Rattling Around: The Baxter Boys #5 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

“I think you’ve been holding it in for so long that it finally had to come out.”

  I rest my head against his chest. Is that what this is? Mourning? “I thought it was guilt.”

  “Yeah, about that. You want to tell me why you think you’re responsible.”

  “I didn’t come home.” If only I would have insisted on flying back to the states instead of entertaining relatives, I would have figured it out and gotten her out of that situation. I would have given up school to keep my mom safe.

  “You didn’t push her down the stairs either,” Sean points out.

  But, he doesn’t get it. I knew and even if I didn’t want to acknowledge it then, deep down, I’m pretty sure I knew, which makes me the worst kind of daughter. “I may have been in Paris but Mom and I talked a lot. If it wasn’t on the phone, then it was messenger, Skype, Facetime, whatever we had available and a week didn’t go by that we didn’t see each other’s face,” I start to explain. Once I’m done, Sean is going to think I’m a horrible person too. “The bruises started showing up a few years ago. Mom told me she was having balance issues, an inner ear thing, and the doctor was getting it fixed. I believed her and offered to come home and she insisted it wasn’t serious.” I knew in my gut she was lying to me, but nobody wants to call their Mom a liar.

  “You did what you thought was best and trusted your mother.”

  No, I didn’t. A good daughter would have come home. “I should have followed my gut, not been complacent and come home!”

  “She didn’t want you to.”

  That much I know.

  “She was protecting you.”

  “From what?” I look up at him.

  Sean frowns. “Maybe protecting herself.”

  “Well, that didn’t work out so well.” I slip off his lap but sit next to him. His arm is around my shoulders. It’s not as comfortable as I thought it would be but I don’t want to stop touching him.

  He slides until he’s lying down and bunches a few pillows behind his head and then pulls me back into the cocoon of his arms, my head once again on his chest. It feels good to be here. It feels right.

  “Not so much protecting herself from Gary, but protecting the image of what she thought you had of her.”

  I frown and pick at his shirt. Not that there’s anything to pick at, but when I’m thinking or nervous, my hands are usually busy. “My opinion wouldn’t have changed.”

  “Then, maybe it was shame.”

  “She should have gotten out if it was so bad.” I don’t get why or how a woman can stay with a man who abuses her.

  “It’s not that victims of abuse don’t want help or to get out, but they fear the unknown. The manipulation and brainwashing of the abuser has them convinced that it will be worse, far worse, if they go. Many fear the unknown, and that can be worse than the fear of staying,” Sean tries to explain. “That was the case with my mom. She would have taken me and walked but she had no other family and dad convinced her that if she ever did try to leave, he’d still get custody of me. She believed him and stayed more to protect me the best she could.”

  “Maybe she stayed for Kaden,” I wonder out loud. “But it wasn’t like she was alone. She has family here. Uncle Tink, Gramps and Grams, my dad would have helped and then there is the entire extended family at the Commune.”

  He snorts. “Commune?”

  “Where all, or most, of the others live,” I shrug. “Maybe some of the other Baxters live. Not far from the school, along the lake.”

  “That’s also like three hours away,” he points out. “Your grandparents are older, and she was probably afraid Tink would kick his ass and then get in trouble.”

  I’m guessing, but there are lots of reasons women stay when all they want to do is run and get away.

  “And, he seems like he was powerful. Maybe he threatened to take Kaden or fight her in court for him.”

  “It’s not like she didn’t have the money to fight him. That’s what I thought before.” But apparently my mother has, or had, a trust fund. The kind that could have supported her for life.

  “You can lie here and analyze and try to guess all day, but nobody will ever know the answers.”

  “As her daughter, I should have called her out. I should have come home.”

  He squeezes me close. “No. If she wanted your help, she would have said something. She wouldn’t have made up excuses for the bruises, or any of that. She didn’t want you to know.”

  I hear what he’s saying and it makes sense, but it doesn’t feel right. “Every time I started making plans with her, for flying home on break, a family member decided they wanted to vacation in France.”

  “Do you think she put them up to it?”

  “I’ll have to ask, but I can hear Mom making calls and saying that I’ll be on break and that it would be a great time to visit.” That would be so like her. “She always promised to visit, but couldn’t find the time or Gary didn’t think the time was right.”

  “She was protecting you.”

  “From what? Gary wouldn’t hurt me.”

  “Maybe from you hurting Gary. The same reason she didn’t tell Tink. If either one of you would have gone after him, you’d be the ones in jail and she wasn’t going to ruin your lives.”

  That’s exactly what Mom would do. I know it in my gut that’s exactly what she was thinking. What I’ll never understand is why she didn’t leave.

  All the reasons and justification in the world don’t change the fact that if I would have just gotten on a damned plane once, I wouldn’t have buried my mother six months ago. “Will this guilt ever go away?”

  19

  Guilt! A cross to bear by many. “No, but it gets better or maybe easier to deal with.”

  She shifts and looks up at me, confusion clouding her features. “What do you have to be guilty about?”

  At first I just look down at Noelle, at war within myself, trying to figure out if I should tell her or brush over it. Those are memories I don’t like to dredge up, but they started coming to the surface as soon as I met her and Kaden. No. Before that. As soon as I stepped into the damned courtroom.

  I stroke the back of her hair and gently press her head back to my chest. She doesn’t say anything and relaxes back into me. Maybe she can sense it’s something I don’t want to talk about. Hell, I don’t like to think about it, but now it’s there. “I knew my mom was dead before the cops ever got there,” I start to tell her. “And, I knew I was next because my dad was in such a rage.”

  The anger is building but I tamp it down. It was a long time ago and I’ve learned, or the therapists have done their best to convince me, that none of it was my fault. But, a part of me will always carry the guilt that some of the responsibility lies with me.

  “It started when he didn’t have any ketchup for dinner.” My mom died because of fucking ketchup. “After complaining about how hard his day had been and then his meal was fucked up, Dad lost it.” He always had a short fuse but he had no fuse that night. “I took half of mom’s punches before he threw me across the room. Then he grabbed my baseball bat. Dad took a swing, hitting her in the head. As she fell, she told me that she was fine and to run. Then he looked at me.” I can still see the madness in his eyes. “He lunged for me. Mom was behind him, on the floor, her face bloodied, and I ran.”

  “Of course you did,” Noelle says. “Anyone would, especially a child.”

  I don’t know if she’s trying to make me feel better or if she sees that as the only reasonable response. It doesn’t matter. I can’t change the past. “It took me forever to deal with the guilt of leaving her. She died alone because I ran. Ran from my dad and into the street where I was nearly struck by a car.” It was dark and not much traffic, but I remember seeing the car, running out, the headlights nearly blinding me, the guy laying on the horn as I waved my warms. The screech of his tires as he stopped and got out of the car. He started to yell but stopped. “I think the only reason he stopped was because the driver was
an off-duty cop. He testified about how I was covered in blood, which I don’t remember, and that my dad was too, which I did remember. Dad was also chasing me with a bat. The cop got out of the car, pulled his gun and told Dad to halt while his wife got on the phone.”

  “Thank God it was a cop and not someone who would have driven off rather than get involved.”

  I’d probably be dead if that had been the case. “I didn’t explain but ran back inside while my dad stood there, the bat on the ground and arms over his head, but by the time I reached my mom, she’d already died.”

  “It’s not your fault that you ran. He would have killed you.” Noelle says. “It’s what she wanted. She wanted you safe and protected.”

  She thinks my guilt is from leaving Mom alone, and maybe a little bit of it is, but not the main source. “It was my fault because I used the last of the ketchup and hadn’t told anyone.”

  “Oh, Sean.” Noelle snuggles close. “You know that if it hadn’t been the ketchup it would have been something else, right? If he was spoiling for a fight, or ready to go off, it could have been anything.” She looks up at me. “It’s not your fault.”

  I give her a weak smile. “My dad was an angry, volatile abusive individual and I hear everything you are saying. It’s been said to me over and over and in my mind, I know that it’s true, but, a small part of me will always feel guilty because I had used the last of the fucking ketchup.”

  “I am so sorry. No child should have to deal with that.”

  “No, they shouldn’t and now Kaden is in my shoes.”

  She blows out a sigh. “He was at the foot of the stairs. Mom and Gary were arguing at the top, something about the piano and music. He back-handed her. She lost her footing and fell down the stairs, breaking her neck.”

  Me and the ketchup. Kaden and music. Two moms who loved and wanted to protect their kids. “How is Kaden doing?”

  She shrugs. “He won’t talk about it to me. I only know anything because of the prosecuting attorney and the police report. When Kaden realized that Mom was dead, Gary went after him, ordering him to lie about what happened. Kaden kicked him and ran for help.”

  “Good for him.”

  “From the moment the first responders arrived, Gary was trying to explain how Kaden was mistaken and that Gary was trying to catch her. The cops could tell how terrified Kaden was of his dad, which is really all they needed to investigate since Gary kept trying to talk over Kaden until they separated the two. After Kaden told the detective, then the police psychologist, he refused to talk about it again, until he had to testify.”

  “Not even his therapist.”

  Again she shrugs. “Maybe he has, but I’m not privy to those discussions.”

  “At least he has you.” I squeeze her close. “That’s something.”

  “You didn’t have anyone?” She tilts her head back and looks at me again.

  “No other family, so it was foster care for me.”

  Her eyes widen.

  “It was a good family,” I assure her. “They tried the best they could but I had a lot to get through.”

  “Is that when you met Uncle Tink?”

  For the first time, I feel like smiling. “Yeah, he showed up shortly before the trial. I was too petrified to testify. He helped me find my courage.”

  “He’s good at that.” Noelle drapes a leg over my lap, getting comfortable.

  It’s nice just lying here with her. Touching. Being close. Being together. Sharing.

  “Tink spent more time with me than I think the guys are supposed to. But, I was lost. When I got out of the hospital, a caseworker put me in a home and I was too afraid to even speak to anyone. Each time my dad’s case came up for a hearing or something, the anxiety I experienced was so strong that I couldn’t function. Hell, sometimes I couldn’t even breathe because I was so fucking afraid that he’d get out and come after me. Between my foster parents, Tink, Bull and Mr. Juan, who was my therapist, I got through it. But, it was mostly Tink. While waiting for my Dad’s trial to actually happen, Tink and Bull would stop in and see how I was doing, and a couple of times they took me places to let me know that I could go out and I was safe. One place was the art center. Tink worked with clay. This big-ass dude was a sculptor and he showed me how to make a pot.”

  She sits up and points to the pot on my dresser. “Is that one of yours?”

  “My first.” I laugh. It’s ugly as shit and lopsided, but it’s my reminder that I can get through anything. “I did get better,” I assure her. “We lived so close to the center that I could walk there after school and on the weekends and I was there every chance I got.”

  “Uncle Tink submitted your name to Baxter?”

  “I didn’t want to go. He had to convince me that it was a good place, but my safe place was the center at that time and I was finally really comfortable with my therapist.”

  “Are you glad you went?”

  “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  I think I can feel her smile against my chest.

  We both carry our own guilt but he was a kid and I was an adult. But, there is some truth to his words. Mom went out of her way to keep what was going on from me, for her own reasons, whatever those were.

  I probably should get up, but I think I’m more drained than I was after the massage and it’s so comfortable just lying here with Sean. He is like a big teddy bear and I feel safe and protected when I’m with him. Like everything will be okay as long as he’s around.

  But, after my meltdown, he’s going to be more convinced than ever that I’m messed up. Not that I want to have sex with him now. I’m too tired. Caring and friendship are what I need more than anything. Maybe that’s what he sensed yesterday—when I wanted to escape.

  This is what I was avoiding. I needed to mourn and I had no idea how painful it would be.

  I thought I’d mourned and dealt with it all. Instead, I had buried it because I couldn’t take the time. Then the hurdle came out of nowhere and I wasn’t prepared.

  This mourning won’t be done in an afternoon. It goes so much deeper. I lost my mom, but I can’t keep burying my pain. I need to face it head on because by avoiding the loss of her soul, I’m not allowing the wonderful memories of my childhood to be there either. Memories that Kaden has been denied. It won’t be the same as having Mom, but I’ll do the best that I can so that he knows love, support, fun and security.

  At least we have a home, or a house.

  I still can’t believe that Gramps deeded their place to me. Kaden and I don’t need anything that big. A two-bedroom apartment, with a decent kitchen, is all I had hoped for.

  I roll on my back and blow out a sigh. “I have a house.”

  “Yes, you do.” Sean chuckles.

  “I don’t think it’s all sunk in yet. This is crazy.”

  He turns on his side and partially sits up, propping his head in his hand. “It’s a lot. It will take time.”

  “It’s so big. All that for just me and Kaden.”

  Sean chuckles. “That’s how your Gramps felt. Before they moved to the first floor, he used to complain that all he and your Grams did was rattle around the place and he didn’t know what he was thinking to get something so big in the first place.”

  “They wanted more kids,” I tell him. “It just didn’t work out for them.” Grams used to tell me how they planned on filling the house, two to three kids to every room, but God had other plans for them.

  “Now it will be you and Kaden rattling around in it.” He gives me a little squeeze. “You’ll make it your home.”

  Will Sean be rattling around in it with me?

  The thought comes out of nowhere, but I like the idea. A lot.

  But, a lot needs to be done before we are just living there. “At least I have a job, but I had hoped Kaden could stay with my grandparents while I was at work.” Why is it that with each good thing that happens, another obstacle pops up?

  “You’ll figure something out.”r />
  I need that job. I need that income but Kaden is too young to stay home alone and school doesn’t start for a few months. Hell, I’m not even sure. I need to check the schedule, get him registered. Most moms have time to build up to this and already know what needs to be done and I’m being dropped in at age eight and have no idea what I’m doing or what Kaden needs to do.

  “Destiny might be able to stay with him until you find someone you can trust.”

  “If she can’t, maybe she has friend who wants to make some extra cash.”

  “There are a handful of teens in the neighborhood, at least what I’ve seen, like high school age, so maybe you could meet them.”

  “At least they wouldn’t have to ride a subway here.” So much to consider.

  My phone vibrates and I pull it from my back pocket and smile.

  “Friend?” Sean asks.

  “Moira.” She’s calling from Paris so I’m taking it, not matter how rude it is since I’m with Sean, but she’s my best friend and I really need to talk to her.

  I lift the phone to my ear.

  “Guess what?” Is her greeting.

  “What?” I laugh.

  “I’m coming home.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. I’ve missed her so much. She’s been my best friend since grade school. Almost inseparable until I came home and I really would love to have her around. “When?”

  “After Thanksgiving, but you have to promise that you’ll find a place for the three of us because I am not moving back home.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  “Seriously? I know you moved back in with your grandparents, but they may not want me there too.”

  “Well, it’s permanent.” Then I tell her about the conversations this morning, leaving out the trust fund part.

  “Perfect! I’ll be close to Mom and Dad without having to live with them. That is, if you are going to let me move in.”

  “Of course. There are four spare bedrooms. You can have a whole floor to yourself.”

  “This is perfect. Now we can start planning our future.” Moira sounds ten times more excited than I feel. I remember that enthusiasm we once had, when we’d stay up late, sharing a bottle of wine, talking about our business and the success we were going to have. So much has changed since then. But, I’m not going to bring her down. Besides, Moira’s giddiness can be infectious and maybe I need some of that right now.