The Scent of Wrath (The Seven Deadly Sins, Book Two)

by Greta Boris

  Abuela Maria knew her daughter would never embrace the old ways. So she’d infused the family history into me, her granddaughter, the way she infused herbal properties into oils. I understood things my mother never would. To me the house was more than a financial holding, it was a legacy. It was both a home and a mantle of responsibility. I planned to pass that mantle to whichever of my children was ready to bear it when the time came.

  Sketching kept them busy for about ten minutes, then the nudges and slaps started up again. Lily stabbed Tomas with her pencil. He mouthed a howl and snatched it away as the priest called for the faithful to come forward to receive the host. I exhaled with relief.

  Taking each child by the hand, I made my way to the center aisle and guided them to the front of the chapel. Doug didn’t follow. I received the host, then turned toward the pew. My gaze fell on the faces of the Travers family seated in the rear of the building. I mumbled a prayer for strength and mercy.

  Today was the first Sunday Doug had attended mass since the accident. When he’d first come home, he wasn’t strong enough to make the walk, or even to sit up on the wood bench if I’d driven him. Later, he wasn’t interested. Whether he was angry at God, or no longer believed He existed, he never said, and I was afraid to ask.

  This morning he came out of the bedroom dressed in chinos, a shirt and tie, face shaved, and hair combed. He didn’t explain, and I didn’t question him. I made a decision right then and there to enjoy the morning. Walking in the sunshine, husband at my side, children skipping on ahead—just the way it had been before. It was a break in the windstorm of my present life, and it was as welcome as rain after a drought.

  That little bit of joy disappeared as soon as I saw my neighbors. We’d been avoiding each other in the week since Pepe’s poisoning. Now we’d have to pass by them to leave the building.

  If we dawdled, maybe they’d exit first, but we’d surely run into them outside. After mass, adults congregated in small circles to catch up on neighborhood gossip, plan bake sales, and argue about who would win whatever game was on TV that day. Children ran off the steam they’d built during mass. My only hope was to hurry my family past as quick as I could.

  After the benediction, I rose, pushed Lily and Tomas ahead of me and joined the stream moving toward the doors. When I got outside, I reached for my children. I took Lily’s hand first, but before I could grab Tomas, he took off at a run. “Tomas,” I called after him.

  “Let him go,” Doug said.

  “I have a roast to put in the oven.”

  “It’ll keep. I’m not going to be run out of my own church.” Doug’s voice was harsh. We’d never talked about Pepe’s poisoning. The day after Paul came over, I’d found bloody butcher paper under a bag in the outside trash. I knew the truth. I didn’t need to talk about it. Pepe had recovered. Paul never called the police. The event was behind us, at least that’s what I’d thought.

  Doug walked over to a group of men he used to do an early morning Bible study with and left Lily and me where we stood. Lily looked up at me, a question in her eyes. “Go play,” I said. She skipped off in the direction her brother had gone.

  I shielded my eyes with a hand and looked over all the cliques, trying to decide which to join. There was a time I’d have made a beeline to Molly, but our friendship had been strained to the breaking point.

  Three ladies from the church decorating committee stood together at the end of the path. I was in charge of the floral arrangements for an upcoming service. I’d wanted to run my idea of including lavender in with the traditional yellow roses by them. It was a good excuse to avoid the group gathered around Molly.

  Before I’d gone even five steps in their direction, a shout stopped me. A second later the sound of children’s voices, excited and distressed, were raised. Adults began to break away from their groups, first one, then another, then in twos and threes. All hurried toward the noise.

  I didn’t follow. My feet felt fixed to the sidewalk. There’d been so much pain in my life lately, surely this disturbance whatever it was, belonged to somebody else. But then I heard Lily scream. I broke free from the cement and ran.

  By the time I reached the crowd on the Mission courtyard, Tomas and Scottie had been pulled apart. Paul’s arms were wrapped around his son. Father O’Brien held Tomas by the collar.

  Both were filthy. Streaks of dirty tears and snot striped their faces. Blood poured from Scottie’s nose. A purple bruise was already forming around Tomas’s right eye. Lily hugged herself with thin arms and wept. Doug stood by, still as one of the icons in the sanctuary. He neither reprimanded his son nor comforted his daughter.

  “What’s going on here?” I heard my voice as if from a distance.

  “Now, now. It’s just boys being boys.” Father O’Brien, wise as he was in many ways, wasn’t a modern parent. Men were hardly allowed to be men anymore; boys certainly couldn’t plead testosterone as a defense. “There’s nothing to see here.” The priest waved away his parishioners.

  Parents collected children and moved slowly toward the chapel, glancing over their shoulders at our two families left on the grass.

  “Now what’s all the kerfluffle?” Father O’Brien addressed the boys with a humorous lilt, trying to lift the mood with his voice. But the boys stared at each other silently. “It can’t be that bad. Why don’t we shake and be done with it?” No one said a word.

  The priest looked from Doug to Paul and back again. “Best you try to get to the bottom of things at home then.” Paul nodded, and Father O’Brien walked into his church.

  Paul, arm around his shaking son, led his family across the grass toward home. I wanted to give them a head start. We were all going the same way. I couldn’t imagine anything more awkward than walking side by side up Los Rios street. But Doug clamped a strong hand at the nape Tomas’s neck and steered him in the same direction.

  Lily and I hung back. When Doug realized we weren’t behind him, he spun around and glared. The look on his face sent fear trickling like ice water through my veins. I followed. Our two families trudged through the streets—a tragic parade for the neighborhood.

  After the trek up the long gravel drive, the Travers family veered right to their home. Doug pushed Tomas up onto the porch and through the front door. I sat on the steps and pulled Lily into my lap. I didn’t want to be inside, in an enclosed space with my husband. Not yet.

  A minute or two later the slap of leather on skin and gasps of pain floated through the screen door. I covered Lily’s ears and counted. If there were too many, I’d go in. Stop it.

  What was too many? I didn’t know. Five? Ten?

  One. That was the answer to my question. One was too many. By the time I came to that conclusion, the horrible noise had stopped. There had been seven slaps with the belt and, God help me, I hadn’t stopped it. At that moment I thought this might be the worst day of my life, but I was wrong.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “ALL GROWN UP.” He took three steps toward Olivia before she leaped to her feet. “Grown up real pretty, just like your mama.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She was like a fish on a dock, gasping for oxygen.

  “So happy to see me you’re speechless?” He came into the sunlit space, walking with a slight limp. The light revealed a frayed and faded version of the man of her memories, a ghost of the past. Revulsion, more than fear, coursed through Olivia. She backed up until her hands rested on the windowsill.

  “I understand you’re one of the proud owners of this establishment. Congratulations, darlin’.” She wondered how he knew that but didn’t ask. He went on. “You’re probably wondering why I’m stopping by, after all these years. Other than the fact that I wished to see your lovely face again and satisfy my curiosity as to the kind of adult you’ve become, I’m also here to deliver a message. Do you mind if I sit?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer, but pulled a stool out from the sales counter and perched on it. He was
so close, every sag and wrinkle stood out in clear relief. He looked old, older than his sixty-odd years, and wore the road map of his life on his face. The lines etched there told a story. Proctor had leered instead of smiled, lusted instead of loved, taken instead of given.

  “You’re probably aware I’ve just come from your mama’s home, where I met with her and your ex-father-in-law. Mike, I believe is his name. Oh, on a side note, I’m sorry you’ve had to live through a divorce. I hear it’s painful. It’s one reason I never married. Although I did think about marrying your mama at one time. But I’m still available if you’re interested.”

  He smirked. For a moment he looked like the Proctor of her childhood, and she shuddered.

  “No? Well, I’ll say my piece then. I couldn’t get in a word edgewise with that father-in-law of yours beating on his chest like some kind of senior citizen King Kong. I think he’s got a thing for your mama.” He winked a reptilian eye.

  “Livvie, darlin’, if you love that woman, you need to help her understand that generosity is in her best interest. I’m leaving town now, but I’ll be back. I don’t give up easy, especially not when I’m angry. And that Mike makes me angry.”

  “I’m not your errand girl.” Olivia found her voice.

  “She speaks.” He threw up his hands as if amazed. “If you won’t help me for your mama’s sake, think of your son. Scandal won’t help your case with Child Protection Services, and I have the means to start a scandal.”

  A muscle in Olivia’s eyelid twitched. Scandal. His life was a scandal. He didn’t have a record. That was the first thing Mike had checked. Apparently, Proctor had lived below the radar, using his reputation in the art world to cover his perverted behavior. Over the past five to ten years, his work had lost popularity, however. Whether it was because he’d angered one too many people, or tastes and opinions had changed, Olivia didn’t know. What she did know was, he’d started digging up old dirt to start a new career—as a blackmailer.

  He knew about CPS. Which proved her assumption correct. He’d dug around, found out everything he could about her. The idea of him following her, following Brian, leaving her messages, made her skin crawl.

  He stepped off the stool, winced as he straightened his back, and walked toward the door with arthritic bravado.

  “Wait.” Olivia couldn’t let him leave without being sure. He stopped and turned. “What do those boys have to do with me?”

  Proctor raised his eyebrows in question.

  “The boys in the articles,” she said. “Did you hurt them? Did you want me to know what you were capable of?”

  He stared at her with pale eyes that didn’t deny the accusation. A sudden anger surged through her. “You need to stop it. Stop your threats and innuendos. You don’t scare me. Not anymore.”

  As she said the words, she realized they were true. “You’re a pathetic old man who preys on children because he’s afraid of adults. You couldn’t stand up to Mike and my mother, so you came here thinking I’m the same frightened girl I once was. I’m not.”

  Olivia stepped away from the window toward him. “And I have a message for you, Proctor.” She almost growled his name. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from my family and me. I could put you away for a long time.”

  “My, my. She’s a little spitfire.” He attempted a leer, but it died on his face. He turned and limped from the studio.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  OLIVIA AND BRIAN passed a quiet and grateful Thanksgiving at her mother’s home with some of Sarah’s single friends in attendance. They’d discussed inviting Mike, but he was planning to eat with Davy. Asking them both felt awkward, and Davy had Brian beginning Friday morning for a long weekend anyway.

  Olivia and Tom drove to San Diego on Saturday. They visited the Old Point Loma Lighthouse, now a museum, walked on the beach and ate terrible, overpriced Mexican food in the Gaslamp District. It had been a wonderful day. The showdown with Proctor had started the destruction of an invisible wall in Olivia’s heart, one that had been there since childhood. Behind it, she saw glimpses of courage, confidence and a new sense of freedom.

  On Tuesday afternoon, Olivia pulled into the St. Barnabas parking lot. Brian had stayed after school to spend time in the library. The good thing about it being so late was there was no pick up line. The bad thing was, she had to hurry. It was a packed evening. She had her last parenting class, and she had to drop Brian at Davy’s on the way.

  Thank goodness, Brian was sitting on a grassy hill near the tarmac waiting for her. He waved as she drove up. She didn’t bother parking, just stopped in the aisle.

  He stood, gathered his things, and jogged toward her. As he opened the door to stow his stuff in the backseat, a car horn sounded. Olivia hadn’t noticed there was a driver in the minivan she’d pulled in front of.

  “Hurry,” she said to Brian, but he didn’t. He zipped and unzipped his bags, rearranging who knew what. The woman tapped her horn again. Brian opened the passenger side door to get inside but dropped his water bottle. It rolled under the Explorer.

  “Wait, honey. Let me move the car,” Olivia said, but it was too late. Brian was on his knees reaching for his water. She couldn’t pull forward without running him over.

  “Excuse me.” An angry voice shot through her open window. The minivan mom was yelling at her. “Would you move your damn car? You’re blocking me.”

  “One minute.” Olivia sent her an apologetic smile. A long moment later Brian popped up with a bottle in his now filthy hand. “Get in. Quickly,” Olivia said.

  But before he’d closed the door behind him, Minivan Mom appeared in front of Olivia’s car, hands on her plump hips. “What the hell is your problem?” Dark hair tumbled into her narrowed eyes.

  “I’m sorry.” Olivia leaned from her window. “He dropped his water bottle.”

  “If you pulled into a parking space like everyone else, he could drop his stuff all day long without bothering anybody.”

  “I’ll get out of your way now.” Impatience rippled up Olivia’s spine.

  The woman didn’t budge. “Oh, do you want to leave?” Her eyes opened wide in mock surprise.

  Olivia stared at her. The woman shifted her weight onto one leg, lifted a hand and inspected her fingernails.

  “What’s she doing, Mom?” Brian asked.

  “I don’t know, honey.”

  “Teaching your inconsiderate, self-absorbed mother a lesson. Honey.” Minivan Mom’s voice dripped with artificial sweetener.

  Olivia felt an unfamiliar heat burning in her chest. She didn’t have time for this, but she wasn’t going to put up with the woman’s attitude, especially not in front of Brian. She put a hand on the door handle.

  “Marsha.” A man’s voice. Olivia stopped.

  “Coach Tom.” Minivan Mom came to attention.

  “What’s going on here?” Tom walked out between two large vehicles.

  “Nothing. We were just having a conversation.” She pushed her bangs off her forehead.

  Tom glanced at Olivia and raised an eyebrow. Olivia shook her head.

  Brian stuck his face out of the passenger side window. “She said she wanted to teach my inconsiderate, self-something mother a lesson.”

  “Oh?” Tom gave Marsha a quizzical look.

  “She blocked my car.” Her voice was subdued.

  “Looks like she’s ready to move now.”

  The woman walked to her minivan without a word. Olivia pulled into a space, but left the motor running.

  “You causing trouble again?” Tom leaned into her car window and brought his face eye-level.

  “Good Lord. She just missed getting an earful.”

  “Sometimes it’s best to give people the opportunity to be embarrassed.” His green eyes lit with amusement. All the worries she’d had about dating him, that he and Brian would never bond, that they might be moving too fast, spun away like smoke through the open car window. He was kind, stable, feet-on-the-ground To
m. Things would work out, one way or another. He was a good man.

  “I had a great time Saturday,” he said.

  “Me too.”

  “What are you doing Friday night?”

  “Actually...” A slow smile spread across her face. “As it so happens, I’m free. Brian’s grandfather is taking him to Knott’s Berry Farm for law enforcement and military night and then over to his place.”

  “Hey, I’m jealous.” Tom looked past her to Brian.

  Brian grinned. “Grandpa Mike only has two tickets. Even Dad doesn’t get to go.”

  Tom turned his gaze onto Olivia. “I’ll call, and we can make plans.”

  Olivia turned out of the parking lot toward home. Confronting her old fears, confronting Proctor, had created new space in her life. She’d be wrapping up parenting classes tonight, another thing to check off the list of heavy concerns. She and Davy had been co-parenting amicably of late. And if everything continued in the positive direction it was headed, she’d be free of CPS in about two months.

  It was as if she was cleaning out a large closet stuffed with the detritus of the past. Soon it would be empty. She was excited about the prospect of filling it with shiny, new things.

  She flipped on the radio. A classic rock station Brian loved came on. He began belting out his off-key appreciation for California girls along with The Beach Boys. Olivia laughed and joined in.

  A half mile from home, Olivia’s phone lit up and played a Tinkerbell tune from where it sat in the middle console. She lowered the volume on the radio. “Brian, you want to answer that? It’s Fiona.”

  Brian did. “Hi,” he said. “No, she’s driving. Just say what? Okay. Yeah. See you soon.” He hung up. “Rolling Stones, Mom. Turn up the radio.”

  “What did she say?” Olivia’s hand paused on the button.

  “She said to tell you Boise said he worked there. Who’s Boise?”

  Olivia felt nothing but confusion for several heart beats, then she remembered. Fiona was calling the out-of-state schools to investigate Tom. Olivia had never told her about Proctor’s visit to the Fishbowl, or that he had all but confessed to leaving the articles to intimidate her.