by Beverly Long
“What did your mother say?”
“I didn’t tell her. She had been so sad when my dad died. And for two years, I would hear her crying in her bed. Once she met Brick, she stopped crying. I’ll never know what she saw in the man but she was happy. At least at first. I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“That’s a big burden for a sixteen-year-old.”
“Yeah. I got over the beating and almost forgot about it. But then it happened again. We’d let a couple goats loose in the high school. It got people pretty excited.”
She smiled.
“That was the cigarette burn.” It had been seventeen years, but he could still feel the startling pain of having his flesh burned.
She reached out her arm, lightly rubbed her fingers over the scarred skin. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He drew in a breath. “It was a third-degree burn. It got infected and I started running a raging fever. I had to tell my mother.”
“What did she say?”
Now came the hard part. “She told me to tell the doctor in the emergency room that I’d been smoking and fallen asleep on my cigarette.”
Raney was silent for a long minute. “Did you?”
He nodded. “Not for him. For her.”
“I’m sorry your mother is dead, and I know that you’re never supposed to talk badly about the dead, but that just seems awful. Yet you don’t talk about your mother as if she was awful.”
“She wasn’t awful. She was weak and needy and when my father died, I think overwhelmed with the idea of raising three boys on her own.”
“Did Brick mistreat her?”
“No. Not to my knowledge. It was always me. Until it was Calvin. And that’s when I knew things had to change.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My senior year of high school, our football team went to the state championship. I was a starting running back and it was pretty cool. My mother, Cal and Brick were all at the game. And we won. Everybody was pretty happy. What I didn’t realize was that all the parents went out drinking afterward, celebrating their kids’ achievement. The players were all invited back to the quarterback’s house. His parents had a bunch of money and they had an indoor pool and a game room. We stayed the whole weekend. There was no way to say no to the invitation and besides, I wanted to go.”
“You were a kid.”
“Yeah. But I was worried about being away from home. And I warned Cal to watch out for Brick. If I’d known that he was going drinking, I’d have never stayed away. He was always meaner when he was drinking.”
“What happened?”
“He pushed Cal’s hand through a window. The one in the living room. It was cut up enough that my mother had to take him to the emergency room for stitches.”
“And even then, no one found out.”
“Nope. Cal told them he tripped.”
“Why?” she whispered.
“Because Brick told him that if he told the truth, that it would be worse the next time.”
He watched her. She understood. Malone had also played the game of psychological warfare with her.
“Cal had just turned fifteen years old and he was small for his age. He was scared of Brick.” He paused. “You should see him now. Former navy SEAL, six feet tall, all muscle.”
“What happened when you got home?”
“I saw Cal’s hand all bandaged up and went crazy. Went at Brick like a madman. He was a big, strong guy and outweighed me by forty pounds but I was winning when my mother tried to break up the fight. I didn’t want her to get hurt so I stopped. And I thought, too, that this will be the end of it. She’ll leave the bastard now.”
“But she didn’t?”
“No. And when I told her I was taking Cal, she said that I couldn’t, that she would fight me.”
“He was a minor. She was his mother,” she said. “It would have been a battle, but surely the hospital records would have helped you. Couldn’t you have confided in a teacher, a counselor, anybody?” she asked, sadness in her tone.
“Probably. But I didn’t. I was ashamed. I thought this was the kind of thing that happened in poor, uneducated families. I wanted to be something. I didn’t want this hanging over my head. Anyway, I wasn’t leaving Cal alone with Brick. So I stayed. I worked like a dog and went to school at the same time to save enough money so that the two of us would have a place to live. We left the morning of Cal’s eighteenth birthday. I got hired on by the St. Louis PD and, well, you pretty much know the rest.”
He could tell she was puzzled about something. Let it go, he prayed. Just let it go.
“So after the incident with Cal, Brick reformed?” she asked.
She was so smart. She would have made a good cop. Knew just where the weak points of the story were.
“I told him that if he ever touched Cal or my mother, I would kill him. I think he believed me. And, every once in a while, I let him go at me.”
“What?”
“I had figured him out. He was an unhappy man. Mad that he was working in a factory, hated his bosses, thought they were all lazy. He wanted somebody to pay for his lot in life. And about every six months, he just couldn’t hold the anger in. That’s when I knew he’d be dangerous. When he’d start drinking and miss a couple days of work, I’d do something that I knew would make him angry and then he’d feel justified when he handed me my lunch.”
She got out of bed, taking the sheet with her. “You made yourself a target?”
“I did. I never let him take another cigarette to me. I’d let him land a punch or two and then he’d kick me out of the house for a couple days.”
“Where did you go?”
“Never far. If it was warm enough, I’d sleep in the hammock on the porch. If it was winter, I’d have to go to Fitzler’s. I didn’t like being that far away from Cal, although I knew that Brick wasn’t going to touch him.”
“How could you be sure?”
“Because even though he might land a punch, I think he knew by this time that I was strong enough and fast enough that if I decided to fight back, I would win.”
She sat back down on the bed. Reached out her arm. “You protected everyone else but not yourself.”
“In a way. But you have to understand, I didn’t want to kill him. I would have but I didn’t want to because he wasn’t worth it. I thought I would go to jail and by that time, I’d decided that I wanted to be a cop. My life would have never turned out the way it has.”
“And you never saw him after you left at age twenty-one?”
“I saw him when my mother was dying. She asked her hospice nurse to call us. Bray, Cal and I came home. We were at her bedside for a little over two days. He was around but didn’t interact with us in any way.”
“I imagine Cal feels a great deal of gratitude toward you. For protecting him.”
He held up a finger. “This is important. Cal doesn’t know. As far as he’s concerned, Brick never laid another hand on either one of us.”
“And your older brother?”
“The only thing he knows about is the time Cal’s hand went through the window. That was enough for him to hate Brick Doogan forever. I never told him the rest. He’d have killed Doogan for sure and then I’d have lost a brother to the prison system.”
She stared at him. “You’re amazingly well adjusted. Considering.”
“I had to let it go. On her deathbed, my mother asked to speak to me privately. She asked for my forgiveness. And I gave it to her.”
He looked at his watch. “We need to get up. They’ll be here soon.”
She didn’t argue. Just dropped her sheet and hurriedly stepped into her clothes. But when she turned her head, he thought he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.
Chapter Fifteen
Chase might have forgiven his mother, which she thought was pretty damn amazing given the circumstances, but he hadn’t escaped unscathed. There were more scars than the one he bore on his chest.
So many thi
ngs made sense now. His ability to stay calm, no matter what. He would not have let Brick know that he was getting to him.
His reluctance to sign more than a six-month lease and his comments that people needed to be ready to change jobs at a moment’s notice, even though he’d been at the same job for thirteen years. Chase had not been free to go before and now he told himself he was ready to leave at any time.
His unwillingness to marry. He’d been taking care of his family for years, making sacrifices beyond any a young man should have to make. He was done.
It was heartbreaking, it really was.
A lesser man would not have endured it and come out whole.
* * *
RANEY WAS PAINTING the kitchen when their two new bodyguards arrived. Chase knew both men and made the introductions. Leo was in his early fifties with a face that had been pockmarked by teenage acne. He wore a white shirt with frayed cuffs that looked as if it had been washed too many times. His voice was gruff and he had a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
Toby was twenty years younger, thin and wearing a lovely green sweater that was way too warm for the day. He pointed to the fresh paint on the wall. “Oh, that’s nice. It picks up the natural light from the window. I’m in the middle of a big remodeling project myself.” He walked over to look at the can. “Toasted Meringue. Excellent choice.”
Raney lifted her nose in the air—just slightly. Not enough that the two new arrivals would think she was odd but enough that Chase would understand that others recognized good taste.
Chase rolled his eyes.
“Come see what I got for the living room,” she said. Toby started to obediently follow.
“We’re not filming an episode of HGTV here,” Chase said, rolling his eyes.
Toby blushed and sat down. Leo looked around, probably in hopes of seeing an ashtray. When he didn’t, he started nervously rubbing the edge of his thumb on the corner of the table. Raney took pity on both men and pushed some warm coffee cake in their direction.
Within minutes, Chase was briefing them on the assignment, showing them entrances, exits and going over their daily schedule.
They decided that Chase and Toby would take the first watch, leaving Leo inside to rest until it was his turn. At first Raney felt self-conscious about having the man in the other room but soon got busy painting and forgot about him.
Midafternoon, Chase came in to get a drink. Leo got off the couch and went outside to take his place.
Chase looked at the walls in the kitchen and smiled. “It does look nice,” he said.
She knew he was thinking that she’d made pitiful little progress and that she must be the slowest painter on earth. But she wasn’t. She was actually pretty fast and had been making good progress—just not in the kitchen.
Now that he’d told her the story, she was even more pleased that she’d followed her instinct and decided to tackle Brick Doogan’s bedroom. Initially, she’d done it because she thought it was crazy that Chase was sleeping on a couch with his legs hanging off the end when there was a perfectly good bed, albeit with a hideous bedspread.
Now she understood why Chase couldn’t bring himself to handle the man’s things. Now he wouldn’t have to.
“How’s it going?” she asked him, as he drank a big glass of water.
“Fine. I think it may be a good thing that I got the roof done. There’s another storm coming.” He put his glass on the counter. “Will you be okay upstairs by yourself?” he asked softly.
“Yes. I’ll just make sure my window is closed so there are no fluttering curtains.”
He swallowed hard. “I want you to know something. I’m really glad your curtains fluttered the last time.”
It wasn’t an expression of love or eternal commitment but it was something. “Me, too,” she said.
They were both silent, too aware that strangers were outside. “It smells really good in here,” he said finally.
“I made a lasagna for dinner.”
“They would have eaten a sandwich.”
“I know.”
He smiled at her. “You like taking care of people.”
Maybe they weren’t so different in that way. “Are you going back out?”
“Yep. I’m on until six.” He opened the door.
They both heard the noise at the same time. It was the chugging rumble of Lloyd’s motorcycle. Chase grabbed the walkie-talkie off his belt. “Approaching motorcycle. Not a threat. Stand by.”
They had not seen Lloyd for four days, not since Gordy Fitzler’s birthday party. They went to the front door and opened it. Lloyd parked his motorcycle and came in, none the wiser that eyes watched him from the heavy tree line.
“Hi, Lloyd,” Raney said.
“Hello.” He was wearing a backpack and shrugged to lower a strap. He did not look at Chase but Chase was watching him like a hawk.
Lloyd opened the zipper and pulled out something that was wrapped in yellowed tissue paper. He started unwrapping and Raney could see that it was not one thing but three things—three identical pictures, in three identical frames.
“When I took the key off his dresser,” he said, “I took these. They were in his bottom drawer.”
The picture was of three young boys and a woman. She immediately recognized a much younger Chase. One boy would have been Bray and the younger, Cal. It was the woman who held Raney’s attention. This was Chase’s mother. Widowed young, raising three boys on her own, she’d been a pretty woman. It was easy to see where the boys had gotten their height.
She might not have been a bad woman but she had made terrible choices. She’d married a bad person.
Raney understood that on some level. After all, she’d chosen poorly, too. Not that Mike had been abusive, but they’d been too different. He wanted notoriety, even if it was only in the small community that followed professional surfing. He craved the next big wave, the thing that would set him apart.
She’d weighed him down because she was most happy living quietly. She didn’t need or want public adoration. She liked permanence and he loved the adventure of a new beach.
But she’d owned up to her poor choice. They’d divorced and gone on with their lives.
She looked at the picture again. This woman had chosen to let her son pay the price for her flawed decision.
She watched Chase’s reaction to the photo. Shock, then awe, before he pulled on his “you can’t shake me” face.
What would make him smile again like the young man in this picture?
Certainly not staying in Ravesville. He’d left it and everyone in it behind thirteen years ago.
She turned the frame over. For Brayden. The other two were similarly inscribed: For Chase and For Calvin. “Your brothers are going to like this,” she said.
Lloyd shifted from foot to foot. “I shouldn’t have taken them.”
“It’s okay, Lloyd. No harm done,” Chase said. “I appreciate you bringing them back.”
“You don’t think I stole them?” he asked.
Chase shook his head. “You borrowed them. It’s different.”
“I didn’t remember that I had them until I heard Blake talking about you and your brothers.”
Chase frowned. “Gary Blake? The police officer?”
Lloyd nodded. “After the party the other night. It was hot inside my place and I don’t got no air-conditioning. I walked outside. And I overhead them talking.”
“Overheard who?”
“Blake and that dark-haired bitch. She’s so rich, treats everybody bad.”
Raney looked at Chase. She was pretty sure she knew who Lloyd was talking about.
“Sheila Stanton?” Chase asked.
Lloyd nodded. “Those two were arguing, practically yelling.”
Lloyd had been really drunk that night. How reliable was this information? She remembered what Chase had told her about small towns and how information flowed.
“What did they say?” she asked. She couldn’t help it. Even if it
was just gossip, she wanted to hear it. Sheila Stanton had been on her mind. And she didn’t exactly know why. Of course it was true that her two encounters with the woman, first at the grocery store and then at the café, hadn’t exactly been comfortable. But it was more than that.
The woman had been Chase’s lover. For a long time. And now, especially after sharing his bed, perhaps Raney had sunk to a new low and was comparing. Her blond, somewhat unruly curls to Sheila’s thick, glossy, perfectly shaped hair. Her medium height to Sheila’s sleek, almost Amazonian stature. Her rather benign oval face to Sheila’s high cheekbones and sculpted chin.
With a quick jerk, she put the picture down. There was always going to be someone prettier, more successful, richer, smarter. Chasing that was a small person’s game and a waste of time. Even BHM, she hadn’t been inclined to spend much time doing it. After Harry Malone, she simply wouldn’t bother.
“Never mind,” she said.
Chase held up a hand. “No. Go on, Lloyd.”
“He was pointing his finger in her face. Said that he’d been married to one woman who’d loved a Hollister and that he didn’t intend to waste time with somebody else who had the same problem.”
Gary Blake and Sheila Stanton. Raney’s head was whirling.
“Did you hear anything else?” Chase asked.
“She said something but I couldn’t hear it. Then he told her that he didn’t intend to let her take him down.” Lloyd picked up the yellowed tissue paper and crumpled it in his big hands. “You better be careful around Blake. He can make things bad for you if he wants.”
Chase nodded. “Thanks for letting me know, Lloyd. And if Blake starts to bother you, you come tell me, okay?”
Lloyd nodded, got his backpack situated again and opened the front door. Neither Raney nor Chase said anything until the sound of his motorcycle had completely faded away.