Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (51 page)

“Until you
heal the wounds of your past, you are going to bleed…”

— Lyanla
Vanzant 

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

“Knock, knock?”
I hear Sally Ann’s soft, feminine voice coming from the entryway.

“Come on in,” I
say, walking toward the front door with Renata.

Sally Ann is
dressed casually in designer jeans and a silk blouse that matches her electric
blue eyes. The woman looks stunning no matter what she wears.

It’s the
presence of her brother, Danny that surprises me. The last time I saw him he
was a scruffy wreck. Today, he’s in smart dress slacks and a short sleeve
shirt. If he was wearing a tie, he’d look as though he was going to a job
interview.

“You look well,
Danny,” I say, genuinely pleased to see him.

Danny smiles and
shakes my hand with a firm, dry grip. The male version of his sister, he’s also
attractive, unless he’s suffering through a major depressive episode, which as
far as I can tell, is most of the time. Right now, however, his expression is
bright, and his mood is upbeat.

“I feel well,
thank you,” Danny says, still smiling at me. “I appreciate your letting us come
over so early, Grant. I urgently need to talk to you.”

“No problem,
let’s go into the living room.”

We all take our
seats and briefly engage in small talk. Mitten immediately gravitates to Sally
Ann, jumping up on her lap to her adoring coos and pats. Renata prepares coffee
for everyone and joins us. There’s a slight lag in the conversation, as Renata
and I wait to see what was important enough to bring them here at this early
hour.

We can hear the
sounds of Briley waking up over the baby monitor, so Renata excuses herself to
go check on him. Sally Ann stands up as well.

“If it’s OK with
you Renata, can I go with you?” she asks uneasily. “Danny has already told me
what he wants to talk to Grant about.”

It’s odd.
Although Sally Ann is her usual gracious and courteous self, if anything she
also seems tremendously uncomfortable. I wonder what has her seeming more shy
and uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen her?

“I’d enjoy your
company,” Renata says, with a welcoming smile. “Briley will love to see you,
too.”

Renata, Sally
Ann and Mitten leave the room, shutting the door behind them, so Danny and I
can speak privately. 

“What’s up?” I
ask him.

“I had to talk
to you,” Danny says, biting his lip uncertainly. Anxiety is radiating off him
in waves. “Now that I’m here, I’m not sure how to where to begin.”

“OK.” I lean
back on the couch, put one ankle up on my knee and adopt as casual a position
as possible. I’ve watched André do that to put me at ease when I’m nervous.

The silence
between us is awkward. As the minutes pass, it becomes painful. I suddenly
remember something André once said that loosened my tongue.

“Danny, we’ve
always been good friends, haven’t we?”

“Yes.”

“Good, because I
want you to know there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me think
any less of you. So go ahead, jump right in.”

He inhales
deeply and blurts out, “Did you know I’m gay?”

“No.”

His eyes narrow
and his brows furrow anxiously. “Does it bother you?”

I frown and
shake my head. “No.”

Jesus. I
thought I had problems.

Our Church
places homosexuality near the top of the list when it comes to sin. That was
part of the reason I so feared my obsession with dicks—an ingrained belief that
same-sex attraction was the devil’s work. What must poor Danny be going
through? Especially since his father is a deacon in our church?

Danny leans
forward in his chair, studying me intently, while searching my face for any
sign of insincerity or deception. He doesn’t appear to find anything
disturbing.

“Are you sure
you’re OK with it?”

“Positive.” I
sigh and give him a one-shouldered shrug. “Danny, people love who they love—no
one can change that. If it’s any consolation, I think the church has the
subject of homosexuality all wrong. I feel no different toward you, now I know
you’re gay. I’m honored you trust me enough to tell me.”

My acceptance
transforms his face. Danny smiles, pathetically grateful to find that I think
it’s perfectly fine for him to be who he is—poor bastard.

“Thank you,
Grant. I
knew
you’d understand. Most people around here would freak
out.”

I nod. 

He gives me a
shy smile. “I know you like women, but I’ve always had a secret crush on you—I
hope you don’t mind my telling you. You constantly came to my rescue when I was
at school. It meant so much to me and to Sally Ann. My sister and I have both
had hopeless crushes on you.”

I say nothing,
letting the dust silently fall.

How can I reply
to that unexpected admission? I don’t even want to think about it.

Ignoring his
statement, I change the subject. “Is your sexuality what’s been messing you up
for all these years? Guilt over who you’re attracted to?”

“Hmm, well, yes…
and no.” Danny’s gaze is intense. Now he’s past telling me the difficult
part—the fact he’s gay, something has changed. His eyes are brighter and he
seems quietly confident.

To my surprise,
my phone rings again. I hate talking in general and talking on the phone is
even more abhorrent. Most people know this about me, so I rarely get phone
calls. I grin as soon as I view my caller ID display.

I glance at
Danny. “Excuse me, Danny, but I have to take this call.”

He nods.

“André,” I
answer, standing up and walking across the room in order to speak freely to
him. “It’s wonderful to hear from you. How are you? Is everything OK?”

“No,
mon ami,
I regret to say that it is not.”

“Why? What’s
happened?”

“This morning I
have received a subpoena which forces me to release certain details of our
counseling sessions. I fear the police must have obtained substantial evidence
for them to proceed in this manner.”

My world stops.

Blood-freezing
dread ices within my veins.

Fuck! Have
the police found a motive? If not, they’ll certainly have it when they see
André’s records. Am I going to end up in jail for a murder I didn’t commit?

And then,
another horrific thought occurs to me.
Jesus H Christ. The police will know,
but will others find out about my father’s perversions?

A vivid memory
suddenly slams into me. It arrives so quickly I stand there, helplessly staring
into space. My living room, Danny, and André’s phone call all disappear as I
fall back into my past.

I remember one
time in the boys' locker room at school, when I was perhaps fifteen years old.
Aloof and alone, for some reason I’ve never fully understood, my peers used to
look up to me. Was it because I was handsome, wealthy and from a ‘good’ family?
Those things put me at the top of the social ladder. Or perhaps it was because
I was such an aggressive football player who helped the team achieve many
victories.

Most people
thought I was proud and stuck-up.

I didn’t have
friends, not real ones anyway. How could anyone know me enough to befriend me?
It wasn’t safe for me to open up. Yet on this particular day, just that once, I
found myself trying to fit in.

The boys were
talking about girls, a common occurrence. However, the conversation had
degenerated to cruel jokes about anal sex and homosexuality. At the time, I had
been at the height of my porn-watching career.

Luke, the
captain of the football team, said, “Ask Grant—he knows all about anal sex.”
Silence thickened the air, as every boy there, perhaps ten or twelve of them,
turned to look at me all at the same time.

I froze, utterly
terrified and humiliated.

My stomach
turned into knots as a sense of dread overtook me.

Do they know
about my father? Or don’t they know? They must! Why would Luke say that if he
didn't know? Has
someone discovered my perverse addiction to watching
Internet porn?

Found out!
Caught!

The appalling
fear of
being exposed—
of my shameful secrets being
discovered,
made
me instantly and thoroughly sick. I’d never known such terror, humiliation and
shame.

“
Mon ami?
Grant?” André’s familiar voice instantly pulls me back to the present, snapping
me out of my reverie.

“Yes, André,” I
say quietly. “I’m here.”

“My friend, you
have much to consider. My phone will be with me all of this day. When you are
ready, call me and I will answer any questions you have. This is acceptable to
you?”

“Yes.”

“
Très bien.
Is Renata there?”

“No.”

“
Bon.
I
will call her and speak of this, yes?”

“Yes, please,” I
say. “Thank you for letting me know, André.”

“We will talk
later, my friend, when it is more convenient for you.
Au revoir.”

“Goodbye.”

What André means
is, he’d like me to call him once I get myself together. That might take a
while. My nerves are fried.

I gaze over at
Danny, about whom I'd actually forgotten momentarily. He’s studying me
intently. His brows are drawn down in concern.

“Are you all
right?” he asks.

“No,” I mutter,
struggling for control. “I’ve… um, I’ve just heard some bad news.”

“Is there
anything I can do? Would you like me to leave?”

“No,” I say,
attempting a fake, reassuring smile. Intentionally, I slouch casually back down
on the couch, once again sitting across from Danny. I’d much prefer to focus on
whatever distraction he might provide.

Diving head
first into my safe, detached mode, I count my heartbeats and begin to take
slow, measured breaths. I’m hyper-alert, yet emotionally, I’ve shut down. I
need to focus. I need to think! This is as dangerous a crisis as any I ever
dealt with when I was in the Army.

First, I’ll hear
Danny out—and then I’ll get rid of him.

“What was it you
wanted to tell me?” I ask, in an even, measured voice.

Danny shakes his
head. “Um… well, there's more. Something happened. I could’ve gone to my
counselor, but fuck her! What does she know? She never had a fucking clue. I
did talk to my sister, who did her best to understand. Sally Ann knows I’m gay,
but
this?”
He frowns and again bites his lip. “She couldn’t begin to
understand it—not really. I told her some things, but the whole truth would
upset her too much.”

“OK,” I say,
warily. I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“The thing is,
all of my life, for as far back as I remember, I’ve been totally screwed up. I
always felt like a worthless piece of shit, you know? I thought I’d be doing
the world a favor if I was dead, but I never understood why.”

Confused, I
frown. “And do you
now
know why?”

Danny sits up straight,
leans forward and beams me a wide grin. “I do!” he gushes happily. “I’ve been
so frustrated, depressed and angered by sick thoughts and images in my mind. Most
of all, I doubted myself. I honestly felt I had completely lost my mind.”

I still have no
idea what he’s talking about.

Yet, I
experience a peculiar sensation, as though I’m suddenly being consumed by his
happiness. Emotionally shut down or not, Danny’s joy seeps into me, lightening
my mood.

“It’s dreadful
but it’s also fantastic!” he says, face shining. “I mean, I finally found the
missing piece of the puzzle. I was ignorant and contrary to popular belief,
ignorance is not bliss! I
always
knew something was wrong with me. My
whole life, the paranoia, my screwed-up thoughts,
everything
—it suddenly
all made sense. You can’t imagine the relief I feel at finally knowing what’s
been wrong with me!”

“Good for you,”
I say genuinely pleased for him. “Can you tell me what happened to cause this
epiphany?”

“Yesterday
morning, I found
this
in my mailbox.” Danny opens his jacket and pulls
out a standard 4” X 6” white envelope.

“What is it?” I
ask.

Danny’s gaze is
thoughtful and strangely peaceful. He taps the envelope against his hand. “This
brought it all back. It helped me to remember.”

Grinning, he
hands me the envelope. “
This
is the answer to the questions I’ve been
asking myself for the past twenty-six years:
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Why am I so bat-shit crazy?
”

I take the
envelope in my hand and study it. There’s no return address. “To: Daniel
Berdeaux,” is written on the outside in simple block letters.

I open it, but
there’s no letter inside—only a photograph. Curious, and with no sense of
approaching disaster, I extract the photo.

Monster!
Pervert!

After the
briefest glance at the image, I instantly drop it as though I’ve been scalded.

What the
hell?

The picture
lands face-up on the coffee table, in my direct line of sight. I want to, but I
am incapable of looking away. The soul-crushing shock that sweeps over me
cannot possibly be described.

I feel sick.

Danny has been
sent a photo of himself as a child, half-dressed in his Boy Scout uniform.
There’s a man with him in the photo who is doing terrible things to him. It’s a
horrific, monstrous image.

I can’t see the
perpetrator’s face, but he’s instantly and intimately familiar to me.

The man in the
picture is my father.

The blood drains
from my face. I’m burning hot, yet I break into a cold sweat. I didn’t know
about Danny and my father.

Why didn’t I
know or even suspect this? I should have known.