Abuse: The Complete Trilogy (65 page)

“There is no
normal life that is free of pain. It's the very wrestling with our problems
that can be the impetus for our growth.”

― Fred
Rogers

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

I sit with
Detective Bronowski in his car, laughing about the sidesplitting spectacle we just
witnessed of my self-important, well-dressed sister being attacked by a house
cat.

It happened so
fast!

We were caught
off-guard, we could only laugh. If the event took longer, I suppose both of us
would’ve jumped out of the car and rescued Betty Jo from her determined feline
headwear.

The whole scene
was particularly hilarious for me, because it was my sister who was attacked, not
some innocent for whom I'd feel sympathy.

I have more than
a sneaking suspicion Betty Jo had this coming to her. She generally deserves a
good ass kicking. I was glad to find Mitten was up to the task. That woman can
be a menace.

I bet my sister
could make way more money by thrilling the masses with this comic stage exit
than she could ever make as a realtor.

As I laugh, I
glance toward the house and notice the front door's still open.

“Jesus, Renata!”
my sudden shout echoes loudly in the small space inside the car. I fling open
the Impala’s door, scramble out without bothering to shut it, sprint up my
driveway and into the house.

My heart hammers
against my chest. My breath is short from dread, not from my mad dash. I find the
love of my life sitting on the carpet of the living room, her back against a
wall. Maria's attending to her, on her knees by her side. Mitten's alert and
attentive on the rug before them.

How did she get
here?
Why is she on the floor? The memory of seeing her panic-stricken and in a
similar position slips uncomfortably into my thoughts. I wince at the thought. That
was when the police arrived at my door the first time.

“What happened?”
I demand anxiously, zeroing in on her face, searching for clues as I kneel down
before her. “Are you OK?”

Renata gives me
a faint smile. “Your sister didn’t react well to… er, something I said. Mitten
stopped her from strangling me. 'Killer Kitty' had my back. He jumped on her
head just like a furry hat. You should’ve seen him, he was so impressive.” Her
smile broadens.

I grin. “Yeah, I
saw Betty Jo running out the door wearing Mitten as a ‘Cat Hat’ and honestly, I
could not stop laughing.” Suddenly I notice the damage to her slim throat. “
Christ,
your neck is bruised!”

I lean in
closer, peering at the discolored strangulation marks along her injured skin.
The clear shape of each finger is a well-defined bruise on her slim, delicate
throat.

“Yeah, well, your
sister was furious.”

“Everything all
right in there?” Detective Bronowski calls from the front door.

“Come on in,
Detective,” I say.

When she regards
me with wide, wary eyes, I murmur, “He’s OK.”

I’m pleased to see
the tension in Renata’s body immediately relax. Her trust appeals to something deeply
primal. It feels so natural. So right.

Of course she
trusts me. She’s mine.

Renata’s
essential.
She brings out feelings I’ve never had before. Fiercely protective. Possessive.
She's a salve to my soul, helping me heal, filling the aching emptiness within.
I'm connected. I’m in love. I
need
her more than I’ve ever needed anyone
or anything before.

Her injury
terrifies me. She could have died!

I’d be lost
without her.

Forcing myself
to remain calm, I help Renata up and set her down on the sofa. Maria brings in a
cold pack for her neck, takes charge of Briley and brings everyone coffee.
Maria also puts out a plateful of chicken livers for Mitten as a well-deserved
treat. They're his favorite.

I fuss over her
for a time, aching to strangle my sister for putting her hands upon her. While
my sister punched me a few times during our teens, I’ve never known her to be particularly
violent—except for her vicious, cutting tongue.

Bronowski clears
his throat, attracting our attention. “Ma’am, it appears you’ve been the victim
of assault. Do you wish to press charges?”

Lifting her chin,
she meets my eyes uncertainly.

I shrug. “Let’s
hear what happened first,” I suggest.

Sighing deeply,
she explains my sister came to the house looking for me. Apparently, Betty Jo had
arrived upset over the infidelity of her live-in boyfriend. She also accused
her of gold digging.

“Did she say
anything else?” I ask, masking my scowl of anger and irritation.

Renata winces.
“Not anything worth repeating.”

I become aware
my fists are clenched and carefully loosen them. “If I know my sister, she
didn’t hold back.”

“No, she sure didn’t.
Betty Jo was on a bit of a roll, but… I said something that upset her,” she
confesses, keeping the ice pack against her neck. “Your sister really lost it
when I did.”

My eyes narrow
suspiciously. Renata is extremely perceptive. Generally speaking, she’s a kind,
sweet sort of girl. On the other hand, Betty Jo could drive even a saint to
violence.

If Betty Jo
pushed Renata past her limit, I wonder exactly how my darlin’ girl would
retaliate. Apparently, I’m going to find out.

I arch an
eyebrow. “What did you say to her, or should I ask?”

She cringes, her
expression sheepish. “I told Betty Jo I felt sorry for her because she’s such
an unhappy person. I also told her she made me feel sad because for all of her
beauty, wealth, connections and education, she was very, very empty inside.”

I burst out
laughing. “Oh my God. Did you nail it or what? Wow! That’s my darlin’ girl!”

I can see it all
now. Betty Jo would’ve been maliciously calling her trailer trash or a tramp.
The normal, cliché insults. Then my sweet Renata hit her right between the eyes—not
with creative nastiness. Nope. She used
the truth.

“Is your sister
likely to press charges concerning your um… guard cat?” the detective asks. “If
so, I’d better take a statement from Ms. Koreman, just to be safe. Your pet’s
actions were justified. If your sister sees her doctor about those scratches
and files a complaint with the police,” he gestures toward Mitten, “they could
order your …ah, friend here to be put down.”

Her eyes widen.
“Oh no, I hadn’t thought of that. Can you take a statement but not use it
unless you have to? I’m not excusing her aggression, but I did provoke her.”

My brows shoot
up. “A walk in the park, an unexpected gift, or a sunny day can provoke Betty
Jo,” I observe dryly.

Renata’s features
brighten with amusement at my wicked humor. “Well,” she says hesitantly. “I
don’t want to cause trouble. Maybe she’ll forget the whole thing.”

I snort. “That’s
extremely
unlikely. But don’t you worry, I’ll deal with Betty Jo,” I
growl. “She
will
treat you with the respect you deserve.”

“I won’t file
unless you ask me to,” Bronowski offers. He takes a statement, finishes his
coffee and gives a polite goodbye. I walk him to the kitchen.

“Here’s the
envelope those photos came in. The mailman, Renata and I all touched it, but you
can have it if you like.”

Bronowski takes
the envelope, has a good look at the postmark and nods. “Thank you.”

I escort him to
the front door and out to his car. “Thanks for your help,” I tell him.

“No problem.”

“Listen,
Detective,” I say. “As you can appreciate, I’m beginning to feel distinctly
uncomfortable. I don’t know if I just make a good patsy, or if someone is specifically
out to get me. I didn’t kill my father. You’re more liable to believe that now
that you know I also didn’t kill Edgar Gates.”

“Yes,” he says,
with a wry smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. “It’s a good
thing you’re blind in one eye.”

I laugh. “Isn’t
it?” Bemused, I shake my head. “I never thought I’d feel that way about losing
my sight. Look, I’d like to be kept in the loop as much as possible concerning
the Gates and Wilkinson murders. There must be a connection between the two,
but whatever it is—I’m not it. Danny Berdeaux and I are trying to locate other
people who my father may have… photographed.”

“Why?”
he
asks, surprised.

Thinking about
Renata and not wanting to leave her alone, I glance back at the house. “That’s
a story for another time. Danny Berdeaux has brought to my attention my father
wasn’t only interested in me. You may not know it, but he was a Boy Scout troop
leader for years.”

“I see.” The
detective’s eyes narrow. Distaste and disapproval shows on his tight lips. He opens
his wallet and gives me a few of his business cards. “Please ask Mr. Berdeaux
to contact me.”

“Of course.”

Our eyes meet
and something passes silently between us… understanding, perhaps. Or respect. Our
relationship has definitely shifted. We meet on a more equal footing now.

What a relief.

“All people,
whatever they are doing, no matter how crazy or irrational it seems to you, it
is how they need to act—from their perspective. I do not justify or rationalize
an individual’s behavior—
non.
I simply tell you there is always a
reason.”

— André
Chevalier

~~~

Grant
Wilkinson

After returning
from seeing Detective Bronowski off, I reenter the house. I ask Maria to
continue caring for Briley, then quickly return to Renata, who's still
reclining on the sofa. She doesn't seem quite her normal self yet.

I kneel beside
her, looking her in the eye. “Do you want to take a bath to help calm you down?”
I ask her. “Maybe you’d like to go on your swing for a while?”

“I think I want
to lay down on your bed and have you hold me. Would that be OK?”

“Of course.”

I immediately
stand up and slide one arm under her knees, one circling her back. Then I sweep
her up into my arms, and kiss her on the nose. This makes her giggle as I carry
her upstairs.

I place her on
my nicely made bed then join her, lying on top of the covers. I gather my girl
into my arms. Her head is on my shoulder, her leg hitched over mine, her arm on
my chest. I’ve grown to love this intimate position.

Merely the sight
or scent of her affects me. I’m here to comfort her, yet while holding her
close, memories of sex fill my thoughts. The erotic sounds she makes just
before climax, the feel of her inner core squeezing me, and the amazing sensation
of her lips around my cock.

Dammit. I banish
these images and try to ignore my swelling erection.

“Are you feeling
better?” I ask.

“Much better,
thanks,” she murmurs, “Honestly, I was so proud of myself for standing up to
her. I didn’t panic, I didn’t back down and I didn’t run from confrontation.” The
soft chuckle that leaves her throat thrills me. “It was surprisingly
empowering. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“I’m very
impressed,” I say, running my hand up and down her back. “My sister can be a
real dragon. Not many people stand up to her.”

“Thank you! And
yes, she is. It was hard at first, but then I stopped and
really
looked
at her. Have you ever simply and objectively just
looked
at your sister?”

I shake my head
and say nothing. The truth is, I try
not
to look at her. Betty Jo has
been a thorn in my side all of my life. From tattling on me from the minute she
could talk, to expecting me to fight her battles, while bitching about me to my
face
and
behind my back—I really don’t have time for her at all.

Jealous, hostile
and utterly incapable of being friendly—that describes the youngest child of
the Wilkinson family, my sister, Betty Jo.

She pauses for a
moment, thinking. “You know, I don’t hate your sister.”

I make an involuntary,
strangled sound of disapproval at these words. If not for Mitten… I shudder,
unable to even think about what might have happened.

Yet, Renata’s
been injured and she wants to talk. There’s no point in me throwing my hat into
this ring. With real effort, I manage to hold my tongue.

“Honestly, I simply
can’t hate her,” she repeats. “While I can’t claim to enjoy her company or even
say I understand her, it’s hard to take all of that vitriol she spews
personally." She takes a deep breath. “Something must have caused her to be
so unbelievably bitter. I’m not excusing her behavior, but she really isn’t a happy
person.” She shrugs. “I can’t help but feel sorry for her.”

“Sorry for her!”
I exclaim astonished. “I’d like to kick her ass for what she did. It's bad
enough she upset you, but risking your life while throttling you in front of the
baby?” I pause, gritting my teeth. “I can’t even tell you what I want to do to
her for that.”

Silent for a
number of minutes, I can practically hear gears turning in her mind. This long
pause to process or absorb what I’m saying is unlike her. Usually, she
communicates so easily, saying exactly what she thinks, when she thinks it.

The events of
today must've disturbed her more than I thought.

There’s no need
to push. She’ll speak when she’s ready. I’d happily wait forever, as long as I
can hold her in my arms like this.

Moving
restlessly, Renata shifts around and climbs on top of me until she straddles my
thighs. I place my hands on her hips, steadying her. I stare at her, drinking
her in.

I love the way
her silky hair swings above me, and the long, firm, yet curvy shape of her
figure. I adore the feel of her soft, womanly flesh in the palms of my hands. Most
of all, I love her face. I could look at her all day.

I know why she
placed herself up on my thighs. If she sat a bit higher on me, her hot little
clit would rest right on my straining erection. Typically, this closeness would
be a prelude to sex, but there’s an odd expression in her features I can’t
read.

Curious, my eyes
narrow as I study her. “What is it, darlin’?”

“I want to ask
you a question,” she says, her thumbnail between her teeth. “No pressure. Just,
you know… tell me the first thing that comes to mind. It’s something I’ve been
thinking about for a while.”

“All right.”

Absently, Renata
bites her nails. Damned if I don’t think she’s nervous. Now,
I’m
worried. Apprehensive as I am, I’m careful not to show it. I hope my bitchy,
murderous sister hasn’t screwed everything up between us.

What if Renata
feels she has to leave? Maybe to return to Las Vegas for the sake of my family
or something?

I can’t lose
her. God, no.

Clearing her
throat, she pulls me from my now increasing anxiety. I tense, steeling myself
for the worst.

“Grant
Wilkinson,” she says, blowing out a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

Renata asked
me to marry her.

This incredibly
welcome request is the very last thing I expect. I’ve been trying to figure out
the best way ask
her
to marry
me.

For once, I
don’t sift through possible answers, or sift through exactly what I want to
say. If I did, I’d probably tell her to think about what she’s doing for
her
sake. With no filter, I blurt out the first thing that pops into my head.
My brain is reeling, but on this subject I have no doubts, no reservations.

“Yes,” I reply
instantly.

Her face lights
up.
“Really?”

My chest is
tight, my heart euphoric. “Yes. Absolutely. You’re the only person in the world
I want to kiss, to love, laugh and to spend the rest of my life with.”

Her pupils flare
with pleasure, yet her pensive look surprises me. “Er… do you want children?”
she asks.

“I want exactly
as many children as you want.” I reply confidently, happy to agree to any
conditions, anything she needs from me.

“I was thinking maybe
four or five.”

My smile broadens
to ridiculous, madman proportions. I feel my facial scars stretch as far as
they can go, but I don’t care. “We can have ten or twenty kids if you want.
I’ll love them all.”

The idea of being
a father doesn’t scare me anymore. With her constantly telling me how good I am
with Briley, I’m beginning to believe it. I’m not a monster. I’m someone who an
amazing woman like Renata, wants to share her life with.

But wait—why
does she seem so preoccupied and anxious? She’s biting that nail again, yet she
seemed happy a second ago. My anxiety begins to rise all over again.

“What’s wrong?”
I ask. “Do you have doubts? Are you unsure if you want to marry me or not?”

She takes a deep
breath then blows it out slowly. With the determined look of a weak swimmer
about to dive into deep water, she says, “I told your sister we were engaged.”

My eyes widen. “You
didn’t!”

She shrugs,
embarrassed. “I’m not exactly sure how it happened. One moment she was in the
other room talking on the phone and I was playing with Briley. I was in a happy
place, imagining what our kids would look like. Then, out of the blue, she
blasted into the living room, called me a slut and told me you would never
marry a penniless babysitter who stutters.”

“She’s a bitch
all right,” I say, not at all surprised by Betty Jo’s bad behavior.

Renata glowers.
“I’m sorry, but she just made me so mad. Especially, when all I could think
about was how much I wanted to marry you.”

I study her
intently, noticing her every move and expression. She’s so incredibly
beautiful. Also edgy, remorseful and apologetic. She needn’t be. Her confession
warms me. I carefully hide my utter euphoria.

My lips curve. “You
were imagining what our kids would look like?” I tease, awed by the
possibilities.

She nods. “Mm-hmm.”

“And you were
thinking about how much you wanted to marry me?”

Her eyes crinkle
as she grins. “Yes.”

I feel as if I
could melt just from seeing her smile. “I’m glad you told my sister we were
engaged, and I’m overjoyed you asked me to marry you,” I tell her.

Her brows shoot
up, but she says nothing.

I continue,
“Actually, it takes the heat off of me. I been trying to work up enough nerve
to propose to you.”

“Oh.” Her
wide-eyed look of surprise is so damn cute.

I pause for a
moment, then say evenly. “I have a few phone calls to make for work, but if
you're up to it, we can go shopping for an engagement ring later this
afternoon.”

This calm,
sensible pronouncement apparently breaks the barrier holding back her emotions.

Renata gives an
adorable, ‘all female’ little squeal of joy, throws herself into my arms and
kisses me passionately. Overpowered by love for her, I firmly wrap my arms
around her and return her kiss.

My urgent need
to contact Betty Jo in order to promise fury and retribution for her actions,
the mystery of the photos, my father’s murder and the murder of Edgar Gates—even
knowing somebody out there is trying to frame me—all of these problems vanish.

Renata is all
I’m aware of as the rest of the world disappears.