I’d sent Charlie away easily. Politely, because that’s the way I’d been taught to behave. Firmly, because that was the only way my pride would allow me to speak to him. I’d taken drastic measures to ensure that my parents never found out about the way I’d carried on with a man they’d never approve of and in less than five minutes he’d completely undone every step I’d taken.
I wasn’t even surprised when my dad bellowed my name that night, his voice shaking with anger.
“I have to go, Gran,” I said quietly, interrupting her complaints about the bugs eating her rosebushes. “Dad’s calling me.”
Dad yelled again and this time, Gran heard him.
“Oh, hell,” she said. “He’s in fine form.”
“Charlie stopped by here today,” I whispered, watching the door to the kitchen. I knew it wouldn’t take my dad long to find me. “I’ll call you later.”
I hung up as she protested.
“I know you heard me calling you,” my dad thundered as he opened the kitchen door.
“I was just getting off the phone with Gran,” I said. I kept my voice even and my back straight, even though I wanted to cower against the wall.
His face was red, the way it always was when he was angry, but instead of the quiet, almost emotionless tone that usually proceeded violence in our house, he seemed to be completely out of control.
“You come when I’m calling you,” he snapped, stepping farther into the room.
“I’m sorry,” I said instantly, the words coming without thought.
Always apologize first. Even if you don’t know what you’ve done wrong.
“Your mother said some long haired man came looking for you today,” he said, his voice lowering as if we were having a normal conversation.
I chose my next words carefully.
“Charlie is Gran’s neighbor’s son.” I swallowed.
“That doesn’t tell me why he was here,” Dad replied.
“I’m not sure why he was here,” I said.
The words were barely out of my mouth before the back of his hand slammed against the side of my face.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said calmly as I stumbled to the side. I could barely hear him over the ringing in my ear.
“I’m not lying—” He hit me again on the same side and my vision went black for a moment, making me dizzy.
I’m not sure how I stayed on my feet. The side of my face throbbed with every beat of my heart, and for a second I wondered if he was actually going to kill me because there was no way I could hide the damage he’d already done.
“Slut,” he said nastily.
“Harry,” my mom said cautiously, opening the door. “You have a phone call.”
Dad straightened and brushed his hand down the front of his shirt. His face smoothed into the affable expression he used on the pulpit as he walked around me to pick up the kitchen extension.
Somehow I made it to the living room, giving Dad the privacy he expected any time he had a call.
“Oh, Vera,” my mom said, reaching toward me.
I flinched away. “Why would you tell him?” I asked in bewilderment.
“You know he’d find out,” she said nervously, glancing toward the kitchen. “It’s better if I tell him.”
Staring at my mother, I realized exactly the type of women I would never be. She would never go against my father, not for any reason, no matter how wrong he was or how bad things got, not even to protect her own child. I didn’t fault her, she was only trying to survive an impossible situation, but I would never allow myself to become her. With that realization, I squared my shoulders.
“Marv says you were pretty cozy with that man,” my dad said, striding into the room. “Called to ask if that was your new boyfriend or if he needed to keep an eye out while I was at work.”
Marv was middle aged, thick around the middle, lived across the street, and stared at me whenever I was outside. Of course he’d called my dad. What an asshole. I stepped backward as Dad moved toward me, edging around the coffee table.
“Never can be too careful, he says.”
“Charlie just stopped by to say hi,” I replied, watching him warily.
I nearly peed my pants as he reached down and shoved the coffee table to the side.
I almost got away. My dad wasn’t fast, but he was big, and as I darted to the side, his long arm came out and caught my shirt. When he hit me, his hand was closed into a fist.
I wanted to go limp. I knew that if I showed some sign of submission, he’d stop. I’d watched it happen to my mother a hundred times. As long as she looked like she was sufficiently sorry, he’d let up.
If my mom had said something, if she’d tried to stop him or even screamed in fear, I would have given up. When she didn’t make a sound, her silence became the impetuous I needed to keep fighting. It was the reminder of just how cowed she was that kept me going.