As they sat down to dinner, her father lit the line of tapered candles, elegant symbols of family unity coming to life one by one, pulling a subtle gleam from the silver lighter he used. Rimmed in gold, it seemed pretty fancy for a lighter, more like an heirloom or valuable collectible. After the senior Mr. Foster led them in blessing, talk slowed, grew comfortable, and Felicity found she was actually beginning to enjoy herself. Her father was nowhere near the monster her mother described. He seemed intelligent, witty, good-natured. No one at the table seemed to have a problem with him. Sure, he was family and family tended to overlook the blemishes, but she’d seen strained family relations and these weren’t it. They were downright friendly people and Felicity was glad she accepted the invitation. Wait until her mother heard.
The two wives stood and began clearing plates. Plucking the cloth napkin from her lap, Felicity rose to do likewise, but her father’s hand stopped her. “Sit. Relax. You’re a guest this evening.”
She looked to him in objection. “But—”
Mrs. Foster reinforced the fact with a tip of her head. “The girls will see to the dishes. Thelma’s in there to help them. I’d like to hear more about your flute. I’m fascinated. Do you play as part of an orchestra?”
Slowly Felicity dropped back into her chair, a river of mixed emotion tumbling through her. Her mother would not be happy to know she sat during cleanup. It was her job as the youngest female in the group to clear dishes and clean pots. On the other hand, Mrs. Foster was the matriarch and she dictated which women did what. Besides, she sounded genuinely interested in her music. Glancing aside to her father, his wink reinforced the request to sit and discuss her music. “Well, sometimes.” Settling onto the plush seat cushion, she readjusted to being in the spotlight. “Mostly I play solo. Eventually I’ll take part in a symphony performance, but for the time being, I’m concentrating on improving my skills.”
“You must be so dedicated, dear. Playing a musical instrument requires a due diligence none of my boys seemed to master.”
Beau and Clint sat neutral while her father shrugged it off. “Music isn’t for everyone,” he said.
“As I recall, you were too busy for music lessons,” Beau said.
Jack laughed. “That I was and having a heck of a good time!”
Both Mr. and Mrs. Foster ignored the commentary, she interjecting, “Music will take you far, Felicity. There are so many ways it will benefit you in the long run, you have no idea.”
“She’s right,” Mr. Foster chimed in, drawing her attention to him. Seated at the head of the table, his wife at his side, he definitely felt like the head of the household despite his tendency toward quiet observation. His presence was imposing, commanding. He felt every bit the wealthy, successful man she’d always heard him to be. One of the Foster wives removed his plate and he immediately filled the space with the spread of his elbows. “As a musician, you’ll broaden your horizons, travel in good circles, meet good people. I have several friends back in Chattanooga that might be able to help you should you pursue a career as a flutist.”
“Oh, I’m definitely going to be a flutist,” Felicity replied. She was unequivocal about her career choice. Travis was going to law school and she was going to pursue her music to the Masters level and beyond.
Gerald Foster smiled, a bit patronizing but affably so. “I believe you will. But life has a way of changing hearts. What we start out wanting isn’t always what we end up having.”
A distinct chill entered his wife’s eyes. Oblivious to the change, Mr. Foster continued, “Ask any one of my boys. They’ll tell you. Your job is to keep moving forward, upward until you find your way. My advice is to try and enjoy the ride.”
“Yes, sir.” Felicity lowered her gaze, uncomfortable with a new agitation creeping into the dining room, beginning and ending with her grandmother. Suddenly Felicity felt like an intruder. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up.”
Mr. Foster arched a brow as Mrs. Foster replied, “Certainly, dear. Bathroom is down the hall past the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
She stood, the men mirroring her movements, then hurried from the table in as controlled a manner as she could. Once clear of the room, she could hear the muted whispers commence in her absence. Something was eating at them—something they didn’t want her to know. Passing the kitchen, Felicity glimpsed the wives setting plates in the dishwasher, the housekeeper moving in and around them. Second-guessing her obligation to help, Felicity forced herself forward, reminding herself she was a guest here. She didn’t know these people. Maybe this was the way they preferred it.
Safely inside the bathroom, Felicity marveled at the stone vanity, the intricately carved cabinets. Elaborate sconce lighting glowed from either side of a wood-framed mirror, its finish glazed gold. The ceramic toilet gleamed, appearing untouched by a human hand. Turning from it, she wasn’t about to be the first. She’d only come in here as escape. Drawing the length of her French braid forward, she peered at her reflection, wondering if anyone else noticed. Every time Mr. Foster spoke up, he punctured the mood with innocent commentary. His words seemed harmless yet the reaction they incited was anything but. Did no one care for the man? Were husband and wife at odds? Her mom never mentioned any problems between them. Then again, she never mentioned them, period.
Felicity wasn’t naïve. She knew there were people who put forth a pretty face for the community while they clawed each other’s eyes out behind the scenes. Were the Fosters that way? Was this entire evening a charade for her benefit? Why waste the effort? She hadn’t seen or talked with them for the last ten years, why start now?
Because her father insisted. Because her father wanted to re-establish their connection. Jack Foster had moved back home. He was rebuilding his life, he claimed, and wanted it to include her. Just because her mother didn’t like him didn’t mean she had to dislike him. She’d learned a lot about relationships during a psychology course at college. People were complicated, unpredictable and weird. They had issues and usually communicated their feelings poorly. That was her take away message. Her family was only proof positive. Seemed maybe the Fosters were, too.
Felicity inhaled deep and full, calming the last flitter of doubt. This wasn’t her issue. Whatever their problems were, they weren’t hers. She was here because her father asked her to be, nothing more and nothing less. If this dinner led to a deeper relationship in the future, then so be it. Like he said, she was her own woman. If her mother didn’t like it, tough. She’d have to live with it. A smile erupted from Felicity. Part of her liked challenging her mom. It made her feel strong, independent. Tossing her braid, she thrust her shoulders back and emerged from the bathroom. Giving a tug to her blouse, she felt good.
There had been no harm in this dinner. None. Nearing the open doorway to the kitchen, Felicity overheard, “I’m surprised Jack invited her over in the first place.”
“Me, too. Between him and his father, the two should be ashamed of themselves.”
Felicity paused, her pulse lodged squarely in her throat.
“Gerald is making a complete fool of himself over the girl.”
“It’s embarrassing. I feel so sorry for Victoria.”
“Do you think she knows about the beating?”
Felicity clamped a hand over her mouth and stepped back against the wall. Beating?
“I doubt it. Gerald does, I know that for a fact. Abby Sue told me that her daddy confronted him directly on the issue. Asked him point blank if his son was guilty.”
“He didn’t!”
“Yes, ma’am he did and Gerald confirmed it.”
“I would think he’d deny it to his grave.”
“Apparently not. And why should he? The whole town knows.”
The other woman hummed in agreement—an agreement to what, Felicity had no clue. Was her father guilty of a beating? Had he been in a bar brawl? Arrested?
“I’m only surprised Delaney didn’t stop her from coming
.”
“I am, too. Especially with that new husband of hers.”
“You’d think he’d mind his new daughter going to the home of her mother’s abuser.”
“Even if it is family.”
Dread iced Felicity’s bones.
“Jack always was a cold-hearted one.”
“Even Beau agrees.”
“Clint, too. You know he supported Delaney when she moved out. Offered to help her find a place.”
“He’s so sweet.”
“Jack isn’t. I tell you, I don’t know why we even had to be here. Hitting a woman casts a black mark on the entire family and now I feel dirty. Guilty by association. You know what I mean?”
“Uh-hm, I do.”
Felicity shrank away from the doorway, melted into the wall. She couldn’t listen to another word. Her father an abuser? Against her mother?
Chapter Eleven
“Calm down, Felicity. You’re not making any sense! What beating? Who are we talking about?”
Felicity clenched the phone in hand, nerves peeling the skin from her body. Travis wasn’t getting it. He wasn’t getting it! “My father! My father is an abuser!”
“What? Did he hit you?”
“No, not me!”
“Then who?”
“My mother!”
“What?”
Felicity couldn’t respond anymore. Her vocal cords had been stripped taut, her eyes swollen with tears. Listening to those women gossip about her parents had been the most horrible moment of her life. She’d been humiliated, reduced to hiding in a bathroom until her father came looking for her. Felicity, are you all right in there?
She pretended to be sick. She pretended to be vomiting. She ran the faucet, flushed the toilet, refused to talk to him. Her father had abused her mother. Her mom left him because he hit her. Why had she never said anything?
“You’re not making any sense,” came Travis’ rational voice through the phone—rational to the point of madness. “Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
When was the beginning? The day her father beat her mother? The day they were married? How often had it happened? How long did it go on? Why?
There were so many questions, none of which made sense. Felicity couldn’t imagine any man hitting her mother and living to tell about it. Her mother was a bull. She was tough and strong and while sometimes it got on Felicity’s nerves, it certainly would have served her well if a man came at her with his fists. Why didn’t she shoot him?
She carried a gun. Without fail she carried a pistol tucked in her boot. Where was that when all this was happening? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
“Where are you?” Travis asked, his tone placating, cautious, as though he didn’t want to spook her. “I’ll come and get you.”
Felicity looked around her. Where was she?
After splashing her face to mimic a sick person the best she could, she’d made her excuses and drove away from the home, drove as far and as fast as she could. “I’m in a parking lot at the Piggly Wiggly.”
“Which one?”
She glanced around the premises, but nothing looked familiar. There was a liquor store, a gas station, several lamp posts casting the parking lot in dingy yellow. “I don’t know.”
“Are you near a road? Can you check?”
The impatience in his voice grated on her. “I don’t know where I am, Travis. I left as fast as I could.” She couldn’t stand to be in that house with those people another second! Didn’t he get that?
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll check the Piggly Wiggly locations and find you. Don’t move.”
Done. She couldn’t move if she had to, her body limp from fear, nerves, shock—all of the above. Jack Foster had hit her mother. It was unforgivable. Unfathomable. What hurt worse than knowing her father was a creep was the fact that her mother knowingly allowed her to go into his home unescorted. Let her waltz in there thinking everything was okay, these people were normal, they could kiss and make up. It cut Felicity in half, split her heart in two like nothing ever had. What happened to the overprotective mother, the one she grew up with, tolerated? Didn’t she care about her well-being? Didn’t she care what happened to her daughter?
Gnawing on her lip, Felicity double-checked the locks on her doors. Phone clutched in lap, she watched for signs of trouble. But with few people walking around at this hour she felt okay. She was temporarily okay. Her thoughts reverted back to the Fosters. Those women talked about father and son. What did Gerald have to do with any of it? Had he covered for his son? Gone against her and her mom somehow? Horrible images of him hitting Victoria Foster crossed her mind. Was he an abuser too?
It might explain his odd behavior tonight. He hardly said a word and when he did, it seemed to be the wrong one. The whole deal was wrong. She should never have gone. Would never have gone if she knew the truth. Tears swam into her eyes. Why didn’t her mother prevent this from happening in the first place? And Nick. The women mentioned Nick. Did he know? Was that why he tried to talk her out of coming? But he had to. They said the whole town knew. Everyone knew. Everyone knew but her!
Delaney paced the living room. Nick remained on the couch, calm, quiet. He didn’t try to stop her. He didn’t say a word. He sat and he waited. Regarding him with a wary heart, she asked, “Where could she be? It’s eleven o’clock?”
“Maybe they’re having a good time.”
“I doubt it.”
“It’s possible.”
“Doubtful.”
“The Fosters seem like nice people.”
“Jack isn’t.”
“But she’s not with Jack alone, is she?”
“No.”
Nick outstretched an arm along the back of the couch and cocked a brow. “Well, then?”
Delaney grunted. Felicity was not having a good time. She couldn’t be. Not when Jack was involved. Felicity was a smart girl. She’d see through the Fosters and her father’s charade in no time.
Time. That’s what Delaney had given her. Time and space to learn the truth on her own. The truth. Well, not the whole truth but enough of the truth to trim her curiosity. Jack was playing games with Felicity and while Delaney didn’t know his end game, she did know it was a game. Jack didn’t care about anyone but himself. She’d missed it as a teenager but it was clear as the blue sky to the adult in her. Jack was self-indulgent, self-centered and insensitive. He might convince himself he was the good guy here, but he wasn’t. In time Felicity would discover the same for herself. And it would hurt.
Delaney stopped, glanced over at Nick. As though sensing her need, he rose and came to her. Sliding her arms around his solid torso, she sank into the hard line of his body, inhaled the warm subtle traces of his cologne. He was her strength, her support. Whatever happened, Nick would help. “I’m worried about her.”
He stroked her head, the hair down her back. “I know you are.”
“She’s going to get hurt.”
“We’ve discussed this. It might be a reality she has to face, come to terms with.”
“But she’s not prepared.”
“She’ll deal with it. She’s a strong young woman. She’ll cope with whatever comes her way.”
Delaney gazed up at him. Soothed by the steel underlay in his dark eyes, she knew. If the sky fell into the valley, Nick would pick it back up and stuff it back into place. No matter what happened, he’d make everything right. He did it with Jillian. Sent her packing after she tried to steal their land. He’d do so with Jack. There were no words for the gratitude and love Delaney felt for Nick. No words to describe the support she knew she could count on from this man. Nick was her rock. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now come over here and warm me up some cornbread. I’m starving.”
“Starving?” She gaped at him, glad for the reprieve into normalcy. “You ate half the pan of bread with your chicken—the second pan!”
“And I’m still hungry. Now go on
and make your man some food, woman.” He kissed the top of her head with a simultaneous pat to her rear. “It’s in the contract.”
Delaney remained in his embrace, smiling up at him. “I signed no such contract.”
“Well, you should have. I’ll never be the same without your cooking.”
“You mean my cornbread.” Nick ate the stuff like it was candy.
“Cornbread, chicken, grits, it’s all good. And speaking of good, when are you going to make me some of that sweet potato casserole?”
“Sweet potato casserole?”
“Yes, you know, the stuff Ashley served us for Thanksgiving. How many times do I have to beg before you give in and make it?”
Delaney laughed. “It’s not sweet potato season.”
“It isn’t?”
“No.”
“Well, how long do I have to wait?”
Delaney released and shook her head. “You sure do have a one track mind.”
He grinned. “That’s what makes me so successful. Now when?”
“I’ll talk to Ashley and find out when she’s pulling them up.”
“Good. My mother didn’t grow sweet potatoes when I was growing up. I think they’re my new favorite.”
“What happened to my cornbread?”
He pecked her nose. “Right after your cornbread.”
Plodding off to the kitchen, she plucked the cornbread pan from the counter and toted it to the oven for a re-heat. At least cooking gave her something to do other than worry.
In the dark of night, Delaney heard the metal click. She bolted upright, rousing a sleeping Nick who muffled into the sheets by her side, “What’s up?”
“I think Felicity’s home. I heard the front door.”
“Good. Now go back to sleep.”
“Good? I can’t sleep—I need to know how it went.”
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
Ladd Haven Page 10