“Am I late?” Mary Beth asked, before noticing that Heather and Connie weren’t there yet. She took her own place on the leather couch. A blue area rug covered most of the floor, and a wood coffee table held some magazines, paper, pencils and a box of tissues. In this room, too, the walls were decorated with large colorful prints.
Both women shook their heads, and murmured a hello. Mary Beth understood their reticence. Being part of this group was hard work. The women were probably gearing up for what lay ahead. Just as she was.
After three prior sessions, today she would speak up for the first time. So far, she’d offered only her name. Her first name. And that had been enough. A phony name would have been fine, too. But now she needed to do more.
The hard part was getting her story started, deciding how to relate her fifteen years with Hank so that the women would understand. They probably viewed cops as allies.
She glanced toward the doorway as Heather walked in, with her ready smile and a bucketful of energy. It was always that way with Heather Marshall. But, well…she was so young. So pretty. And Mary Beth felt very old inside. She barely glanced in the mirror anymore for fear of seeing the old woman reflected there. She was thirty-seven.
“Hi, everyone.” Heather pulled over a straight-back chair. “We’re not waiting for Connie this morning, and I’ll tell you why in a moment. But first, I want to know about breakfast. Did you eat it?”
Huh? What was this about?
“I did,” said Heather. “It wasn’t so great.”
The other women smiled, but no one complained.
“Anyone want to work with the cook?” asked Heather, looking from one woman to the next. “We need someone with culinary talent. Stella needs serious help now that we’ve got so many residents here. I’m talking about menu decisions and actual main course preparation. Other people can set the tables, clean up and do the simpler food prep.”
“Me.” Shocked, Mary Beth realized it was her voice she heard, her arm in the air.
“Thank you, Mary Beth.” Heather smiled at her. “I was hoping you’d volunteer. Two of our youngest residents told me you’re the best cook in the world. After we finish here, I’ll introduce you to Stella.”
Tashika interrupted in her distinctive soft drawl. “Now can you tell us where Connie is?” The woman collapsed back in her chair as if she could have taken a nap. But Tashika’s brain kept on spinning no matter how relaxed her body looked.
“Connie had some good news this morning,” said Heather.
Silence.
“Her abuser was arrested last night. No bail. Connie’s with our legal team. She’s considering testifying against him in court.”
“Hot damn!” said Tashika. The other women grinned.
“Why was he arrested?” asked Mary Beth quietly. “Was it for something he’d done to Connie?”
Heather shook her head, her eyes shadowed. “He’d victimized someone else. Another woman. He was beating her up, and somebody called the police. When they got there, he fired his weapon, and they brought him down. The woman’s in the hospital, and so is he…under guard.”
“Connie’s free,” Mary Beth breathed. “She can take back her life. Her abuser will never see sunlight again. He shot at a cop, and he’ll die in jail.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but cops do take care of their own,” said Kimberly.
“They sure do,” said Mary Beth, grateful for the natural opening in the conversation. She stood up, walked behind the couch and grasped the frame. “I can tell you all you want to know about cops and why I couldn’t go to the police department for help. Well, I did, once. But it didn’t—work.”
“Why not?” Tashika asked.
She gulped for breath. “They didn’t exactly believe me. Let’s say, they didn’t want to believe me because my abuser…my husband…is a cop.” All the air in her lungs was gone. Her fingers hurt from gripping the sofa. Mary Beth stared at the other two residents, and they stared back at her. Tears started to trickle down her cheeks.
“Oh, my goodness,” said Kimberly. “I never thought about what that situation might be like.”
“Then, I’ll tell you,” replied Mary Beth. “I need to tell you.” She paused to gather her thoughts. “Hank had on-the-job training to keep people under control. And he used it at home. Not always with his hands. Sometimes his face changed, and he got that crazy look in his eyes, and he yelled…I was terrified. And I did what he wanted. At other times, he used his voice—different tones meant different things. One minute he was loving, and the next minute…he was like a chameleon changing himself whenever he wanted to. I never knew what to expect. He once handcuffed me to the leg of the bedroom armoire and left the house. I lay on the floor, I couldn’t move the dresser. And my kids…my kids were due home from school….”
God, she hadn’t thought about that for a long time. How Neil kept calling her and finally he and Megan came into her bedroom and she’d made a game of playing with them on the floor. Reading to them, drawing with them. Until Daddy got home an hour later and told the kids that their mom did such a great job cleaning, that she threw out the key to his big bracelet. And he’d had to go to the store and get another one.
She’d hated him then. She hated him now.
“You know what he said when I threatened to call the police?” No one said a word. “He laughed at me. Laughed at me.” She grabbed the sofa again. “He dared me to call the station house. ‘Who do you think they’ll believe?’” he said. “‘I’ve already told my buddies that you’re depressed and acting loony.’”
Her tissues were shredded, but she wiped her cheeks. “And he was right,” she whispered. “I went down there, and no one believed me.” She choked back a sob. “No one will ever believe me.”
“I believe you,” said Tashika.
“So do I,” Kimberley added.
Mary Beth nodded, words too much for her at the moment. Then she glanced at Heather. The young woman looked pale. Almost ill. Oh, God, no! “Ms. Heather, are you changing your mind? Can I still stay here?”
THE TERROR in Mary Beth’s voice instantly brought Heather back from Dry Creek. And the memory of her intoxicated father backhanding her against the wall, shoving her in her bedroom and locking his cuffs on her wrists so she couldn’t leave through the window.
“Of course, you can stay, Mary Beth,” said Heather. “Absolutely. And I’m so sorry I scared you. Your story reminded me…of someone…who used to be in law enforcement.”
Mary Beth almost fell into her seat.
She’d upset the group. Angry with herself, Heather thought of a dozen ways she could have responded to the distraught woman. She was supposed to facilitate the discussion, not become part of the discussion. But the women were waiting for some kind of response, and she couldn’t leave them in limbo, ignoring their feelings.
“This man—this lawman—lived in the small town where I grew up, and he acted exactly the way Mary Beth described her husband acting. So, yes, Mary Beth, I believe everything you’ve said.”
The woman smiled and settled back on the couch, her body relaxed. Heather reminded herself how fragile her clients were, how long they had to climb toward self-confidence.
“Cops are cops,” said Tashika. “Small towns, big cities. Don’t matter. They’re the boss.”
“What about the law?” asked Heather, back in her role as facilitator. “Isn’t the law supposed to be the boss?”
And that got the discussion going about their personal experiences and where they legally stood now in relation to their abusers.
Kimberley finally pointed at Mary Beth. “You need to get a restraining order. You need to get a divorce.”
“I went for help once—to the station house—after he hit me, and the officers called it a little family problem. The captain wasn’t there at the time, but I never went back. It seems to me that when a regular person beats up his wife, it’s a crime. When a cop beats up his wife, it’s a ‘family problem.’
Double standards.”
Mary Beth was coming alive. Anger and indignation filled her voice. Excellent signs. She was fighting for her self-esteem, fighting for her rights as a human being.
She’d taken a big step that day, and Heather’s job was to lead her the rest of the way. Help her find a happy ending for her and the children even if it meant relocation. Mary Beth was safe now, and their legal team would help her file a restraining order. But under no circumstances could Officer Hank Landers ever discover that his wife and children lived at Welcome Home. Which meant that she could never admit it to Officer Dave McCoy regardless of his suspicions.
“DAVID! Are you in love with her?”
Dave stared at his mom across the table, glad he hadn’t started to drink his piping-hot coffee. They were at The Mason Jar, a favorite low-key lunch place that was also convenient to the construction company where Anne managed the office. “In love with her?” he repeated. “I never said that.”
He waited while Anne folded her napkin and placed it beside her plate. Her gray eyes studied him. “You’ve mentioned Heather’s name at least a dozen times since we’ve sat down.” She tapped her watch. “Twenty-five minutes. I’d say that means something.” Then she bestowed a brilliant smile on him, a smile that could still turn heads. “You’re my son. I love you with all my heart. I also know you.”
“Oh.” Eloquent, McCoy. “Well, maybe I mentioned her a lot because she’s driving me crazy. Always getting into trouble, but, somehow it’s not usually her fault. She’s like a—a one person patrol district all by herself. I need to clone myself to keep up with her. But at least she’s got that alarm system in now.”
His gentle mother clasped his hands and held on tightly. “David, my wonderful David. More than anything in the world, I want you to be happy. So, tell me, how does Heather feel about you?”
He didn’t know, and he didn’t know how to respond. “I’m…I’m working on it.”
Anne’s eyes clouded, and Dave had a hard time getting the next sentence out. “She hates my job.”
“Then quit.”
Startled, Dave sat back and stared at her. The gracious and serene woman who had become as much his friend as his parent wasn’t serene right now.
“Just like that? Leave the department?” He must have misunderstood. The department was his career, and she knew it.
But Anne’s head bobbed assent as she waved to the server. “Check, please. Don’t argue,” she said to Dave. “I’m getting this one. Let’s take a walk.”
He placed his palm against her cheek. “Mom. Calm down. You haven’t even finished eating. We can talk later.”
She stood up, brushing his hand aside. “We’re leaving. I can’t eat, and I can’t calm down until you listen to me.”
Five minutes later, they rounded a corner away from the busy street. His mom was setting the pace, her long legs eating up the sidewalk. Dave walked easily beside her.
“Your father…” she began, and Dave groaned. “Your father has become a better man since he retired two years ago. Are you aware, David, that he barely talks about his career anymore? Barely mentions the job or the friends he’s made from the time he started on the street. It’s like the whole thirty years never happened.”
Dave saw a flash of pain cross her face, but she kept walking.
“Once upon a time,” Anne continued, “the job was the only topic in our house. It was his world, and he loved everything about it. He never noticed the stress. But dead bodies take a toll. And what happened to him also happened to me.
“But now, he’s different. Have you noticed he hardly takes a drink anymore? And he doesn’t yell anymore. He laughs a lot instead. He’s almost the same man he was before you were born.” Her voice faded, her eyes seemed unfocused and dreamy.
Dave watched her and listened, astounded. She sounded happy, and looked so animated while she told him about Patrick running track and swimming laps.
“I think he’s decompressing from thirty years on the force,” said Anne, halting her speed-walk. She poked Dave in the chest with her finger. “Dad hasn’t even gone after another job! Not security, not a small-town sheriff’s position, not even a part-time gig. He’s had enough.” His mom finally stepped back, and took a breath, a deep breath, which she obviously needed after her nonstop recital.
He loved his mother, but her story was only half-right. His dad was drinking a lot less—that was true. When Patrick and Dave got together, however, their conversations centered mainly on the department, and that’s where his mom was wrong. His dad was up-to-date on everything Dave was doing, had encouraged him to take the sergeant’s exam. Patrick was in touch with all his old buddies, everyone he’d ever worked with who was still in Houston. And some who’d moved away.
“He does seem more relaxed,” said Dave, “since he retired. I agree with you about that.” He wasn’t going to enlighten his mom about where Patrick’s interests really lay. “So, how do you know all this? About his so-called change of habits. About his swimming laps and going to the gym? You’ve been divorced for a million years.”
She glanced briefly at him and began walking again at a much slower pace. “Does it seem like a million years to you? Well, it must. You were what? Twelve years old?”
Dave nodded but bit his tongue.
“Your dad and I have never been enemies, David. I got out when I saw what his career was doing to him. To us. To the family. In those days, you dreaded him coming through the door at the end of his shift.” She stopped and bent to adjust her shoe before looking at him. “Is that what you want with your Heather? A great relationship and a great family that goes to hell because of a stupid job? Leave the force, David. You don’t have to follow in your dad’s footsteps. He won’t be disappointed. If that’s what concerns you, I promise you it won’t matter to him.”
His mom was a locomotive at times, racing down the track to her destination without blowing her whistle. He needed to catch up.
He addressed her last remark first. “I never thought of leaving the job, so disappointing him is not an issue.”
Anne patted his arm. “Well, in case you’re considering it, now you won’t have to be concerned.”
“Mom…you haven’t answered my question. How do you know all these details of his retired life? Have you guys been talking?”
His mother blushed like a young girl. Looked like a young girl, too, at that moment. Man, he’d just uncovered dynamite—and he sure didn’t want to hold a lit match to it.
“He joined my health club,” Anne replied. “We swim together.”
“I see…” He wasn’t going down that road. “Say, I didn’t realize the time. How about I drive you back to work?”
“Sure,” said Anne. “I like a captive audience. Take the long way to the office.”
RETIRED POLICE Lieutenant Patrick McCoy strapped his revolver around his ankle, pocketed his wallet and glanced in the mirror. More gray strands seemed to sprout up every week, but Anne thought he looked distinguished. The word made him grin. And thinking about Annie made his grin jack-o-lantern wide. Either he was one lucky son of a gun, or he was one smooth operator. He shook his head. Smooth operator? If he were so smooth, he never would have lost her in the first place. Learn from the past, old fool, but live in the present. Sometimes, retirement meant new beginnings. His life was looking up.
He checked the clock radio on his night table. Too early, again. He had to laugh at himself. Every time he had a date with Anne, he felt like an anxious teenager out to impress the homecoming queen. The comparison wasn’t far off. He’d dated plenty of women in the past fifteen years—some very nice women—but no one came close to taking Anne’s place. His ex-wife would always be the one in his heart, and this time around, he wouldn’t screw it up. This time, Annie would come first. When she’d called earlier to ask if he were free, he bowed out of his weekly poker game with the boys.
He grabbed his key ring, and a few minutes later left his subdivision and drove the
several miles to the town house development where Anne lived. After their son had moved out, Anne hadn’t wanted the responsibility of home ownership. Mowing a lawn every week was not for her. So, five years ago, she’d sold the house she and Patrick had bought when David was a little boy.
Of course, Anne had every right to sell it. But when Patrick had seen the rooms taken apart with boxes everywhere, it had torn his heart. He’d never said a word, but Annie knew. She’d looked right through him and said, “Buck up, Lieutenant. You’re a decade too late.”
His Annie had become a strong woman since the divorce. Heck, Anne had always had enough self-confidence to refuse accepting second place. She’d washed her hands of him, but for David’s sake, had remained friends. It seemed, however, that marriage was something she didn’t want to try again. Maybe he’d given her a bad taste for the male species, or maybe, just maybe, she still had a soft spot for him. He was doing his best to find out.
He pushed the button next to the security gate connected to Anne’s apartment, noting how all the names and buttons were displayed in the open. Such a poor design from a safety standard. There should be an entry code that a visitor had to know. And the gate itself stayed open as long as cars rolled in, so a bunch of unidentified vehicles could easily follow Patrick. Of course, they wouldn’t, because Patrick would get out of the car and chat with anyone behind him.
Anne’s voice came through the speaker startling him. “Patrick? Is that you?”
She’d never learn. She trusted the whole damn world. He bit his tongue, did not say it was Jack the Ripper at the door. “Yes, Annie. It’s me.”
“Come on up.” She buzzed him in and was waiting in her doorway when he arrived, smiling, her hair full of reflected light, her gray eyes smoky.
And he lost his breath, as usual. She never failed to capture his attention in every way.
“Hi.” His voice sounded husky.
“Come in,” she invited, leading the way. “I thought we could have dinner here tonight, outside on the patio. The weather’s perfect.”
A Man of Honor (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 8