Becca's Baby

“No.” Christine’s gaze dropped, then lifted again.

“But according to the hotel clerk who recognized her from the photo, she looked good. No obvious bruises.”

“So he found her again,” Phyllis said. She turned away, busying herself with the food she’d brought. Food was a comfort to Phyllis, evidenced by her somewhat plump figure.

“The man with her fit Bruce’s description,” Christine confirmed.

“You’ve got a private detective searching for her, a man who was referred to you by an FBI agent, and the maniac still finds her first.”

Christine shrugged. Tory wouldn’t be surprised by that fact at all. Bruce Taylor was obsessed with Christine’s beautiful younger sister. “Their divorce didn’t keep him away from her. The restraining order didn’t. Why should her running away have made any difference?”

Unwrapping tacos, taking the lids off a container of salsa and refried beans, bringing out little bags of chips, Phyllis set the table.

“Bruce is beyond obsessed,” Christine went on.

“Thanks to his parents’ money and the fact that his father has been buying off various officials for years, Bruce has lived his whole life above the law. His entire life he’s been coddled by his mother. And his father—who virtually ignored him for years because he was too busy being important and making money—compensated for his neglect by giving Bruce everything he could possibly want. Everything money could buy, that is. No is meaningless to him. And apparently, so is everything else—except Tory.”

And Christine had encouraged her sister to marry the man. She’d never stop feeling guilty about that, even though she hadn’t known what Bruce really was until much later. She’d believed that Tory, at least, was going to escape before permanent damage was done.

“As long as I live, I’ll never understand the workings of the mind of an abuser,” Phyllis said, sinking into one of the two chairs in the tiny breakfast nook.

“He scours the earth for her, and then, when he has her, he beats her up. Wouldn’t you figure he’d be nice to Tory? Try to convince her to stay with him?”

Biting her lip, forcing herself to hold back tears she’d given up shedding years before, Christine nodded. A psychology professor, Phyllis knew all the analytical studies of abuse, but that wasn’t what she was refer

ring to. Her friend was questioning something much deeper than science—the human soul. And how one could be so damaged. Christine had given up wondering about that.

“Instead, he sees everyone she looks at or speaks to as a threat—someone who might take her away from him—and he has to punish her. If he could only get her to quit looking or speaking, he’d be home free.” Christine said the bitter words aloud, but she was barely conscious of being in the room. She sank into the empty chair across from Phyllis, elbows on her knees, and leaned forward, staring at the swirled gray pattern in the tiled floor, afraid the smell of food would make her sick.

“Along with his father’s fortune, there’s a huge number of employees to do his bidding, to hunt Tory down. And considering all the officials the old man’s paid off over the years, there’s an unending supply of connections, too.” Christine sighed. “He says if he can’t have her, no one else will,” she told her friend, feeling as helpless as she had most of her life. Somehow she had to be strong for once. Had to step in and do something for Tory.

Phyllis got up and began to rub Christine’s back. Christine almost flinched at the contact, willing herself to remember that Phyllis was her friend. That her touch was safe.

“What are you going to do when you find her?” Phyllis asked.

Christine noticed that Phyllis hadn’t said if, and was grateful. After all, a couple of weeks was a long time. Anything could have happened between then and now.

“I’m taking her to Arizona with me,” Christine said. “He’d never expect that. He has no idea where I’m going, would never think to look for me at a school that isn’t Ivy League and would never expect her to be with me, anyway. He knows I’m terrified of him. Besides, Shelter Valley is hardly big enough to be noteworthy.”

“And small towns have their own laws,” Phyllis added, sounding as though she approved of Christine’s plan. “Bruce’s contacts won’t have power there.”

That was exactly what Christine was planning on. Tory was the only thing that made living bearable. And she’d gotten Tory into this mess. Somehow she’d get her out of it.

Phyllis dug into her tacos, and after a few more minutes, Christine joined her. She’d learned a long time ago to shut herself down when things were too overwhelming to endure. Shut down and cope. And pretend. She’d perfected the art of pretending.

“So,” Phyllis said later as the two women sat curled up on opposite ends of Christine’s couch, cappuccinos in their hands. “You plan to help Tory.”

Wary at her friend’s tone, Christine stared into her cup. “Absolutely.” She sincerely hoped Phyllis wouldn’t try to talk her out of it. Nothing was going to stop her this time. Nothing.

“Without professional assistance.”

Hadn’t Phyllis heard anything she’d been saying all these months? Professionals had no power. They spouted textbooks and laws. Christine could do that with the rest of them.

“I’m doing this, Phyllis,” she said. Christine had given in all her life. She wasn’t giving in this time. Her life had to stand for something. At least once.

“I know that,” Phyllis said, her tone softening as Christine’s hardened. “I’m not trying to discourage you.”

Christine glanced up, a little shocked by the sisterly love she saw in Phyllis’s eyes. She still wasn’t used to the fact that there was someone in her life who was on her side. Wasn’t sure she’d ever be used to that. Or able to trust it completely, either. Phyllis could change; her mood, her feelings, could change. It happened all the time.