For the rest of the morning, Bitsy played at the water’s edge while Faith flipped through the current issue of People magazine. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept tabs on Jamie, who was staring at the ocean in deep thought. When he ran the back of his hand over his eyes, as if to wipe away tears, she put down the magazine and debated whether to say the things she’d been wanting to say to him for days.
She wrapped her hand around Jamie’s. “If there’s something on your mind you want to talk about …”
He glanced down at their hands, then up at her. “No offense, Aunt Faith, but I’m tired of talking.” He pulled his hand away. “It doesn’t do any good.”
“Depends on who’s doing the talking and who’s doing the listening.”
He studied her face, as though trying to decide whether he could trust her, then returned his attention to the crashing waves.
“According to your mom, your last MRI showed that your spinal cord has healed. The doctors think something’s holding you back from walking again. Do you want to talk about what that something is?”
His shoulders drooped and he hung his head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Nothing in life worth having ever is. These things take time. And you’re a gifted athlete. You, of all people, should understand how hard physical work can pay off.”
“This is different. My mind wants to believe I can do it, but the rest of my body won’t cooperate.”
“What about your heart?” she asked.
“What does my heart have to do with anything?”
“You have to trust in your heart that you can accomplish your goals, then let the rest of your body do the work.”
Tears welled in his eyes.
She reached for his hand again. This time he did not pull away. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Your heart won’t give your body permission to move on?”
“Pretty much,” he said, biting his lower lip.
“Let it go, Jamie. There’s no one here but you and me.” Faith glanced over at her daughter who was dancing in the edge of the surf.
Faith scooted her chair closer and rubbed his head, cooing soft words of encouragement for a good ten minutes, while he cried. Finally, he reached for a beach towel and wiped his eyes.
“Feel better?” Faith asked.
“I guess.”
“The only way to get it out of your system is to give in to your grief.” She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, and felt the distant thumping of his heart. “Corey’s death was not your fault. You have to stop punishing yourself.” She placed her hand on his chest. “Deep down inside, you know how much he loved you. He would want you to go on living your life. He would want you to walk again.”
He rested his head on the back of his chair. “I just can’t stop thinking about all the things Corey’s missing out on. All because of me.”
“Answer me this. What if Corey had been driving the Gator and you were the one who’d been killed? Would you want him to bury himself in guilt?”
“No, of course not.” He was silent for a minute. “I know what you’re saying is true, and I’ve tried to put myself in Corey’s shoes, many times. But it doesn’t help.”
“Because you’re stuck. Sometimes when I’m feeling blue, I think of someone who’s worse off than me, and I try to put on a happy face. More often than not, going through the motions of trying to be happy makes me feel better in the end.”
Jamie sniffled and wiped his nose with the towel. “When did you get so smart?”
“Ha.” She sat back in her chair. “Have you looked at my face lately?”
“You’re not going back to him are you, Aunt Faith?”
“Not if I can help it.”
He jerked his head toward her. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”
“Like you said, it’s not that easy. I’m scared to death that, when the time comes, I won’t have the strength to stand up to him.” She reached for the cooler and dragged it closer to her. “How about if we make a deal?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
She handed him a pimento cheese sandwich. “I’ll help you find the courage to walk again, if you help me find the courage to stand up to Curtis.”
He unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. “Throw in a bag of barbecue chips and a Dr. Pepper and you have a deal.”
She pinched his stuffed cheek. “I’m glad you shaved. You shouldn’t hide your handsome face behind all that scruffy beard.” She sat back, studying him. “I give a mean haircut, you know.”
Twenty-Five
Samantha
Sam’s mood brightened when she arrived home from work and saw her son looking better than she’d seen him look in months. Healthy, with a trace of sun on his cheeks, and handsome, with his dark curls cut back over his ears. She was even more pleased to find Jamie and Bitsy preparing dinner in the kitchen. Bitsy mixed spices for a dry rub for the ribs while Jamie grated the secret ingredients he used in his famous macaroni and cheese recipe.
She found Faith at the computer in the den, doing research on battered women.
“Discover anything interesting?” Sam asked, reading the computer screen over her sister’s shoulder.
Faith pointed at one of the bulleted facts on the website she was browsing. “Did you know that in domestic violence situations, seventy-five percent of calls to police for intervention happen after the victims separate from their abusers?”
“Knowing that statistic will only make you worry more.”
“I guess you’re right.” Faith clicked the mouse and exited the Internet browser.
“So … how’d you do it?” Sam asked.
Faith pushed back from the desk. “How’d I do what?”
“How’d you talk Jamie into letting you cut his hair?”
Faith smiled. “That was easy. He was ready to get rid of all that hair.”
Sam felt a distinct twinge of jealousy. Should it bother her that her sister could convince Jamie to cut his hair when she’d been harassing him about it for months? Faith and Jamie had always had a special bond. She knew she should be happy that her son had found someone to confide in. She only wished that that someone was her.
Jamie started the grill, and the grown-ups talked on the back deck while Bitsy played on the tire swing that hung from the big maple tree in the yard. The evening was pleasant, hot and humid but not unbearable. For a brief moment in time, they were an average family enjoying a cookout—all thoughts of abusive husbands, wheelchairs, and failing family businesses forgotten.
Sam and Faith were taking turns painting barbecue sauce on the ribs when they heard the loud rumble of a motorcycle engine in the driveway. Before they had a chance to react, Curtis appeared, dressed in a leather jacket and pants, with a bandana wrapped do-rag-style around his head.
“Looks like I’m just in time for grub.” He strolled toward the deck as though he’d been invited to dinner.
At the sound of her father’s voice, Bitsy sprinted across the yard, took the deck steps two at a time, and dove behind her mother’s legs.
Curtis held his hands out to her. “Aww, Bitsy. Don’t be like that. Aren’t you gonna give your daddy a hug?”
With the child clinging to her leg like a koala attached to a tree, Faith managed to get Bitsy over to the back door. She pried her daughter off her leg and pushed her forward. “Go inside, sweetheart, and turn on the television.”
“You can’t keep me from seeing my own child, Faith. I got rights.” Curtis made a move toward the back door, but Faith blocked his path.
“You gave up your rights when you broke my nose.”
He glared at her, his lip curled up in disgust. “Look at you, all confident now that you got your family to protect you. Did you tell your sister about the money you stole from her?”
Jamie locked eyes with his mother but she ignored his questioning stare. “As a matter of fact she did, Curtis,” Sam said. “But I blame you for that, not Faith. It’s your fault for not being ab
le to hold down a job.”
Curtis took a step closer to Faith, examining her face. “Looks like your nose is healing up nicely. Too bad I’m gonna have to break it again.”
Jamie wheeled his chair over to Curtis. “Get off my property,” he said, pointing the grill fork at his uncle.
“What’re you gonna do, you little punk, stab me with your kitchen fork?”
“You’re damn right.” Jamie jabbed at the air with his fork. “I’m not a punk, and I’m certainly not afraid of you.”
Curtis laughed, the crazed cackle of a deranged man. “You should be.”
Jamie held Curtis at bay with his grill fork in one hand while tossing Sam his cell phone with the other. “Call the police, Mom.”
Sam dialed 911. When the woman in dispatch answered, she blurted, “Send the police to 210 Dogwood Lane right away. My name is Sam Sweeney and my brother-in-law is here threatening my family. My sister has a restraining order out against him.”
“Restraining order?” Curtis said. “I don’t know nothing about no restraining order.”
“Is he armed?” the dispatcher asked Sam.
“Not that I can see.”
“The police are on the way. Do you want to stay on the phone with me until they get there?”
“Yes, I do.” She hoped that keeping the dispatcher on the line would prevent Curtis from doing something stupid. Sam held the phone away from her ear. “The police are on the way. You might want to leave while you still have a chance.” Ten seconds later, they heard sirens. “Too late now.”
Curtis’s right hand disappeared behind his back. He was reaching for something tucked inside his waistband when Officers Marshall and Swanson rounded the corner of the house.
Eli drew his weapon. “Freeze! Drop the gun on the ground and put your hands in the air.”
Gun? Sam’s heart pounded in her chest. They’d been flirting with death without even realizing it.
Curtis tossed his revolver in the grass and raised his hands.
Eli forced Curtis against the side of Sam’s Jeep and frisked him while Swanson secured the weapon.
“You can’t arrest me,” Curtis cried, when Eli slapped the handcuffs on him.
“Oh, no?” Eli whipped his prisoner around to face him. “Watch me.”
“On what grounds?”
“Carrying a concealed weapon, for starters,” Eli said.
“With intent to cause bodily harm,” Officer Swanson added.
Sam chimed in, “And he’s violating Faith’s protection order.”
“I already told you,” Curtis said. “I don’t know nothing about no restraining order.”
Sam shot her sister a quick glance. “I thought you took care of this.”
“I did. I filed the papers on Tuesday morning.”
“Did the judge sign the order?” Eli asked.
“No, I filed them with the clerk of court. He told me they would notify me of the court date. I just assumed …”
Swanson shook his head in frustration. “The judge should have granted a temporary order of protection.”
“We can deal with that in the morning. In the meantime, your husband here”—Eli jerked on Curtis’s handcuffs—“will be spending the night in jail.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” Curtis spit a large wad of chewing tobacco at his captor’s feet. “I’ll be out of jail by the time you finish your shift.”
“Get him out of here.” Eli handed his prisoner over to his partner, who hustled him down the driveway to the patrol car.
Eli surveyed the faces of his captive audience. “Who wants to tell me what happened?”
Sam recapped the incident with Faith and Jamie filling in the parts she missed.
“Is there any way he can get out of jail tonight?” Faith asked.
“Not tonight. But I doubt we’ll be able to keep him over the weekend—that is, if he can post bail.” Eli gripped Jamie’s shoulder. “You did a brave thing tonight, buddy. You kept your cool during a dangerous situation. Not everyone your age could’ve handled the pressure so well.”
Jamie shrugged. “All I could think about was keeping Bitsy safe.” He spun his chair around. “Speaking of Bitsy, maybe I should go inside and check on her. I’m sure she’s scared.”
Faith waited for Jamie to make his way down the sidewalk and up the ramp before she spoke. “The other night, while we were at the hospital, Dr. Neilson mentioned something about helping me find a shelter. I thought maybe I’d take him up on the offer.”
“That’s ridiculous, Faith. I’m not letting you go to a shelter.” Sam put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “You are staying here with Jamie and me. We’re your family.”
“And I love you, which is why I need to leave. Curtis has gone batshit crazy. He had every intention of shooting someone with that gun. And that someone could’ve been Jamie.” Faith choked back a sob. “I don’t know what I’ll do if he takes Bitsy away from me.”
Sam gripped her sister’s shoulder. “That’s not going to happen. At least not while you’re here. I can’t protect you if you leave.”
“It might not be a bad thing for you to explore your options,” Eli said to Sam. “Your sister is right. By letting her stay here, you are placing your own life and your son’s in danger. Everything turned out all right tonight, but you never know what might happen next time.”
“You’re assuming there will be a next time,” Sam said.
“We have no choice but to prepare for a next time,” Eli said. “We will do the best we can to protect you, but we can’t be here all the time. You have to consider Jamie. I don’t need to tell you that being in a wheelchair places him at a disadvantage.”
“I’m well aware of the challenges of Jamie’s condition. You’ll just have to do the best you can, because nobody is going anywhere,” Sam said, her jaw set.
“Okay then,” Eli said. “We’ll play it your way. Once Curtis is released from jail, I’ll make certain a patrol car drives by your house at least every hour,”—then turning to Faith—“and I’ll see what I can do about getting you on the judge’s docket as soon as possible so we can get that temporary protection order in place.”
“I appreciate all your help, Eli,” Faith said.
“It’s my job.” Eli handed Sam his business card with his cell number scribbled on the back. “Call me anytime, day or night.”
She slipped the card in her back pocket. “Thanks. I feel better having a direct line to Prospect’s finest,” she said with a smile.
Faith and Sam watched the squad car pull away from the curb with Curtis glaring at them through the back window.
“What do we do about his bike?” Sam motioned toward Curtis’s motorcycle parked behind her Jeep.
“Move it to the curb for now. The bike will be our way of knowing he’s out of jail.” Faith kicked up the kickstand and walked the Harley down the driveway to the street.
Sam waited for Faith to return and the two of them walked arm in arm back to the deck. Sam went in the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“None for me, thanks,” Faith said. “I need to keep my wits about me.”
“That leaves more for me,” Sam said, filling her glass to the rim. “After what happened here tonight, I might polish off the whole bottle.”
“I’m worried about you, Sam. You’ve been drinking an awful lot lately.”
Sam raised her glass to her sister and took a big gulp. “I’ll quit once your husband is locked up for good.” She didn’t need anyone telling her how to handle her stress. She’d never been much of a drinker before, and she had little doubt but what she could quit whenever she wanted to.
She set her glass down and opened the lid on the grill. “Looks like our dinner is charred.” She used the fork Jamie had threatened Curtis with to poke at the blackened meat.
Faith took the fork away from Sam and closed the grill lid. “Listen to me, Sammie. Bitsy and I can’t stay here any longer.”
&nb
sp; “I thought we already settled this.”
“No.” Faith pointed the fork at Sam. “You settled it. Not me. You made your mind up, like you always do, without giving me my say.”
Sam pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. “Fine. Have your say.”
“Will you at least admit that tonight was a game changer?” Faith asked, as she sat down next to Sam.
“Fine. Tonight was a game changer. We just need to be better prepared for next time.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“For starters, we can teach Bitsy how to dial 911 and what to say to the operator in the event of an emergency. We can handle this, Faith. Together, as a family. You don’t need to go live in a shelter with strangers.”
Faith pounded the table with her fist. “You’re not listening to me, Sam. Jamie’s safety is in jeopardy. Did you see the way he went after Curtis with that fork? I love Jamie. But he’s a wild card with all that anger he’s holding on to. Who knows what would’ve happened if the police hadn’t shown up when they did.”
“Come on, Faith. We could sit here all night talking about the what-ifs, but the bottom line is, we are all safe. We just need to be more careful in the future.”
Faith stared her down. “Will you at least talk to Jamie about it?”
“Talk to me about what?” Jamie asked from the doorway.
“About dinner.” Sam pointed her wine glass at the grill. “Your ribs are charred.”
“I’ll go get the box of meat,” he said, and pumped his chair back inside the kitchen.
“Please talk to him.” Faith pushed back from the table. “If he has any concerns for his own safety, or for yours, we will find somewhere to go.” She went to the door. “In the meantime, I’m going to check on Bitsy, to see if I can convince her to come back outside.”
Faith held the door open for Jamie while he wheeled his way onto the deck. He set the box on the table and began rummaging through it. “We have pork tenderloin or hamburgers,” he said, a tenderloin in one hand and a package of individually wrapped hamburger patties in the other.
“The tenderloin would be better with your mac and cheese. Besides, I don’t have any hamburger rolls.”
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