Her mood changed abruptly. Belligerence twisted her face, and she fidgeted, twining her fingers nervously. I withdrew my hand and waited. When she didn’t answer after a long pause, I spoke again.
“Did Father behave inappropriately with Angeline?”
She turned her head away. I was about to ask a third time when she blurted, “I found those pictures. Those repulsive photographs of them together. He loved her. Her!” she sneered. “She was his precious Angel.”
“Oh my God,” I said, sagging back in the chair as if my muscles had been defeated and couldn’t support my spine. “You knew,” I practically snarled at her. “You knew, and you didn’t do anything.”
“I did! I did do something,” she insisted harshly. “I was furious. I put a stop to it.” She began swaying forward and back in her chair with growing unease. Her voice was brittle, and her eyes darted around the room. “I couldn’t let that go on. It was offensive. Never let that happen. Never.”
She fell into a sullen silence. Pings of rain and low rumbles of thunder vibrated in the quietness as I waited for her to say more. She didn’t. She was becoming more agitated, and I knew asking anything else of her would be fruitless.
At least I’d learned that she believed she’d done something to stop Father from hurting Angeline, although it obviously hadn’t worked. I decided to leave before she lay responsibility for his actions at my feet. I stood to say goodbye. Zac got up, too, placing a reassuring hand on the small of my back.
As I took a breath to explain we’d be on our way, Mother spoke softly.
“Angeline pretended to be surprised when I confronted her with those pictures. Like she didn’t understand what I was talking about. Oh, she knew! Knew exactly what I was talking about,” she said bitterly.
“How did you make him stop?” I asked. Suddenly it was important to know what steps she’d taken to protect my sister. She pressed her lips together, refusing to say more.
“Mother!” I said sharply, my patience gone. “What did you do to stop him?”
She refused to focus on me. I grabbed her wrists and squeezed my nails steadily into her flesh, allowing the pressure to build. Finally, the pain forced the lethal tone of my question to break her reticence. She jerked her wrists away, and her eyes landed on mine briefly before they zoomed off.
“What did you do?” I demanded. She began to mumble to herself. It took a moment for me to catch the words as she oscillated.
“What did you do?” she whispered. “Oh, Jacqueline. What did you do?”
I froze. It was as if I heard those words for the first time, though they’d dogged me for eighteen long years.
“Jacqueline, what did you do?” I echoed.
I crumpled to my knees. “Mother? How could you?”
The bewilderment in my voice caused her head to pivot, and her eyes fastened onto mine like leeches. “He was my husband,” she said defensively. “I couldn’t let her steal him away from me. Couldn’t allow it.”
She continued muttering. I stopped listening as the debris of my life swirled around me. I struggled to sort through the wreckage. To understand something so senseless.
Upon discovering her daughter was being sexually abused, her reaction hadn’t been a maternal instinct to protect her offspring. Instead, she’d surrendered to fit of rage. It sickened me.
In that instant, the person sitting in front of me ceased to be my mother. The aged familiar face was now that of an animal. I despised her.
And abruptly, I understood that I’d fooled myself into believing that I didn’t need her love. I was wrong. My entire life, I’d harbored a secret hope that one day my mother would relent and admit I was worth her affection.
Like a switch was flipped, that wish blinked out. I became indifferent. I no longer cared if I had her love.
I knew with certainty she didn’t deserve mine.
Jumping to my feet, I took Zac’s hand. He turned to me carrying a look of repugnance like he’d been staring at something grotesque.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said.
With unspoken urgency, we fled. Rushing down the hall and out the doors, we stood in the downpour until the rain had soaked us through.
~~~
Why didn’t you just tell me everything that happened?” I ask.
On the deck of Father’s house, we sit on the steps leading down to the back yard. Angeline doesn’t answer immediately. “I thought it would be better if you found out little by little,” she finally says. “If I told you all at once… Well, would you have believed it?”
“I would’ve believed you,” I breathe. “But you’re right, it would’ve been a lot to absorb all at one time.” After a few minutes pass, I add, “I’ll never be able to forgive them for what they did.”
“You will, Maddie. It’ll take a while. You have to, though. Promise?”
“I can’t promise that. How is it possible to pardon such evil?” Angeline has such a sad expression that I relent. “Okay. For you, I’ll try.” I don’t tell her I vowed to make Father pay for what he’d done.
She smiles, happy with my compromise. We listen for a long time to the hypnotic rhythm of the cicadas. Crickets saw, and occasionally a frog croons, adding to the song of the newly washed country night. I gaze up at the partly cloudy sky. I’ve put off my question as long as I can.
“Does this mean you won’t talk to me anymore?” Part of me doesn’t want to let her go, despite the implications regarding my sanity.
“Do you want me to?” she inquires. My chin quivers and tears fill my eyes. How can I say goodbye? I didn’t realize how final it would be. I’ll never again be comforted by her, or hear her contagious giggle. Never see her eyes dance when she smiles. I say nothing.
“I know,” she whispers. “I’ll miss you, too.”
I pull her into a hug and rest my cheek on her hair. “I love you, Angeline.”
“Love you more, Maddie.”
###
Dear Reader
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this book, please take a moment to leave a review.
If you’d like news about upcoming releases, sign up for Nicole’s Newsletter here:
http://eepurl.com/bzJNLz
Want more? Maddie’s story continues in
Book 2 of the series
The Art of Retribution
Coming in 2016
Keep reading!
A teaser for
The Art of Retribution
follows
Acknowledgments
To everyone who was forced to listen to me obsess about the plot, subplots, characters, title, and other details ad infinitum, and who even read the endless number of revisions, I thank you. This list includes my editor, Kathryn Galán, and Vern, Theresa, Dawn, Craig, Jennifer, Bill, and many others: you know who you are, and, believe me, so do I. Your support and faith in me mean more than can be articulated. Sometimes gratitude cannot be expressed with mere words.
About the Author
I currently live in a rural area of the Midwest. After making my home in various parts of the U.S. and visiting abroad, I recently moved back into the house where I spent my first eighteen years. I enjoy country living: ours is a small community where everyone knows everybody. I also appreciate the culture of the city: the shopping, dining, art, the opera, and ballet.
I love travelling, especially to other countries, and I speak Spanish. I write poetry in English and Spanish.
Connect with Nicole
Follow me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/cnicolesorrell
Follow me on Facebook: http://facebook.com/nicole.sorrell.author
Email: [email protected]
Website: http://www.nicolesorrell.com
The Art of Retribution
Nicole Sorrell
Chapter 1
Friday, September 18, Present
I DIDN’T WANT TO BE HERE.
After I knocked at Bobby’s door, I waited nervously, hoping that when he saw me, his respon
se wouldn’t be violent. I gulped; my mouth had suddenly gone dry.
A woman answered. She was in her early forties with leathery skin, and too weather-beaten to be pretty anymore. Her wispy strands were a mousy brown, and her voice sounded like that of a smoker.
“We don’t need what you’re selling,” she said, and started to shut the door.
“I’m a friend of Bobby’s,” I blurted. Well, so much for not lying. “Is he home?”
She gave me an appraising look. “You Stephany?”
“Uh, no. I’m Madisen.” Remembering how his six-year-old son Tony had greeted me in July, I stuck out my hand and said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.”
She shook my hand, relaxing a little. “Hi. I’m Amber. Bobby’s not home right now. He ran to the store.”
A cute blond boy pushed his way around Amber. “Hi!” he sang out.
“Hi, Tony. Nice to see you again. I don’t know if you remember me.”
“’Course I remember,” Tony replied, as if I’d insulted his intelligence. “You’re Madisen.” Amber’s lips turned up when he admitted that he knew me; it took years off her.
“Do you expect Bobby home soon?” I inquired.
“He should be home any minute. Come on in and have a seat.”
Once in the little living room, sitting on the shabby sofa beside Tony, I had second thoughts about my decision to stop by. It had certainly caused trouble with my boyfriend, Zac, and had led to our first big fight. Maybe you should’ve listened to him after all.
Our argument had occurred during the two-hour drive to Clantonville from the Kansas City airport when I’d requested to borrow his truck later. I’d wanted to get my confrontation with Bobby out of the way, so I wouldn’t be preoccupied at the bachelorette party that night.
“Where do you need to go?” Zac had asked, curiosity showing in his beautiful chocolate eyes.
I’d hesitated to answer. At the encouragement of my therapist, I’d adopted a new personal rule: to avoid lying and instead be open about my feelings, especially with the people I was close to. Staying with Zac for almost two weeks was going to put it to the test.
I’d had to un-grit my teeth before I could speak. I was afraid that this subject might cause tension between us, and I was already stressed about too many other things.
“I’m going to drive to Winnser to talk to Bobby Wittford,” I'd said.
I’d been wrong. Tense was not Zac’s reaction. The defined muscles in his arms had bunched as he went into full-on, over-protective, testosterone-driven chauvinist.
“The hell you are, Maddie!” he’d shouted. “I’m not letting you get within ten miles of that son of a bitch. Didn’t you learn your lesson the last time you went to see him? He threatened you. You admitted that only his son’s interruption stopped him from shoving you backward down the porch steps to the sidewalk.”
“Don’t try to tell me what to do!” I’d shouted back.
“Stop doing stupid things that could get you hurt. Your judgment is way out of line on this.”
I’d recoiled at the cutting remark. It was difficult for me not to internalize other people’s opinion of me, especially if it was negative. I’d inhaled and exhaled slowly as an ache settled in my limbs. I hadn’t known whether to cry because Zac’s esteem for me was so low, or be angry at myself for being so easily wounded.
I’d chosen anger, but the tremor in my voice had revealed I was close to tears. That had made me even madder. I’d cried more in the past two and a half months than I had during the previous twenty-eight years of my life.
“Stop insulting me,” I’d said. “If you insist on being cruel, I won’t tell you my plans. I can borrow Tabitha’s car.”
“I’m sorry.” Guilt had etched his gorgeous face, though he remained upset. “What I said was thoughtless.” I’d crossed my arms to let him know he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily. “I’m afraid you’ll put yourself in a situation where you’ll be injured. You know that would tear me apart. No way can I let that happen again.”
“Your words bruised me more than Bobby ever could. And he’s not someone who claims to care about me.”
“Oh God,” he said. “I apologize. I was wrong.” He’d rubbed the sexy stubble on his defined jaw, as if that might scrub away his frustration. “You may not think you need protecting. What happened during your last visit kind of brings out that instinct in me.”
I’d had to admit to myself his point was valid. When I’d been here in July, I’d spent a week in the hospital. It had been partly my fault. I’d screamed threats at my father, promising to send him to prison. And if that weren’t possible, at the very least I’d ruin his law practice and get him disbarred. In hindsight, a little subtlety would have been the better course of action. Oh well, add restraint to the long list of things you need to work on, Madisen.
“That doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” I’d said flatly as I’d brushed my long hair over my shoulder. “And I won’t need you to rescue me. I’m going to tell Bobby I’m sorry for causing trouble for him the last time I was here.”
“No way. He doesn’t deserve it.” Zac’s knuckles had turned white on the steering wheel. “And when Dad finds out what you’re doing, I might not be able to defuse his temper like I did before when you confessed you’d gone to see Bobby.”
“You’re not going to change my mind, so we might as well drop it,” I’d fumed.
“Fine,” he said snidely, staring ahead. “I’ll go with you.”
“Oh no, you won’t. Don’t make me call you a ‘sasshole’ again.” I made an attempt to derail the quarrel with our personal humor. “Besides, my stubbornness is the quality you like best about me.” The oppressive mood had lightened somewhat, although he still looked concerned.
“You are stubborn, I’ll grant you that,” he’d agreed. “If I go with you, I can guarantee he won’t harm you.” I’d instinctively started to object again, then clamped down on the gut reaction. He was compromising. The least I could do is meet him half way.
“Okay. How about you drive me there and drop me off at his house. If you won’t sit in the truck outside. I promise I’ll call you if Bobby is anything other than a perfect gentleman.”
He hadn’t replied for a long time, finally grumbling, “Fine.”
“Thank you. However, you need to show how much you regret criticizing me.”
“Can you forgive me?” He’d looked at me out of the corner of his eye, like he was trying to gauge my mood. “When your wellbeing is at risk, I go a little crazy. What else can I do to make it up to you?”
I’d raised an eyebrow suggestively. “You’ll have to get on your knees and grovel when we get to your house.”
“Can I do more than grovel when I’m on my knees?” Raw desire had radiated from him. “Baby, I’ll show you how remorseful I am over and over and over.” He’d brushed a finger over my thigh, causing an electric throb through my whole body.
When we’d arrived at his house, he’d done just that.
Amber broke into my reflections, handing me a glass of iced tea. I thanked her as I heard a car pull into the drive. I was relieved. At least I could get this over with.
I should have known better.
Bobby came in the back door. My apprehension started again as his footfalls paused. I heard the refrigerator door open and close. When his heavy tread carried him into the living room, he seemed to take up the whole space. I’d forgotten what a tall, muscular man he was. At six feet four, he was ten inches taller than me. When he found me sitting beside Tony, he immediately became angry.
“What the… What are you doing here?” he demanded, stalking toward me with his hands fisted.
“I came to apologize,” I said, as I leaned back. I hoped it would prevent his temper from getting out of control. He stopped short, with an open mouth. “Can we talk?” I motioned discreetly toward Tony to indicate it would be better if we spoke in private.
Bobby looked confused as he
opened the front door. He towered over me as we stepped onto the porch into a pleasant evening. A breeze smoothed away the jagged edge of the humid afternoon heat. There weren’t any chairs outside, so I sat on the narrow concrete steps. From here, I figured, it would easier to get away from him if he tried to hit me.
Chapter 2
HE SAT DOWN RIGHT beside me, raising my anxiety another notch. He was so broad, his shoulder pressed against mine. The sleeves of his T-shirt rode up, abandoning their effort to stretch over his colossal biceps. Sitting that close, I again admired his remarkable eyes. Mostly gold with a little green, they were enthralling, giving him a mysterious look. I was sure he got a lot of female attention. He’d certainly seized mine, despite my worry for my safety.
I waited in silence, letting him take control of the conversation. As soon as he sat, he demanded, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“As I said, I wanted to apologize for telling the police you may have been responsible for trashing the house in Clantonville in July. The words ‘leave,’ ‘get out,’ and ‘go away’ were spray painted on the walls. You’d indicated that my questions about Angeline’s murder might cause complications for you, and, as a result, Tony could be taken away. It made sense that you were the one wanting to drive me out.”
Bobby’s eyes saucered, as though he hadn’t considered this viewpoint before. Quiet for a long time, he sat unmoving, staring at his boots like he could drill holes in them with his scowl. When he spoke, his voice was low. “I was pissed at you when the police showed up. They backed off when the owner of the pool hall told them I’d spent the night there on the couch. It didn’t start up any problems with Tony’s mom.” He started to fidget. “I guess I should also say sorry to you.”
The Art of Going Home (The Art of Living series Book 1) Page 18