Lacy's End Page 17

  “Take them,” they all shouted.

  She did, and all the children applauded. Then she and Allen started bunny hopping around the room.

  A loud banging noise startled her from her sleep. She jumped from the chair, her heart beating wildly.

  “Who’s there?” she called. There was no response, so she tried again. “Who’s there?”

  She walked to the front door and looked through the peephole. The corridor was empty. She walked to the window and peered out, holding the drapes open just enough so she could see outside, but nobody could see inside. An examination of the other window in the room revealed the same results.

  She let the drapes fall back, assuming it was the trick of sleep that had made the noise. She turned around and began to walk to the kitchen, intent on making some tea. It was time to make a concrete decision about her and Lacy’s future, and she needed tea to give her the stamina.

  She was halfway across the room when the door burst open, and Peter stood there, the doorway outlining his angry stance. She screamed, ran as fast as she could to the other room, any room with a lock on it. He caught her by the hair, dragging her back toward him. She screamed again, instinctively raising her hand to grab her hair from his grasp. He pulled harder, causing her neck to whiplash so far backward that her head nearly touched her shoulder.

  “Peter, please!” she cried as if he hadn’t realized he was hurting her.

  “Bitch,” he spat. “Who do you think you are keeping what’s mine away from me. Get your scrawny ass and that of our worthless daughter home today or so help me, you won’t know what hit you.”

  He threw her to the ground and was on top of her before she could even catch her breath. He covered her mouth with his. She tasted the vile whiskey and knew he had come straight from the bar. She fought against the bile that rose in her throat.

  “Please,” she tried again as her eyes misted with tears she willed not to come. She did not want Peter to think she was too weak to fight.

  He mashed his mouth against hers even harder, grinding their teeth together, as his hand came down and began yanking her shirt from her waistband, ripping the buttons away.

  “No, Peter…” She started to cry, feeling helpless against the enraged man. “Please don’t, Peter.”

  Suddenly he flew off her, his back and shoulders colliding with the wall. She lay there gasping for air, her body exposed. She saw Allen standing over them, anger reddening his face. “Get up,” he shouted. When Peter didn’t comply, he picked him up by the back of his shirt collar. “What’s the matter, not so tough when you’re picking on someone a little closer to your size?”

  Peter stood, bent over as if waiting for a huddle with the football team. He rested his palms on his thigh, huffing as he fought to regain his breath. “Mind your own house, Doc,” he managed to wheeze. “My wife and daughter are none of your concern.”

  “And they’re not your punching bags, either.”

  Brenda struggled to her feet, reaching toward Allen. “Stop!” she pleaded. “Please don’t antagonize him.”

  Allen stared at her with a mixture of disbelief and compassion. He took a tentative step toward her, all the while watching Peter out of the corner of his eye. “You don’t have to take this from him.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t even bother wiping it away. The tears had become such a regular part of her life that she hardly noticed them anymore. She turned to Peter. “Please go,” she begged.

  Peter, having regained his breath, straightened his uniform. “You’ll be home when I get home?”

  She nodded.

  Peter walked toward the door. As he reached it, he turned back. “And Lacy, too?”

  She shook her head. “No, not Lacy. She’s just a child, Peter. I’ll not let you hurt her anymore.”

  He walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

  Allen rushed to her side, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You can’t be serious, Brenda. You can’t return to him.”

  “I have no choice,” she protested. “He’ll just be back again and again until he gets his own way. You saw his strength. I’m no match for him.”

  “You have the law on your side.”

  “He has the law on his side!” she screamed, her words punctuating the air and then bouncing back to echo in her ears. “You know what happened when Charlie tried to interfere.”

  “But the attorney general—”

  “Isn’t going to do anything,” she finished. “And even if he does, it will be too late to save me.”

  His voice grew quiet, and his heart filled with love as he looked deep into her eyes. “You have me,” he said.

  A tear slipped down her cheek as she choked back a sob, trying to smile. “Not if we’re both dead.” She backed away from him. “I have to go.”

  He shook his head. “No, Brenda. Think of Lacy,” he pleaded, feeling a stab of guilt for using her own daughter against her.

  She rushed forward, a burst of anger pouring from her as she clenched her teeth, pointed an accusing finger at him. “Don’t you dare use Lacy against me. I’m doing this for her.”

  A sudden inspiration flew to his mind, and in his mind’s eye, he saw a smiling, happy Brenda. “Give me an afternoon—just one half-day to show you another world.”

  She hesitated, wanting with all her might to do as he asked but afraid of what Peter might do to her if she disobeyed. “I can’t,” she said. She bent her head slightly, pleading understanding with her eyes.

  “You can,” he said. He held up one finger. “Just one half-day.”

  She chewed her lower lip, weighing her options. She had always been a no-frills, down-to-earth girl—mostly out of necessity, but also because she didn’t believe in frivolous desires of the heart. Her clothes were tidy and clean—carefully tailored so as not to show off her womanly curves, her hair worn long to save on styling. She wore no makeup, except when she was covering up bruises. It didn’t make sense that Dr. Allen Petoro would have any interest in her, other than as the Good Samaritan he presented to her. So why then, did she see an expression of love in his eyes? Was she mistaken? Was that look compassion, or worse—merely pity?

  “Please,” he begged again, noting her hesitation.

  Finally, she nodded. “One half-day. That’s it. I must be home by five o’clock.”

  “Do you lose a glass slipper and does your carriage turn into a pumpkin?”

  She grinned at his wry attempt at humor. “And my gown shall turn to rags.”

  He laughed, hugged her to him as he said, “You would be beautiful in them.”

  She tried a smile. “Thank you.”

  He grabbed her hand, pulling her to the door like a teenager. She laughed. Peter had never made her feel so alive. I’ll savor it for just awhile, she thought, until the clock rings the magic hour, and it’s back to the cinders for me. She tried to push away the thought, working hard to enjoy what lay ahead of her.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked as she buckled her seatbelt and watched him climb in beside her.

  He leaned over. “I told you, I’m going to show you what else is out there.”

  They started with lunch. It was not the usual grubby diner she was used to, where the waitresses openly flirted with Peter, even though she was sitting right there. It was a real restaurant with table linens and water with lemon slices, served in real glasses, instead of the stained plastic tumblers at the diner.

  Allen pulled out her chair, pushing it in as she sat down. Peter had never done that. Once, when they had gone out of town to attend her mother-in-law’s funeral, they had eaten in a restaurant with the rest of the family. Peter’s brother, Henry, and his brother-in-law, Matt, had both helped their wives sit. Brenda had stood, waiting, not sure what she should do exactly. If she sat too soon, Peter might get angry with her for making him look like a fool in front of his family. On the other hand, if she stood too long, he might accuse her of making him look like the fool for not seating h
is wife. It was clearly a dilemma for her. Her brother-in-law took the decision out of her hands when, after helping his wife into her seat, he came behind her and held her chair for her. She blushed, both with embarrassment and with fear of Peter’s reaction. Peter had said nothing and never mentioned the incident. Inwardly, she was delighted at the attention.

  “What shall we have?” Allen asked.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “It all looks so good.” She perused the menu, finally saying, “You order for both of us. I’m no good at this kind of thing.”

  “All right,” he said.

  He ordered them both lasagna, and she thought that was a good choice.

  When their server had placed plates of fresh salad down in front of them, Brenda suddenly realized how hungry she was. She hadn’t eaten the night before or that morning. She began devouring the salad, and then laughed as Allen grinned at her.

  “I’m, sorry. I’m starving,” she said, blushing.

  “It’s okay. I’m enjoying watching you eat. Tell me about you,” he said, when she began to slow down.

  She swallowed and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. My mother died when I was a little girl, wavering on puberty, on the cusp of adolescence. My father took care of me to the best of his ability. I got into the usual adolescent scrapes—did my share of rebelling, that sort of thing. Dad treated me more like a servant than a daughter, but I accepted it.” She sighed and her eyes misted over. She took a deep breath, blinking several times, forcing back the tears. “When I met Peter, I thought he would be my way out of that stupid trailer. It didn’t happen, though. He hit it off so well with my dad that it sealed my fate. There was only one thing Peter Waldrip wanted from me, and my father was willing to look the other way while I gave it to him.”

  He touched her hand with his, trying to offer support. When she didn’t protest or pull away, he left it there. She picked up her water glass and took a big swallow. “I can’t believe this is how my life ended up. My mother wanted such big things for me.”

  “Did your dad ever beat you?”

  She shook her head. “No, Dad was heavy on discipline but never beating. My mother…” but she broke off, shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  He looked purposely at her. “You can tell me.”

  She mused over the question. She picked up the salt shaker on the table, rolled it around in her hands as if trying to decide whether to use it or not. He took it from her, setting it back on the table. “Salt’s bad for you. Say your piece.”

  She looked him in the eye. What did she see there? Anger? Loathing perhaps? “I've been thinking my mother never would have let my father do to me what Peter does to Lacy.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You can stop him, Brenda.”

  She shook her head, shaking off his accusation. “Tell me about you,” she said.

  Their server came and asked what they would like for dessert. “None for me,” she said.

  “We’ll both have spumoni,” Allen said. When she started to object, he held up his hand. “You can’t go to an Italian restaurant and not have spumoni.”

  She laughed. “Okay.”

  “So, about you?” she asked again after their server had left.

  “Nothing exciting about me,” he said, grinning. “I was born an Iowa farm-boy. Mom and Dad are still there, but all of us kids have moved on. Dad doesn’t work the farm much anymore. He hires ranch hands mostly now. The foreman oversees the bulk of the operation.”

  Their server returned carrying two bowls of spumoni ice cream. They both smiled in thanks, and he trotted off again. “It looks delicious.”

  “You’ve never had spumoni before?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve never eaten in an Italian restaurant before tonight.”

  His mouth dropped and she giggled. “It’s not the end of the world. Peter doesn’t like Italian food, and my father and I rarely ate out.” She put a bite in her mouth and smiled. “Hmm.” She gestured at him with her spoon. “Finish your story.”

  “Christopher’s the eldest. He’s a photojournalist and is off somewhere in Iraq right now.” She winced. “Yeah, that’s the same reaction my mother had. Pammy’s next in line. She married a doctor who is a neurosurgeon in New York. She gets home more than any of us do. Then there’s Bradley, a news editor, also in New York. Mom’s grateful at least one of her offspring is close. Although, in truth, she sees Pammy and Ethan more than any of us.” He sat back and placed the fingertips of both his hands on his chest. “Then there’s me. I’m the baby, and well, while I’m no neurosurgeon, I am a doctor. So there we have the entire Petoro clan.”

  She smiled. “It sounds nice. I often wish I had a large family.” She grew somber for a moment. “I often thought Peter and I might have more children, but not with the way things are.”

  “That’s probably not a bad thing in your circumstance.”

  She nodded but added nothing.

  He looked down at the melting ice cream. “Come on, let’s go. I have something to show you.” He stood, took a couple bills out of his wallet and set them down on the table. He extended his hand toward her. She looked at it for a moment, wondering if she took it, how it would look. He smiled encouragingly at her and tipped his head to one side. Finally, she reached out and took the hand. He led her from the restaurant, still holding her hand, and helped her into the car, something Peter had never done. She liked the feeling.

  He stopped the car in front of a run-down, yet tidy building. The sign across it read 5th Street Clinic.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “I want you to meet someone. In fact, there are a couple of people I’d like you to meet today.” She looked at her watch. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll get you home in plenty of time.”

  He opened the door for her, and they walked inside. The waiting room was packed. Haunted stares filled most of the faces, as they waited miserably for their turn to see a doctor. Her eyes scanned the room, resting upon a young woman waiting for her turn. She seemed to be patiently waiting while she worked on some knitting project. She had a bubbling toddler running around her ankles, chattering wildly. When he spotted them, he broke out in a grin. “Dr. Petey,” he said, running and throwing his arms around his legs. “The lady didn’t tell us the truth,” he said, an angry glare settling in his eyes.

  “Oh. How’s that, Connor?”

  “That lady,” he said, pointing at a closed window. “She said you weren’t here today, but you are, too, here. She lied.”

  Allen chuckled. “Elaine didn’t lie to you, Connor. I’m only here for a minute.”

  “Connor, get over here and leave Dr. Petoro alone. I’m sorry, Doctor,” the young woman said. “He just adores you so much.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Baker.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar. He held it so the boy could see it. “Have you made your bed every day, as we discussed?”

  The boy nodded emphatically.

  “Connor,” his mother warned.

  He blushed and lowered his head. “Well, most days.”

  “Uh-hum,” his mother said, clearing her throat.

  “Okay, some days,” the boy corrected.

  He put the dollar back and extracted two quarters from his pocket. “Let’s see if we can improve on that next time.”

  The boy took the quarters, not in the least disturbed about the swap for a lesser amount. “Thanks!” he said running back to his mother. “Look what Dr. Petey gave me.”

  The mother smiled and nodded her approval as the boy climbed into her lap.

  Allen pushed some numbers on a door lock and opened it. They walked through the door and into a frenzy of people in hospital scrubs. All activity stopped as eyes turned toward the unexpected entry. In this downtown clinic, they had to be careful. At any given time, a crazed junkie could walk through the door and demand drugs from them.

  Shoulders visibly rel
axed and activity returned to normal when they saw who their visitor was. A lovely, young woman with olive skin, long dark hair, and emerald eyes smiled at them and came over to give Allen a quick hug. “Hey, Allen,” she said. “What are you doing here on your day off?”

  “I’ve brought a friend for you to meet.” He indicated Brenda. “This is Brenda Waldrip. Brenda, this is Elaine.”

  Elaine smiled at her, a welcoming smile. She looked at Allen, narrowing her eyes. “Another one, Saint Allen?”

  He shook his head. “This one’s different.”

  “Yeah, right,” she said. “They’re all different.” She chuckled. The phone rang, and she turned and walked to answer it.

  “What did she mean by that, Allen?”

  An older Latino man wearing a long, white lab coat walked up, clapped Allen on the back. He said, “She was wondering if Allen was bringing another fledgling to be nurtured.”

  Allen laughed heartily. “I guess you could say I tend to bring home the babies that were kicked out of their nests.”

  “Allen likes to bring home the homeless, so-to-speak, and nurtures them back to life.”

  “I’m not homeless,” Brenda said, in a low, hurt tone.

  The man’s smile dropped, and his face turned red. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just a joke.” He looked at Allen. “I’m sorry, man. It really was just a joke.”

  “It’s okay, Tony. This is Brenda Waldrip. She’s a friend. I’m just showing her around.” He introduced them. “Brenda, this is Tony. Tony runs the lab.”

  She extended her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Tony.”

  He accepted the hand. “I’m really sorry about the comment.”

  She shook her head and did her best to smile. “It’s okay, really. I was too sensitive.”