Lacy's End (15 page)

“I have Millie.”

Angela cocked an eyebrow at her. “Just Millie?”

Lacy looked hard at her. “All the kids are afraid of my dad.”

Angela nodded. “What about you? Are you afraid of him?”

Lacy laughed. “Are you serious? Of course, I’m scared of him.”

Angela became excited. This was the closest she had come to getting Lacy to admit to the beatings. Perhaps, she thought, I’m wearing her down. “Lacy, wouldn’t you like to help your mom?”

Lacy shook her head. “My dad’s not going to let that happen.” She looked at Angela quizzically. “You’re the one who’s naïve. I don’t think you realize just how much authority my dad has. He’s drinking buddies with the mayor! Don’t you get that?”

Angela noted the angry coloring of Lacy’s face and the quickened breath. Remembering the promise she made to Dr. Petoro, she backed down, changing the subject back to school. “So, Lacy, do you participate in any extra-curricular activities?”

Lacy shrugged again as her breathing returned to normal, and her face became its pale self. “I don’t have much time with work and all.”

“You don’t go to football games or dances?”

Lacy smiled. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Angela fought the impatience that had begun to pervade their conversation. “I’m trying to,” she said.

Lacy sighed. “I kind of like photography. I even entered a contest once, but I didn’t stand a chance with my seven-dollar disposable camera.” She laughed. “I got a spot in the honorable mention category.”

They looked at each other and laughed, easing some of the tension. “What exactly does that mean?” Angela asked. “I’ve always thought of it as a consolation prize.”

They laughed again. “I guess it’s the old PC thing,” Lacy said.

“PC thing?”

“Politically correct,” Lacy offered.

They laughed again.

“What about boyfriends?” Angela asked.

Lacy grinned. “What about them? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I asked you first,” Angela said.

“Yeah, but I’m not answering unless you’re willing to share.”

Angela nodded. “Fair enough. I do not currently have a boyfriend. I just broke off a two-year relationship.”

She didn’t seem sad about this, which left Lacy thinking it was probably a good thing they ended it. “What went wrong?”

“My job.” At Lacy’s questioning expression Angela added, “I don’t exactly have the kind of job that’s easy to leave at the office. He got tired of the midnight phone calls. My job is just one big emergency after another.”

“That sucks.”

They looked at each other, and this time their laughter was gut-busting.

When Angela brought herself under control, she asked, “Do you like ice cream?”

“I love ice cream.”

Angela went to the freezer and took out a carton of ice cream. She crossed the room and retrieved two spoons from a drawer. She flopped down in the chair. “I hope you like chocolate chip.”

“It’s not as good as mint chocolate chip, but it will do.”

A sudden banging sounded on the door. Both women jumped.

Ignoring the pounding, Angela began to spoon the ice cream into two bowls. “Is that enough for you?”

Lacy nodded, took the bowl from Angela and began to eat.

The pounding continued.

With each pound, Angela flinched. Lacy, however, took each blow with nonchalance. She closed her eyes as she savored the delicacy of the cold treat. “This,” she said, shaking her spoon at Angela, “is exquisite ice cream.”

“How can you sit there so calmly?”

Lacy chuckled. “This is my life.”

“Open this door, damn it,” Peter Waldrip screamed.

Angela got up, walked to the front door, and screamed back, “Go to hell. I have a restraining order.”

“I don’t give a damn about your restraining order, you stupid bitch. Open this door and give me back my daughter.”

Lacy came to stand beside Angela. “Maybe it would be better if I just went with him.”

Angela put her hand out to stay her. “You will do no such thing.”

Lacy looked at Angela, and then put her lips against the front door. “Please, Daddy,” she said. “Just leave us alone tonight. I didn’t ask for this. It’s what the judge said.”

Her answer was another sharp rap against the door. She screamed and jumped back.

“I’m coming back in the morning, and you’d better be ready to come home.”

They heard his footsteps as he turned and walked away. Angela looked through the peephole and saw him retreat. “He’s gone,” she said.

Lacy said nothing, just turned and walked back to the table, sat down and began eating her ice cream again, as if nothing had happened.

Angela watched her, torn between the image of the little girl who needed protection, and the woman strong enough to stand up to the brutality. A sudden image of her sister flashed through her mind, and she vowed to protect Lacy Waldrip with all her might, even if it meant taking on Peter Waldrip.

Peter walked into the house, slamming the door behind him. “Brenda!”

She didn’t hear him. She was in the bedroom putting away clean laundry, listening to a recording of Bach and dancing joyfully with the music.

“Brenda!” he bellowed again, storming his way down the hallway.

He stood in the doorway, watching her sway to the music. She held her arms in the waltz position and a smile spread across her face.
Just who the hell does she think she is?
She started to turn, her imaginary lover clinging to her arms.

She spied him too late. She stopped abruptly, turned to flee but wasn’t fast enough. He grabbed her ponytail, yanking it hard, pulling her off her feet. She fell to the ground, breaking the fall with one knee. Her arms went up automatically, grabbing his hands to lessen the pain. He slapped her face. “Why did you let them take her?” he screamed into her face. His sour breath revolted her, and she pulled back.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

He slapped her again and pulled her ponytail toward him until their faces were only an inch apart. “Shut up!”

He let go. She fell to the ground. “It’s always your fault.” He picked up his foot and stomped down on her belly. She bent over, grabbing her abdomen and writhing in pain. He kicked her in the ribs. She coughed, spewing blood as she did.

She wasn’t sure if the sight of the blood or the need for his whiskey had made him stop. Brenda knew one thing. If he hadn’t stopped, he would have killed her that night.

He left the room. She sat up, and when her breath returned, she pulled herself up to the bed and sat on the edge.
Why did he do this to her?
She bent over, her belly on fire, blood dripping from her mouth at a steady rate. Her lungs felt on fire as she coughed up more blood. The entire room spun around her. She could hear Peter in the other room, opening cabinets and slamming them, spewing expletives at a steady rate. “God damn it, Brenda!”

She knew what he was looking for—the bottle she had hidden from him last month when he nearly knocked out Lacy’s front teeth. After the
episode
and the makeup sex that followed, he had promised her he’d stop drinking. He had begged her to help him, pleaded with her to throw out all the alcohol in the house. She hadn’t dared throw it out. She knew very well he wasn’t going to stop, and she didn’t want to be responsible for there not being any whiskey in the house.

“Aha!” she heard him exclaim. She went rigid as she heard his footsteps coming back to the room.

When he entered the doorway, he carried a glass filled with amber liquid. He watched her for several moments. She sat rigid, afraid even to move lest she set him off again.

“You’d better get her back.”

“I can’t.” She wheezed out her words, wincing from pain brought on by talking.

She watched his breathing quicken. Reflexively she pulled back as he threw his glass against the wall and advanced on her.

He picked her up, slamming her against a wall. She felt her ribs, still healing from his previous beating, crack. She cried out as a shooting pain spread across her chest. His hands tore open her shirt, ripping off her blouse. She yelped in pain as he roughly grabbed her breasts, bit down on one nipple and pinched tightly the other.

“No, Peter,” she begged. It was the wrong thing for her to say.

“What! You dare to deny me something that is rightfully mine.”

He ripped off her skirt, tore down her panties so hard they ripped clean from her body. He entered her hard, so hard she cried out in pain—hyperventilating from the pain each thrust caused. He was so far inside her she felt his ejaculation. She cried out in pain and humiliation. Then he was done, and his panting in her ear nearly drove her mad.

He turned and walked away, leaving her to slump to the floor. Stopping at the bedroom door, he said, “I want her home tomorrow, or you’re going to answer for it.” She knew he meant it.

She heard his footsteps walking across the kitchen. Then she heard the front door open, and moments later, his car’s engine roared to life. She knew he would go to the bar. There he would find all the drink he wanted, and whatever mistress was handy.

She held her stomach as she coughed up more blood. Frightened, she knew she needed help. She could call Angela Martin, but that would only worry Lacy—who would likely want to come home.

She thought of Dr. Petoro, knowing he would help her. She had left her cell phone on the vanity when she was cleaning the bathroom sink. The bathroom was only ten feet away, but it was the longest ten feet she had ever known. Unable to stand, she dragged herself to the bathroom, stopping to cough every few feet. It was getting difficult to breathe. The distance stretched out before her, but she finally made it to the bathroom. She retched over the toilet, blood spewing as she coughed and vomited.

After the retching stopped, with labored breathing and shaky hands she grabbed her cell phone and auto-dialed Allen’s number. It was cleverly disguised as her friend, Claire—just in case Peter decided to check her phone.

“Hello, this is Dr. Petoro,” a welcome voice answered.

“Dr. Petoro,” she managed to choke. “This is Brenda Waldrip. I need help,” she said, her voice raspy. She coughed again, spewing more blood into the toilet.

“Where are you?”

She didn’t answer. Unable to endure the pain any longer, she succumbed to the sweet darkness.

“I’ll be right there,” he said to the emptiness. He didn’t need her to answer him; he knew from the sound of her panic she had to be at home.

He hung up and rushed to the nurses’ station. “I need the home address of Brenda Waldrip,” he told the nurse on duty. He tapped his fingers impatiently as the nurse wrote down the address.

“Thanks, Becky. Can you please send an ambulance to that same address?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but rushed from the hospital.

He beat the ambulance by four minutes. Not bothering to knock, he turned the doorknob and found the door unlocked. “Brenda?” he called. No response. He walked in, calling her name repeatedly as he advanced through the house.

He found Brenda lying next to the toilet in the master bathroom, spatters of blood and vomit all around her. He knelt down, felt her clammy skin and the blood around her mouth. He reached up, taking a washcloth from a towel rack. He wiped away the blood, looking for signs of an open laceration. When he didn’t find any signs of an open wound, his hands traveled down to her ribs. He felt the four broken ribs from the earlier beating. He suspected one of them had been re-broken and was causing internal bleeding.

He felt her stir and looked into her eyes, seeing the panic there as she struggled for breath. “Brenda, it looks as if you have a punctured lung. An ambulance should be here any second. Do you understand that?” She nodded.

He pulled her head against his chest, stroking her hair and offering comfort. When he looked back into her eyes, she was crying. “He did this to you, didn’t he, Brenda? Please don’t lie for him.”

She nodded again as tears began to stream down her face.

Just then, they heard a loud knock on the front door, followed by the sound of voices as the paramedics trailed down the hallway looking for their patient. “Hello. Is someone here?”

“Back here,” Allen called.

Allen saw the stretcher first, and then Guy Bartle appeared around the corner, followed by a gasp and a look of incredulity on his face.

“Wow! Oh hey, Dr. Petoro,” he said, “strange seeing you here.”

“She’s a friend,” he said.

“What the hell happened here?”

Guy’s partner, Wendy stuck her ashen face in the doorway. “Hi, Dr. Petoro.”

He nodded. “Wendy.”

“What’s up?” Guy asked.

“Her husband likes to use her for boxing practice,” Allen said, sarcasm soaking his words. “One of the ribs broken in a previous injury was re-broken and has punctured her lung. I’ll call ahead and alert surgery. Dr. O’Brien’s on call today.”

“He’s a good one, all right,” Wendy said. “He did my dad’s surgery,” she added.

Brenda moaned when they lifted her onto the stretcher.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Waldrip,” Wendy said. “We’re trying to be careful.”

Brenda nodded, pulled Allen close and whispered in his ear, “Lacy.”

He rubbed the back of her hand, understanding what she wanted. “Don’t worry about Lacy. She is fine right where she is. I’ll make sure she knows what’s happening.”

Brenda felt the sting of a needle, and then one of the paramedics placed an oxygen mask over her mouth. Then she faded out into a dream state, where nothing could touch her, and life was perfect.

As the paramedics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance, Allen called Angela using his cell phone. The phone rang five times before Angela finally picked it up. She was laughing. “Yes,” she said. She paled, and Lacy bolted out of her chair, preprogrammed to receive devastating news.

When Angela hung up, Lacy said, “It’s Mom, isn’t it?” Angela nodded. “Oh, God—I knew it.”

She started pacing the floor, hitting her palm with a closed fist, which she shook at Angela in anger. “I told you this would happen. I knew if I left he would get angry.” She stopped pacing, looked Angela directly in the eye and said, “Is she dead?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head, surprised by the assumption. “She’s quite alive. They’re taking her to surgery, though. She has a pneumothorax.” Lacy looked at her, shaking her head. “One of the broken ribs from the last beating was re-broken and punctured a lung.” At Lacy’s look of panic, she rushed to add, “It’s not bad, but she’ll need to stay in the hospital a few days.”

Lacy shot to the door, opening it with record speed.

Angela, anticipating her reaction, beat her to it and slammed it shut. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Lacy gave her an incredulous stare. “Where do you think?” Talking rudely to adults was unlike her. Her mother’s teachings and her father’s fists had taught her this lesson. Nevertheless, the thought of her mother taking a beating because of her, while she sat there laughing and relaxing, was more than she could handle. She balled up her fist, drew it back, and said through clenched teeth, “Get out of my way, or I swear I’ll hit you.”

Angela put a hand on her arm. “No, you won’t Lacy. That’s something your father would do.” Lacy took a deep breath as tears came to her eyes. “Lacy, please, relax. I’ll get you to the hospital, but first you need to calm down before your blood pressure skyrockets. Do you want to end up back in the hospital?”

Lacy lowered her fist, swallowed deep breaths of air, trying to calm her racing heart.

“Let me get my purse.” Lacy nodded. “There,” Angela said, returning with both of their purses. “I got yours, too.”

“Thanks,” Lacy said.

They made their way to Angela’s car, both of them watching for any sign of Sheriff Waldrip. They got in, looked at each other, realized each of them was holding her breath.

Angela put her hand over her heart. “I never fully understood how much panic one man could cause.”

“Welcome to my life,” Lacy said.

She was silent as they drove to the hospital. Angela periodically glanced over at her to make sure she was okay as if she might jump out the window.

“I’ve got no place else to go,” Lacy said.

“I wasn’t—” Angela began, but Lacy interrupted.

“You were,” Lacy said. She tapped on the glass. “I’m not going to take a nosedive out the window.”

Angela sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Lacy shook her head. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“Do you? Do you really understand how much frustration this is causing all of us who want to help?” Lacy sat silent, looking at her hands balled up into fists and resting in her lap.

They pulled into the parking lot. As Angela slowed for a pedestrian, Lacy jumped out of the car, running straight toward the hospital at breakneck speed.

“Lacy!” Angela shouted. Lacy did not stop. Angela parked the car and rushed after her.

Lacy rushed through the glass door and threw herself on the charge nurse’s desk. “My…mom…was...brought...in...” she wheezed.

Angela caught up. Taking Lacy by the arm, she gave the nurse an apologetic glance and led her away. “If you had bothered to wait for me, I would have told you I know right where to go.”

Angela guided her to the elevator. They rode it to the fourth floor. A sign on the wall had an arrow pointing to the left that read SURGICAL WAITING AREA. They followed the sign and found Dr. Petoro sitting there reading the newspaper.

Lacy threw herself down on a chair beside him. “What happened?”

He looked at Lacy and then Angela. He shook his head. “I’m not sure, exactly. We’ll need to wait until your mother’s out of surgery and able to talk.”

He looked at Angela and smiled. “She called me for help.”

Angela returned the smile. “Bravo.”

“What?” Lacy asked. “What’s so big about that?”

Angela put her hand on Lacy’s shoulder. “It means your mother’s finally coming around. How bad is it?” she asked.