by Zoe Carter
Recalling the many times he’s threatened to hurt Maisey, I keep my mouth shut.
“Very well, Mr. Telmen. You are now responsible for the care and well-being of these children until their mother is released—or until they are fully functioning adults, whichever comes first.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
As Peter gets up to leave, I feel like I am glued to my seat. I cannot move. “Come on,” he says, pinching my thigh where it’s the most sensitive. “It’s time for us to go, sweetheart.” I implore the judge to see me, to notice my sister, whose small shoulders shake with sobs. But he’s focused on his papers again, on the next case. We are already forgotten.
This is how I learn to take care of myself. I can’t count on anyone else—not Dad, not my mother and certainly not the courts.
Once we’re alone in the car with him, Peter’s lips part in a chilling grin, his teeth stained and cracked. “Don’t think I’m going to let you turn into drunken lazybones like your mother, either. You bitches will move your fat asses or I’ll hurt you.” He pauses to turn the key in the ignition. “Don’t think I won’t.”
The beach house comes into view and I quicken my step, dreaming of a cold drink and a colder pillow. My dress is soaked with sweat where Elliot’s body has been pressed against mine, and I can’t wait to change.
“Don’t you get it? She saw something that day. She saw me. We should have told them,” my sister says. “We should have told the police what really happened. Sarah, can you stop, please? We need to talk about this. I’m freaking out.”
Something in me snaps. It’s too much: my mother’s inebriated lunacy, the shock of seeing Caleb again, Maisey’s whining, Warwick’s cruelty and Eleanor, always Eleanor, judging me and finding me lacking, over and over again. It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to bite my sister’s head off. “We’ve been through this before. We couldn’t tell them. We couldn’t tell them anything. We knew that then, and we know it now. This ‘what-if’ stuff is a stupid waste of time.”
Not to mention frustrating as hell.
Maisey’s lower lip trembles as if she is still a child, and the urge to smack her intensifies. Can’t she be an adult for one Christly minute? “Oh, grow up, Maisey. Grow up and leave me alone.”
I storm across the beach, desperate to leave her behind. My rational side understands none of this is her fault, that we were trapped in the same cycle of abuse and despair. Perhaps it’s why she runs from place to place, never staying in a country long enough for anyone to get close to her.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Sarah?”
The policeman’s eyes are kind. He brings us cherry Cokes in cans and hamburgers with salty fries, the first actual meal we’ve had in weeks. I want to tell him the truth about Peter, about our mother. I want him to know her bruises aren’t from falling down the stairs, and neither are mine. The stomach problems that sent Maisey to the hospital last year weren’t the fault of that Chinese restaurant, like Peter claims. It’s the spoiled food he’s always forcing her to eat. I’m terrified that one day he’ll go too far and kill her.
I think of my sister, waiting in the hall for me. She deserves to feel safe, to watch cartoons as much as she likes and to talk as loud as she wants without getting beaten.
But how can I tell this nice man the truth? If I do, he’ll wonder about Frankie. There’ll be an investigation. I can’t risk it.
I shake my head and tell him no, there’s nothing else I want to say.
He gently turns over my wrist to reveal the black-and-blue marks on my skin. They are darker today, as if my entire body is crying out, begging me not to throw away this opportunity to escape. “You really got these from a fall?”
“Yes.” Lying comes easy. I’m getting to be an expert at it.
He lets go of me and leans back in his chair, rubbing his forehead as if it hurts. His skin is the color of Kraft caramels, and when he stands, he towers over me. He’s tall enough to tower over Peter, too—he is a man who could protect us, given the chance. “I know you’re scared, but if you tell the truth, you’ll never have to be afraid again. He won’t be able to touch you anymore. He won’t even be able to talk to you. So let’s try this one more time, Sarah—is your stepfather hurting you?”
I lower my head, suddenly unable to lie to his face. “No,” I whisper.
“Little lady, your mom is in a bad way. Someone worked her over with a baseball bat. I know she didn’t get those injuries from a fall, and I know you didn’t fall, either. Bruises from falling don’t look like fingerprints.”
He takes hold of my shoulders, pinning me to the spot. “Your baby sister isn’t doing so good. Don’t you want her to be healthy and strong? Or would you rather she end up like your brother?”
“Stepbrother,” I say automatically, and he frowns. There’s a lengthy silence as he waits me out, but he’s not getting anything from me and we both know it.
“One last time. Is there something you want to tell me? Anything at all? You can trust me, Sarah.”
I shake my head again, and he releases my shoulders.
“I hope you understand what you’ve done.” His voice isn’t so friendly now, and I’m certain I did the right thing. His Mr. Nice Guy act was a trick to get me to talk. With adults, it’s always a trick. “You just threw away your best chance of protecting your sister.”
That’s what he doesn’t get, what no adult can.
I am protecting her.
“Sarah! Sarah, please wait.”
At the sound of Maisey calling me, I turn around. As angry as I am, I can’t leave her behind, any more than I could when she was ten years old.
Promise me you’ll take care of her, Sarah.
Everyone always looked out for Maisey. Even Mom, before she passed out from a bender, would never fail to ask about her.
“Check on your sister,” she’d slur. “Take care of Maisey.”
Somehow taking care of my sister had become my mission in life. It was too late to change that now.
When she reaches me, her nose is beginning to peel despite her tan. There’s a faint trail of mascara on her cheeks and I feel terrible, realizing I’m responsible for her tears. Gotta love our happy family reunion. So far it has been an unmitigated disaster.
“I’m sorry,” Maisey says between gasps for air, her chest hitching with every breath. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I...I thought we should talk about it.”
“It’s not your fault.” I resume walking, determined to reach the house and shade as quickly as possible. It’s not good to keep Elliot out in this sun. My son smacks me in the jaw as if to emphasize the soundness of this decision. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m just tired of dwelling on the past.”
Maisey puffs as she hikes beside me, and I marvel that my little sister has to hustle to keep pace with me. Shedding the extra weight has made a huge difference. I still have a ways to go, but I’m grateful to at least be on the right path.
“It’s everything. Seeing you and Caleb, dealing with Mother, having this stuff about Dad and Peter and Frankie brought up again.” I exhale, feeling the strain of the incline on my calves as we begin the ascent to the beach house. “It’s stressful. I don’t want to talk about every miserable thing that happened when we were kids. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me.”
“How did you manage that?”
At first I suspect she’s being sarcastic, but then I see her solemn expression and realize she really wants to know. “By not thinking about it. Everything we’ve been talking about—it was a lifetime ago. There’s no reason to beat ourselves up about what we did or didn’t do anymore. What good is that? We did the best we could at the time.”
My sister trots backward for a moment, probably so she can see the ocean. We’ve always been water girls. What surprises me most ab
out Maisey’s life is that she didn’t end up living on a boat somewhere. “I wish it was as easy for me. But every time I close my eyes, I see his face.”
I don’t know if she’s referring to Peter or Frankie. I’m about to ask, but then I decide it doesn’t matter. Both are best forgotten. “You deserve peace. My wish for you is that you find it.”
We walk the rest of the way to the beach house in silence.
* * *
“Sarah?”
Opening my eyes, I see him standing over me. The shock is enough to startle me fully awake. “What are you doing here?”
He glances at Elliot’s crib, putting a finger to his lips. “Shh...you’ll wake the baby.”
I check my watch in a panic, only slightly relieved to see it’s about three in the afternoon. I’ve drifted off again, but no harm done. At least I haven’t missed dinner. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you. That’s it, just talk. Is that okay? We used to be able to talk about anything.”
My mind races. I have to get him out of here. “That was forever ago.”
Caleb plunks himself down on the ottoman, putting himself in the unfortunate position of having to look up at me. “We’re the same people. We can still talk, can’t we?”
There’s the sound of footsteps in the hall, and I bolt upright, forgetting my Warwick-inflicted injuries. I bite my lip to keep from screaming as pain flares inside me. My stepbrother leans forward to take my hand in his. “Hey, easy. It’s probably Bridget. She’s the only other person in the house right now, but if you don’t mind me saying, she’s pretty nosy.”
He grins that adorable grin of his, no doubt attempting to be endearing. It doesn’t work on me, not anymore. “I do mind, actually. She doesn’t just work for me. Bridget is family.”
“You never used to be so easily offended.”
“Like I said, that was forever ago. You haven’t seen me in years. I’m not the same pathetic girl you remember.”
Any trace of amusement vanishes from his face. “You were never pathetic. Not to me.”
“Yeah, right.” Pulling my hand from his, I stride to the door, determined to leave, but he quickly blocks my path. “What do you want, Caleb? We shouldn’t be in here alone together.”
“I told you—I want to talk to you.” He presses his back to the door, folding his arms. There’s no point trying to get past him, and even if there was, I don’t have the energy for it.
“Fine. We’ll talk, but not here.”
“What’s wrong with here?” He nods at Elliot. “The big guy’s got you covered if I say something you don’t like.”
Exhausted, I lean against the wall. “I’m not in the mood for games. Let me out.”
“It’s the real big guy, isn’t it? Your Neanderthal of a husband has a problem with me. He’s made that pretty obvious. What I don’t understand is why.” Caleb raises an eyebrow at me. “You didn’t tell him I was the love of your life or anything, did you?”
I snort as if the idea is ridiculous. “Don’t flatter yourself. I haven’t told him anything about you. I don’t appreciate you calling him a Neanderthal, either. This is his home you’re staying in.”
Is Caleb jealous of Warwick? The idea is flattering, but unlikely. Why would he be? If Caleb had wanted the family life, I’m sure there were many opportunities. And yet here he is, unmarried—the same old Caleb.
“There you go again. What happened to your sense of humor? Although, to be honest, I don’t give a rat’s ass about offending your husband. That’s one of the main reasons I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m not comfortable with the direction this conversation is taking,” I say, pushing as hard as I can against his shoulder. He doesn’t budge, as expected. “Please let me out of here. If Warwick finds us together like this, he’ll—”
“He’ll what? What will Warwick do?”
I lower my eyes. Caleb seems to be able to see right through me in a way that makes me nervous. “He’ll be upset. This isn’t appropriate.”
“For Christ’s sake. I’m your brother. Is he really that jealous?”
“Stepbrother. And yes, yes, he is. Can you blame him?” Panic courses through me, increasing my anxiety. I’m terrified Warwick will find us here together. I can’t survive a repeat of last night. Not this soon.
“Yeah, of course I can blame him. We’re family. If he’s insecure about my being here, that’s his problem.”
“No,” I hiss at him. “It’s mine. And drop the ‘family’ bullshit, will you? He knows there’s something going on between us.”
“Oh, really?” My stepbrother smirks in the infuriating way I remember so well from when we were kids. He used to do that whenever he thought I was being immature. My hand itches to slap his face. “And what’s going on between us? Pray enlighten me.”
“Nothing now, you jerk. I meant before. Warwick can tell there’s more to our relationship than stepbrother and sister, that there used to be more. And he feels threatened.” I’m betraying Warwick with this admission, but considering how he’s acted since my family arrived, I don’t much care.
“Well, there’s nothing worth feeling threatened over. Anything that existed between us is in the past.” He searches my face as he speaks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he wants me to argue with him.
“Obviously. It was a million years ago.”
“I’m sorry. It isn’t my intention to antagonize you, honestly. I snuck up here because I’m worried about you. I’ve just missed our verbal sparring matches so much I got sucked in.” He moves away from the door, raising his hands in surrender. “If you really want to go, I’ll understand. But I’ll be sad. I only wanted to talk to you for a bit.”
Freedom.
The right thing to do is obvious. I should run out the door and tell Warwick my stepbrother trapped me in the nursery. Let Caleb catch the next plane home with a bruised eye and a bloody lip. I should do a lot of things.
Instead I stay. “Why would you be worried about me? I’m fine.”
Caleb gestures to the rocking chair. “If we’re going to discuss this, can you sit down? I’m more likely to be honest if you’re not in a position to kick me.”
My eyes flick to the door again. Seeing my hesitation, he rushes to reassure me. “He’s not here, Sarah. He went somewhere with his parents, something to do with the christening party. Do you actually think I’d be up here if he was at home?”
I’m not surprised he has noticed Warwick’s animosity toward him. The Caleb I’d known had missed very little, except when it came to his father. Convinced he’s telling the truth, I lower myself into the rocking chair again while he sits on the ottoman at my feet. “Okay, you have my attention. Talk.”
Now that he has what he wants, he doesn’t seem to know where to start. Clearing his throat, he runs his hands through his hair, looking as nervous as I feel. “I guess I needed to ask you why.”
“Why what?”
“You know, Sarah, I’ve thought of you often over the years. I’ve imagined what you might be doing with your life. I envisioned you as a high-powered career woman, maybe an architect or an engineer. You were always so smart. Or maybe running your own business.” I guess it’s clear from my expression that I’m getting defensive, because he hurries to explain. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being a wife and mother—there’s not. Sometimes I saw you that way, too. But I never saw you like this.”
My fury takes the form of a migraine, pounding behind my eyes. “What’s wrong with this?”
Caleb leans toward me, reaching for my hands, but I pull away before he can touch me. “Everything’s wrong with this. These people are horrible to you. Why do you put up with it? What hold does Warwick have over you?”
“He doesn’t have any hold over me. He’s my husband.
I love him. What’s so hard to understand?” The lie tastes like rotting fruit in my mouth.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you—Hey, what are you doing?”
Before I can react, Caleb has my arm in an iron grip I can’t twist out of, no matter how hard I try. Helpless, I can only watch as he yanks up my sleeve.
The bruises are darker than I remembered. Shaking his head in disgust, he lets me go. “You call that love?”
The pressure of maintaining the image of the perfect wife and mother weighs on me. I can feel the sob building in my throat, but I refuse to cry in front of him. He saw my tears once and that was more than enough. “Please go, Caleb. I don’t want to talk to you about this.”
“Talking to me is the problem? You can’t talk to me, but it’s okay to stay married to a man who uses you for a punching bag?”
“It’s not like that.” I wipe away the tears before he can see them. “He’s never done this before. He—he wasn’t himself last night.”
“Oh, Sarah,” he says, and I can hardly bear the disappointment in his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. You’ve never been able to lie to me. I’ll always see right through you, don’t you know that?”
“But I’m not lying. I admit Warwick can be controlling sometimes. But he’s never hurt me before last night. And this is a lot worse than it looks.”
He brushes a lock of hair from my forehead. “From the way you’re limping, I doubt that. You’ve been acting like a hunted rabbit since I got here. You deserve so much better. I’ll ask you again—What hold does he have over you?”
I’ve never enjoyed being put on the spot, and I like it even less now. In so many ways, he’s the old friend I remember, and I long to be able to confide in him, to lean against him and pour my heart out. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him.
But suppose I did? What then? In a few days, he will be gone and I’ll be left here to deal with the fallout on my own. Being abandoned won’t be any less painful the second time around.