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“He did the best he could,” her brother gritted out.
His words stunned Theresa, and rage surged as all the abuse they’d endured as children steam-rolled her. “His best? My God, Andrew, how many times were you his punching bag? Huh? How many times did he grind you into the dirt with words meant to reduce you to nothing under his boot heel?” She raked her fingers through her hair. “I know what he did to you, but what the hell has that man ever done for you?”
“He kept a roof over our heads and put food on the table. Did you ever think about that?” He grunted. “Dad taught me how to be strong, how to be a survivor.”
“You can’t be serious!” Theresa closed her eyes, and the sound of her pounding pulse reverberated through her head. “Let me get this straight. You see it as a sign of strength when a full-grown man—a father no less—beats his defenseless children? Really, Drew? Because I see that as cruelty, and I’m not alone in that assessment. Our father is a bully. Bullies are cowards. Abusive behavior is proof of weakness, not strength.”
“That’s enough, Theresa.”
“Not by a long shot, it isn’t.” She should end this conversation, but all the repressed anger had reached a boiling point, and she couldn’t hold back. “A strong man shows compassion, and he’s not afraid to be vulnerable with those he loves. A man who is secure in his own masculinity expresses his affection and shows tenderness toward those he cares about, especially his family. Decent men do not verbally abuse, beat, or control others. They are protective, and they nurture their children.” Caleb’s image filled her mind. He was a perfect example of a good man.
“You could learn a different way, you know. Our father is a bitter, vindictive monster. Why on earth do you want to be like him when you could choose to follow a different path? Get some help before it’s too late.”
“Is this about that bitch of a mother? She lied to you about how and why she left, Theresa. She was having an affair. Did she tell you that? Dad didn’t kick her out; our mother abandoned us. What kind of woman leaves her own children and never looks back?”
Never looked back? What did he think the cards she’d sent were about? “Right. That’s what Dad told you, and you’d rather believe that bullshit than talk to her yourself. Why am I not surprised?” She blinked away the sting in her eyes.
“Did you not recognize Dad’s handwriting on all those envelopes I sent you? Did you even read the letter I wrote about what really happened? Dad threatened to kill our mother, Andrew, and all because she wanted to get an education.”
She swallowed a few time “How does Dad’s version even add up? Why don’t you call Mom and talk to her? What are you afraid of?” The heat of outrage surged to her face, and her chest ached with tension. “Say the word, and I’ll text her number to you.”
She waited to see if he’d ask for the number. He didn’t. “Dad is mentally ill. He’s a vicious brute. I was all of six years old when I became his household drudge. You were what ten … eleven when he started knocking you and Jacob around with his fists and whipping you with the buckle end of his belt?” She gulped in a breath.
“What kind of man blames his little children for everything that is broken inside him? He took out his anger on us for everything that was wrong with him. Don’t you see how sick that is?” Again, she waited for a response, and again her brother said nothing, so she continued.
“Children need and deserve love, security, and protection in order to thrive,” she said, her voice strained. “We should’ve been outside playing at the park with other kids our age. We should’ve been involved in sports and other normal childhood activities. Instead, our father kept us completely isolated from everyone and everything. Why do you think he did that? Huh?”
“Theresa—”
“Could it be he was afraid his abuse and neglect would be discovered. Was he afraid someone might see the bruises and welts he put on you? Is it possible Dad feared being reported to child protection? All the evidence points in one direction, and you choose to believe our mother was the guilty one? I don’t even know what to—”
“Fucking bitch,” he shouted, and the call ended.
“Well, that stung,” she said. Theresa’s hands were trembling. All of her was, and her heart pounded like crazy against her ribs. She dropped her phone on the counter and sank onto one of the chairs at the center island. Hot tears filled her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands.
Any chance for a reconciliation between her and her oldest brother died with the words fucking bitch. Nothing she said or did would ever get through to him, and disappointment crushed that last glimmer of hope she’d held onto.
“I’m not responsible for Andrew’s thoughts or his actions,” she reminded herself out loud. “None of this is my fault. I spoke my truth, and I have no control over how my brother reacted.” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks.
The sound of her doorbell startled her, and she hurried to answer the door. “Caleb….”
He took one look at her and put down his backpack. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are the boys all right?” Caleb drew her into his arms and rocked her. “What has you so upset?”
“Jeremy and Charlie are fine. I … I just got off the phone with my brother Andrew.” Theresa laid her head on Caleb’s shoulder, and some of the tightness in her chest began to ease. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Caleb leaned back to look at her. “How about we sit down, and you can tell me what’s going on?”
“Okay.” She brushed the tears from her cheeks and drew in a calming breath. “I made coffee. Would you like a cup?” She waved a hand toward the kitchen.
“Sure.” Caleb turned her around by her shoulders and guided her toward the kitchen. “Where’s John? Shouldn’t he be lurking about somewhere close?”
“He needed time off to help his parents with something,” she said. “His company wanted to send a sub, but I decided against it since things have been pretty calm around here.”
Sully barked by the patio door, and she let him in. His tail wagging like crazy, the puppy made a beeline for Caleb. “Besides, I have Sully.” She couldn’t help smiling as Caleb lavished the silly dog with belly rubs and behind-the-ear scratches.
Caleb straightened, and Sully headed for his doggie bed and his favorite chew toy. “How about I fix us both a cup of coffee while you go sit on the couch?” he suggested.
“Okay, thanks.” Maybe saying everything she’d held in for so long had been a good thing. She felt wrung out, like she needed a nap, but she didn’t suffer any pangs of regret. What she’d said to Andrew had been long overdue.
