“I have to give a speech. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Go do your thing,” she assured.
“Justine, you’ll be sitting here?”
“Yes, of course. Now get up there. People are beginning to stare!” Justine said through her teeth, never once breaking the false smile that was plastered on her face.
I glanced at Krystina. She smiled politely and nodded her head to me. To an outsider, she looked perfectly happy. But I knew differently. Suzanne had rattled her.
I could kill that woman.
I leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek, hating the fact that I was going to leave her alone once again.
“We’ll talk in a bit,” I whispered to her.
“I’m fine,” she insisted once more.
Not satisfied that she was, I turned and made my way to the podium. After taking my place behind the microphone, I pulled out the speech that I had written and surveyed my audience.
Christ, I fucking hate giving speeches.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I began. “Without your generous donations, Stone’s Hope Shelter for Women would have never taken flight. However, there are many other individuals that have helped to make this night possible. I’d like to take a minute to thank the staff, the volunteers, and most importantly, my sister, Justine. She is the heart and soul of tonight’s event, as well as the driving force behind Stone’s Hope.”
I paused for a moment, allowing the crowd to give the customary applause.
“For those of you who do not know, tonight marks the fifth annual fundraising dinner for The Stoneworks Foundation. While events in the past have always gone to a worthy cause, tonight holds more significance. Stone’s Hope –.”
I stopped short, as Krystina’s words echoed in my mind.
Tell the truth.
I scanned the crowd. Waiters and waitresses had begun serving the first course, while guests waited in anticipation for what I was about to say. I looked down at the speech in front of me. What I had written was full of insincerities with the hope of monetary gain. And if I were being truthful to myself, it was shallow.
I folded up the speech and placed it in the breast pocket of my suit coat.
“I had a speech prepared for tonight, but I’m sure that you’ve all heard something similar before. So instead, I’m going to tell you a story. It’s about two children who grew up with a mother that could not escape from the clutches of domestic violence.”
I glanced at Justine and saw that she looked horrorstruck. Krystina leaned in and whispered something to her, before looking back to me and nodding her head in encouragement.
This is for you, angel.
I focused my attention back to the crowd and took a deep breath. I then began to tell them a tale about a family of four, who lived in poverty, amidst the brutality of a husband and father. I spoke in generalities, never once mentioning my name or Justine’s, but I told the truth all the same. I told them about the abuse, both mental and physical, and about the endless cycle that could not be broken. I spoke of a kind woman who loved her children, but didn’t have enough strength to break free from a world that had beaten her down.
“They lived under a patriarchal mentality, where the man in the house had the right to judge, decide, and dole out punishments as he saw fit. The mother, fearful of her children’s safety as well as her own, taught them how to behave so as not to anger their father. But there were times when her lessons were not enough to stop his fury. More often than not, she wore a blackened ring of shame around one or both eyes, while she dressed her son in long sleeved shirts during the summer to hide his bruises from school officials. She would blame herself for doing something wrong, feeling ashamed for failing in her wifely duties.
“Her children lived in constant fear. They didn’t play like most children should, as they were fearful that the littlest sound would spark their father to hurt their mother. Or worse, hurt them. They were terrified of the days when their father would come home in a drunken rage, something that was a regular occurrence after he bloodied their mother. Their only option was to hide from him, sometimes for days, as their mother was rarely there to help them because she was too weak or broken to get up from the floor.”
“Alex, how much longer do we have to stay in here?” Justine would ask me.
“Shh. Be quiet. He’ll hear you,” I’d scold.
I looked out into the crowd.
“As you all sit here tonight, I’d like you to imagine the world that I am describing to you. Imagine their home – a housing project made of cinderblock, where crime and violence was the norm; where survival was the only motivation to get out of bed every day. Imagine a man, one so dissatisfied with his life that he takes to pummeling his wife as a way of venting his frustrations. Now close your eyes and picture a six-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy, their mother beaten so badly that they have no other choice but to hide in a filthy broom closet. They had no place to go, no one to turn to. These children, so young and so afraid, only had each other.”
Even after all this time, I could still picture Justine and I huddled together in that wretched closet. I could still smell the musty scent that wafted from the floor. It was like old shoes that sat out in the rain for too long.
I don’t want to be talking about this. I don’t want to remember it.
I took a deep breath, knowing that I had little choice but to continue on with the story that I was now committed to telling.
“The physical and mental abuse wore m –.” I stopped short, correcting the mistake just in time. I had almost said ‘my’ mother. “It wore this poor mother down over time. After enduring the pain of countless broken bones and witnessing the brutality that rained upon her children, she realized that there was nothing that any of them could do to make her husband happy. But she also felt that she had nowhere to go. So, she began teaching her son and daughter new lessons whenever her husband wasn’t around.”
As I spoke, I heard my mother’s words as if they were spoken only yesterday.
“Alexander and Justine, I hope that one day you will become better than this world. I want you to demand respect, but you also need to understand how to give it. I want you to live in contentment, yet still shoot for the impossible dream. Break this cycle and make a difference in the world.”
“The lessons that she gave them were no longer about how to avoid their fathers wrath, but about perseverance and about the life she eventually wanted her children to have. She painted a picture of the individuals that she wanted them to become. She knew that she lacked the self-esteem and the financial resources to make this her own reality, but hoped that her teachings would make her children learn from her mistakes.”
I continued on and told them about that mother who had dreams of a better life, and about the woman who spoke of fairytale ideals where she and her children were surrounded by happiness.
“I want you to escape and be something, and never want for anything ever again. This is my wish for you. Don’t settle for anything less. I know in my heart that you can do this. Don’t be like me. Strive for better.”
“This mother wanted a better life for her children with all of her heart, but years of abuse had eventually broken her will. She stopped telling stories. She stopped having hope. She gave up, no longer having the energy to make a difference.”
I paused, knowing that I had said enough, and looked around at the faces below me. It was then that I realized how much time I had spent hating my mother, yet ended up doing exactly as she told me to do. I demanded respect from others and I went after the impossible dream. And here I was, making a difference.
Because of her.
“Her story, while it echoes so many others today, took place many years ago. It was a point in time when the domestic abuse movement was still in its infancy. Shelters were not readily available in every town or city. There were no outlets for new beginnings. Our society has evolved for the better since then. Laws have been passed
that recognize and protect women that have fallen victim to abuse. But it’s not enough. We still have so much work to do.
“Knowing what I know about that poor little boy and his sister, I wonder how different their life would have been if their mother had another choice. A way out. An escape. Stone’s Hope will give women, and their children, a chance at a better life. It will provide a roof, protection and security, and pave the way to a fresh start. But most importantly, it will give hope. Because sometimes, hope is all you need.”
The crowd was silent. Not even the clinking of silverware could be heard in the room, before everyone erupted into applause.
Instantly, I was filled with relief. They may not know of the individuals that I spoke of, but I did. Because of that, a huge weight that I hadn’t realized I was carrying was lifted from my shoulders. For the first time in my life, I felt that my past might finally be used for some good.
Justine took the stage and made her way over to me. She leaned in to give me a quick hug.
“I don’t know what possessed you to do that,” she whispered. “I just hope that they don’t put two and two together.”
I returned her hug, careful to keep my smile in place.
“I was cautious. Besides, my original speech was boring.”
She laughed.
“Yes, it was. I read it. This was much more…” she began and pulled back to look at me. “I don’t have the memories that you do. The way you spoke about her…it was heartfelt.”
“That’s what you wanted, right? More heart?”
“I did.”
Her eyes glistened with tears.
Oh, no.
“Justine, get it together.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and quickly collected herself. She smiled one more time at me before stepping up to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said into the microphone. Her voice silenced the audience that was still applauding. “I will echo the sentiments of my brother when he said that sometimes hope is all you need. Stone’s Hope means hope.”
I exited the stage and listened while Justine went on to talk about the importance of our donors. This was her area of expertise over mine. She was better at wooing people to open their wallets for a charitable cause. I was the more cut and dry sibling. I told it like it was and it usually suited me well in the business world. Tonight was a rare performance.
Heading over to the table where Krystina was waiting for me, I felt relieved over having finished my part for the evening. I was never a big fan of speeches to begin with, but this one had been a particularly difficult one to give for a magnitude of reasons.
Krystina stood when I approached her and I pulled her into my arms.
“I’m proud of you,” she told me.
“Thank you, angel. I never would have done that if it weren’t for your suggestion and encouragement,” I whispered into her ear. “Now, for the rest of the night, I’m all yours.”
****
After dinner, the first dance was announced. The largest donors, as well as Alexander and Justine, were invited to lead off the night. The band performed a version of “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, a soulful yet sweet duet from the lead singer and her partner that carried across the room.
“Aside from the episode with Suzanne, are you having a good time?” Alexander asked as we swayed to the music.
“Actually, I’m having a fantastic time,” I told him honestly.
“I know that you’re probably wondering about her.”
I was curious, but in that moment, I didn’t want to give that woman another passing thought. I just wanted to enjoy the night with Alexander.
“I am wondering,” I admitted. “But you don’t have to explain. We’re not living in the past anymore, remember?”
“You’re right, angel. It’s all about right now. This moment,” he said and extended his arm to twirl me in a circle. When I came back to him, I looked up into his painstakingly beautiful blues.
“And this moment is perfect,” I told him. He met my gaze and held it steady before taking my chin in his hand.
“Move in with me.”
I slowed my pace until I was almost at a stand still, shocked by his suggestion.
“What?”
“You heard me. I said move in with me,” he repeated.
I can’t move in with you! I have a life, I have a… What do I have?
I was so confused, his proposition totally throwing me off balance. I couldn’t think of one single particular reason for why I shouldn’t move in with him, I only knew that I could not.
“Alex, I can’t move in with you.”
“Why not?”
“Why should I?” I questioned back, baffled as to what brought this on.
“You should because you belong there. At the penthouse. With me. I don’t like it when you’re away from me.”
He pulled me tight against him, forcing me back into the gentle rhythm that we had a few moments before.
“Alex, we’ve barely established that we’re a couple. I’m not saying that I would never consider it, but I think it’s too much too fast.”
“So don’t give up your apartment. We can do a trial run and see how it goes,” he pushed.
“But, Alex…”
“I need you, Krystina. I don’t want a part time relationship anymore. You promised me no more nights alone, but that has yet to happen. I want to wake up every morning with you beside me. I want to come home with you in the evening. Everyday needs to begin and end with you,” he said huskily as his eyes seared into mine. I looked away, unable to withstand the intensity of them.
I rested my head against his shoulder, thinking about what it would be like to wake up in the same arms that I had been lost in the night before. It was a real struggle to fight off the urge to give in to his request.
“Alex, it sounds appealing, but I can’t. Not yet.”
What he suggested was more than just appealing – the idea of waking up with him each day caused elated butterflies to dance around in my stomach. But I had to be sensible about it. If I moved in with him, I knew that it wouldn’t be long before I started to envision the white picket fence. That was dangerous, and it was just something that I could not afford to do.
The first song finally ended and the lead singer made an announcement to invite all remaining guests out to the dance floor. The band kicked it up a notch and began playing a more upbeat Peggy Lee classic, but I still couldn’t think past Alexander’s suggestion to move in.
I need a minute to think.
Using the change of song pace to get away from the pressure that I was suddenly feeling, I took a step back from Alexander. I intended to make an excuse about having to use the restroom, but was prevented from doing so when he took hold of my arm.
“Where are you running to, angel?” he asked. There was a twinkle in his eye as he snapped his fingers in time to the music. Grabbing me around the waist, he sent me into a full three-sixty spin before bringing me back to crush his hips against me.
“Oh!” I squeaked out in surprise after having almost lost my footing during the unexpected twirl.
“We need to work on your dancing skills, my lady,” he laughed.
“Hey! I can hold my own just fine. You caught me off guard!”
“Oh, yeah? Let’s see how well you can keep up, angel,” he challenged.
He extended his arm to spin me again, before leading into a smooth rock on the downbeat. I didn’t know the steps, but Alexander’s lead made it easy to keep up.
Mirroring his movements, I stepped back with my right foot before shifting my weight to the left. Before long, I learned that the dance was pretty basic, following a six-count step. But just when I thought that I had it figured out, Alexander threw me off center with a tuck double underarm turn.
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” I asked, feeling slightly out of breath. I was completely in awe over his flawless moves.
“East Coast Swing, baby. My grand
mother was the best.”
“She taught you?”
“Everything she knew.”
Another loop around and I began to notice that the guests were watching us.
“Alex, everyone is staring,” I whispered, feeling extremely self-conscious. Alexander was so fluid in his movements, I was sure to look like I had two left feet by comparison.
“Probably because they’ve never seen me dance before. I’m not one to engage in frivolities at these types of events. But who cares?” Another double spin before he brought me tight to his chest. “Let them stare, angel. I want them all to know that you’re my girl.”
“Your girl?” I laughed. “Are you adding to the list of ways that you can introduce me?”
He gave me a rueful smile and my heart fluttered.
“Not at all, angel. I’m just stating a fact.” He gazed down at me in a stare so powerful that it penetrated through to my soul. “Make no mistake – you are mine.”
The music slowed down to a smooth, yet powerful stream of guitar strings being strummed. Feeling short of breath, I melded against Alexander’s chest as he pulled me into another slow dance. Settling into a rhythm, I hummed along to the bands rendition of “Wicked Game”.
When Alexander began to sing the lyrics to the song, I was stunned silent by the emotional tenor of his voice. Not only did he have stellar dance moves, but he had an amazing voice as well. As he sang about not wanting to fall in love, I pulled back and looked into his sapphire blue eyes.
All at once, a moment of perfect clarity came forth. He had me completely taken. Emotion squeezed at my heart until I felt it might burst.
I’m falling for him.
The realization crashed over me like a tidal wave, crushing me upon impact. At first, I was momentarily flooded with happiness. But then reality swept me away in a fierce undertow.
I can’t fall in love with him. He’ll never love me back.
Alexander had been very clear on his position. And so was I. We both agreed that there would be no strings attached.
It’s the song. It’s just the song.
Stepping Stone Page 19