***
I put Steph in the spare bedroom — her bedroom whenever she would stay with me after a fight with Mom and Dad when she was still living with them — and rubbed her back where it wasn’t still painful. It’s almost midnight; we’d talked for a few hours, she had a few more glasses of wine and finally felt okay enough to sleep after a while.
If I didn’t want to talk to Brian, I would have just curled up next to her and fallen asleep right there. It would be easier to make sure she stays safe if she’s within arm’s reach.
I made sure she was resting as peacefully as possible before slipping out the door. Leaning against the wall in the hallway I wonder again how could I have not noticed something like this, the fear she had, for even the short amount of time she’s endured it?
For something to escalate that quickly and me not even see the damage before now makes me ill, but falling apart right now simply isn’t an option. I brush the tears from my cheeks and head down the hall to my bedroom to grab Brian’s hoodie. He still hasn’t asked for it back and I’m not willing to offer it to its rightful owner.
Throwing the sweatshirt over my head, I make my way downstairs to the kitchen.
To eat chocolate.
And call Brian.
Mostly it’s to eat chocolate.
“I was just about to call you. Steph’s finally asleep,” I say into the mouthpiece instead of a “hello” when I answer. It’s like he knew my fingers had been poised to dial his number and he beat me to it.
“Good. Is she okay?” Brian asks, his voice low and gravelly.
I tear open a Kit Kat and shove it into my mouth so I can use my hands to open a bottle of beer. I bite the candy, chew and wash it down, the cold brew hitting my stomach like a brick after hardly eating all day and then giving up my wine. I needed to be sober and able to drive if Steph changed her mind about going to the police tonight, that’s my excuse.
Not a chance I was afraid I’d get drunk and hunt a fucker down. Nope. Not. One. Bit.
“Well, I’ve taken photos and she’s come clean about everything, I think. I hope there isn’t more,” I say, breathing deeply and taking another swig of my beer.
“What do you mean you took pictures?” Brian’s voice has hitched up a notch, the quiet rough-and-tumble tone turning into protective brother with a side of “I’ll kill him.” I remain quiet, because I’m afraid how he’ll react despite the fact he’s the most levelheaded man I know. He’s logical. “Pictures of what, Stella?”
“Bri ...” I try to get the words out but my mouth is dry. I swallow to work the lump down in my throat because I have to be strong for Steph, and part of me being strong means having someone I can also lean on. So, clearing my throat, I begin again and let the words fall without thinking too much about the impact. “Bri, he hit her and left a lot of marks. She’s afraid he’ll do worse to her if she goes to the police, but I want to document while the bruises are fresh. Steph’s scared. I’m scared.”
It’s already late when we start talking, but our conversation goes well into the early morning hours. I climb the stairs while we’re still on the phone, and across town Brian does the same. We climb into our separate beds, our phones connected to the walls with chargers in our separate homes so we can work to calm each other down ... separately.
“I hate this, Brian. I really hate this.”
“Me too, babe. We’ll help Steph through it though. You’re going to talk to the police chief this week, so maybe he’ll be able to give you some insight into how she can handle this legally,” he says quietly.
“No, not that. I mean, yes I hate that — I more than hate that — but I hate this, too. Going to bed alone, Brian, this is what I hate. I would rather have this conversation with you here or me there so when I stop talking you’re just holding onto me,” I whisper into the phone.
“Soon, Stell, soon.”
Brian
Chapter Twenty-Three
There’s been way too much excitement this week already.
I’m going to get married. We’re talking about growing our family. Steph’s weirdness has been decoded and it’s done nothing short of throwing me into a murderous rage. The coffeehouse is the busiest it’s been since we opened.
Thank God it’s almost the weekend.
We’re into November — pumpkin spice season is well underway and with the chill in the air, more people are asking for cinnamon everything. And my mom’s been asking me almost daily about my and Britt’s plans for Thanksgiving. I think she’s a little afraid we won’t go south now that we’ve settled into routines in New York.
Opening a spreadsheet on the computer so I can see what’s needed for supplies, I feel my phone vibrate on my belt and answer it without looking at the screen first.
“Brian, I just miss my little man. You have to understand. I need to get my hands on his cheeks,” mom says into my ear.
“Mama, stop it. We’re coming to Tennessee for Thanksgiving, I promise,” I say, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I’m seriously trying to order everything Greg might possibly need while I’m away so he doesn’t have to worry about inventory on top of the baking and running the front, too.”
Laying my head down in the crook of my elbow, I take a deep breath. I don’t mean for it to be heard all the way down past the Mason-Dixon Line, but there’s no mistaking it traveled all the way to Tennessee.
“Sweetie, if you and Greg are doing that much business, maybe it’s time to look into a little extra help. One additional set of hands could take a lot of pressure off you,” she says, an almost sing-song sweetness to her voice.
Kathryn Stratford has something up her sleeve. I love my mother to the ends of the earth, but she cannot keep a secret or idea to herself for long. I think that’s where Britt inherited it from.
“What’s going on, Mama? I know your voice and you only sound like that when there’s something nipping at your heels like a yappy little dog trying to get your attention, so spill it,” I sound short-tempered, which is nothing like me but there’s so much to get done that she just needs to come out with it already.
“Your brother,” she states matter-of-factly. “He’s been doing nothing but pissing me off and he needs a change of scenery. Put him to work. He’s got a degree in marketing that he isn’t using, but you know he can bake and brew coffee as well as you and me.”
Bingo. That’s why she’s been pushing for me to come home for Thanksgiving.
“I’ll talk to him, Ma. Before I come down in a few weeks I’ll talk to him and see what he wants to do, but right now I really need to get back to work,” I say ending the conversation with an “I love you” but hating myself for not taking more time to talk to her and find out what’s really going on with my brother.
I have every intention of going to Tennessee to see my family — even more now knowing Tommy’s getting on our mom’s nerves — but with everything going on with Steph, I worry about leaving.
The decision to go was made before Stella found out about her sister’s stalker ex-boyfriend, who hasn’t gotten a clue he’s no longer welcome in Stephanie’s life. Deep down, I hope Stella is honest with the police chief when she meets with him. I want the cops to be aware of this guy. I want them to know who he is and that he’s bad news before something else happens, especially now that Steph’s living with her sister.
“What are you doing, Buttercup?” Greg says from the doorway. “You’re doing that spaced-out lost-in-thought thing again. You do that a lot lately.”
I turn my head to look at him, chewing on the inside of my bottom lip.
“I love it when you look at me that way. Gets me all hot and bothered,” he says, winking at me. “But seriously, what’s with the super serious mode this week?”
“How would you feel about hiring someone to help out around here, maybe do some in house marketing?” I skip over all the bad things stressing me out and before the afternoon rush hits I jump head first into convincing Greg that hiring my baby brother w
ould be the greatest idea ever for our flourishing business.
***
I definitely need to get into Tommy’s head and get him to agree to moving north. After talking to Greg yesterday and looking at the way business has changed in the short time we’ve been open, it’s apparent we need the extra help.
And I could use some extra sleep.
It’s not even seven in the morning and I’ve already been at the coffeehouse going on three hours. Greg and I have been baking for an hour, prepping muffins and scones and biscotti, but before he came in I was trying to figure out what to say to Dale — Mr. Barbieri — when I meet him for lunch. Lunch on a Friday should give him the weekend to think about my request if he needs time to consider it, right?
I’ve never done this before.
I have part of a speech prepared, but it sounds like I’m trying too hard.
Stella and I weren’t even going to tell anyone our plans to get married until after Christmas, but I respect her father. I want him to know how much I love his daughter. I want Dale to know I’m here to take care of her, and that she’s in turn promised to take care of me and Britt.
I just hope I can ask for his blessing without fucking it up.
My body is on autopilot all morning, my brain acting much the same, and I’ve just gone through the motions — pour coffee, pack up baked goods, ring up customers, wipe down tables.
When I look at the clock again I wonder to myself, “How the hell is it already almost noon?” My head starts throbbing and the sound of the coffee grinder being switched on makes it pound harder. I’ve never had an anxiety attack, but I feel like this whole situation could be the cause of my first one ever.
“Do you love her?” he asks from behind me as I switch the grinder off and the whirring blades come to a halt. I turn around to find the man I pray will be my father-in-law staring me down, like it’s a competition who loves her more.
“Sir. You’re early. I was ... yes?” Fuck. I close my eyes hoping I didn’t just tell him I love his daughter like it was a question, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it sounded like. I open my eyes and Dale’s still staring at me, hands in his pockets, waiting for me to continue. I notice a few of our regular customers watching the entire scene like a reality television show.
“Let’s sit,” he says turning and walking to the table Stella usually sits at when she comes in and has time to relax with her coffee and a scone before running off again for work. “I was thinking about it and I said to Jenny the other night how I thought it was nice you wanted to get together, just us guys, but that lunch is weird. Lunch is weird because we—” he points to himself, to me and back to him, “we aren’t dating. You’re seeing my little girl.”
I swallow hard at the protectiveness in his eyes. Stella’s been hurt and he’s out for blood if anyone hurts her again. He should feel that way. That’s what father’s do and how they feel.
“Yes sir.”
“So,” he continues, “Jenny says to me, ‘Dale, don’t you remember asking my dad to lunch once,’ and I’ll be a son of a bitch, Brian, you move fast.”
“Yes sir ... I suppose I do.”
“So, answer me. Do you love her? Are you going to protect her and care for her? Are you going to make sure she knows every single day why you chose to love her?”
“Sir, all due respect, but I didn’t choose to love her.” I watch a frown form on his lips. “I was born loving her. She makes me whole. She makes my son whole. Stella’s everything to us, and I would love your blessing, because I need to make her my wife. There is no wanting to marry her. I need her.”
My head drops, my chin resting on my chest as I try to get a handle on the situation because I didn’t say any of the things I wanted or planned to. I breathe in the scent of coffee brewing, fresh pots filling for the lunch crowd, and realize it’s quiet.
The coffeehouse is eerily silent.
I tip my head to the side, my eyes darting around the room where Greg and a handful of patrons have stopped everything they’re doing to watch. They all seem absolutely captivated. It’s a small town despite the college being here ... everyone who isn’t a student knows Dale and has gotten to know me, and they’ve all figured out Stella and I are together.
I lift my head back up to face him. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t what I found.
Dale lifts a cloth handkerchief to his eyes, wiping the moisture from them to hide his emotions.
“Welcome to the family, officially, Brian. I think Jenny’s been praying for this since you asked her to help you find a house up here,” he says holding his right hand out for me to shake. “Your mom and dad ... they raised a good man. I’d be honored to have you as my son-in-law.”
“I know it’s soon, but I just ...” and it sinks in that he just said yes. Holy shit, he said yes. “You said yes?”
“You must really love her hard to have to double check. Yeah, I said yes. That child wouldn’t stop talking about you when your parents up and moved all those years ago,” Dale reveals. “I know she’s close with her mom now, but back then she shared everything with me. Even as a little girl she held a flame for you that no one else could blow out, Brian. Not even that tool, Keith.”
He’s not telling me anything Stella hasn’t told me herself. It’s refreshing to hear it from someone else who’s so close to her, though. I think it makes her love for me a little more real to know she’s held out for so long and that, of all people, her dad’s the one to share it with me.
“It took me a long time to find my way back, but I think I got here at the right time,” I say to him, worried once the words leave my mouth that we’ll end up really talking about Stella’s ex-husband. The last thing I want is to feel like I’m comparing myself to him.
Dale studies me for a moment and I can see he’s wrestling with something behind eyes the same startling hazel green as Stell’s and Steph’s.
“You did. I think with everything that girl’s been through you saved her from heading down a destructive path. If you hadn’t come into her life she would have worked herself into an early grave,” he says. “When that ex of hers was out of town or working late, that’s all our girl did ... she worked. There was always an excuse to be at the office, or on her computer at home.”
“I’m hoping to put the word ‘vacation’ in her vocabulary soon,” I say tapping my fingers on the table. “I don’t know when the wedding will be, or even if she wants to do anything big, but I’m hoping we can plan something and Britt and I can take her somewhere for a week or so.”
I should be working, but instead Dale and I spend another hour talking about places Stella loved as a kid — Alexandria Bay up in the Thousand Islands, Little Torch Key in Florida and San Diego — to give me ideas for vacationing.
“Y’all want anything to drink?” Greg says coming up to the table. “We’re starting to get busy so I figured I’d ask before too many more people come in.”
Watching as a few more people stream through the door, Dale and I agree to get together again soon to talk and catch up more.
Standing up from the table, he claps me on the shoulder, getting my attention before I head back behind the counter.
“Before I go, Brian, I just want you to know how much I appreciate you talking to me before putting a ring on Stella’s finger. Some guys, well, these days not everyone thinks it’s important to do something like that,” he says, offering a shy smile as he drops his arm back to his side and meanders toward the door.
I hear some of the patrons snickering as I dance my way back behind the counter and tackle putting orders together as Greg takes them down. We turn the music up in the coffeehouse and eventually the good mood I’m in finds its way to Greg.
I catch him moving to the beat, light on his feet and he, too, seems less stressed than he has in recent weeks.
And I know that’s the work of a woman.
Stella
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Chief, I’m glad you could
meet with me. I know you’re busy,” I say shyly walking into police Chief Davis Frank’s office. I’ve never been nervous talking to him before, but today is different. Ulterior motives and all that.
Davis holds his right hand up for me to shake as he quickly shoves three grapes in his mouth with the other hand.
“Sorry, ‘bout the food,” he says around the fruit in his cheek. “We’re short today so I was on patrol all morning to ease the load and just got around to eating lunch. Want some coffee?”
I shake my head no and he motions for me to take a seat. Though I’d love some, I’ve had the chief’s coffee before. I’d rather lick the jailhouse floor, but I wouldn’t ever tell him that.
“You’ve got your notepad and you look scared, Stella. What’s this story about again?” He knows. He’s just trying to figure me out. We’ve had years to get into each other’s brains. I went to elementary school with his kids, we all grew up together.
Small towns. I wish it were easier to get away from this part of it — the part where my personal and professional lives overlap and the police chief knows I wasn’t a good kid every single day of the week. He was the one to find me skinny dipping with Keith all those years ago in the community pool and let me off with a warning as long as I promised to volunteer at the pool instead of break into it at night.
Now I’m here and he knows there’s something up my sleeve.
I clear my throat and push aside the memory of a less innocent time in my life.
“It’s about abusive relationships,” I say matter-of-factly. “Specifically what can be done legally to the abusive party.”
Davis’ eyes go wide.
“Uh, oh. Well ... there are a few courses of action. Do you have a certain scenario in mind to get an idea of what someone could be charged with?” he asks with a professional tone as he leans back in his office chair, drumming his fingers on the upholstered arm. “Or is this something personal and you need an advocate?”
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