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“Yes, he did. You’re to be commended for coming out of an abusive relationship alive. I’m sure you know that many women never have the courage to do what you did.”
Tears well in my eyes. “This is so much worse than that,” I whisper.
Boon gathers me into his arms and pulls me against his chest. I struggle, but his arms are like an iron band around me. He won’t let me go.
I lash out, smacking his chest and pushing at him. I rage, screaming and crying, the words unintelligible as I make myself hoarse. My tears soak the front of his shirt, and still he holds on.
Cracker runs into the room, a gun in his hand and a bewildered look on his face. “Jesus Christ. I thought someone was attacking her. What’s going on, Dad?”
Boone glances over at his other son. “Call your brother,” he orders. “Get ahold of him, no matter what you have to do, and tell him to get his ass home. Now. Tell him his ol’ lady is not okay and whatever run he’s on can wait. Tell him that’s an order from his president and his father.”
Cracker nods and leaves the room, jerking his phone out of his pocket as he walks away.
I cry myself out again and stand there unmoving while Boone wets a washcloth and wipes my face. Then he leads me to the center of the bedroom and rummages around in the closet. He returns with a pair of black yoga pants and a lime green t-shirt. He dresses me like I’m a child, and I let him. He kneels and tugs thick socks over my feet then leads me down the stairs to the main room.
He settles me on the sofa and pulls a blanket over my lap before reaching for the television remote. He flips through channels twice then turns to me. “Full House isn’t on,” he apologizes. “But Three’s Company is playing, and it’s just as funny.”
There’s a small crack in my heart at his words. He knows my favorite show. Fist told him what my favorite show is. Is there no end to this family’s goodness? “Three’s Company is fine with me. I think the entire cast onFull Houseis hysterical,” I confide with the tiniest of smiles.
“They are,” Boone admits with a laugh.
We settle into the episode until a commercial break, then Boone speaks again. “I’ve lost two children, you know. Not in the same sense you lost little Rose, but their mothers took them God knows where.”
I sit there stunned, not knowing what to say. But he keeps talking like he doesn’t expect a response.
“Mallory is three years older than Fist. Her mother, Rebecca, was from a religious family, borderline fanatics. Rebecca came up to Montana for a vacation with her parents. She was exploring a wild streak, acting out a bit, and decided she wanted a biker. She came up pregnant pretty quick. Rebecca stuck it out here for about a year before her preacher of a father made her go back down to South Carolina. She just packed up the baby and left with her and wouldn’t let me have any contact.
“Cassidy is nine years older than Fist. Her mother, Sadira, was a clubwhore. Sadira overdosed one time but lived through it. She knew she had to get out of the lifestyle if she wanted to keep on living. So, she packed up the baby and lit out one night. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.
“Then there’s my wife, Eva. Fist’s and Cracker’s mom. She just left one day. Said she was going to the grocery store and never came back.”
I digest the information. “Do Fist and Cracker know about Mallory and Cassidy?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“Why not?” I ask curiously.
“I didn’t want them to hurt and wonder about sisters they never saw. I know Eva has another child. A daughter named Roxy. She’s still very young. I keep in contact with Roxy’s father so Fist and Cracker can maybe have a good relationship with her when she’s old enough.”
I’m quiet for a moment before asking, “Why are you telling me this?”
“I found you in a vulnerable moment,” Boone explains. “Now I’m sharing a vulnerable part of my past with you. It makes us even, and we’ll always have this bond.”
I nod, suddenly exhausted, and turn back to blindly watch television again. During the three-hour block of Three’s Company, Boone manages to coax me into eating some canned tomato soup and a grilled cheese. I have to admit to feeling a little stronger after the food hits my stomach.
When Fist comes through the door, Boone nods at him and gives me a wink and a pat on the head. “We’ll talk some more later,” he tells me and strolls out, leaving me alone with Fist.
Fist sits on the couch next to me and rests his hands on his thighs as he looks at me.
I twist my fingers together in my lap and blurt out, “Why did you come? I mean, you haven’t even slept in the bed with me since before I was in the hospital.” It’s true; he’s been sleeping right here on this couch every night.
Fist looks me right in the eyes. “It’s simple,” he replies in a soft and steady voice. “You’re struggling and I love you.”
Fresh tears flood my eyes, and I raise a shaking hand to my mouth.
He continues, “I’m sorry, sweetness, for leaving you alone to grieve. I know things were probably really hard for you. They’re probably still really hard for you. I was grieving, too, and still am.”
I nod. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever gone through,” I tell him brokenly. “And knowing I hurt you just made it worse. Oh, Fist, I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself.”
