“No. Paulson didn’t tell me.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Rhonda Jones did.”
Rebecca turned from him, swung her legs off the edge of the bed and sat up. “You went to New Orleans.” She didn’t need to ask. There was only one Rhonda Jones who could tell Max anything, and she was in New Orleans.
“Yes. I did.” Max sat up behind her and brushed his hand lightly over her back. “Talk to me.”
Rebecca stood and rubbed her hands over her suddenly cold arms. He was asking her to talk about things she’d tried not to even think of in years. Max still sat on the bed, silent and unmoving. Waiting.
Waiting for words Rebecca didn’t want to say. Words had power and she’d learned long ago that verbalizing something made it real. As long as you kept it inside, you could pretend it was just an overactive imagination. But for all that she didn’t want to say it, Max already knew. And he’d given her the gift of honesty when he’d told her his name. She could at least give it back.
She’d invited him into her bed and her heart knowing the truth about him. But he didn’t know her truths. He deserved to know before he made any promises. Rebecca sighed, resigned to tell him. At least some of it. She took a deep breath and began speaking.
“I grew up in a single-wide trailer in a run-down trailer park just inside the city limits of New Orleans. My…mother,” she choked on the word, “was addicted to meth. Her husband Jean, maybe my father, maybe not, was in the Reserves so he didn’t do drugs. Not constantly the way she did, anyway. Common law marriage, by the way.” Rebecca took another deep breath, trying to control her breathing. “My mother never cleaned. I can remember my senior year of high school finding drawings I made for her in kindergarten underneath a pile of trash. The house was full of vermin. They…” She gulped and shuddered at the memory. “They crawled on me while I slept. I tried to clean, but I just got so damn depressed and angry that I never got much done.” Rebecca shrugged and said, “Anyway, I was usually too mad at her to do anything to help her. She smacked me around a lot. Took her anger out on me if she didn’t have the money to buy drugs. What money we had went to drugs, and it wasn’t much money to start with. I didn’t eat much because there usually wasn’t a lot of food around. I was really skinny. Almost malnourished. That’s probably why I’m a little on the heavy side now.” She shrugged and continued to stare out the window. “Making up for it, I guess. Anyway, I managed to qualify for free lunch at school. So during the school year I ate at least two meals a day. Breakfast and lunch. During the summer I ate when I found something.” Rebecca let a tiny smile curl one side of her lips. Some parts were actually not too bad. “There was this old lady that lived a few trailers down. Mrs. Rousseau. She was such a mean old bitch. But she had this Tupperware with a red lid that she would put on her porch every night, packed full of food. I think she was the one that called CPS the first time. A few teachers called over the years, but nothing ever came of it. Someone came out once or twice but the foster system was so backed up that they just left me there.” Unvarnished truth. Don’t sugarcoat it. “I didn’t get new school clothes or shoes or anything. Every year I would go down to the Salvation Army and the ladies there would give me things. They knew too. Everyone did. But no one stopped it.”
Max breathed heavily behind her, but Rebecca didn’t turn around. She couldn’t look at him and tell him the rest.
“When I was about ten my mother started turning tricks for drug money. She never had a job. We always had welfare and food stamps. But Jean’s once-a-month check from the Reserves wasn’t cutting it anymore, especially when he started using it for tequila. When Jean found out what she was doing, he didn’t get mad. He told her to bring in more business. Turn more tricks. He started bringing his friends in to trade twenty minutes for a bottle of booze. The more he drank, the angrier he got. I was fourteen when Jean really noticed me. I asked for a little money to go on a field trip. I wanted to go so badly. We were going to a museum and everyone had been but me. They talked about these wonderful exhibits of ancient Egypt and the Mayans…it sounded like a magical place to me. It was ten dollars, and I asked him for it.” Rebecca felt a hot tear trail down her cheek and brushed it away irritably. “Maybe if I hadn’t asked…” Her voice broke and Rebecca took another deep breath. “Anyway, he told me I could earn my ten dollars if I wanted it so badly and pulled his penis out to show me what he meant. I kicked him in the nuts, told him to go to hell, and then I ran as fast as I could all the way to the end of the road. He didn’t chase me, but I guess he didn’t have to. He knew I’d be back. I finally worked up the nerve to go back sometime after midnight. He was waiting with his belt. The canvas one that went with his uniform. He held me down and started hitting me and hitting me. I don’t know how long he hit me for, but when he finally got tired I was bleeding all over from where the buckle had broken the skin. That got my teacher’s attention. CPS came out, wrote down a few things in their little notebook, and called Jean’s commanding officer.” Rebecca snorted. “All that fucking Uniform did was call and tell him to be more discreet in his corporal punishment. And that was the end of it. That time, anyway.”
Rebecca brushed a tear away and struggled to keep more from falling. She squeezed her eyes closed and continued in a low voice. “A few months later, after my fifteenth birthday, Jean got really drunk. A bunch of his friends were there, drinking buddies, not his friends from the Reserves. He didn’t have any friends in the Reserves that ever came over. My mother was there and…they were all drinking. Some were doing meth. My mom was sucking one dick after another for ten dollars each. Ten dollars. Museum money.” Rebecca laughed morbidly at the harsh irony. “Then Jean says, ‘Hey you little redheaded slut, you could learn a thing or two from your whore mother’ and they all laughed. They just…laughed. Even my mother. I went to my room and locked the door. But the doors in a trailer, especially one as old and decrepit as that one was, aren’t that sturdy.” Rebecca closed her eyes. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I was raped. Multiple times. Even…even Jean took part. And my mother watched.” She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “I was a virgin. My first time was a gang rape and my mother watched, giving me pointers the whole time.” Rebecca dug her fingers into her eyes. It was a miracle she’d ever worked up the courage to have sex again. “They never did it again, but I came up pregnant a couple of months later. When my mother and Jean found out they tied me to my bed and tried to abort the baby. My mother kept saying if I was going to turn tricks, I had to know how to do it. Apparently she didn’t know as much as she thought she did because I almost bled to death lying there. After they…did it, they untied me and went back to their drinking and meth smoking and whatever else they were doing that night. After my mother and Jean passed out I crawled to Mrs. Rousseau’s trailer. She called an ambulance for me and rode to the hospital with me. They had to perform a partial hysterectomy because they couldn’t stop the bleeding. I’ll never have children.” Rebecca leaned her forehead against the window and watched as her breath fogged the glass. I wish it would rain. Rain would make this story easier to tell.
She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath before continuing. “The doctors called CPS that time. That was when I met Rhonda Jones. That sweet lady tried everything she could to get me out of that house. She even tried to get approved as a foster parent herself. But she was already a single mother and the state wouldn’t allow it. I stayed with her a few nights here and there, when it was really bad. But for the most part, the system just overlooked me and left me at home. No one except the doctors, Rhonda, and Mrs. Rousseau believed Jean and his friends had raped me. There was this whole ‘support the troops’ fever going around and anyone in the military could do no wrong. So instead of Jean going to jail, everyone thought I was following in my mother’s footsteps. I managed to stay hidden pretty well after that. Between Rhonda and Mrs. Rousseau I made it all right.
“When I was eighteen, we heard this weather alert. Hurricane
’s coming, they said. Everybody evacuate. But my mother saw it as a chance to get more clients over and Jean saw it as an excuse to get drunk. A few men here and there came by, but we were alone by the time it got really bad. I wanted to leave. I begged them to leave. When the storm hit…we were the only ones in the trailer park. The wind blew faster and faster, and the rain came down like God was pouring a bucket out over us. It was so bad that another trailer crashed into ours, then ours crashed into another one, and down they all went. Like dominos.” Rebecca gulped. For all the demons she’d already revealed, this was the worst. “When the trailer tipped onto its side, my mother and Jean were on the couch. The couch landed on them. Then about ten years’ worth of garbage piled on top of them. They were being crushed and smothered. They screamed at me. ‘Get this damn couch off us, Rebecca!’ but I saw…opportunity. Like a cartoon, when the light shines down from the sky and angels sing. So I left them there. I crawled out a window and left. I walked nine miles in the middle of Hurricane Katrina and took shelter in the football stadium. Cars couldn’t even stay on the road and I walked there. If you ever needed proof of a God…there it is. Nine miles in winds approaching a hundred miles per hour and I didn’t have so much as a bruise when I got to the Superdome. When the storm passed I hitched a ride and that was it. I found out years later that the entire trailer park was swept away later that night.” Finally, Rebecca turned to Max, but kept her eyes averted. “I didn’t kill them. But I didn’t help them either. And I’m better off for it.”
She didn’t want to look at him, see the revulsion she knew would be there. How could anyone not be disgusted? Rebecca had always felt filthy because of it. Because it made her dirty. And now Max knew the truth.
“I wish I could have killed them for you,” Max growled as he stood and yanked her into his arms. “I wish I could kill them again.”
He rocked her gently from side to side, but Rebecca’s arms remained by her side. For all the demons he had, none of them soiled him the way hers did. Max was clean, and she wasn’t.
“Your scars are marks on someone else’s soul. Not yours.” He whispered the words she’d spoken to him so long ago.
Rebecca turned her face up and met his eyes. Her vision blurred as tears filled her eyes and spilled over.
“Your scars aren’t something to be ashamed of. They show strength that most people lack.” Max pulled her head to his chest as he continued to speak her own words back to her. “They have no power over you anymore. It kills me that they hurt you. You should never have to feel pain again. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you again.”
The tears flowed silently from her eyes as Max rocked her slowly. Rebecca sniffed and muttered, “Most of that wasn’t original. You stole it from me.”
Max’s chest rumbled as he chuckled and Rebecca reveled in the sound. “It was pretty good stuff. I didn’t think I could beat it.” Rebecca smiled against his chest and sniffled again. He kissed the top of her head and said, “Come back to bed. Let me hold you tonight. And when we wake up tomorrow, it’ll be a new day for us both.”
Rebecca nodded and Max led her back to the bed. She cuddled into his arms, rested her head on his chest, and sighed. Max kissed her forehead and said, “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.”
Chapter 16
Three months later
“Thanks for coming with me.” Max shifted in his seat, obviously nervous.
Rebecca smiled and reached across the center console—another freaking four-door sedan, what was his deal?—and took his hand. “You knew I would. You didn’t even have to ask.”
Max squeezed her hand, and Rebecca noticed a fine mist of sweat breaking out on his forehead. She doubted it had much to do with the dry Texas heat, though. “I love you.” Rebecca leaned her head back as she spoke the words she’d been dying to say for so long, but she figured he needed to hear them now more than any other time.
Max jumped and looked over at her, shocked. His hand squeezed hers so hard it hurt but Rebecca didn’t complain. He jerked his eyes back to the road and whispered, “I love you too.”
* * * *
Shelly Hargrove stood with her hands on her hips, staring at her eleven-year-old Texas tornado. He was the spitting image of his father but had more of his uncle in him than anyone else. He was smart, sneaky, and completely lovable. His mischief was, more often than not, a cover for complete and utter kindness. This time it was a garden snake in his grandmother’s kitchen sink.
“Mom, he was thirsty. That’s all I was doin’, was gettin’ him some water.” Her son stood with his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying his level best to look contrite. “Sorry, Mom. I guess I shoulda gave him water outside. But it’s so hot! I thought he’d like to cool off when he got his drink.”
Shelly closed her eyes and counted to ten silently. How was she supposed to stay mad? “Maximillian Collin Hargrove, don’t you ever bring a reptile into your grandmother’s house, or my house either. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. He opened his mouth to speak and stopped. He looked away, then started again. “Mom, is a turtle a reptile?”
Shelly covered her eyes. God help us all. “I don’t want to know where it is. Just put it back outside.”
Max darted off toward the bedroom, and Shelly determinedly looked away. I don’t want to know.
Before she had a chance to follow the little terrorist someone knocked on the front door and Shelly crossed her fingers that it was animal control. She called out, “Just a minute!” and walked out of the kitchen and through the den. Both of her parents were outside, so whoever it was would probably need to be sent off in the direction of the garden. She’d only come inside to investigate because Max had been sneaking toward the house in a very suspicious manner.
She swung the door wide and smiled at the redheaded lady and tall, dark-haired man standing there. Shelly directed her greeting toward the woman. “Hi! Mom and Dad are out…back…”
Shelly stopped speaking and jerked her gaze back to the man. Her heart thudded wildly. It’s not possible. She lifted a hand to her mouth. Same nose, same eyes, same stubborn jaw…“Max?” she whispered and reached for him before drawing her hand back. A ghost stood in front of her: the ghost of her dead brother. Shelly blinked back tears. This doppelgänger of her long-deceased sibling shouldn’t have to deal with a hysterical woman. She was just glad she’d opened the door instead of one of her parents.
“Hi, Seashells.”
Shelly’s knees gave out—she would never do something so silly as faint—and she began to fall. He moved though, faster than lightning and caught her before she hit the floor.
“Better sit her down somewhere before she passes out.” The soft voice belonged to the redhead and Shelly just looked at her, dumbfounded. “She’s pretty pale, Max.”
Max.
Shelly’s dead brother picked her up and carried her to the couch. He leaned down to her and lifted her wrist to check her pulse. Shelly jerked her hand away as it finally set in.
She stood, reached back as far as she could, and slapped him. “Where in the hell have you been?” Her voice was shrill and tears streamed down her cheeks. “Eleven years, Max! We thought you were dead! How could you do this to us?”
His cheek was red in the exact shape of her hand and Shelly felt a spurt of satisfaction followed by dismay. Max looked down at his feet. “Are Mom and Dad…?” He trailed off and swallowed.
“They’re in the garden. And good thing too! They’re old! What do you think would have happened if they’d opened the door? Jesus, Max, eleven years! You have a headstone!”
“I know.” He gulped again and said, “And I’ll explain it, I promise. But I’d really prefer to only do it once. Okay?”
Shelly covered her eyes and tried to get herself under control.
“Shelly? We’re done for the day. It’s just too darn hot out there. Your dad’s redder than the tomatoes.” T
he back door slammed closed and Shelly knew it was only a matter of seconds before they came in and saw their dead son standing in the living room, alive and well. “Shelly? Where are you?”
She wasn’t going to have time to warn them, prepare them, so she called out, “Living room. Company’s here. Someone important.” There. She’d done the best she could.
Max turned and shuffled his feet, his hands shoved into his pockets. Good. He should be nervous and ashamed. He’d let them believe he was dead. What kind of asshole did that?
“Is it the preacher?” her mom called, closer now. Shelly could hear her Dad’s scuffling footsteps coming.
“Nope. Definitely not the preacher.” Shelly hurried to the edge of the living room so she could be close to her aging parents when they entered.
“Well, who in the world…?” Her mom stopped and put a hand to her chest. “Max?”
Dad stopped too and whispered hoarsely, “Son?”
Max clenched his jaw and Shelly felt a little sorry for him. Just a little though. It might be hard on him, but dammit, they’d thought he was dead.
“Dad. Mama. I…I’d like to explain.” He spoke haltingly, as though afraid they’d reject him.
Shelly bit back anger. They might be madder than fire at him, but he was their son, her brother. Did he really think they’d tell him, “Thanks but no thanks, have a nice life?” Idiot.
“You don’t have to explain anything as long as you’re alive.” Shelly felt tears gather in her eyes again at the longing she heard in her mother’s voice.
Max stood there uncertainly for a moment before the redhead nudged him. He strode quickly across the room and wrapped his mother in a gentle embrace.
Shelly smiled through the tears as Dad wrapped his arms around them, and eventually she joined in as well.
“Mom? Is a frog a reptile, or an amphibian?”
Shelly laughed and turned to see her son walking into the room. “Max, meet your Uncle Max.”
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