Family Ties

by Debi V. Smith

  “He’s not?” I ask, surprised.

  “He’ll do little things that are thoughtful. But he doesn’t always walk me to the door when he brings me home.” She pauses, giving it a second thought. “Maybe chivalrous wasn’t the right word.”

  “Selfless,” I state.

  “Yeah. It always depends on what’s going on.”

  “Do you think he’s someone you want to marry?”

  “Nah. He’s just a boy toy.”

  “Ha! You’re using him! I knew it,” I tease. “Just like Bobby and the others.”

  “Of course.” She snickers. “Why else would I be with him? It’s not like he’s Boy Genius.”

  “Do you think we all have that one perfect person we’re supposed to find?” I never bought into the notion of a soul mate. It always seems like a silly plot device.

  “If there is, I sure haven’t found him. You have yours, though,” she says confidently.

  “How do you know he’s the one for me?” I’m surprised she can be so sure about my love life when I’m still clueless about relationships in general.

  “Oh, come on, Sara. He’s been after you since we met him.”

  “But he’s dated other girls,” I remind her.

  “So? I’ve dated other guys. He always came back to you. Always.”

  “Does that mean I should do the same?” Who would I date? I know Jason and Damian. That’s it.

  “Don’t be crazy! Could you imagine anyone better than Jason?”

  “I don’t know. I never thought about it.”

  “We’ve known each other for two years and I can’t think of anyone better than him.”

  There she is again with that certainty. “Are you excited about Damian’s party?” I ask.

  “As excited as I can be. It’ll be the football players and their girlfriends.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “Did I ever hang out with them before Damian?”

  “No, but that’s because we never ran with that crowd.”

  “It’s a good thing we didn’t. The guys are all pseudo-macho-wannabes and the girls are wrapped up with being seen and acting like they have a personal stake in their boyfriend’s athletic prowess.”

  I giggle. “Tell me how you really feel about them, Riss.”

  “I think we should double date from now on. I’d have more fun with you and Jason than those other guys.”

  “Have you thought of just breaking up with him?”

  “No way!”

  “Why?”

  “He’s hot. And the other stuff, well…you know.” She winks at me.

  I roll my eyes at her in jest. Arissa lost her virginity in May. She was more curious about sex than investing in a relationship with Bobby.

  “Let’s go to a movie or something,” she says.

  “The mall?”

  “Yeah!” She jumps up, ready to go.

  “Let me put the mower away and check with my parents.”

  “I’ll go get my mom,” she says, already in motion.

  I step inside the house after closing the garage door.

  “Get off your fucking ass and fix lunch!” Father yells from his seat in the family room.

  “Fix it your damn self!” she shouts back from their bedroom.

  “Good for nothing lazy ass bitch!”

  Mother marches into the family room and looms over him, hands planted on her hips.

  “There you are,” he says, “finally off that fat ass of yours.”

  She snatches his drink, throws the fiery liquid in his face, slams the glass on the coffee table, and storms back to their room. Father screams and claws at his eyes.

  “Father, I’m going to the mall with Arissa,” I tell him instead of asking, afraid to be anywhere near them after that, then rush back to the front door.

  “No, you’re not!” he yells, jumping out of his chair wiping his face with the collar of his shirt.

  I quicken my stride, but it’s not enough. He seizes my arm and hauls me backwards. “Get back in here and clean up this mess!” he orders.

  I grab hold of the doorjamb with my other hand and fight to stay outside. He can’t hurt me outside.

  “I said, get back in here!”

  “No!” I scream, straining against his pull.

  He releases my arm and I fall onto the porch, catching myself with my hands. He moves fast, kicking me in the ribs. The contact knocks the wind out of me and I curl up, protecting myself with my arms covering my head and face.

  “Good for nothing bitch! You’re just like your mother! Worthless!” he yells, kicking me again and again.

  The sound of a car engine purring, the screeching of brakes, and the slamming of metal on metal comes in over his shouting.

  He stops without a word. The familiar smacking of fist hitting flesh comes next, but it’s not his fist hitting my flesh. I remain balled up with my eyes pinched shut. Mother’s shriek sounds next over the fight.

  Someone picks me up and carries me, running. A woodsy aroma fills my nose.

  Jason!

  I hold on to him and a frayed end of hope as if my life depends on it, because it does.

  He sits on something soft, cradling me in his arms. “Parker, you’re safe,” he says, kissing my head and stroking my hair.

  I want to believe it. I want to be safe. I want it all to end. But it won’t. It never will. This is just a pause in the game. An intermission between acts. Halftime.

  Tremors overtake my body and Jason squeezes me close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs.

  “No, it’s not.” I choke on sputtered sobs. “I’ll never be safe.”

  He draws back with my head in his hands. “You. Are. Safe.”

  I open my eyes warily. His golden irises focus on me, full of concern. We’re on one of the Jerichos’ living room sofas with Rose, Andrew, and Arissa watching over us.

  They saw. They all saw.

  The sobbing comes in full force and I cinch my arms around Jason, burying my face in his neck. My world is shattered, laid before me in chaos like a 3-D puzzle with no picture to use as a guide.

  Jason doesn’t let go. He holds on to me as tight as I cling to him.

  Soon, I tire from the crying. The tears dissipate, leaving salty streaks on my face. Sleep pulls me under.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I wake sheathed in warmth, still in Jason’s embrace, but on a bed. I pry myself out of his arms like I’m ripping off a band-aid and scoot to the edge of the guest bed.

  “Parker?”

  I pull myself inward, wanting to fold up and hide. I’m damaged goods.

  He slides behind me and slips his arms around me. I cringe and tear myself away, my torso throbbing from the kicking blows.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, frantic and edges next to me. “Did I hurt you?”

  I ignore his question. “You didn’t have to stay.”

  “I was worried about you.” His hands settle on his thighs and wounded eyes pierce me, slicing so deep it hurts more than my torso.

  “You can’t want me now. Not after…after that.” Tears well, waiting for release.

  “Parker.” His hands cradle my face. “I don’t care what your father did to you. That’s not who you are. That’s who he is. You’re still the same girl with the beautiful smile I fell for two years ago.”

  I grab his wrists. “I’ve lied to you. So many times.” The tears fall. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. I told you I’m not the girl for you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me. I’m just relieved to know what was really going on.”

  I nestle into him, taking in his acceptance. He can’t learn about the rest of it. He can’t. “What were you doing here?”

  “I came over to see if you wanted to go out tonight. I still don’t have your number and it’s not listed. I couldn’t stop fast enough when I saw your dad kicking you.”

  I break away, remembering the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh. “My father…you…you…” I flounder. “H
e didn’t hit you, did he?”

  “No. Andrew was right behind me. He pulled your dad away from you. I carried you over here.”

  I want to tell him I know, but Rose comes in and interrupts. “What time is it?” I ask.

  Rose sits next to me, setting her arm around me. “It’s dinnertime. Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Arissa is at Damian’s. Your father came over here drunk and we didn’t want her near him. Jason refused to leave, though.”

  The crying begins anew. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sweetie,” she says, wrapping her other arm around me, “you have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I didn’t do what he told me to do.”

  Her hand massages slow circles on my back, soothing me. “That doesn’t mean you deserve what he did to you. How long has this been going on?”

  I shake my head and look away, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. We’re trying to talk your parents into letting you stay with us, but they are being unreasonable.”

  My heart stops and I stare at her, not believing what I just heard.

  “Would you like that?” she asks.

  A reprieve. “Please,” I beg. “I can’t go back there.”

  “You won’t if we can help it. Why don’t you call Damian and tell Arissa to come home? I know she’s worried about you. Tell her Damian can stay for dinner. Jason, you too.”

  “Okay.” My voice squeaks from the emotional overload. Jason isn’t running from me now that he knows part of the secret. The Jerichos want me to stay with them. They’re doing the opposite of what I thought they would do.

  “Thanks, Rose. I’ll call my parents,” he says.

  I call Damian from the guest room phone while Jason use his cell. I go through rounds of “I’m all right” reassurances with Damian and then Arissa before telling her she can come home. She gives me the okay to borrow some clothes before we hang up.

  I change into a shirt and a pair of shorts, then splash water on my face in the bathroom to get rid of the dry, salty tears. The fresh clothes and clean face renews me for the moment and I head downstairs.

  A scuffling outside catches my attention when I reach the bottom of the stairs. I glance out the window and Father charges the door, but Andrew pushes him away. Mother screams in Rose’s face while Rose stands undaunted.

  I fling the door open, yelling with newfound boldness, “Stop it!”

  My parents gape at me like deer in headlights.

  “I’m staying with the Jerichos.”

  Jason steps behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders.

  “We’ll call the police and have them bring you home,” Mother says, her chin in the air.

  “Then I’ll show them these.” I lift the hem of the borrowed shirt to show the bruises forming on my stomach. Rose and Andrew close their eyes. I stare at my father. “I will tell them everything. And this time, there are witnesses.”

  The last thing they want is trouble or anything else that will crumble their facade. The threat of the police will keep them away.

  He gnashes his teeth. “What do you want?”

  “I want to be normal,” I reply, closing the door between us.

  Jason wraps his arms around my neck, away from the bruising. “I wish I had known before.”

  “I was too afraid to say anything before.”

  “Why?”

  “My father would beat me if I did. We had rules and before I met Arissa and her family, I thought all families were like mine. When I realized I was wrong, I just thought my parents were right.”

  “How could you think that?”

  Heat rises in me. It’s so easy for him to ask when he doesn’t know what it’s like. “You haven’t been in my shoes, Jason,” I say, my irritation growing with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to be isolated from everyone to protect the secret. Always told how worthless and damaged you are. No one to tell you otherwise. As a kid, you think your parents are always right, because they tell you they are.”

  “But they never acted like that with the Jerichos or they would’ve done something before now.”

  “Anything to protect the secret!” I shout, throwing my arms in the air with abandon. He flinches at my response. “All the monsters are locked in the closets when outsiders are present. Once they leave, the monsters bust out of hiding. Back to life as usual in the Parker house. I never knew when the next beating was coming. You saw my father kicking me. That was a good day.

  “He’s broken bones, shoved me to the floor, thrown me across the room, almost drowned me.” He winces, likely picturing everything, and I continue without mercy because I was never shown mercy. “Beat me with his fists, kicked me, called me every name in the book, told me I’m worthless, said I’m damaged goods. Shall I keep going?”

  “At least you get to have a normal life now.”

  “I’ve dreamed of what it would be like, but it’s not a switch. I can’t turn normal on and off,” I say.

  “You’ll have more freedom,” he points out.

  “Ah!” I scream, stomping up to Arissa’s room and slamming the door behind me.

  Someone raps on the door.

  Probably Jason wanting to work it out. “I don’t want to talk to you right now!” I shout, pacing the room.

  “Sara, it’s Rose.”

  I soften my voice. “Come in.”

  Rose steps inside. “What is going on?”

  “I’m mad. I’m frustrated. I’m confused. Most of all, I’m scared.”

  “You have every right to be. Your world was just turned upside down and dumped in the middle of the street for everyone to see. But,” she says with a firm tone, “I will not tolerate you slamming doors in this house.”

  I stop pacing. “I’m sorry. Jason was saying things that made me mad.”

  “He was only trying to help, sweetie.”

  “But it wasn’t helping, Rose. I just got angrier.”

  “Maybe we should look into therapy,” she suggests. “You’ve lived a lifetime of secrets that won’t go away overnight.”

  Our attention shifts to a knock at the open door. Jason fills the doorway, hands in his pockets and head hanging. “May I talk to Sara?” he asks.

  “Sure. Dinner will be ready in fifteen.” She pats his shoulder as she passes him.

  “I’m sorry, Parker. I was being insensitive without realizing it.”

  I sit on Arissa’s bed, keeping my hands clasped together. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

  “I did my fair share of pushing when you asked me to stop.” His hands wrap around mine and he squats in front of me. “I’m trying to process all this right now. You were like a rag doll on the ground when I drove up and I thought you were dead.”

  “Be patient with me, please. Everything just changed for me in a flash and it’s a lot to handle right now.”

  “Anything you ask, Parker. Anything.” He cups my cheek with one hand, swiping a stray tear with his thumb. His other hand tugs me off the bed and into his embrace. I lay my head on his shoulder, allowing the tears to flow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Rose and Andrew drop me off at Samantha Close’s office while they meet with the lawyers and my parents to formalize my guardianship.

  While I wait, I picture her office with an old worn brown leather sofa for her clients and a wingback chair in front of it for her. Two walls lined with bookshelves, another with file cabinets and the last with her degrees and certificates above the sofa. A plain, boring office for a plain, boring therapist.

  A young woman with long, dirty blonde hair hanging loose, wearing black pants and a white button down shirt, opens the door and calls me in.

  Two framed degrees hang above her desk against the back wall. To the right of her desk is a floor to ceiling window; and a solitary four-drawer black metal file cabinet, along with a bookshelf full of books, is on the left. A c
ircle of padded, metal-framed chairs fill one corner and a tray of sand sits in another corner. The wall next to the sandtray is lined with bookshelves packed with toys, games, puppets, puzzles, and dolls of all sizes.

  “Hello, Sara. My name is Sam.” Her voice is light and she offers her hand with a radiant smile.

  I take her hand and she gives a gentle, but firm squeeze before letting go. “Hi,” I respond shyly, making eye contact with her for a second. “Nice to meet you.”

  Her hand sweeps around the office. “Have a seat wherever you’d like.”

  I survey the room, tempted to sit on the floor with the toys because I never had my own. I decide on a chair, sitting with my hands squeezed between my knees. Sam chooses a chair next to me, spaced far enough from mine that I don’t feel too close.

  “Do you have any questions before we start?” she asks.

  I stare at her, dumbfounded. I get to ask questions?

  She laughs heartily. “You’re not the first to be surprised at that question. How about I tell you a few things and then you can ask questions.”

  “Okay.” My voice is meek with discomfort.

  “This office will be a safe place for you. What we talk about, I have to keep in confidence unless you have a plan to hurt yourself or someone else; you tell me someone has hurt you; or I am ordered to in court by a judge.

  “So no one has to know?”

  “Unless it is one of the exceptions I just told you.”

  “Okay.” My muscles loosen and I splay my hands over my thighs. It’s like an official Secrets game. I can tell my secrets and she has to keep them. But I won’t tell her about the rapes or the pregnancy. That one is mine and mine alone.

  “I’ve been in practice for four years. Before that, I worked in a psychiatric hospital for three years.

  “Most of what will help you in therapy is your willingness to make changes, especially difficult ones.”

  “How often will I see you?”

  “I like to start with once a week. It all depends on your needs and what you are agreeable to doing.”

  My knees fall open slightly. This won’t be so bad. “Will I have to take medication?”

  “I prefer my clients not take medication if they don’t really need it.”

  “How will you know if I do?”