To Have

by M. L. Pennock

  “Not me chief. Not me.” I say, my head held high as I think about the shit my sister has been through. I say it while trying not to feel at fault for how physically battered and emotionally bruised she is. I try not to think about how I’ve been running into her room every night since she moved in because she’s screaming in her sleep ... and I can’t make her nightmares stop.

  I give him a scenario. I tell him about the stalking, the breaking and entering, the bruises.

  It takes less time than I anticipated telling him all of it, but it’s easier because I didn’t say Steph’s name.

  I can compartmentalize this today.

  Today I’m just doing my job.

  “From that scenario, if the victim intended to press charges against his or her aggressor, that person could easily be charged with third-degree assault, stalking and, of course, the breaking and entering would be a criminal trespass charge. However, if someone not the aggressor is injured in the process of trespassing, it becomes burglary, either first- or second-degree,” he says. “Menacing could be added to that list. The instance you’ve related sounds like whoever was the victim here was put into a position of feeling fearful for his or her safety.”

  I’m writing furiously because I want to be sure I have all this information for Steph.

  “Stella?” I look up when I hear Davis say my name. “You okay? I said your name like three times.”

  “I didn’t even hear you. I was trying to get down the information you gave me and must have gotten too focused. What can you tell me about statistics? Out of the number of people who press charges like this, how many people are actually sentenced to jail time?”

  Another hour passes and what was left of my notepad is filled with my scratchy shorthand, every space lined with information.

  I’m armed with it.

  This was initially about Steph, but the “story” I came in to ask questions for will now see the light of day. Campus violence is a thing, domestic abuse happens, rape and assault are prevalent, we’re living in a culture where we still try to blame the victim. I feel like I owe it to my sister to write something about these issues.

  The conversation is coming to an end and I reach down to put my notes in my bag as I hear the chief clear his throat.

  “You know, Stella, if there’s anything you want to talk about with me off the record, I’m always here or at home. I’ve known you since you and Steph were babies and it would kill me if something was going on and I didn’t take the chance to offer you my advice or help as a friend as well as a police officer,” Davis says as I stand from my chair. “You have my cell number and the house phone hasn’t changed. Call me if you need anything.”

  I wish I could tell him it’s just a story, that public safety is just an interest.

  “It’s just a story,” I try the words on for size knowing they don’t fit.

  “You’ve never been a very good liar, kiddo. You’re an amazing reporter, but you can’t lie to save your soul,” he says, standing up behind his desk, towering over me. He reaches for his hat, setting it on his head to complete the police officer look, and comes around the desk. “Stell, I’ve been friends with your daddy since we played high school baseball together. I know you.”

  Davis reaches out and sets his hands on my shoulders. I’m tall, but the top of my head only comes to his shoulder. I look up at him, feeling fearful that the walls holding back my emotions are starting to crumble under his gaze. He’s looking at me like my dad would.

  “This is between us. I know you aren’t asking questions for yourself and that it’s more than just a story right now,” he says confidently. “You tell Stephanie to come talk to me when she’s ready. If that child is in some kind of trouble, she needs to tell me. I can’t protect her if she tries to fix everything herself.”

  “How do you know it’s Steph? It could be a friend of mine ...” I quietly remark.

  “Your eyes tell me it’s not a friend you’re worried about. Not to mention the amount of detail you gave me in that scenario. Did you get pictures of any injuries?”

  I stare incredulously, my mouth dropping open.

  “She’s your baby sister, Stella. You’re protective of her.” He’s right. There is no denying that.

  “I did. But she doesn’t want to come to you, I asked her to. She’s afraid he’ll come after her again. That’s why I wanted to do a story on what legal ramifications there could be if an assailant had charges brought against them,” I spill. The words fall from my mouth before my brain figures out I’m telling him the only part I kept secret through our entire conversation. “If she doesn’t know for sure he’ll be locked up and she’ll be protected, she’s not going to come to you, Chief.”

  “Photos. Get them printed and bring me a copy. Talk to Steph and, if nothing else, we can get together for coffee — the three of us. If she wants to talk to me, she can. It has to be her decision. I can go after this guy, but unless she’s willing to press charges, I might not have a leg to stand on.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to her and let you know,” I say, trying to keep myself strong when I just want to fall apart for my sister. “Thank you.”

  I want to say more, but there isn’t any more I can say without feeling depleted and needing a mental health day. I’d have to go home early and Steph would find me curled up on the couch being sad.

  I can’t be sad when I need to be strong.

  Brian

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The last few weeks have come and gone way too fast.

  Dale and I have gotten together a few times since our talk at the Jumping Bean. We have way more in common than just the girl we love.

  He’s been helping me in the woodshop behind the house making Britt the ultimate toybox for Christmas. It’s a monstrous thing with bookshelves on the ends. We’re trying to figure out how to incorporate a coat or hat rack into the design and I think we’re close to figuring out the best way to do it.

  When Britt and I take off for Tennessee tomorrow, Dale’s coming over to stain and polyurethane it so it’ll be done when I get back.

  Then I can get working on Stella’s gift.

  I’m hoping another project will keep my mind from drifting down the dangerous path to mercilessly beating Steph’s ex-boyfriend to death. It’s been hard keeping what I know to myself while working beside her dad, but I promised Stella I wouldn’t mention it. Dale would go nuts if he knew what had happened.

  So, Stella and I talk about it when no one is around. Just like how we talk about the wedding when we lack an audience. Talks about babies and which house we’re going to settle in are just as much a secret as everything else.

  Christmas cannot come soon enough.

  First we need to get through Thanksgiving.

  “Stella! Do you know where my Orange hoodie is?” I yell from my bedroom. I’m packing and have been so busy with the coffeehouse I have hardly had time to put laundry away, or wash it, and I know I caught Stella scrubbing the bathtub the other day. She’s usually busier than I am, but somehow found time to bleach the grout in the shower.

  I don’t know how she does it all.

  I don’t know how I got this lucky.

  “Stell?” I call out again. Nothing.

  Sticking my head out the bedroom door, I can hear her in Britt’s room.

  Walking into his room I see her, wearing my hoodie and sorting through clothes in his dresser to pack. She’s so good at this.

  “You know,” I say, leaning against the doorframe to watch her, “if you want an SU sweatshirt, I could just get you your own.”

  Without missing a beat or looking up from the dresser, she says, “Why? I have this one.”

  “I love you, Stella.”

  “I love you, too, Bri. What’s the matter?” she asks, stopping her hunt for matching socks to look at me. “You look sad.”

  “Just worried. About Steph, about bringing Tommy home with me, about us, the business, Greg and Caryn ... I feel like all I do i
s worry these last couple of weeks.”

  And she comes to me, wrapping me up in her arms, and she holds me in the doorway of our son’s room. I breathe her in.

  “Steph will be okay. She promised me she’d talk to Davis, but wants to get through the holiday. She says she hasn’t seen Darren since the night he attacked her at the apartment, but I know he’s tried contacting her,” she says.

  She won’t answer when he calls, I know, but the fact he’s still trying to talk to her pisses me off. Maybe it’ll just be more evidence against him when she talks to the police. I hope.

  “As for Tommy,” Stella continues, “the sooner he’s here, the more time we can have together and with Britt. I think Tom’s the solution to your worries about us, Greg and Caryn, and the business.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yes. Once he’s here and knows what he’s doing with the business — the baking and brewing and basking in college girl glory — and figures out what he might want to do as far as marketing for you and Greg, you won’t have to always be focused on the coffeehouse. We might even get a real date again soon,” she says, smiling up at me.

  I brush the hair from her forehead and kiss her there. There’s still so much to do to get ready for the drive south, but I just want to get wrapped up in her body and never let go.

  “I think we need to have that date as soon as I get back from seeing my parents,” I say leaning down to capture her bottom lip between my teeth. She responds, sighing into my kiss, her body relaxing into mine. “Maybe sooner.”

  “If we do sooner, you’ll never get packed in time to leave in the morning,” she says turning back to the dresser. “You’ll only be there until Sunday and then you’ll be coming home. It’s not that long apart. Even still, I’m packing enough clothes to get him through a full week so your mom doesn’t have to do laundry. Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Spellbound by how amazing she is, Stella caught me staring at her again. It happens a lot. It’s because she’s more than I ever felt I deserved. She’s. More.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy girl.” I flash a wicked grin in her direction and turn, walking back down the hall to find myself a different sweatshirt to pack for my trip.

  ***

  “Here’s the last bag,” she says handing me Britt’s backpack filled with coloring books, crayons and snacks for the drive. “And one for you, too.”

  I open the bag and see crackers, a bottle of water and what looks like homemade cookies. I do the math in my head and figure if it’s four in the morning on Wednesday now ... these will last until I make it to Buffalo.

  “I hid extra cookies in the cooler in back for when you stop,” she says, reading my mind and laughing. “Don’t need you in a food coma while on the highway, cowboy.”

  Shaking her head, she wanders back into the house.

  I take time to arrange everything in the back of the Tahoe. If I don’t do it now, I won’t know if I have room for Tommy’s stuff on the trip back. It’s still hard to believe my baby brother is going to move up to New York with me. It’s even harder to believe we’re going to be living together, but it’ll be good for us. It’ll be better for Mama to have him out of her hair.

  My phone rings in my back pocket.

  “Mama, why are you even awake right now?” I say as soon as the call connects.

  “Because I wanted to tell you to drive careful and I love you before you hit the road,” she responds. I hear a mug clunk the top of the wooden table in her kitchen. “I had to get up anyway, so I figured I would call now before it got too late.”

  I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear, talking and organizing. She’s happy Tom’s coming home with me, but still hasn’t let on what the problem was that started the ball rolling. Mama’s keeping those cards close to her vest.

  Stella opens the front door and walks out carrying a still sleeping Britt as I’m closing the back of the Tahoe.

  “Hey, Mama, I’m going to let you go. I’m going to get Britt in the truck and we’ll be on the road soon. I should be to your house by early evening,” I say as Stella walks up to the car. Britt might be small, but when he’s sleeping it’s like carrying wet sandbags and I can tell he’s already feeling too heavy for her. “Tell Tommy to chill some of his homemade apple pie moonshine. I’ll have a drink with him tonight so we can talk.”

  Hanging up, Stella eyes me.

  “Moonshine, huh? Better bring some of that home for me to try.” She hands Britt over and I lift him the rest of the way into his seat, strapping him in for the ride. Someday this child might be big enough to not need the five-point harness.

  “It’s good stuff, but drinking too much of it can make your clothes fall off,” I joke climbing out of the truck.

  “And here I thought only tequila did that,” she jests in kind. God, I love this woman.

  I pull her to me and hold on for dear life.

  It’s only a few days.

  It’s less than a week and then we’ll be back home with her.

  The sky is still dark above us, but starting to lighten up. I’ll be driving away from the sun for a little while.

  Stella climbs up to give Britt a kiss before closing his door. I hear her whisper to him, “I love you. Be good for Daddy.”

  My heart catches in my throat.

  I want to cry.

  I swallow it down, put on a smile and walk around to the driver’s side.

  “The house is all locked up. I’ve got to get back to the other house so I can shower and get some stuff done around there,” Stella says coming around the back of the truck. “I figured I’d stop down to the coffeehouse early and see if there’s anything Greg needs before going to the office.”

  “I know you. You have a motive and your motive is free coffee in exchange for helping him.” I kiss her forehead. “Make sure you take a couple extra baked whatevers for your stash at the office.”

  “I think I can handle that.” She smiles up at me, her tired eyes staring into mine. “Call me when you get to your parent’s?”

  “Absolutely. Probably even while on the road. You have a meeting tonight?”

  “No doubt. Starts at seven.”

  “I’ll call well before then. We should hit Nashville by dinner.”

  I wrap her up one more time, my body at home against hers, and I have to force myself to let go. One more long kiss and I’m in the truck, me and my boy heading toward the only other real home we’ve ever known.

  Stella

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I throw my purse and laptop on the dining room table on my way through the house.

  Food. I need food, I think making a bee-line for the kitchen.

  The meeting I covered tonight ran late and the story I wrote sounds like shit. Caryn was just leaving as I walked into the newsroom and our conversation consisted of nearly indistinguishable grunts that would have made our boyfriends proud.

  Meetings the night before Thanksgiving should be outlawed. I didn’t get back in the truck to come home until close to midnight and I haven’t eaten a meal since ... I just won’t think about when the last actual meal was.

  My head is in the fridge when I hear the back door open.

  “Mom? What are you doing here at,” I glance at the clock, “midnight-thirty?”

  I take a bite off the brick of cheese in my hand and stare at my mother, chewing but not really tasting.

  “Steph called my cell and when I answered she wasn’t there. I tried calling her back and no answer. I’ve been trying to call her for the last half hour,” she says, pausing to breathe. She looks half frantic. My mom’s not the frantic type. She’s calm. She’s the eye of the storm. “Finally I figured I’d just come here and see what she needed. She’s not home from campus yet?”

  Weird. Mom’s acting weird.

  “I just walked in, literally five minutes before you did, Mom. I haven’t seen Steph since this morning.” I tell her how I saw Brian and Britt off
when they left for Tennessee and then came home. “We went down to the coffee shop together this morning and helped Greg since Bri’s gone, but the last I saw her she was headed to campus and I was on my way to the office. Haven’t even talked to her since noonish.”

  Mom takes a seat at the counter and sets her phone down. She looks tired. When did my mom start looking this tired?

  “I’ve been worried about her. Davis stopped by last week and said you’d been in to talk to him for a story,” she says, and I know he slipped.

  “Mom ...”

  “Don’t say a thing, Stella. I know she’s your sister and you love her, but you should have come to me if she was in trouble,” she says holding her hand up so I don’t interrupt.

  I feel like a little girl. I’m in my thirties and getting scolded by my mom. This is the least awesome moment of my life.

  “Davis didn’t go into detail, but I’ve known him a long time, so I know something is up. He asked how Steph was and mentioned he’d visited with the two of you after that interview you did,” she says pointedly.

  She opens her mouth to say more, probably figuratively tear me a new asshole some more, when I feel the cold chill creep up my spine. And my phone starts ringing in my purse.

  “No. No, no, no. Mom, don’t,” I say to her, watching the color drain from her face as I back toward to doorway separating the kitchen and dining room. “It’s Steph’s number, give me a sec.”

  I answer with a half breathless, “Hey!” when I hear a siren rip through the phone line.

  My blood runs cold.

  “Steph?”

  “Stella Barbieri? This is Officer Max Wyatt.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “Max? Where’s Stephanie? What’s happened?” I ask, but I know. I already know. I look toward the kitchen and see my mother’s outline in the doorway, her hand up to her mouth as she creeps into the dining room. I hear the radio in Max’s cruiser, the dispatcher’s voice, and I know something is irrevocably wrong.

  I watch Mom as she crosses to me and see her tough exterior break more.