by Sable Drake
One thing I did get from my family was a drive to succeed and a strong sense of perfectionism. When I accept a consignment to produce an instrument, I always take great care to make sure that instrument is as flawless as I can possibly make it. I never got rich at my chosen profession, but I live comfortably enough, plus I'm doing things I love to do. Or, rather, did until the state decided to try me for the death of my brother.
Of course, none of this gets to the heart of why my brother and I couldn't get along. Simply put: he was a bully, and I was a rebel. That conflict goes back as far as I can remember.
Gordon was always bigger and stronger, and he beat up on me regularly until I nearly bit his ear off defending myself. That happened when I was thirteen and he fifteen.
Gordon left me alone then, sort of, and we reached an uneasy understanding. I think he was already angling to be a politician, and I guess his calculating mind figured that it wouldn't do to be seen publicly as a bully. But he never really lost his hot temper, and that was what finally cost him his life. I would be lying if I said I don't ever get mad, but my temper is cooler, more controlled. I'm a pacifist by nature, but I'm also a realist. And I'm no pushover.
I did use my name to get a bank loan for the materials to build my own home, a two-bedroom log cabin in a rural area outside the city. I did a lot of the framing and log work myself, although I did contract out the plumbing, electrical and decorating. Because of where I lived, and because of my association with a country style of music, I became something of an outdoorsy type. It's a lifestyle that suits me and my temperament.
That is well-reflected in my appearance. I topped out well short of Gordon's strapping six-two, but still taller than the majority of the fairer sex. Plus, I developed an interest in aerobics and a passion for hiking, all of which gave me a lean, wiry physique. I used to have really long hair, but I cut it several years ago, and now a full beard is my only concession to a counterculture attitude.
Unlike me, Gordon did everything he was supposed to do. He got excellent grades in high school, went to college, including graduate school, then moved into a mid-level position in the company. It was just assumed that he'd take it over when our father retired, which is precisely what happened.
Father had a bad heart, and he retired fairly young. He died when I was in my early thirties. By then, Gordon had become the company president, and had begun to get quite active in politics.
He apparently met Cindy while he was in his first job. She worked in the accounting office, and he quickly set his sights on her. I doubt if he ever loved her, but she definitely looked good on his arm as a trophy wife.
Quite simply, Cindy is gorgeous, a tall redhead with big expressive eyes. She also has a wonderful personality, warm and caring, but she's fairly shy. I never quite understood what she saw in Gordon, but then I'm biased by my lifelong dislike for my brother.
In fact, Gordon was quite handsome, with a jock's physique and a charismatic personality. He could–and did–charm the pants off anyone whenever he chose. He chose often, I discovered.
Of course, there was also the family's considerable fortune and prominence in the community. I'm sure that played into Cindy's relationship with Gordon.
Cindy was twenty-five at the time the met. She'd dated some, but not as much as you might think given her looks, and she says her family was eager for her to snag Gordon when he started showing interest in her.
Her family isn't poor, but they aren't rich, either. The prospect of Cindy marrying into the Luke family had a lot of appeal. And she was willing to go along, until she met me. Then, the situation wasn't quite as clear-cut. I was twenty-three, I had just set out on my own. I was totally bedazzled by her looks and her charm.
She and I have so much more in common than she had with Gordon. We have very compatible personalities and we have similar tastes in music, politics and activities. Once we got to know each other, it didn't take long for her to realize that she'd married the wrong Luke.
Because of her, I declined opportunities to move to Nashville and California, where my business might have grown tremendously. I wanted to stay close to home, so I could be as near as I could to her, and be a part of her life.
After three years of marriage, Cindy had their first daughter, Sarah, and two years later, she had the other girl, Mary. Then she had her tubes tied, because by that time she'd realized that she didn't want to subject any more children to a father like Gordon.
Fortunately, the girls take after their mother in their looks and their personalities, and they are the most precious things in the world. Cindy proved to be a wonderful mother, a stay-at-home mom who seemed to strike just the right balance between love and discipline.
I have no idea when Gordon started physically abusing Cindy. He was always being cross with her about something or another, and I do know he drank quite a bit. But I didn't really associate that with actual physical abuse until I happened to visit the house one day, and she had a slight bruise on her cheek.
I was there at their request. Because I'm handy with minor home repairs, I was always the one Gordon and Cindy called whenever there was a problem. Gordon never had the time or the inclination to do that kind of work, so he'd get me to do it because he knew I'd do it for almost nothing, and do it right.
I always did what they asked of me. It gave me an excuse to be near Cindy. I never once made a pass at her when she was home alone, though. Lord knows, I was severely tempted.
On this particular day, I was dropping off a couple of bags of concrete for a repair I was going to do on their back patio. I noticed that Cindy was very quiet, very blue. When I noticed the bruise on her cheek, I asked her about it. She just turned away. That's when I knew.
By then, they'd been married over a decade and Gordon had already won a seat in the state House of Representatives. He was very conservative, and his family-values platform found a receptive audience in the suburban district where they lived.
I asked her again, and she mumbled something about accidentally running into a door, that it was nothing to worry about. I didn't buy it for a minute, but I let the matter drop because it was clear she didn't want to talk about it.
However, it wasn't long after that incident that I happened to be at the bar of a downtown hotel meeting a client about a potential job when Gordon walked in with some blonde. He didn't see me, though. I watched him ply this young woman with several drinks, then leave with her in the direction of the elevators.
So, in addition to beating his wife, he was also cheating on her. I did a real slow burn over that. Here was a woman that I absolutely adored, with two beautiful daughters, and he was acting like, well, like Gordon.
This time, I worked up the courage to call Cindy. I told her what I had seen, told her that I knew he was hitting her, and that if she ever needed some place to go, she could call on me. Any time. Day or night.
"Scott, I... I appreciate that," she said softly,"but you know how he is. I can't leave him. He'd never stand for it. And you know, too, that he has powerful friends. Please, don't get mixed up with our problems. I can handle this."
"Cindy, you're just as much my family as he is, maybe more so to me," I said. "And the girls are my nieces, as close to my own children as I'm ever likely to have. That makes it my problem. And Cindy, I love you. I always have, and I always will. When you're ready, I'll be here. I'll always be here."
"Scott, I... I love you, too," she said. "I'm glad I have you in my life."
After I hung up, I sat back and considered my options, and realized I didn't really have any. As much as I loved Cindy, as badly as I wanted her, I wasn't going to entice her into adultery. I had too much respect for her and too much respect for myself to do something like that. Drawing Cindy into an adulterous relationship would have put me on Gordon's level, would have made me no better.
If there was one thing I always prided myself on, it was the fact that I considered myself morally superior to my brother. Perhaps that sounds arrogant,
but it's the way I felt. I have a rather flinty sense of propriety, at least where relationships are concerned.
Because of my feelings for Cindy, I never tried to establish a meaningful relationship with another woman. It would have been dishonest of me to profess feelings I didn't have for someone other than Cindy.
Oh, I did have a sex life. Among my circle of friends and acquaintances in the music business, there were several women that I had sexual relationships with, but those were always kept strictly physical. They knew it and were okay with it. Many of them were divorcees who had been burned by love and just wanted intimacy without commitment. That was fine with me.
I finally decided my best course of action was to hire an investigator–quietly–and gather as much dirt on my brother as possible. I needed it in case something should happen, and I'm very glad I did.
I also talked to Gloria Miller, a friend who was a lawyer. I told her about a "friend" who was in an abusive relationship and asked where she might go to escape her husband. I didn't say who it was, only that her husband was prominent and powerful.
From Gloria, I got the name and number of a domestic abuse shelter in the city. The actual address was a closely guarded secret, for obvious reasons. That was really all I could do for Cindy. That and wait.
The problem, from Cindy's perspective, was that she needed to protect herself financially, and Gordon had systematically cut her off from any independent sources of income.
He refused to let her have a job and gave her a very miserly allowance. She said he'd structured his assets so that they weren't legally considered community property. I'm not sure how that worked, but the gist of it was that if she divorced him, she'd get very little out of a settlement.
Moreover, she was worried that Gordon would fight her for custody of the girls, which was a travesty. Gordon had very little interest in his daughters–he'd wanted boys, after all–but they made for a nice, cozy family photo in publicity shots.
Indeed, the way she saw it, Gordon had cleverly set it up so that she'd be financially unable to care for her daughters in the manner befitting what he considered to be their station in life, and thus he'd win custody by showing himself to be the more fit parent.
In reality, I was more of a father to those girls than he was. I was the one who was there for their recitals, their soccer games, their school functions. And I was often called on to baby-sit, which I did gladly. They're wonderful kids, I love being around them and they love their Uncle Scott.
I'll admit, my motives weren't exactly altruistic, since those occasions also afforded me a chance to be near Cindy. Still, I remembered how indifferent my parents had been with me, and I was determined that Sarah and Mary would have one Luke male in their lives who actually acted like a daddy should.
Over the next eighteen months, I remained vigilant and waited. I watched heartsick as the woman I truly loved descended into depression. It seemed like Gordon was crushing her radiant personality by his constant abuse. She rarely smiled.
I also gathered information on my erstwhile brother. I learned that he had a steady mistress in the state capitol that he saw when the Legislature was in session, and that she apparently didn't mind sharing a bed with strange pickups–both male and female–encountered when they were out and about.
That got me concerned for Cindy's health, but as it turned out, I needn't have worried. Cindy subsequently told me that over the last couple years of their marriage the closest she came to having sex with Gordon was the occasional reluctant blowjob.
I knew it was only a matter of time, but I wasn't prepared for the suddenness of it when she finally reached the breaking point. Actually, Gordon pushed her past that point on a stormy night when he came home after drinking quite heavily.
I would only pick up bits and pieces of what happened as time went on, but near as I could figure, he came home drunk, wanted sex, she refused, and he beat her up. He did a real number on her.
All I knew at the time was that I was awakened out of a dead sleep late one night by someone pounding on the door to my secluded cabin. Not exactly a place for random foot traffic. I looked at the clock and it was well past the witching hour.
The only person I knew who would be banging on my door at that time of the morning was Cindy, and if that was the case, it meant trouble. I was instantly wide awake.
I opened the door to see Cindy standing there with the girls huddled behind her and several suitcases sitting around them. They were all soaking wet–and quite cold–and Cindy looked awful.
She had a black eye, a bloody nose, a cut on her cheek from where he'd slapped her, a split lip, a sprained wrist, and I would subsequently find bruises on her side. Not only had he slapped her and punched her, but he'd also pushed her hard against the dresser and kicked her when she fell.
Cindy was absolutely hysterical, and the girls were crying as well. I got them inside, got a fire going in my fireplace, got the girls changed into dry clothes, and made them huddle under some blankets until they warmed up. Then, I put them to bed.
They were almost in shock, because apparently the commotion woke them, and they saw it all. My heart nearly shredded when Mary, just seven years old, told me she didn't like "Father," as Gordon insisted they call him, and asked if I could be her daddy from now on.
"Sweetheart, I've always tried to be a daddy to you," I said. "I love you both as if you were my own. Now try to get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow."
I found Cindy still sitting in front of the fire. She hadn't been able to work up the strength to get dressed, and she was still wrapped tightly in a blanket. Her shivering was under control, but she still had a vacant expression.
"Cindy?" I said tentatively as I sat next to her on the floor. That's when she lost it.
"Oh, Scott!" she wailed and just buried her face in my shoulder.
I just held her, but at a primal level I could feel something stirring in my groin as the blanket slipped off her shoulders, revealing her peach-sized breasts.
I'm not sure exactly how it happened, but suddenly we were kissing. Kissing with the passion of long-denied lovers. My hands had a life of their own, and they were sweeping over her splendid body, squeezing her tits and lightly pinching her nipples.
In spite of my principles, in spite of everything, my body was telling me to go for it. Cindy's was, too. But, before I plunged ahead, we broke our embrace, and I backed away.
"I'm sorry," I said, sheepishly. "I... let myself get carried away. We can't do this. Not yet."
"No apologies necessary," Cindy said with an enigmatic smile. "God, you don't know how long it's been since I've kissed a man where it had any meaning. Scott, please help me. I honestly think Gordon was close to killing me tonight, and I'm afraid of what he'll do when he finds I've taken the girls and left him."
"I told you a long time ago that I'll always be here for you," I said softly. "I'm ready to help you any way I can. Anything you need, just ask."
I gave her the name of the shelter that Gloria had given me months ago, I told her we'd call first thing in the morning. We'd also see her about starting divorce proceedings. Cindy said she was finally ready, that she was ready to end her marriage to Gordon.
"I never should have married him," she said. "You're twice the man he is, and I should have listened to my heart when it told me you were the one I really wanted."
"Cindy, don't blame yourself," I said. "You were under a lot of pressure to marry Gordon, you still didn't know me very well and you made the decision based on what you knew at the time. There's no sense looking back in regret. All we can do is look forward and make the best of it."
Then I helped her up, got her into some clothes and put her to bed. She looked exhausted.
Before I did, though, I got my camera and I took close-up pictures of her injuries. I wanted clear documentation of Gordon's abuse.
While she and the kids slept, I paced the floor as the time crept by. I too worried about what Gordon would do once he lea
rned that Cindy was gone. He had been a winner all of his life, in everything, so I truly believed that emotionally, he couldn't handle losing Cindy, especially to me.
That intuition was validated the next afternoon, and that's what began the fatal process that ended with Gordon dead and me on trial for his murder.
As soon as it was light, I woke Cindy and the girls and told them they needed to go meet the volunteer who would escort then to the shelter. I followed them to the rendezvous in my Jeep and saw them off to safety. While we were there, Gloria met us and we mapped out a strategy for getting Cindy out of her marriage.
Then, I headed home and set about working on some instruments that I had going. I made it a point to stash away everything that might have indicated Cindy had been there, because I had a feeling Gordon was going to show up.
Sure enough, about two-thirty that afternoon, I saw him through the window of my shop. He didn't stop to knock on the door or anything. He just barged in like he owned it. I took one look at his face and, I'll be honest, I was afraid.
"Where is she?" Gordon said tersely.
"Well, hello to you too, big brother," I answered as calmly as I could. "To what do I owe this rare gift of your presence."
"Cut the shit, asshole," he bellowed. "Where is she?"
"Where is who?" I answered.
"Cindy. You know, my wife," Gordon growled again. "I know she was here, because I saw the tread of her car out front. She came running to you last night, because that's what she does when she needs a sympathetic ear. She goes running to my loving brother. You think I don't know about you and her? You think I haven't seen the little looks you two exchange, the conversations you have when you think nobody's around? What I want to know is how long have you been banging my wife?"
"Gordon, you've got it all wrong," I said evenly. "I've never touched her, because unlike you, Cindy takes her marriage vows seriously, and I respect her too much to talk her into anything she doesn't want. And she doesn't want to cheat, which is more than I can say about you."