Monty

by Tina Martin

  Chapter Forty

  Cherish

  I hesitate to take his hand. I’ve spent the last two weeks in a bubble trying to make sense of my life and get ahead of reliving what had happened to me. The only reason I showed up today is because I realize I can’t take this out on him. Monty’s done nothing wrong to me. He doesn’t have Webster-like tendencies.

  “Cherish.”

  I look up at him. His hand is extended, waiting for me to reach out for it. He could just grab my hand if he wanted to, but he wants me to make the decision whether to dance with him.

  I reach for his hand, feel my hand trembling in his large one and he leads me over to the dance floor where he places his other hand on my side. Then we sway. At an affair like this where all the affluent guests are millionaire status or better, I’m surprised he asked me to dance. There are plenty of women who are standing around, looking at us – mostly white women wearing real pearls and ugly shoes that look like they cost a fortune.

  But it’s lil’ ol’ me dancing with him. Inhaling him. Enjoying the feel of my hand in his hand.

  I don’t say a word.

  He doesn’t say a thing.

  He’s rocking a black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt and a black bowtie. I’ve never seen him wear a bowtie. It looks good on him, but then again, anything looks good on him. The mere sight of him still intoxicates me. I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat pounding as loud as I can hear it in my ears. Or if he can feel my hand shaking. Probably so being that he’s squeezed it a few times.

  I get into my head as we slowly glide from side-to-side to the jazz rendition of Brian McKnight’s Love of My Life. I know people are watching us – watching him look at me. I don’t have to look up at him to know his eyes are on me. I can feel it. Feel the heat warming the top of my head. Even with heels on, we’re not face-to-face.

  These women are staring fiercely, waiting to get his attention. One thing I know about people with money is they tend to settle down with someone of the same wealth and influence. No doubt that’s why these hussies came to the charity event – hoping to impress Monty by acting like they care about people with cancer.

  I wonder if these women know who I am – that I work for him. I’m not one of them. I’m not rich. Not of the affluent community of entrepreneurs and philanthropists. I’m just a woman. With excess baggage.

  Aside from my own negative thoughts, being in his arms feels perfect. He’s perfect. The way he smells. The way his body moves when he dances. The way he’s so attentive to me. I feel like I’m the only person in the room. Maybe he really does love me the way he said he did. And I let two weeks come between us…

  I’m consumed with guilt at that thought. My throat tightens as I fight the emotions I’m battling.

  We sway from side-to-side.

  His hand tightens on mine again.

  He leans down next to my ear, inhales a long breath of my scent and exhales like it has a calming effect on him then whispers in a soothing tone straight into my ear, “I miss you.”

  He breathes deeply again. In and out.

  My cheeks flush with heat. I’m sure they’re blush-red.

  “I miss you so much, Cherish. Ah,” he moans. “I miss you, girl,” he says again as if I didn’t hear him the first time. He’s probably waiting for me to acknowledge him, look at him or return the sentiment.

  I do none of the above.

  I’m staring down at the floor. I’ve never been good at eye contact, fearing someone would see the shame I hide behind my vision.

  He releases my hand and brings his hand to my face. I don’t duck away this time. I close my eyes at the contact. Let his hand warm my body.

  My lips tremble when his thumb touches them.

  I open my eyes to see him staring back at me. He’s given me all of his attention.

  Now, he has all of mine. I fight the tendency to break eye contact and look back into his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

  “I miss you so much, Cherish.”

  “I miss you, too, Monty,” I say and bury my forehead in his chest. I feel his arms close around me and it doesn’t freak me out. I feel safe here. I feel home.

  “Let’s go somewhere and talk,” he says.

  “No. I don’t want to take you away from your event.”

  “I’m not as committed to this as much as I am to you. Come with me,” he says, then whisks me away from the dance floor. We climb the stairs and walk toward his bedroom. He opens the door, enters after me and closes it.

  There’s a party and live band downstairs, but up here in his bedroom it’s virtually quiet. We walk over to the chairs near the windows and sit, our legs angled toward each other.

  “The last time I reached to touch you, you moved away from me. You’ve never done that before. That time, you did, and you had this look in your eyes like you were scared of me and I know that can’t be the case. I lived with you for an entire month. I know you’re not scared of me. That day, you were. Even the day I came by to talk to you—you wouldn’t let me in. You had the screen door locked talking to me like I was a stranger. I knew something was off. I knew that wasn’t you. So, I want you to tell me what that was.”

  “I want to, Monty, but it’s hard to talk about,” I say as tears blur my vision. “I don’t talk about it to anyone.”

  “I know. I was the same way, remember? I needed help but didn’t want to be vulnerable with you. Didn’t want to appear weak.”

  “There’s nothing weak about you.”

  “No, there isn’t, baby and the same applies to you. You’re stronger than you realize, but whatever is going on with you, nothing will change if nothing changes. You have to face it head-on. Talk about it. The same way I opened up to you, is the same way you need to open up to me.”

  I cringe. I’ve always concluded if I never told anyone what happened to me, it never really happened. I almost convinced myself of that. I wanted to feel normal. I didn’t want to be a statistic. The embarrassment of people knowing kept my lips sealed.

  And just what would Monty think about me if knew? He’d never look at me the same. I’d be the ruined girl. The one who needs professional help.

  “But it’s not the same, Monty,” I say offering one last retort.

  “It may not be the same, but it’s something that’s bothering you like I had something bothering me. We’ve already lost two weeks, Cherish. I don’t want to lose more time.”

  I draw in a breath and prepare myself to say what he’s waiting to hear. “This is not easy.”

  “I know.”

  My hand shakes. I glance up at him. The shame of what I’m about to say disturbs me to my core. I’m so shaken, I don’t think the words will come out but I try.

  “My dad died when I was nine years old. I was young—didn’t really understand death. I just knew he wasn’t around anymore. I remember being at the funeral. Remember people wearing all black. People crying and carrying on. Mama cried. I cried. I wanted my father back. I loved him. I still love him. Still miss him. Mama couldn’t function afterward. She tried to get her life back on track, but she was a mess. Losing someone you love is one of those things you never fully get over. I know you feel that way about your stepfather.”

  He nods.

  I continue, “Mama wasn’t the same. I didn’t know what to call it back then, but I think she had something like a nervous breakdown. She couldn’t work. Didn’t eat. She rarely got any sleep. Didn’t cook. Clean. It’s like she ceased to exist when we lost my dad. This went on for the better part of a year. Then she met someone. Webster Gregory. She was happy again. He would take her out, wine and dine her and they got married pretty quickly. Everything was going good, at first, but I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea of having a new man around because I always saw him as a replacement for my father. I never tried to get close to him. I hardly even talked to him. Mama scolded me for that. Told me I needed to respect him. Said my father was gone and Webster was my new dad. She told me if I tried, I could love him
as much as I loved my dad. Of course, I looked at her like she was insane. No one could replace my dad. When I turned twelve, I remember Webster giving me funny looks. Weird stares. I didn’t think anything of it. It was just creepy. Then one night, he came into my bedroom. It must’ve been early in the morning because it was still dark outside and I was still sleeping. I woke up to his hands on my chest. I tried to scream, he covered my mouth. Told me if I said a word, he’d hurt my mother. So, I didn’t say anything. It was happening so frequently, my body became numb to it. Then finally, the touching wasn’t enough. Mama went out with some of her friends one day. I was in my room with headphones on listening to music when he barged in, locked the door behind himself and grabbed me. I can still feel the weight of his body on top of me when he—when he—”

  Montgomery releases my hands and pulls me into his lap. “I’m so sorry, Cherish.”

  I cry as he holds me. I find the cradle of his neck and cry all I want. I cry for all the years I’ve held this in. I cry because my mother didn’t believe me. I cry because I don’t know if that monster did this to anyone else.

  “Why didn’t you tell your mother?”

  “I was scared he would hurt her like he said he would. All those times he touched me, I kept it to myself. After he forced himself on me, I told her. She didn’t believe me. She sided with him. After that, he didn’t touch me again, but I still had to live in fear in the same house with him until I couldn’t tolerate his dirty looks anymore. I ran away—went to live with my Aunt Jolene in the same house where I live today and I never went back.”

  He relaxes me by stroking my back, helping me calm down. “That’s a lot to hold in.”

  “It is,” I say.

  “You are a strong woman.”

  “Sometimes, I don’t feel like I am.”

  “You have to be a strong woman to endure what you’ve endured, and you know what, baby. It’s going to be okay. I’ll see to it that no man ever hurts you again.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Monty

  In all my years of living, killing someone has never crossed my mind until now – in these hours that have passed since Cherish told me what her stepfather did to her. I don’t know the man and I want him dead by the strength of my bare hands. Webster Gregory needs to pay for what he’s done. So what if I catch a murder charge?

  I sit on the bed and stare at the face of this beautiful, sleeping woman – the only woman that’s ever laid on my bed, and think about how I can’t do anything to jeopardize our chances of living a happy life together. And she will be happy. I’ll make sure of it. I have to.

  I love her.

  Nothing about her confession makes me love her any less. It makes me want to love her more – to show her what love is. Makes me angry that men like Webster Gregory walk this earth every day, preying on young girls.

  She confirmed everything I didn’t want to think in my head. I knew somebody hurt her. I didn’t know who exactly until Ms. Kettleworth gave me the rundown on what happened at Cherish’s house when her stepfather showed up. He was still bothering her, even as an adult.

  Not anymore.

  When she’s up in the morning, I tell her to take her time waking up and getting ready for the day. It’s a Sunday. A dreary one. Rain pounds the roof while thunder pops and crackles in the sky. We’re not going out today. I’ve hired a chef to make us brunch. It’ll be ready at eleven. Right now, it’s a few minutes after nine and she’s just getting up.

  She stretches, still wearing the black dress she had on last night at the charity ball. She yawns. Her puffy eyelids are proof of her sadness – of things she confessed to me last night. She looks at me. Smiles. I smile back.

  “I hope you slept well.”

  “I did. It was the first night in a week I didn’t have a nightmare. Guess I’ll have to stay here for the rest of my life.”

  “I have no objections to that.”

  She smiles, but I wonder if she knows I’m serious.

  “These dreams—do they happen often?”

  “Only when something triggers the memory of what happened.”

  “And what triggered it this time?” I ask, curious to know everything now that I’m all in.

  “He came to my house.”

  “Your stepfather?”

  “Yes. Ms. Kettleworth told me she kept seeing this white car driving by, but it never stopped probably because I wasn’t home. The one time he saw my car in the driveway, he stopped.”

  “For what?”

  “Mom told me he was having a retirement party. Asked me to come. I forget exactly what I said to her, but I probably called him a child molester or something. She must’ve run back and told him because he pulled up and started yelling that I needed to stop lying on him to my mother. I can’t even believe she would call me to invite me to come to his retirement party. She had the nerve to say I was being disrespectful. Said Webster took care of us when dad no longer could.”

  Cherish massages her temples. “It’s just baffling to me. How does a mother choose a man over her own child?”

  “You may never know the answer to that question, sweetheart. Just like I may never know why my parents gave me up. It’s a tough pill to swallow. In life, we don’t get all the answers sometimes, but I still think you should talk to your mother.”

  “I’ve tried talking to her, Monty. It’s like she’s brainwashed. She’s not the same woman she was when dad was alive.”

  “And you’re not the same either. You need each other more than you know. I know it’s easier to write her off, but you won’t get any answers that way.”

  “I know. You’re right.”

  Her eyes linger on me like she wants to say or ask something but she doesn’t. She stretches her arms up high in the air and looks around at the bed.

  “What?” I ask, prompting her to relay her thoughts.

  “I’m sitting on your bed thinking about how, when I used to come in here to straighten up your room, the side of the bed I’m lying on right now is the only side you ever slept on. The other side is always left untouched.”

  “You got a problem with that?”

  She smiles. “No. It was just an observation. You must be a calm sleeper. No tossing and turning.”

  “No, not much. After last night, I know for a fact you’re the opposite.”

  “You watched me sleep, Monty?”

  “I did. I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any bad dreams. You did a lot of tossing and turning, but no bad dreams.”

  “Yeah. It felt good to sleep through the night and not freak out thinking my stepfather was coming to get me.”

  “You definitely don’t have to worry about that, sweetie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  * * *

  The rain becomes an all-out downpour. We’re sitting at the cove in my bedroom surrounded by windows. We can see the rain. Can hear it bearing down, banging on the window panes.

  For brunch, we have waffles, ham and cheese sliders, salad, fresh fruit, danishes, coffee and juice. I get right down to business and ask, “What are your next steps where your stepfather is concerned?”

  “I don’t know. I just want him to stay away from me.”

  “Have you thought about a restraining order?”

  “I have. Ms. Kettleworth actually suggested that, but won’t that just make him angrier? I don’t want him to retaliate and come after me.”

  “I think it’s important his behavior is documented at this stage. He’s already terrorized you as a child. I won’t allow him to continue bothering you as an adult. As a safety precaution, I’m going to install a security system at your house.”

  “I don’t think I need that, Monty.”

  “Whether you think you need it or not, you’re getting it.”

  She eats a strawberry. My eyes land on her lips but I move them quickly to her eyes because I know if I continue to watch them, I’ll end up eating them along with the strawberry she’s munching on.

  �
�So, here’s what I want to happen,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to the police station and file a restraining order.”

  “Wait, shouldn’t I think this through first?”

  “What’s there to think about?”

  “The fact that my mother is still married to this man. What if he tries to retaliate and do something to harm her?”

  “Then, you need to talk to your mother. Does she work?”

  “Yes. She’s a receptionist.”

  “What are her hours?”

  “She starts at 7:30 and gets off around one.”

  “Then we’ll be there so you can talk to her.”

  “She won’t listen to anything I have to say, Monty. I’ve been telling her for years about Webster.”

  “Did you tell her he came to your house and threatened you?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s what she needs to know before you mention the restraining order.”

  She sighs. “Okay, but I at least need some time to think it through first.”

  “That’s fine.” I eat waffles and sip coffee, watching her eat ham and cheese. “Oh, and by the way, you don’t work for me anymore.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No. You don’t.”

  Her eyebrows raise. She stops eating and asks, “You’re firing me?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  “Why? Because I’ve been missing for two weeks.”

  “No.”

  She looks puzzled, returns the sandwich to her plate. “Then why?”

  “Because you’re my girl and I don’t want you working for me anymore.”

  She blushes. Looks away from me. “I’m your girl?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Monty. You hardly knew I existed and now I’m your girl? It’s one thing to be appreciative of everything I’ve done to take care of you, but it’s another to assume you’re in love with me just because I helped you.”