AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“It’s fine. It is what it is.”
Downstairs, I stand in the doorway with Amy as he places my mother on the couch. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open from her drunken slumber.
“You’re handsome,” she slurs.
Me and Amy share a look before bursting into laughter.
Poor Jake.
She pats his chest. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he crouches at her side and allows her the moment.
“I have two daughters, you know?” She looks at him with one eye still closed. “Although you’re gorgeous, you’re not Amy’s type.” We’re both shaking with silent cackles now. “But Claire, I think she would like you.”
Really, Mama?
“You should know—she’s a big deal.”
Jake takes her hand when she reaches for him. “I’ve heard.”
“Don’t break her heart, Mr. Handsome. It’s too big. You’ll look after my baby girl, won’t you?”
She’s dozing again.
“Always,” he murmurs as her eyes close.
***
“Claire?”
His voice brings me back. I’m too lost watching the trees in the darkness as we drive.
“Hmm?” I turn to him and smile.
“You’re lost. Talk to me. Tell me something good.”
Filling my lungs, my eyes divert to the trees again. “I got to see you in just a towel today.”
His laugh fills the car.
“But I’m exhausted, so you can’t remind me I said that in the morning.”
He takes my hand and places it on his lap as he drives. I think he’s trying to keep me from diving back into my head. “Deal.”
The silence consumes me, and the words bubble from my chest and linger on my lips. I don’t know why I start talking, but I think he deserves an explanation.
“She wasn’t always that way. My father drank all the time, but I never saw my mother touch a drink until my father left,” I start, still staring into the darkness.
“I was a daddy’s girl. He brought us everywhere on his shoulders. Amy got jealous when she got bigger. If we weren’t fighting over who got time on the piano, we fought over who my father’s favorite was.” His grip tightens, but his thumb massages my fingers.
“I don’t remember the shouting. Not as much as Amy. She protected me from a lot. The first time I saw my father hit my mother was the same day I became too big to sit on his shoulders. He said her dress was too short.
“Amy snuck out to a party with her school friends one night, and when I heard my parents fighting, I cried, and I couldn’t stop. My father’s punishment was to put me out on the front porch in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm. I don’t remember seeing my mother, but I’m guessing she was unconscious somewhere. My best friend, Nick, lived next door. His father found me and brought me inside.
“The arguments became a weekly occurrence, but I don’t remember it because I wasn’t there. The moment I heard them shouting, I climbed through my window and into Nick’s bedroom. His window was always open, just waiting for me.” I don’t wipe the tears. There’s no point. “They never asked why I was there. Nick just woke me up for school, and I would eat breakfast with them. His parents did everything to help, but my mother wasn’t ready to leave. She couldn’t. He made sure of it.” Unease rocks in my stomach. “Amy was older. She was starting to see through him. But he put me in the car one night and told me we were going on an adventure. I don’t remember how long we were gone. Two days maybe. But when we got back, my mother was frantic. He wanted to teach her a lesson. He wanted her to know he could take me away.
“When I was fourteen, Amy got a scholarship abroad, so she wasn’t around anymore. I don’t blame her for it. I would have left too.” I laugh to suppress the sob wanting to escape, but nothing about this is funny. “My father was a cop. He received an award for his service. That same night, he almost beat my mother to death. I stood at the stairs and watched as his rage overpowered him. He lost control. I can still hear her jaw shattering.” I bite my lips together, the images replaying so vividly, I can almost smell the blood and sweat that lingered in the air that night. “I just screamed. It’s all I could do.” I grip his hand like it’s the only thing keeping me planted to reality.
Going back in time, I run my finger over the raised scar at the back of my head before scratching at my throat. His pained eyes meet mine before focusing on the road. He brings my hand to his lips, kissing each finger. I don’t know how his touch holds so much power, but I find the courage to keep going and repeat the words he said to me in my office. “My mother is the way she is because I was the almost that went too far.”
