realized he wasn’t an ordinary person lost and looking for directions, or someone with a flat tire needing help with the spare. It never occurred to me we were in danger, until the stranger took a step toward me, and Travis moved between us.”

  Pam appeared to focus on a small glass globe on the coffee table. Except for an occasional tear, so far she’d managed to maintain a steady pace retelling the events of that night. Now she stared at the glass sculpture, and Jeff noticed she’d stopped wiping at the tears staining her face.

  Alarm bells began to ding in the back of his mind. The blank vacuous look in her eyes scared him. What was she thinking, seeing? He raised his hand to touch her arm, and she jolted back against the sofa. Her tears had dried, and she pierced him with a sharp, angry glare.

  “He hit Travis. He must have had something in his hand, something hard, because Travis doubled over and fell to the ground.” She grabbed her knees again and focused on the crystal globe. “I remember getting really angry. ‘Here’s my purse,’ I said to the guy and threw it at him. ‘Take whatever you want, just leave us alone.’ And then I saw it, the look in his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t after what was in my purse.”

  Her fingers balled into a fist, and Jeff could see the vein in her neck beating in time with her quickened pulse. Afraid to touch her, his hands clenched at his sides, his nails biting into his palms. The thought of Pam pawed and violated by a man who was no more than an animal made him want to throw up. He wasn’t sure he could sit calmly and listen if she told him that she’d been hurt that way.

  “Travis struggled to his feet. I could tell he’d seen it too. And then the creep hit me. Sent me flying against the car. Travis threw himself on the guy. The two of them rolled to the floor, and I looked around for something, anything, I could use for a weapon.”

  She loosened her grip and flexed her fingers. Jeff could see her hands shaking. She rubbed her thighs in long broad strokes, remaining silent so long he came close to standing up and ending the whole thing. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t put her through this again. And damn it to hell, he’d thought he was prepared for whatever happened, but now, knowing the only thing keeping her from falling apart was staring at a damn piece of glass on the table, he wasn’t sure he was ready for the truth.

  Still focused on the small globe, she leaned forward and slipped her fingers around the edges of the sofa cushion. “I…I finally spotted a small section of PVC pipe. It wasn’t heavy but I thought, maybe, with enough momentum, I could at least slow this guy down. When I turned around, I saw he held a knife to Travis’s throat.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. “I do remember. I could see what Travis was thinking. The way his eyes darted from me to that creep. He didn’t care about his own life, but if he died, there’d be no one left to save me.” She opened her eyes and a fresh wave of tears slid down her cheeks. “He wanted me to run. For whatever reason the guy was almost ignoring me, but I couldn’t leave.”

  She lifted a hand and rubbed at her eyes. Her movement swift, jerky, and hard, as though wiping away the tears would erase the memory and change reality. “I’m so sorry, Travis.” She sniffled and blinked back fresh tears. “Maybe if I’d run, if I’d gone for help, gone to a neighbor, he’d still be here.”

  “Don’t.” Knowing she was finally facing the guilt she’d buried for years, Jeff wanted to tell her she wasn’t to blame, not to do that to herself, but she didn’t seem to hear him. She was back in that world, in that time, reliving that hell.

  “Instead, I swung with everything I had. The goon lost his balance and dropped the knife, but he’d already hurt Travis so badly he couldn’t move fast enough to recover. I reached for the knife but the creep was on his feet again. He kicked Travis and backhanded me. If you’re hit hard enough, you really do see stars, but I had to stay strong. I couldn’t let the blackness win.

  “Travis tried to get up once more. The guy had both my hands in one of his and spun around and kicked Travis in the gut like in one of those martial arts movies. I must have screamed because the guy spoke to me. ‘Say good-bye.’ Then he kicked Travis in the head, grabbed me by the hair with his other hand, and dragged me to the ground. I remember trying to stomp on his instep, thinking if I could just break loose. But that only made him grin. ‘I like feisty women,’ he said. And my stomach rolled. I finally realized what I had to do. If I stopped fighting, if I just let him have what he wanted, then he’d go away and leave us alone, and I could get help for Travis.

  “Oh, God.” She started rocking in place. “So much blood. Travis was bleeding. The last blow to his head had knocked him out cold. I thought, he didn’t have to know. I wouldn’t tell him what happened. I could do that for him. I could save him.”

  Jeff prayed the horror of her words didn’t show on his face. Not that it mattered. She hadn’t looked at him once since she’d returned to that night in the garage, but he couldn’t let her see what he felt. And Lord help him, he had to let her finish.

  She’d let go of the cushion and grabbed her wrist, running her thumb back and forth. “I begged him not to hurt Travis anymore. Told him he could have anything he wanted. Anything. He
sneered at me and said he was going to get everything he wanted. He pulled out a rope from his pocket and tied my arms behind my back.”

  She turned her wrist and stroked harder. Jeff had to look away. He couldn’t watch her rubbing away the ropes that had bound her.

  “I told myself I could do this. It would be okay. He ripped at my shirt. I heard the buttons bounce against the concrete floor.” She closed her eyes again. “He cut the straps on my bra. I don’t know if it was the same knife he’d held on Travis or a new one. He used the edge of the blade to draw across the top of my breasts. I didn’t realize I’d closed my eyes. I guess I thought if I didn’t see him, didn’t watch, then maybe it would be less real. Maybe I could tell myself it was just a nightmare. Then I felt it.”

  Jeff clenched his fists. He pictured the scrawny bastard’s neck in his hands, and the man falling limp to the ground unable to hurt Pam anymore.

  “He’d put the knife to my chin and told me to open my eyes.” Her eyes flew open. “One hand pinched my nipple and twisted. I tried not to scream, not to flinch, but it only made him squeeze harder until I winced. I couldn’t help myself. But when I saw the glint in his eyes, I swore I wouldn’t make another sound. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.”

  What Jeff wanted was the satisfaction of making that SOB hurt until Christ came back. If it meant that Jeff suffered in hell for eternity, it would be well worth it.

  “When I wouldn’t scream, he bit me.” She lifted her hand, gently soothing a breast. “That wasn’t enough for him. After a while I didn’t even feel the punches anymore. I’d gone numb. I’d been numb for a long while. He leered at me long and hard. ‘Maybe we should wake hubby up, let him watch?’ Part of me wanted to scream, plead, beg him to leave Travis alone, to just get this over with and go away. Another part of me knew if I reacted, then he’d go after Travis again. He’d do whatever gave him the power.