Enticed by the Satyr (Kindred Tales)

It was lunch time so he’d come home for a bite and of course he never put his plate in the dishwasher, even though it was literally right next to the sink. Dishes and laundry and any kind of cleaning were “women’s work” according to Hank so he never lifted a finger around the house.

Mia knew this was her cue to go wash the dish he’d left in the sink. To do anything else would risk his wrath. But she couldn’t give up—not quite.

“What about playing on Sundays at the church?” she asked. “That brought in a little money and it’s only one day a week. You wouldn’t even miss me—you’re always watching football all day on Sunday. It would really help you save up for that pool table if I could at least keep that one little job,” she added enticingly, hoping to use his own self interest to get him to agree.

Suddenly, Hank rounded on her. He took her by the shoulders and shook her so hard Mia’s teeth clicked together.

“I said no and I meant no, peanut,” he snapped, his black eyes blazing. “You’re staying right here to do your real job which is taking care of me and my house and I don’t want to hear anything else about it!”

“But…but the pool table!” Mia gasped, feeling like a ragdoll being shaken by a Doberman in her big husband’s punishing grip.

“Don’t you worry about that, peanut.” Hank released her so suddenly, she nearly fell. “I found a way to pay for the pool table. In fact, I got one on order already.”

“Really? But…but how?” Mia shook her head. She knew that a really high-end pool table, like the one her husband had been lusting over, could cost thousands of dollars. So how could he suddenly afford it? Being the town Sheriff paid okay, but not enough that they could buy expensive items on a whim.

Hank gave her a cruel smirk and she suddenly dreaded what was coming next.

“Oh, I raised the money easy enough,” he said, hitching up his belt again. “I sold your piano.”

3

Mia felt as though the floor was falling out from under her. Had she heard him right? She couldn’t have…could she?

“You.…you’re selling my piano?” She looked at the beloved old upright her Granny had left her so many years ago. Mama had played it too and in a way, it was all Mia had left of either of them. The women who had loved her most were dead and gone, but she could still feel the ghost of their fingers when she touched the ivories, could still hear their soft whispers of encouragement in her ears in the old piano’s muted tones.

“Don’t think you were listening to me, peanut.” Hank belched again. “Not selling it—it’s already sold. Found a buyer online and he’s giving me three hundred for it—just enough to make up what I lacked for the pool table. He’s coming later on today to pick it up.”

“Three hundred?” Mia cried. “But…but I could have earned that for you myself if you hadn’t made me quit everything! I could earn it now if you’d just let me take back a couple of students or play for the church! I could—”

“Sorry, peanut—it’s a done deal.”

Hank gave her a mean smirk and she understood that he liked this. He wasn’t just quick with his fists—there was a mean core in him that delighted in mental and emotional cruelty, too. He had to know that besides keeping her in the house all day, the worst thing he could do was selling her piano, which was her only source of entertainment and comfort. The only thing she had left of her family since he had taken her away from them and wouldn’t ever let her go back—not even to attend her mom’s funeral.

It’s too much, Mia thought dismally. I’ll go crazy in here with nothing to do but clean all day—with nothing to play. And I’ll never see Granny’s piano again!

At this thought, something inside her broke—something which had been strained for years and years as he beat and hurt and belittled her over and over again.

“No,” she whispered.

“What was that, peanut?” There was a dangerous tone in Hank’s voice, one that she’d learned to be wary of early in their marriage. But Mia didn’t give a damn about it now.

“No,” she said louder, and looked up at him defiantly, her hands clenched at her sides. “It’s my piano and you can’t sell it and…and that’s final,” she ended, hoping her voice sounded stronger than it felt leaving her lips.

“What did you say?”

Hank took a step closer, fisted hands at his hips. At six-foot-six to her five-five, he towered over her and he outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds. He had always used his superior size and strength to intimidate her, but Mia was through being intimidated. She had often wondered, during the long years of her marriage, when she would find the breaking point—what one thing that Hank might do that would push her over the edge.