Rare and Precious Things
Page 25
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“No, Brynne. I’m only thinking of you and worried that distancing yourself from this opportunity to let go of the past…is a mistake.”
“Let the past go?” Now, this was what you call being blindsided right there. Just bashed to hell, with no warning, whatsoever, of the impending hit about to rip you in two. I found myself reeling in pain and shock, in total suspended disbelief, before I managed to find my voice again. “How could that be, Mom? You—you think I should go visit him in the hospital and pretend he didn’t rape me, and let his friends abuse me on that pool table? I—I should forgive him?”
“I do, sweetheart. Let the past go, and you can move on with your life. It’s not helping you to hold onto it.”
Now the tears were coming.
My mother couldn’t love me. There was no way she did. I had to suck in a gasping breath at the sharp pain that pierced my heart.
“No, Mom.” My voiced cracked as I spoke, but the words were true, and she would understand my meaning. “I wish Daddy was here to help me. He loved me. Dad loved me. You know how I know that, Mom? Because he would never ask me to do what you just asked of me!”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I hung up on her instead and resisted the urge to throw my phone against the wall. As I stood in our bedroom, I was unable to do much more than breathe in and out steadily. I felt curiously numb, and strong.
This would be true if there weren’t tears streaming down my face.
The muscled arms of my husband came around me from behind and pulled me into his body. I brought my hands up to hold onto his arms and…just lost it.
“Ethan—she—she said I should go and v-visit Lance and f-forgive him…” The flooding tears had wet my face to the point where I couldn’t even see. “She—she thinks that it will help me to let go of my bad experi—”
“Shh, hush.” He turned me around and held me against his chest, the welcome scent of him enveloping my senses, and so very comforting to me in my wretched state. “I know,” he crooned. “I overheard some of what you said. You don’t have to go anywhere, baby. You don’t have to see anyone that you don’t want to see. Or speak to anyone you don’t want to speak to.”
“I—I can’t believe she asked me to do th-that…I miss my dad…” I trailed off, my blubbering gaining momentum with every new tear that leaked out of me, until Ethan took over the unpleasant task of trying to settle me down.
“To bed you go. This is not good for you or our child, and you’re lying down now.” He led me over to our bed and sat me on the side of it. He bent down to take off my shoes, working silently but efficiently, maneuvering me into bed in under a minute. He loomed over me, bringing his face very close. “You can tell me everything if you like, but I want you off your feet and resting when you do. You’re exhausted and upset, and that’s just f**king wrong.” His actions were gentle, but the tone of his voice was anything but. He was also sporting a frown that showed me just how angry he was about the situation. And at my mother. The two of them had absolutely no chance of ever being friends. I scoffed inwardly. Don’t kid yourself. You’re not even friends with her.
After bringing me a cool washcloth to clean my face, and a glass of water, he joined me in bed. Keeping very quiet, Ethan comforted me, spooning his big body behind mine, petting my hair over and over, and listened to me replay the conversation with my mother in all its garish detail.
When I was finally finished, he asked me a question. His tone changing from one of comfort and gentleness to one much firmer and serious. “Brynne, have you ever told your mother about what happened with Karl Westman?”
“No, you said never to speak about him to anyone.”
“And you’ve told her nothing?”
“No, Ethan, not one word. I never even mentioned him to Dr. Roswell.”
“Good. That’s good.” He continued to rub my head and trail fingers through my hair for a minute before he said, “Baby, I know this is hard to bring up, and to think about, but nobody can ever know about what happened with Westman the night he took you. Never. You have to take that experience and just put it away into a part of your mind as if it never happened.”
“I-I know. Because they killed him, didn’t they? Senator Oakley’s people had Karl killed because he was trying to blackmail them and holding the video as collateral over them, right?”
He kept rubbing my head with his strong fingers massaging my scalp through my hair. It felt divine, and was in such contrast to the unpleasant topic we were discussing. “I think that’s very close to what happened, although there’ll never be any proof or evidence to show it. His body will never be found. Westman has been wiped off the face of the earth.”
I nodded. I couldn’t really express my feelings, but I got it. Ethan’s choice of words hit me right in the heart. Wiped off the face of the earth. Because that’s what had happened to my dad. Gone. No longer here for me. No more hearing the love for me in his voice when we talked.
And the reason he was gone, all went back to something I had allowed to happen years ago. Consequences of my actions. Lance was in there too, yes, but it was my decision that made his evil deeds possible. I went to the party. I got drunk and didn’t respect my body. I was used and abused, and let the experience take me over to the point I was willing to just go out of this life. Pathetic. But in the end, it was my father’s life that was sacrificed.
“What are you thinking?” he asked me in a soft voice, for the second time today.
“About how I miss my dad,” I blurted, my emotions so raw I felt another crying jag coming on strong.
“Baby…” Ethan put his hand on my belly and started rubbing. The gesture was very sweet but it just made me long for my dad even more.
The words started tumbling out of me and I couldn’t stop them. “Today we went to the doctors and saw pictures of our baby. If Daddy was still here I would have shared with him, and he would have wanted to listen…and be excited about being a grandpa. I would have shown him the pictures—he would have wanted to know how I was feeling—I just miss him so much…” I paused for a breath. “I can’t talk to him now, and I can’t talk to my mother, either. I have nobody... I feel like an orphan—” I finally broke, silently this time, but no less emotionally painful, in sharing my grief about something that would hurt for a very long time.
“Let the past go?” Now, this was what you call being blindsided right there. Just bashed to hell, with no warning, whatsoever, of the impending hit about to rip you in two. I found myself reeling in pain and shock, in total suspended disbelief, before I managed to find my voice again. “How could that be, Mom? You—you think I should go visit him in the hospital and pretend he didn’t rape me, and let his friends abuse me on that pool table? I—I should forgive him?”
“I do, sweetheart. Let the past go, and you can move on with your life. It’s not helping you to hold onto it.”
Now the tears were coming.
My mother couldn’t love me. There was no way she did. I had to suck in a gasping breath at the sharp pain that pierced my heart.
“No, Mom.” My voiced cracked as I spoke, but the words were true, and she would understand my meaning. “I wish Daddy was here to help me. He loved me. Dad loved me. You know how I know that, Mom? Because he would never ask me to do what you just asked of me!”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I hung up on her instead and resisted the urge to throw my phone against the wall. As I stood in our bedroom, I was unable to do much more than breathe in and out steadily. I felt curiously numb, and strong.
This would be true if there weren’t tears streaming down my face.
The muscled arms of my husband came around me from behind and pulled me into his body. I brought my hands up to hold onto his arms and…just lost it.
“Ethan—she—she said I should go and v-visit Lance and f-forgive him…” The flooding tears had wet my face to the point where I couldn’t even see. “She—she thinks that it will help me to let go of my bad experi—”
“Shh, hush.” He turned me around and held me against his chest, the welcome scent of him enveloping my senses, and so very comforting to me in my wretched state. “I know,” he crooned. “I overheard some of what you said. You don’t have to go anywhere, baby. You don’t have to see anyone that you don’t want to see. Or speak to anyone you don’t want to speak to.”
“I—I can’t believe she asked me to do th-that…I miss my dad…” I trailed off, my blubbering gaining momentum with every new tear that leaked out of me, until Ethan took over the unpleasant task of trying to settle me down.
“To bed you go. This is not good for you or our child, and you’re lying down now.” He led me over to our bed and sat me on the side of it. He bent down to take off my shoes, working silently but efficiently, maneuvering me into bed in under a minute. He loomed over me, bringing his face very close. “You can tell me everything if you like, but I want you off your feet and resting when you do. You’re exhausted and upset, and that’s just f**king wrong.” His actions were gentle, but the tone of his voice was anything but. He was also sporting a frown that showed me just how angry he was about the situation. And at my mother. The two of them had absolutely no chance of ever being friends. I scoffed inwardly. Don’t kid yourself. You’re not even friends with her.
After bringing me a cool washcloth to clean my face, and a glass of water, he joined me in bed. Keeping very quiet, Ethan comforted me, spooning his big body behind mine, petting my hair over and over, and listened to me replay the conversation with my mother in all its garish detail.
When I was finally finished, he asked me a question. His tone changing from one of comfort and gentleness to one much firmer and serious. “Brynne, have you ever told your mother about what happened with Karl Westman?”
“No, you said never to speak about him to anyone.”
“And you’ve told her nothing?”
“No, Ethan, not one word. I never even mentioned him to Dr. Roswell.”
“Good. That’s good.” He continued to rub my head and trail fingers through my hair for a minute before he said, “Baby, I know this is hard to bring up, and to think about, but nobody can ever know about what happened with Westman the night he took you. Never. You have to take that experience and just put it away into a part of your mind as if it never happened.”
“I-I know. Because they killed him, didn’t they? Senator Oakley’s people had Karl killed because he was trying to blackmail them and holding the video as collateral over them, right?”
He kept rubbing my head with his strong fingers massaging my scalp through my hair. It felt divine, and was in such contrast to the unpleasant topic we were discussing. “I think that’s very close to what happened, although there’ll never be any proof or evidence to show it. His body will never be found. Westman has been wiped off the face of the earth.”
I nodded. I couldn’t really express my feelings, but I got it. Ethan’s choice of words hit me right in the heart. Wiped off the face of the earth. Because that’s what had happened to my dad. Gone. No longer here for me. No more hearing the love for me in his voice when we talked.
And the reason he was gone, all went back to something I had allowed to happen years ago. Consequences of my actions. Lance was in there too, yes, but it was my decision that made his evil deeds possible. I went to the party. I got drunk and didn’t respect my body. I was used and abused, and let the experience take me over to the point I was willing to just go out of this life. Pathetic. But in the end, it was my father’s life that was sacrificed.
“What are you thinking?” he asked me in a soft voice, for the second time today.
“About how I miss my dad,” I blurted, my emotions so raw I felt another crying jag coming on strong.
“Baby…” Ethan put his hand on my belly and started rubbing. The gesture was very sweet but it just made me long for my dad even more.
The words started tumbling out of me and I couldn’t stop them. “Today we went to the doctors and saw pictures of our baby. If Daddy was still here I would have shared with him, and he would have wanted to listen…and be excited about being a grandpa. I would have shown him the pictures—he would have wanted to know how I was feeling—I just miss him so much…” I paused for a breath. “I can’t talk to him now, and I can’t talk to my mother, either. I have nobody... I feel like an orphan—” I finally broke, silently this time, but no less emotionally painful, in sharing my grief about something that would hurt for a very long time.
