Page 25 of Keeping Penny

“I bet.”

“My point of telling you all this is because…I get where you’re at, Penny. I see your struggle, but I’m also in awe of what an amazing parent you are. Bowie wants for nothing.”

Penny snorted. “Except clean clothes, a permanent roof over her head, enough to eat, and a formal education.”

“You might not have had a lot to eat, but you were able to give her enough to keep her from going hungry. And you may have lived in a hut, but you did have a roof over your heads. Your daughter has what’s most important—a mother who gives a shit. Who will bend over backward to make sure she comes first, to teach her to be polite and kind, to recognize right from wrong. Bowie’s amazing, Penny, and I’m in awe of you.”

Penny swallowed hard. “I was a foster too,” she blurted.

Pyro didn’t look shocked in the least. “I suspected.”

She nodded. Kids like them tended to be able to spot others who’d been in their situation almost instinctively. It was no wonder she felt such a deep connection with this man.

“What did you do in Gabon? How did you end up on the other end of the world from the US?”

Glad he was changing the subject—because Penny did not want to rehash her childhood, even with someone who could more than understand—she gladly told him her story.

“I met my husband, John, when I was working at a small clinic in Philadelphia. I’m not a nurse or anything, don’t have a college education. But I had my own place and was scraping by.

“John was volunteering for his company. Was there because he had to be, not because he cared about the people who were at the clinic. But we clicked. He swept me off my feet. I was young and hadn’t really been in a serious relationship before…and I thought all the presents he gave me, the restaurants he took me to, and the way he brought me to his work events meant he loved me.

“He asked me to marry him, I said yes, then he said he was being moved to a branch of his company that operated in Gabon. I had to look on a map to know where the country was. I wasn’t thrilled to move to Africa, but I convinced myself it would be a fun adventure. And it was…at first. We got married at the courthouse and flew to Gabon the following week.

“Things were all right at the beginning of our marriage. John wasn’t very loving, but I convinced myself it was because we were both acclimating to living overseas. It took me a few years to get pregnant, and when it finally happened, I was thrilled. I thought it would change our relationship for the better. Bring us closer together. But my husband wasn’t as happy as I was to be a parent.

“He was furious that she was blind. Blamed me, since apparently her eyes didn’t form correctly in my womb. He also didn’t like all the attention she got from me, at his expense. He suddenly had no patience for anything. If the apartment wasn’t spick-and-span when he got home, he flew into a rage. If his dinner wasn’t ready, he screamed. When Bowie cried, he told me to ‘shut her up or else.’

“As she got older, his temper only got worse. I was working part time at a clinic in Libreville that reminded me a lot of the one I’d left behind in Philadelphia. I was educating women on prenatal health and helping new mothers with their babies once they were born. I could bring Bowie with me, which was good, because John didn’t want to pay for someone to watch her, even though he had plenty of money.”

Penny paused and took a deep breath. Those years had been difficult…but not as hard as the ones after his death. It wasn’t as if she’d wanted to remain with an abusive spouse, and she wouldn’t have traded the newfound peace in her and Bowie’s small home for anything…but things hadn’t gotten better financially after he was killed.

“I’m sorry,” Pyro said softly, reaching for her hand. Penny gripped it tightly, pleased when he didn’t let go.

She nodded. “After he was killed, Bowie and I were on our own. His salary stopped almost immediately, and the life insurance policy he had with his company went to his mother, per his directive, not me. So overnight, I was completely on my own. Except this time, I had Bowie to worry about.”

“What an asshole,” Pyro muttered.

He had no idea.

“Anyway, I couldn’t afford our apartment on my part-time wages. Thankfully, I got referred to another clinic outside Libreville, in a small community. I worked with mothers-to-be and helped the women in the village with issues relating to their health, and sometimes helped look after children when their mothers were sick.”

“I’m going to push my luck and probably overstep again, but I can’t not ask…you said something earlier about paying off your husband’s debts. What’s that about?”

Penny sighed. Of course he remembered that. But then again, she was safe now. Far away from Colvin Jackson and the huge men he sent to collect what he claimed she owed him.

“I didn’t know about John’s…extracurricular activities. Gambling, strip clubs, sleeping with prostitutes. I was the good wife, at home with his disabled daughter, while he was staying out late every night spending most of the money he earned—and more besides—on himself and his own pleasures.

“He was killed one night in the parking lot of a strip club. The police said it was a robbery gone wrong, but I’ve always wondered. Mostly because the very next day, a man showed up at my apartment and told me he was there to collect the money John owed him. It was way more than we had in the bank and nothing I could ever hope to pay back. I told the man that, but he didn’t care. He took almost everything that remained in our account and said he’d be back to collect payments every month until the debt was settled. The amount he demanded was almost my entire monthly salary. He didn’t care when I told him that, either.

“After I moved out of Libreville, he usually had one of his men come, collecting his money like clockwork. I have no idea how much I still need to give him to make him go away, as the amount he claims I owe keeps changing. He says it’s because of interest—which also seems to change frequently. He also never actually proved that John owed him anything, even though I asked. He said if I preferred, he’d “take Bowie off my hands.” That he’d get what he was owed by selling her.

“After hearing that, I didn’t protest. Never again asked for proof of the debt. I simply handed over the money without hesitation. Because the idea of losing Bowie…”

Her voice trailed off. For some reason, she was ashamed at her lack of knowledge on how to handle the situation. She was being blackmailed and extorted, and she had no clue what to do about it. Instead of pushing back, she’d complied.

To her mind, it was either that, or risk her daughter’s life.

“What’s his name?”