Walk the Line (Kings of Chaos 5)

He bows his head and sighs. “I don’t want Whitney to hear this. Can we talk outside?”

I grind my teeth. “Fine.” I stalk past him to the sliding doors that lead to the deck by the pool. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely unlatch the lock. I step out onto the natural stone deck that leads to the grotto.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t figure things out.”

“I’m not stupid, Brooks. I turned a blind eye long enough.”

“Not quite.”

Pain explodes in my face. Knocked off balance and dazed, I fall back into the pool. The cold water is a shock to my system. It pulls me from my stupor. I struggle to the surface only to be pushed back under. My arms flail as I try to escape the hands holding me down. I sink my nails into his flesh. The pressure lets up for a moment, and I break the surface, take a huge breath filling my screaming lungs with oxygen. He wraps his hands around my neck and forces me back down.

I slap at his face, digging my thumbs into his eyes as hard as I can. My head grows light, and black spots fill my vision. He screams and releases me. I take off, swimming for my life. Years in the river back home as a kid have made me a fish. I know he can’t catch me. I reach the ladder and climb. My hands and legs are clumsy, and tears obscure my vision. I scream for help as I push my trembling limbs to the limit. I have to get inside before him.

I can hear him exiting the water as I take the corner around the pool with wet feet. I slid across the stone and nearly lose my balance. Flapping my arms, I manage to stay on my feet. I reach the door and yank it open. I’m nearly inside when he grabs my robe. I scream and rock side to side, desperate to remove the article of clothing clinging to me. It gives, and I hit my knees, hard. He stumbles back, and I spin, close, and lock the door breathing hard. He freezes, but his eyes are full of murder. He kicks at the glass. It cracks as I scramble to the phone and call nine-one-one. He backs away from the patio lighting.

“Nine-one-one what is your emergency?”

“My-my. Oh, my God. My husband just tried to kill me.” My voice cracks and the severity of the situation crashes down on me like a brick wall. My husband tried to kill me. How the hell did we go from small town girl makes good with the new doctor doing his residency to this? We had a grand southern style wedding, and he whisked me off to a new life in San Diego. How did this happen?

“What’s your name?”

“Blanche, Blanche Birling.

***

The media is ruthless. They take your story and run with it like a starving dog with a T-bone steak. You and your family become cannon fodder. A prominent doctor trying to murder his wife and going on the lamb sells stories. Add a well-to-do family that wants to fight for custody of my teenage daughter, and you have something straight out of a soap opera. Only it’s my life, not a show I can turn off, or a nightmare I can wake up from. The cameras click as I make my way into court. I can’t believe his parents are taking me through this.

I’ve dedicated my entire life to my family. Hell, I wanted more children. It was Brooks who said no. At forty, I’m a pro at this Mom thing, and Whitney is nearly out of high school and ready to leave the nest. I have six months to fight this before she goes off to college. It’s not about wanting to see her because I’m keeping them away. This is about appearances and pettiness.

Brooks has been dragged through the mud. His dirty laundry is being aired, and they want me to suffer for it. My sunglasses shield me from the bright flashes, and the thick shell I’ve grown keeps me from tuning into the questions being thrown my way. I pay my lawyer good money to take care of that. I sold the house. I couldn’t stay there after what happened, and they’d frozen Brooks assets, to help flush him out. I could’ve told them it was useless.

Brooks comes from old Money. Cattle Ranchers, Lawyers, and Doctors line his family tree. I’m sure there are numerous offshore accounts they’ll never get their hands on. We move into the courthouse, and I swear it’s like entering a tomb. The marble, rabid reporters, vicious lawyer, and the possibility of losing what means the most to me turn a building with great bones any other day, into a foreboding destination. I smooth my tailored black Anne Klein suit down and keep my gaze fixed on the shoulder blades of the person in front of me.

I can’t lose my baby girl. She’s the one thing that’s kept me going through all this insanity. I can’t fall apart and be there for her. A Daddy’s girl, she’s had her world shattered. The man she’d held in such high esteem has plummeted from his pedestal, and it was a long fall down that cracked him open like Humpty Dumpty. There’s nothing in the world Brooks could do to set things right.

We were in the public eye. Things had gotten so bad at her school, I took her out and homeschooled her for the rest of the remaining spring semester with tutors. She was excelling, throwing herself into schooling and filling out college applications. Things between us are rocky. She doesn’t blame me, but I’m the only parent around, so I get the brunt of it all. I’m sad to be losing her, but I know leaving for college will be good for her. I sink down into the seat beside my lawyer and wait for the games to begin.

I bite the inside of my cheek as Connie, and James Birling sit across from me. The judge’s chamber brings us closer than we have been in months. Her bleach blonde hair falls around a heavily made-up oval-shaped face. James Birling has donated a lot of money to the fountain of youth to keep her from showing her seventy-two years of life. Her shoulders shake as she dramatically sobs into a handkerchief.

“Don’t let her rattle you, Blanche. They’re all smoke and mirrors over there.”

I nod my head. He didn’t have to waste his breath. I know exactly how fake they are. I was fine as a wife as long as I stayed in my place, agreed with everything Brooks said and kept up with the image he wanted to project. I know they’d tried to pair him with one of their friend’s daughters originally, and I could never shake the feeling that they blamed me for ruining their plan. Elizabeth Watkins made me uncomfortable every single time we ran into her at family events or out in public.

She had this look of adoration that bordered on obsession when she peered up at Brooks. He ate it up and called me insecure for being bothered by her presence. He was probably screwing her behind my back too. Why not add her to the harem of women who were coming out of the walls? Emails, phone conversations, and interviews for the attention seekers were all geared toward my husband’s wandering penis. I’d been tested within an inch of my life, but the negative results did nothing to lessen my embarrassment. Tongues were wagging all over town about how I couldn’t satisfy my husband. Never mind his leap off the deep end. I hate the backward thinking that goes on.

I sit back as James and Connie spin their sob story and grip the arms of my chair. I can’t tell if the judge is buying it or not. My concern is whether or not he’s on their payroll. I hold my breath as my lawyer launches into a rebuttal.

“Your honor, with all due respect to Mr. and Mrs. Birling. I believe their grief

over what’s happened is clouding their judgment. My client is an excellent mother, and the last thing Whitney needs is to be taken away from her remaining parent and the new stable environment they’ve created. My client does not want to keep Whitney away from her grandparents. She’s open to them spending time together, but she won’t push her daughter to do anything she’s uncomfortable with. Whitney will be eighteen in less than three months. If it’s in her best interest to take some time for herself, why would my client force her to do otherwise? I have a write up from Mrs. Teller, her psychologist, giving her expert opinion on this subject.”

He hands over a sealed envelope. I lean forward as he slices the top with a letter opener. The seconds stretch as he reads through the paperwork. All the weeks have led up to this one moment.

“I believe he’s right Mr. and Mrs. Birling. I think the last thing this young woman needs is another move. She stays with her parent. We’ll set up a visitation schedule for you until she reaches of age.”

I slap the chair and slump back in my seat. Now I can truly begin to rebuild from the rubble that my life has become.

***