by Harry Kraus
She felt Joanne’s hand lift from her shoulder. “Go ahead, Claire, confront him with everything.”
Claire took a deep breath. “You hurt me.”
She leaned forward, her gut tight with anxiety. She had a flash memory of Kyle. He had brought her home. Was he there too? Kyle and Daddy were arguing. Kyle came back to rescue me.
“You abused me,” she sobbed. “I was drunk. I couldn’t defend myself. You — You — ” She couldn’t continue. She opened her eyes to see the empty chair and imagined her father sitting there.
Forgive him.
The impulse was strong. She wondered about her father, whether Huntington’s disease may have been affecting him long ago, making him a little less able to control his impulses. Or was it only alcohol that turned a protective father into a demon?
Her accusations fell silent in the room, but left her void of the relief that Claire had hoped for and Joanne had promised. A gentle voice seemed to nudge her again. Forgive him.
How many months had it been since she’d started wrestling with this very issue, that of forgiving the abuses she suffered at the hands of an alcoholic father? How many times had Pastor Phil encouraged her to lay aside her grievances, knowing that her own sin had been forgotten in the shadow of the cross? Week by week since learning of the Huntington’s disease gene that stalked her family, she’d clung to the comfort that perhaps some of her father’s behavior may have been worsened by the loss of control he felt at the hands of his HD. With that, she’d come so far in forgiving him; she’d traveled down the road of restoration so many steps only to meet yet another horrid truth about him. She’d forgiven his drunkenness. She’d forgiven his temper, the violent outbursts, but this . . . something so vile . . . could she forgive this too? Or did forgiveness trivialize the pain she’d experienced at his hand?
It had been a long climb to this moment, and she knew the consequences of the choice in front of her. To forgive would not set her father free. God alone would judge him for his actions. She nodded her head. To forgive her father had the power to set her free.
“I — ” She halted. “I forgive you.”
She hesitated, barely aware that Joanne had moved to the desk and snapped off the tape recorder. Evidently, this had moved in a direction that Joanne hadn’t anticipated.
“I love you, Daddy.”
Claire leaned over in her chair, gripping her stomach and weeping. When she opened her eyes, she noticed that the knot in her stomach was unraveling.
Her eyes met with Joanne’s and she stood to give her a hug. “Thank you.” She sniffed. “You were right. This was just what I needed.”
Joanne pulled from her embrace and cleared her throat. “Very good. Perhaps next time we can explore some of the problems in your present relationships.”
Claire shook her head. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Joanne nodded professionally, then gathered her things and walked toward the door. She didn’t seem to be too excited about staying around to relish their little breakthrough.
Claire smiled. She knew the decision was only the start. There would be tough climbing ahead, but she’d taken the first step.
And because of that, she was free.
Chapter Nineteen
When Claire emerged from her counseling session, in the parking lot was an all too familiar sight — Randy Jensen’s police cruiser. She walked over to his car as he stepped out.
“I thought I’d come by to ask a few questions.” He handed her a picture. “Is that your mower?”
“Wow, sure looks like it.” She shielded her eyes against the setting sun. “Where is it now?”
“We’ve taken it to a state police garage for fingerprinting. We figure Tyler Crutchfield should have his prints on it.”
“But what will that prove? He drove it when he worked for me all the time.”
“True, but you still can’t get your mower just yet. It’s needed as evidence.”
She sighed.
“I didn’t come by just for that. I wanted to let you know that we’ve closed the investigation into Richard Childress’s death. That Dr. Dogget investigator is way off base in my opinion.”
“Great. At least I won’t be going to prison. I’ve got a wedding to plan.”
Randy laughed. “So you do,” he said, retreating to his car.
Claire smiled. One more burden had been lifted from her back.
Late Friday afternoon, with John safely off in Winchester, Claire traveled over to Brighton to retrieve her potted plant. Actually, she purchased a nicer one and pulled the “hot” one off his desk, slipping in quietly and avoiding the stares from John’s coworkers.
When she entered the videography store, she was completely convinced of her misplaced loyalty. She leaned over the desk to write a check.
“Would you like to see what was recorded?”
“No.” She ripped a check from the case. “I shouldn’t have done it. I just want you to take the money. I don’t want to see the tape.” To Claire, that would be an even bigger betrayal of the man she loved.
Josh shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, lifting the check from her hand. “We’re still on for the wedding?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
After her session with Joanne, she couldn’t wait to get on with a happier chapter in her life.
Claire decided to surprise John by making dinner in his Brighton apartment. She wanted to share with him in person about her experience with Joanne and the good news that the investigation into Mr. Childress’s death had been completed.
She used her key to get in and promptly began dinner preparations. Baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad were soon underway, thanks to groceries she brought with her into his sparse bachelor pad.
She set the table with paperware. Anything remotely glass seemed to need cleaning. She was up to her elbows in suds at the kitchen sink when John arrived.
He walked in slowly with a pizza box under his arm.
“Save it. Dinner’s in the oven.”
“Smells great. But since when do you crash my apartment? And what have you done with my plates? I had them organized on the counter.”
She smiled and accepted a kiss on the cheek. “You are hopeless.” Throwing a towel at him, she said, “Here, you dry.”
He shrugged. “Deal.”
She shared with him about her session with Joanne, and how she was so relieved to be out from under the threat of an investigation.
Rather than rejoicing, John just nodded and grunted.
She snapped him with a dish towel. “I thought you’d be happy.”
He raised the corners of his mouth, a mechanical smile. “I am. Ecstatic.”
He turned away, his eyes escaping hers. He peeked in the oven. “What smells so good?”
“Herb chicken. Should be done in a minute.”
He nodded. “I’m going to change.”
He disappeared down the hall and she pulled a CD from a stack. In a minute, sweet mellow sax provided the background.
They had just filled their plates when a knock came at the door.
John stood up, clearing his throat. She watched his face pale as he opened the door.
She couldn’t hear the communication but assumed it wasn’t good when a police officer trailed John into the room. John stayed quiet.
The officer spoke as Claire and John traded looks. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m afraid John has to come with me. He’s going to have to answer a few more questions.”
Claire didn’t understand. “A few more questions?” She looked at John. “What’s going on here?”
“I can explain, Claire. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“There have been some accusations,” the officer said softly. “I’ll let Mr. Cerelli explain.”
The officer stepped back and stared at the duo.
John took a deep breath and coughed.
“John?” Claire put her hands on her hips. “Tell me what’s going on.
”
“Ami Grandle,” he began.
“I thought you said she quit.”
“She did. But she claims I assaulted her.”
Claire felt her heart sink. “What?”
“I didn’t do anything, Claire. I told her I thought she should quit. She grabbed me and screamed. Nothing happened.”
She looked at the officer. “Go with him, John. Tell them you didn’t do anything.”
“We need to take a blood sample.”
“What for? I didn’t do anything!”
“If you didn’t do anything, then there’s no reason not to give a sample.”
“I told you everything I know yesterday.”
“Yesterday!” Claire exclaimed. “John, why didn’t you tell me?”
“We want to check your testimony against your coworkers. Give you another chance.”
“I don’t need another chance,” John said, almost pleading.
The officer motioned with his head toward the door.
Claire followed John to the front door. “What should I do?”
“Go home. I’ll call you later.”
She walked back into the eating area and sat down at the table, suddenly aware that the CD she’d put on was skipping. She didn’t get up.
The phone rang. She sat still, listening to the answering machine.
“John, this is Bob. I was just checking in on you. What’s going on? Give me a call. 820-1120.”
She recorded the number of John’s coworker, wondering if she should call him back. But she didn’t feel like talking. Instead, she numbly stabbed a fork into the chicken and began to eat alone.
Chewing slowly, she formulated a plan. She needed facts. Why would this Ami be accusing John of sexual assault?
She understood one thing. She wouldn’t be anyone’s fool again. After being totally misled by Brett Daniels, she realized that men could be wolves in sheep’s clothing. If she listened to John, she knew she’d be taken in by his explanation and fall into the comfort of his arms . . . just as she’d been taken in by Brett. What she needed was an objective opinion.
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and walked to the CD player. Stuck, it quietly reverberated a dissonant chord. Just like my life. She switched the machine off.
After throwing her paper plate in the trash, she called Bob.
“Bob Estes.”
“Bob, this is Claire McCall, John Cerelli’s fiancée. I think we met at a company picnic last spring.”
“I remember.”
Not particularly talkative, Claire thought. “I need to talk to you about John.”
Bob stayed quiet. She thought she heard him groan.
“Do you know anything about this accusation of sexual assault?”
“Look, Claire, don’t you think you should get this from John? I mean, he is your boyfriend.”
“I can get his side from him. I don’t particularly want to talk to this Ami girl. I need an outside observer.”
“I don’t know. I’m John’s friend and — ”
“Bob, I need your help. Just tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed into the phone.
“Claire, he would want to tell you — ”
“I’m waiting.”
She listened to a ticking noise. Bob was apparently drumming his fingers against the phone.
Claire waited. Bob sighed again. “Okay,” he said. “I hate to be the one to tell you this. Really I do.”
She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. Could it be that John was yet another man in a masquerade?
“John has been seeing Ami outside work. She likes him. A lot, I think. But she’s young and she says John has been pressuring her to do things — ” He halted.
Claire felt her voice tightening. “Things?”
“Physical things. You know.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, this doesn’t seem like John at all. I know he cares a lot about you.” He sighed. “Anyway, yesterday at work, it’s like he flipped. He got real aggressive with her in his office.”
“Aggressive?”
“He ripped her blouse.”
“You saw him?”
He seemed to hesitate. “Yes.”
She’d heard enough. “This isn’t like John.”
“I’m sorry, Claire.”
She didn’t know how to respond. Have I misjudged him? She thought about the weird personality changes that had worried her so just after John’s head injury. I thought all of that was behind us. Is it possible that his injury changed him more than I realized? “Thanks,” she mumbled and set down the phone.
Then she twisted off her engagement ring, laid it on the kitchen counter, and fled.
Chapter Twenty
That night, Claire went room to room with a loaded pistol, checking each closet before retiring to her bedroom. Della was in bed before Claire arrived, something Claire was thankful for. She didn’t exactly want to rehash her relationship failures yet again.
Until her ride home, she had kept it together, holding in her emotions until she reached the top of North Mountain. Then, with the descent into Fisher’s Retreat, she began to cry, something that continued until she finished a sweep of her house perimeter to be sure things were secure for the night.
What she wanted more than anything else was a normal, happy courtship and marriage, something which she’d thought impossible after the discovery of Huntington’s disease, but a hope which John Cerelli kept alive by his frequent affirmations that they should delight in their present love, to glory in the time they had together now, and to lay the future in God’s loving hands.
The jerk! She supposed she understood a little of the pressure John was under. Trying to live out a chaste relationship after their previous indiscretions wasn’t easy. But to look at another woman, before they were even married!
She supposed she should be thankful. Finding out such tendencies after the wedding vows would have been disastrous.
She sighed and brushed another tear from her face. Perhaps it was God’s way of making it clear that a marriage commitment in the face of her Huntington’s disease gene was just a bad, bad idea. She’d let her enthusiasm of being in love color her judgment.
From now on, she would concentrate on being the best physician she could be, a healer to the people of Apple Valley. And maybe, after months, she’d be able to find a silver lining in her own pain, even become a stronger, more compassionate healer because of her own suffering.
She didn’t want to make a lengthy transition. She opened a notebook and began making a list of calls and cancellations she needed to make in order to put the wedding behind her. The florist, the photographer, the preacher, the reception hall, the caterer, her family, and friends would all need to be called. She would leave the honeymoon cancellations to John.
Meanwhile, John washed the ink from his fingertips in the bathroom sink. The investigation wasn’t going his way. He’d been arrested, formally charged with attempted sexual battery, and stood before a magistrate who released him on a five-thousand-dollar bond. He’d found Claire’s ring and immediately started to pray. He understood the rashness of her decision. She’d been hurt before. But he needed to mend some fences, and that meant some face-to-face time with Claire.
The next morning, he awoke with a knot of anxiety in his gut at 4:30. Carol is likely to suspend me over this. He rose and spent time in prayer and Bible study before looking at his weekly planner. If Carol didn’t suspend him, he needed to cancel his schedule for the rest of the week. There were more important things at hand. He needed a lawyer. But first, he needed to see the woman he loved. He knew she’d be at the office, since the clinic offered Saturday morning hours for the working people of Stoney Creek.
He drove across the mountain, taking the white-knuckled passage toward Stoney Creek at seven miles per hour over the posted limit, and placing him in the clinic’s parking lot at 10:15. He tried the back door but found it locked. That’s okay, I know the receptionist. Lisa will let me
in.
He walked around to the front door and greeted Lisa with a smile. “I’m here to see Claire. Can you let her know I’m here?”
She didn’t smile. “Sure. You can have a seat.”
He looked around. An old man with a large white bandage covering his foot sat next to a lady knitting what looked to be a sweater. A young woman in jeans and a Budweiser T-shirt paced the floor trying to quiet a squalling baby. Another woman sat in the corner and blew her nose loudly into a Kleenex. A teenager eyed John over a Sports Illustrated magazine. John selected one of two chairs on the far wall so he could avoid anything infectious.
He busied himself with a two-year-old fishing magazine and waited.
And waited.
In fifteen minutes, the receptionist called his name. “Mr. Cerelli.”
He walked to the window. She handed him a note. “I’m afraid Dr. McCall is too busy to see any work-ins this morning. She did want you to have this.”
John shook his head. Is that what I am now? A work-in?
He walked slowly to the car and unfolded the note. Instead of anything personal, it was a list of places in Brighton to notify of their cancelled wedding plans. At the top it simply said, “Could you make these calls for me? I’d like to avoid the long-distance fee.”
John crumpled the note and threw it into his car.
This was crazy. She had to talk to him. He’d have to resort to the phone, although he’d come all this way to talk to her in person.
He didn’t plan on canceling any wedding plans. He hadn’t done anything.
But how could he convince Claire if she wouldn’t talk to him?
He slumped into his car and thought forward to the next item on his list. I need a lawyer.
That afternoon, John sat across from an expansive oak desk in the home of William Fauls, an attorney and longtime family friend.
“I’ve read the police report, John. The chief ’s a friend of mine.”
“But they’ve got it all wrong. She’s the one who has been stalking me.”
The man lifted a pen from the desktop. “Your coworkers seem to be siding with Ami’s description of the incident.”