Unspeakable (43 page)

“Um. Okay. I’m not really sure where to start.” I tried to push a lock of hair out of my face. My hand shook so badly that I had to try twice.

“Okay, let’s start with the night your dad was in the car accident,” Detective Renard suggested. His voice was gentle and soothing, and I relaxed a bit.

I shook my head. “Jack was my stepdad. But he raised me for as long as I can remember, so I thought of him as my dad. Everyone thought he was my real dad. I never told them he wasn’t. My mom didn’t either.”

“Where’s you biological father?” Detective Renard leaned his hip against the counter lining one wall of my room.

I looked down and picked at the bedspread. My voice was soft. Barely a whisper. “I don’t know who my real dad is. Neither does my mother. She used to be a… well,” I cleared my throat, “she did a lot of things to survive when she was young.”

“Okay. That’s okay. What happened that night to Jack Moore?”

I looked at the gray screen of the television hanging on the wall across the room and started talking. As I talked, I saw the images on the television as though my life were a movie. The characters floated across the screen in brilliant color, acting out my words as I said them.

And then I was there. I wasn’t just watching anymore.

I was living it again…

Three years earlier…

“Let me drive, Jack. You’ve had too much to drink.” My mom reached for the keys.

Jack slapped my mom across the face. A perfect red handprint colored her cheek. “I’m fine. Keep your damn hands to yourself.”

My stepdad slapped my mom around, especially when he’d drink. And he was jealous. She couldn’t talk to any man or he’d accuse her of having an affair. He’d have to know where she was, who she was with, what she’d be doing, and when she’d be home, every time she left the house. And he’d check to make sure she wasn’t lying. He was possessive and abusive.

But he never hit me. He was a great dad. Loving and attentive. He played catch with me in the yard when I decided I wanted to try out for the softball team. And when I wanted to play chess in the fourth grade, he bought a book and we learned how to play together. He was awesome. I knew he loved me, and I loved him. But he was different with my mom. I never knew why.

We were at a barbeque at Jack’s friend’s house. He’d been drinking. He shouldn’t have driven, but he wouldn’t let my mom drive. The car swerved down the road, crossing over the middle line before he’d jerk into our lane again.

The road we were on was curvy. It twisted its way through expensive properties and undeveloped woods. It was a dangerous road on a good day.

My mom held on to the stabilization handle. “Jack, slow down. There’re too many tight curves.”

“I know how to drive, Janine. Just shut the hell up.”

“Willow, sweetheart, are you buckled in good?” my mom asked looking into the backseat.

I nodded, but my mom reached back and pulled the belt tighter anyway. It was really tight against me. It almost hurt. But I was scared, so I didn’t say anything.

We came to a sharp curve, and my mom told Jack to slow down. He braked and jerked the wheel. But it was too late. The tires screeched against the pavement. Jack swore and turned the wheel just as we hit a tree. The airbags blew, and it smelled like a gun went off.

My mom sat up and looked around. She seemed dazed, but it was only a few seconds before she tried to get out of the car. She pushed on her door, but it was crumpled and wouldn’t open.

“Willow?” She reached for me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” My voice shook and tears ran down my face.

“Can you open your door?”

I unbuckled and tried my door. It opened with a loud groan.

“Good, good.” My mom climbed over the seat into the back with me. “Get out of the car.”

I hesitated. “What about Jack—?”

“He’s unconscious. I have to get you out first. Go. Go!” She pushed me, and I stumbled out of the car. She followed behind me.

I saw an orange light and smelled an odd odor. Looking over my shoulder, I saw the fire as my mom pulled me from the car.

I pushed at my mom, trying to get away from her. “We have to get Jack!”

She turned and looked at the car, holding both my arms so I couldn’t move. We just stood and watched the fire.

And I heard him. I heard him yelling. He wasn’t unconscious. He screamed for us to help him. His voice shook. He was scared

“Janine, help me. My buckle is stuck. Janine!” Jack screamed.

He shouted for help, and she just watched. She just stood there. The fire grew. And still, she didn’t help. She stood there, listening to his screams, him pleading for his life.

The fire hit the gas tank, and the explosion vibrated the ground where we stood. I screamed, but Jack was quiet. All I could hear was the fire.

My mom let go of my arms and wiped her hands down her thighs. “Well, that bastard won’t hit me again, will he?”

I took a sip of my water and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. “We thought we were alone. There weren’t any other cars on the road. So my mom and I sat on the side of the road to wait for the police. We knew OnStar would contact the local authorities when the airbags deployed. We just had to wait.”

“That’s quite a mess you have there,” he said behind us.

My mom jumped up and let out a small scream. “Who are you? And where did you come from?” she asked.

“I came from there.” He jerked his thumb toward the house behind him. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “And, as for who I am, I just became your worst nightmare.”

“Wh…what are you talking about?” My mom pulled me to her.

“My name’s Ralph, and I saw you stand here and watch your husband, boyfriend, father, or whoever he was burn to death in that explosion. I was coming to help, but I couldn’t get here in time.”

“You don’t know what you saw,” my mom said through clenched teeth.

“Oh, yes I do. I could hear him yell out to you all the way at the house… Janine.”

My mom’s face paled when she realized Ralph knew her name. The only way he could was if he’d heard Jack yelling it. I started to shiver. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I think I may have been in shock, I don’t know. But I didn’t like the man. He had an abrasive presence. Malevolent.

“So, I think you have a little problem on your hands. When I give my statement of what I witnessed, it isn’t going to go well for you.” The man rocked back on his heels. His eyes never left my mother’s face.

“I didn’t think I had time to—”

“Eh, save it.” He flicked his hand in the air. “We both know that isn’t going to fly. You had plenty of time. You stood here and let him burn to death. That’s murder.”

My skin prickled with goose bumps and my stomach fell to my toes. Murder? No, no, she didn’t murder Jack. But… she didn’t help him either. He was still alive, and she just stood there. A knot grew in my chest. It swelled until it became painful, pushing my organs out of its way. I rubbed my chest and tried to take a breath, but the knot cut off the air to my lungs and I could only take small, fast gasps.

What is it? I wondered. What’s happening to me? It must be grief—Jack is gone.

But it wasn’t grief. It was anger. Pure rage. At the man. At Jack for driving. At the road for its curves. At her for not helping him. Especially at her.

“Do you have an insurance policy?” Ralph asked my mother.

She nodded and looked over her shoulder. We could hear sirens in the distance. It would only be minutes—maybe less—before they were on scene.

He leaned in, eyes bright. “How much?”

“Two million,” my mom whispered, “plus whatever I can sell his carpentry business for.”

“Well, then, we may be able to work something out. You have money, and I happen to need money. Give me some of your insurance and I’ll keep quiet.”

The sirens were closer. Just around the bend. “Tell them I didn’t have time to get him out before the explosion and I’ll give you half.”

Ralph smiled and held his hand out. My mom took his hand, and they shook once. Seconds later, the police arrived, followed by the ambulance.

We all gave our statements: “Jack had too much to drink. He took the curve too fast, lost control, and hit the tree. Janine’s first instinct as a mother was to make sure her daughter was safe. When she tried to return to help her husband, the flames had overtaken the car and she couldn’t get to him. It exploded seconds later.”

The police were satisfied and the case was closed. After a small memorial service, Jack was out of our lives for good. We hardly talked about him after that.

Ralph had told the truth when he’d said he’d become my mother’s worst nightmare. The night of the accident, he insisted that we move in with him and for the next week, he never left her side.

“I’m not letting you outta my sight and risking you taking the money and running. We stick together on this,” he’d told her.

The first night we were at his house, his eyes raked over me and his lips curled in disgust. “Is that yours?”

“She, not a ‘that’,” my mom snapped, “and, yes, Willow is my daughter.”

“Cripes. I didn’t want to have to deal with a kid too. I hate kids. Hey!” He snapped his fingers and waved his hand at me. “Get over here.”

I walked to the recliner where he was sprawled out. His gelatinous belly spread across the seat. “Be seen, not heard. Do what you’re told, when you’re told to do it. Stay out of my way. Don’t touch my stuff. In other words, be invisible and we’ll get along fine.”

I opened my mouth to say something, and he gave me a look and raised his eyebrow. My mouth snapped shut. I nodded and backed away.

The seventh day we were at Ralph’s, he dropped a bomb. “We’re getting married.” He smiled and kissed my mother. She pushed him off her and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Marriage was never part of the deal!” my mom yelled.

I sat in stunned silence. There was no way she was going to marry him. No way. He was a mean, nasty tool. And revolting. He reminded me of an egg, if eggs had arms and legs. My insides started to shake. But what could she do? He knew what she did. He could tell.

“Getting married is the only way I can be sure I get my fair share of the money. You’re not cheating me out of one cent. I will tell what I know, Janine, make no mistake.” He poked her with his finger. “But we can’t get married yet. You need to have a proper amount of time to mourn the loss of your husband. Six months. That’d be good.”

He stood and walked to the stove to fill his plate with more hash. Picking up the skillet, he scraped every last morsel onto his plate. My mom sat at the table, looking into her empty coffee cup. Her shoulders were slumped forward and her face pale. That was when I knew that Ralph was calling the shots. He was in charge.

“During your six months mourning, you won’t spend a cent of the life insurance money. Tell people there’s a hold up or some governmental red tape… whatever. But you spend nothing.”

“What? How are we supposed to live?” My mom stood up so fast her dining chair fell behind her.

“I don’t know and really don’t care. Six months. Then we get married.”

“How long are you going to stay married?” I asked Ralph.

He glared at me. A glare so dark and menacing that I flinched away. “I told you, you are to be seen and not heard. This is your last warning.”

A few days later, my mom found a job in a diner. We couldn’t afford the monthly mortgage payments on the house we lived in with Jack without his life insurance. And if Mom and Ralph got married, she didn’t need the house anyway. So she listed it for sale. We planned to live in it until it sold. It sold two days after it went on the market and we had to move out.

We rented a small trailer in a questionable neighborhood. The trailer was rundown and dumpy, but it was clean and had plenty of room for the two of us. We lived there while Mom and Ralph pretended to meet, date, and fall in love.

They got married six months later.

Then the beatings started.

I told them about the abuse. The beatings. Jaden. The abuse to my mom. Everything. I was almost detached from it. The words tumbled out of my mouth.

Finally, Detective Samuels said, “Okay, Willow.” He laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it lightly. “We’ve got enough. You can stop now. You don’t need to keep reliving that.”