by Emerson Rose
This is where it must have all happened. There are small appliances on the floor and a hole in the wall by the door leading down the hall to the bathroom. On the wall, down low against the baseboard, there is a bloody dent the size of a human head. Samantha’s head. This is where he had her pinned against the wall, kicking her. Malory must have been curled up in a ball underneath her.
I bend down to look closer. I don’t know why. It’s morbid to want to look closer, but I do. There is hair embedded in the cracks of the plaster, long blonde hair. I stand up and follow the trail of blood down the hall to the bathroom, where I know they must have hidden. The door is chopped to hell; there are deep cuts where the meat clever sunk into the wood, and even a few places where it went all the way through. The police got here just in time. A few minutes more, and he would have been through the door.
It’s hard to believe he was just drunk. This mess looks like a demented monster created it, not a sloppy drunk, cheating husband.
I push open the door. It creaks until it’s opened a foot or so. I turn on the light and peer around the corner. The smell of urine hits me first, and then blood. Sam’s leg must have been bleeding badly, and Malory most likely wet her pants in fear. I snap off the light and lean my back against the wall in the hall and close my eyes.
I can’t let the kids see their house like this. I’ll have to pack up their things and they are going to have to stay at my house. The mere thought of three children living in my house triggers a panic attack. I can’t breathe, my head is pounding, my heart races, and I just want to run, run as fast and as far as I can.
Running isn’t an option, though, and as bad as this panic attack is, I’m going to have to power through it and keep moving. I take the stairs two at a time and rummage around to find three bags and stuff that I think the kids will need for a week at my house. It may be longer, but I can only deal with the thought of one week for now. When I’ve finished gathering things from the bathroom, I decide Sam might want a few things when she wakes up too. In her closet, there is a medium-sized carry-on bag that is part of a set of luggage I bought her for Christmas one year.
I pick it up, thinking it’s going to be empty, but it’s quite heavy. Leaving it on the hook, I unzip the bag and toss the flap back. There’s a good reason that bag is heavy. It’s full of money—thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars.
What the hell are they doing with this kind of cash sitting around in their house? This has to be everything they have in the world and then some. Why would they have it out in the open in their closet? And why, if the house has been searched, didn’t the cops find it?
I shouldn’t, but I zip the duffle and toss it over my shoulder with the other smaller bags and leave the house. I drive across the street and decide not to tell them what’s going on until we are alone in the car together.
“What’s happening, Uncle Sawyer? Where are Mom and Dad? Where’s Mallory? Why did we have to go to Brian’s house after school? And why’s there ugly tape on our door?”
Their questions come like a firing squad, one after another, never leaving me time to answer one before being asked another. I rein in the urge to snap the steering wheel in half and deep breathe until the questions dwindle to are you okay, Uncle Sawyer?
“Yes, Davie, well no, not exactly. I have some things to tell you that are very hard to say, and I’m not sure you will understand, but it’s important that you know. First of all, you should know that you are both coming to stay with me for a while.”
They are silent, and I look over to see them looking at each other in shock.
“Where are Mom and Dad?” Davy asks.
“Your mom is at the hospital with Malory.”
“The hospital? Why? What happened to her?” Summer says with tears pooling in her big crystal blue eyes. God, this breaks my heart to tell them the truth, but there is no lie that will cover this up.
“Mommy and Daddy got into a fight, and Mommy got hurt.”
“Another fight?” Davy says.
“Another fight? Do they fight a lot?” I ask.
“They didn’t used to, but lately, they always yell. It scares me,” Summer says, sobbing from the back seat.
“What do they fight about?” I ask.
“Money. Mommy says Daddy keeps throwing it away.”
Seems like they have plenty of money to me. A whole duffle bag full, to be exact.
“Anything else, or just money?”
“Mommy yells at daddy for having a THOT,” Summer says, spitting a little when she says THOT.
“He has a girlfriend,” Davy corrects her. “Mom calls her a THOT ‘cuz—”
“Yes, she told me. It’s slang. So do you know who the woman is?”
I can’t believe these poor kids were suffering, knowing their parents’ marriage was falling apart, and never said a word to me about it.
“No, I’ve never seen her, but I think she called the house before because Mom got really mad and we had to buy a new phone.”
That doesn’t sound like my sister. She’s never been one for outbursts or violence.
“How are we gonna stay with you, Uncle Sawyer? Momma says you’re a germophobe and that’s why we never go to your house,” Summer asks, still crying.
“Shut up, Summer. Why can’t we just go home and be with Dad until Mom gets better?” Davy asks. His patience is wearing thin, and the panic of being uprooted from his home is starting to settle in.
“Don’t yell at me, Davie. I just had a question is all,” Summer says.
“It’s a good question, Summer. Both of your questions are. So Summer, your mommy is right. I am a germophobe, but I’m willing to work on that to have you come stay with me. And Davie, you can’t go home to your dad because he . . . he’s in jail because he hurt your mom.”
Fuck, there, I did it. I almost choked on the words, but I got them out, and now they know.
“Daddy hurt Mommy that bad?” Summer says so softly from the backseat I almost didn’t hear her. She starts to sob into her hands, and Davie unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs over the seat to hold her.
“Where’s Dad?” Davie asks in a hard voice while he strokes Summer’s long blond hair and she cries on his shoulder.
Big brother is stepping up to take his place as the man of the family at the tender age of eight. I can’t let him do that. He’s just a kid. He has ten years to have fun and be carefree.
“He’s in jail.”
“No!” Summer wails, and Davie hugs her harder.
“I want Daddy back. I want Mommy to come home.” Summer is beside herself with grief. In a way, she’s lost both of her parents without actually losing them.
“Summer, listen to me, we can go see Mommy tomorrow, but it might be a little while before you see your daddy.”
Like forever, if that fucker gets what he deserves. I don’t care how wonderful he’s been in the past. What he did to my sister and daughter today makes him a monster forever.
“We can see Mommy?” Summer squeaks with hope rising in her voice. I shouldn’t sugar coat it, but damn if these kids haven’t been through enough already.
“Yes, tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going to my house, and my girlfriend, Violet, is going to come and help me take care of you until this is all sorted out.”
“I’m scared,” Summer says, burying her face back into her brother’s shirt.
“I know you are, honey. I am too, but we have to be strong for your mom, okay?”
Nobody says another word as we drive to my house. When we pull into the garage, I cut the engine and close the door.
“Okay, guys, now I know things are rough right now, but I have a couple of rules at my house.”
“Don’t touch anything, don’t eat anything, don’t use the bathroom,” Davy drones like he’s heard it a thousand times before.
I twist in my seat to face them huddling in the back like two disaster survivors, and they sort of are in a way. They’re survivors of a fucked up father who coul
dn’t keep his dick in his pants.
“Where did you hear that?” I ask Davy.
“Mom always cleans before you come for dinner, and that’s what she says for like the whole afternoon before you get there.”
Great, time to go on a guilt trip. My sister didn’t let her kids pee because I was coming over. That’s fucked up. Am I really that bad? I just always thought she was an impeccable housekeeper.
“No, actually, I never knew your mother told you those things. My rules are that you always take your shoes off at the door before you go inside, if you get something out, you put it away when you’re finished using it, and clean up a mess if you make one.”
“That’s just like Mrs. Conway’s rules at school, ‘cept for the shoes. We gotta keep our shoes on all the time,” Summer says.
Davy looks relieved, and I’m having serious anxiety. Davy was right. I’d rather have them not touch anything, don’t eat, and don’t use the bathroom, but that’s unrealistic when they’re going to be living here. God, I need Violet right now. I should have gone to get her before I brought them home. Now I’m going to have to leave the little wild ones alone to go and get her.
“I wanna go see Mommy. I don’t wanna go inside and take my shoes off,” Summer whines.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Davy, you want to go see your mom instead of waiting until tomorrow?”
“Yes, please.”
“All right, put your seatbelt on back there and let’s go.”
I open the door and back out of the driveway, and my anxiety evaporates the further away from the house we get. Yep, definitely need Violet for this one.
I text her and tell her I’m on my way with the kids, and she shoots me a message right back.
Violet - You sure that’s a good idea? She’s in pretty bad shape. Did you tell them what happened? I love Sabrina, btw. She’s an awesome person. You’re lucky to have her in your life.
Me - I told them, they’re pretty shaken up, but we tried to go home and I can’t go in without you. They also really need to see one of their parents right now, so yeah, good idea or not, we’re coming. I’m glad you like Rina. Don’t get too attached, though. You’re mine.
Violet - ?
Me - Sabrina might fall for you. She’s a sucker for a beautiful woman.
Violet - Oh, wait, I thought you said she was married to a Marine when she saved Malory.
Me - She was.
Violet - A female Marine?
Me - No.
Violet - Uh, okay, confused, but we will discuss later. I love you and only you. Don’t worry about me switching sides or whatever it is you’re worried about.
I shouldn’t mess with her, but it’s hard to resist, and really, Sabrina is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever set eyes on. She’s tall and lean, with waist-length, jet black, silky hair and almond-shaped grey eyes. She’s mesmerizing. I’m willing to bet she’s made a woman or two rethink their gender preference. Sabrina was married to Nick. He was a Marine and he was KIA in Iraq. Sabrina and Nick were swingers, and now it’s a toss up as to whom she brings to a function or a party.
Me – 1. Good to know. 2. I’m on my way. 3. Stay three steps away from Rina. 4. This sucks. 5. Thank you for being here to help me. 6. I love you too.
It feels so good to make a list, even if it’s for nothing but to say I love and appreciate Violet. Another message pings right away after my list.
Violet - 7. You’re crazy. 8. Sabrina doesn’t hold a candle to you. 9.I don’t swing. 10. Agreed, this sucks. 11. I love you more.
I smile down at my phone in my hand while we sit at a stoplight. I should put the phone away and set a better example for the kids. Having kids around reminds me of boot camp. Someone’s critiquing your every word and action. That’s how I’m going to think of this from here on out. Kiddy boot camp. I can do this, with some help.
28
Hope
Violet
Malory is so still. Kids aren’t supposed to be this still unless they’re exhausted and sleeping in their bed after a long day of playing in the park, not sedated because their little brain can’t process watching an Uncle nearly beat an Aunt to death.
Sabrina and I switched places for an hour so she could spend some time with Sam. Apparently, Sabrina and Sam became friends when Sabrina moved to California after her husband died overseas. She had no family in the UK or America, and she and Major had never lost contact, so Oceanside was the logical place for her to build a life.
When she walked into Malory’s hospital room, I choked on my own spit when I gasped. It was embarrassing, but she acted as if nothing had happened and hugged me like an old friend. I can’t imagine Major and Sabrina being only friends. There’s not a red-blooded man on the planet she couldn’t have with her exotic beauty. Throw in her British accent, and she’s killer.
Dressed in Victoria’s Secret pink sweat pants, a t-shirt and matching jacket with Nikes on her feet, she was hotter than any runway model. She kissed Malory and sat on the bed next to her. Malory slept like a blonde version of sleeping beauty while Sabrina spun stories about handsome princes and beautiful fairies. When I complemented her on her creative imagination, she told me she’s a romance writer. I can totally see Sabrina as a writer. Something about her screams, creative good vibes right here, get your feels on with Sabrina!
Major texted me that he was on his way with the kids and Sabrina thought it best to go and be there when they arrived. She is the same as family to them. The kids stair step in age, six, seven and eight, making her a constant presence throughout their lives. It will be good to have two adults there to comfort them when they see their mother.
I’m proud of Major. He told them what happened, no beating around the bush or procrastinating, just straight up told them. I’m sure he’s done difficult things as a Marine, and I’m sure his military family stood by him, but it’s different when your biological family is hurting.
Are Samantha and Major biological siblings? I never thought to ask, not that it makes much difference, but it would be good information in case of an emergency. I’ll have to ask him about that later.
I wish I didn’t have to meet every single person that Major loves on the worst day of their lives, or at least one in their top ten. I have a list of at least twenty of the worst days of my life somewhere. It helps me appreciate the good days and how truly blessed I am.
It’s been an hour since he texted me he was on his way. I wonder how the kids are handling seeing their mother bandaged and bruised. I lean back in a chair next to Malory’s bed and rest my head back, looking at the ceiling tiles. I wonder how many children have had to lay here in pain, staring at the same tiles. A shiver runs up my spine at the thought. I hate hospitals. Kids should never have to visit one unless they’re being born.
I hear a whimper and snap my head up to see Malory’s eyes fluttering open. She doesn’t know me, and this has been so traumatic, I’m afraid to say anything for fear of throwing her back into hysteria. I wait for her to see me. She doesn’t frighten. She has no reaction at all. She’s flat and emotionless, almost like she can see straight through me. Maybe she’s not all the way awake yet. Do I approach her and risk a meltdown or hang back and let her come to me?
The thought no more enters my head than she reaches out her hand for me. Slowly, I lean forward. She keeps reaching, and I keep inching toward her. When I’m on the edge of my chair and the tips of our fingers touch, she curls hers around mine, pulling me closer. I stand and move to sit on the bed with her, and she sits up and hugs me, clings to me, squeezes me so tight it almost hurts.
“Malory, I’m your daddy’s friend, Violet. I wanted to be here when you woke up. How are you feeling?”
Stupid question. Her world just fell apart and she’s sitting in a hospital room with some strange woman named after a flower without her mother and siblings.
She doesn’t answer, she just grips the material of my shirt at my sides in tight little wads, holding on for d
ear life. That’s okay, sometimes all you need is a hug. I wrap my arms around the beautiful little girl and breathe in the faint scent of strawberry shampoo in her hair.
We stay like this, her silently holding on, me doing my best to comfort a stranger without words for a long time until a nurse enters the room.
When she sees me, I try to convey that I am out of my element with a help me, I’m crashing sort of look. She understands and bends at the waist to speak to Malory.
“Are you hungry, Malory? Or thirsty? I can bring you something if you want,” she offers.
Malory shakes her head no.
“All right, would you like to see your daddy?”
She nods up and down vigorously and launches herself out of the bed into her arms.
“Oh! My goodness, you really do want your daddy, don’t you?” she says with a chuckle.
Then she looks at me suspiciously, or at least I feel like its suspicion.
“She’s never met me before. I’m her father’s friend,” I say as if that were a perfectly good reason for this child to be leaping out of my arms. She stands with Malory wrapped around her like a monkey.
“I’ll just go call her father,” she says, walking away with my charge. I’m supposed to be making sure she’s all right, not letting some stranger walk off with her. I get up and follow them out the door to the nurse’s station, where nurse Jane fuzzy wuzzy is about to call Major.
“I can text him if you like. He’s visiting his sister in ICU.”
This news seems to set her at ease. “Yes, that would be fine.”
Me – Malory’s awake. She’d like to see you.
Major – Almost there.
“He’s already on his way.”
“Thank you. We have to be really careful with our patients,” she says.
“No problem, it’s reassuring to know she’s being looked after so well,” I say, and I mean it. This little girl’s been through enough. She deserves to feel safe.
Major arrives, flanked by a shell-shocked Davy and a pale, frightened Summer. He’s shown me photographs of them several times so I know what they look like, although in the photo, they were laughing and rosy cheeked, playing in the water at a water park.