by Shelly Crane
"So, why did you…" she stopped, changing her mind about her question.
"Why did I what?"
"Nothing." She started to get up, but he grabbed her hand easily.
"Tell me. Why did I what?"
She took a deep breath. Was she really about to get emotionally intimate with him? "Why did you turn out the way you did?"
He scoffed. "Like what? A mean bastard?"
"No," she whispered. "Not a mean bastard."
His face was tight, like he was once again struggling with something. "Do you have any idea how much I wish I hadn't hit Elena?"
She felt her mouth drop open. That was the last thing she ever expected him to say. "Why did you?" she asked, tough in her heart, she already knew the answer.
"Because, my mind, the mind that my father gave me and drilled with his rules, made me think that I had to hit a woman to do what was right, to teach her. I needed…to hit something. I know that's so stupid and messed up." His face twisted and he turned so she couldn't see his face. "Have you ever tried so hard to do what you thought was good and right and it was never good enough? I had to hit something, Amy, just once in my life to feel like the man my father wanted me to be. But it couldn't be you. There was no way on heaven or this Earth that I could hit you. But you know what?"
She stayed silent, knowing he was silently torturing himself. He finally looked over at her and she shook her head. He continued, "I didn't feel like a man afterwards. I didn't feel good or right. I felt like the bastard I am and I felt like cutting off my own hand just so I could never do it again."
"I'm sorry, Roger," she told him, pretending not to see the way his eyes glazed with wetness.
"You should never," he muttered and came closer to her face, "ever say that you're sorry to me. Or anyone else in this town."
"I'm sorry for what was done to you. It wasn't right. My being kidnapped wasn't right, but what was done to you wasn't either."
"What's that old saying about two wrongs…" he mused and plopped back in his chair forcefully.
She sighed and licked her lips. "I'm going to do the dishes. Why don't you go take a nap or something?"
"Why?"
"Because you look like hell," she said bluntly, but softly.
He laughed, a real laugh. "Well, then. I guess that's my cue." He stood and drank the last of his coffee in one gulp. "Thanks, Amy. I'll change the locks so my father can't come in uninvited anymore, all right?"
She nodded. "That would be nice, I guess. As long as you won't get into trouble."
He didn't say anything to that, just left the room. She heard his loud sigh and groan as he plopped back into the bed, the springs squeaking a little from the force. She finished the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom. She just needed to keep her hands busy.
She needed to think.
After a while, she took a mini tour of the living room. She hadn't seen it, hadn't even really paid attention before. The first thing she did was check to see if the front door was locked. It was. She understood Roger's position on that and the trust would have to go both ways. Besides, who was to say that she wouldn't one day run when she saw a real opportunity?
She searched his walls and saw his little knick-knacks on a shelf near the door. There was a town bank calculator displayed like a treasure. There was a mug from some coffee shop. There was also a small picture frame with him standing in front of Mitchell's Supply with his father, both looking unhappy and sullen.
These were the things he treasured?
She decided then to set out and find his life, his history. There had to be something. She looked in all the drawers and cabinets and shelves, finding nothing, but eventually opened the doors to the entertainment center. There was one plain red photo album there. She lifted it gently, setting it on the carpet in front of her as she crouched. She opened the front cover and found one picture in the front. It was Roger as a baby.
It wasn't a professional picture, just a candid of a baby playing with a spoon. He was wearing a blue jumper, his black hair piled in little curls on the top of his head. She smiled as she flipped the page, but the rest of the book was empty. Completely empty! What did Roger have to show for his life other than bruises and scars then?
It was then that Amy decided. She needed this man right now, but he needed her. He needed someone to show him some kindness if for no other reason than to be kind. No expectations, no tit for tat, just being good to someone for absolutely no reason at all.
Amy bet that he'd never had that a day in his life. It wasn't fair. She thought about all of the kids in the community being raised by these men to behave a certain way. Was it any surprise when that was exactly what they did?
What Elena had said to her came flitting through her mind. Just be his wife, Amy. That's what she'd do. She'd just do what needed to be done around the house and the office in hopes of Roger seeing that people could care for absolutely no reason at all. There was still come goodness in the world, despite everything.
With her vow tightly in place, she sat on the couch and turned on the television to the news. She leaned back and tried to find something, but most of the channels were locked. She realized, they thought of everything in this place. If she could watch the news, she would know where she was. So she settled on a home renovating show and leaned back to zone out. Some people say that TV rots your brain, but for Amy it was comforting, especially when she felt alone. The TV or the radio was on almost all the time in her apartment, even if she wasn't watching it. It was just the noise, the other voices…
She left the TV on and decided to check out the rest of the house. She found the laundry room by the garage. He had another car in the garage that she hadn't seen before. It had a cover on it and she saw the dip in the cover telling her it was a convertible. She bit her lip and smiled, but closed the door. She loved convertibles, always had. In fact she was so taken by them that in high school she went to a dance once with a Senior and the only thing she knew about him was that he drove a convertible.
She laughed at herself as she walked back across the living room. It felt like forever ago, but she was only nineteen. It was nothing compared to the grand scheme. Nineteen, married, shackled and stolen. She should write a novel about this, she thought.
She used to keep a journal, she may start again. Back in school she journaled every day. She remembered going back and reading about her crushes and being so embarrassed she ripped the pages out. She realized that if she had met Roger in school, or anywhere, she would have liked his looks. She was always attracted to 'quarterback' types, and Roger was definitely that.
She wondered if he'd ever dated anyone. Did they even have a school here? She shook her head. Really she shouldn't care. She was only going along with this until she could leave. She hated to think what would happen to Roger once they realized she was gone though… She shook her head again. She would not think about that.
She went on with her tour and found another bedroom, but there was no bed. It was filled with workout equipment and boxes, and it was very dusty. The equipment hadn't been used since she'd been there apparently. She closed the door and peeked through all of the closets and the bathroom cabinets. Once her tour was done, she decided to see what she could make for lunch and found some thawed chicken. Chicken and rice it was.
So with her vow in full swing, her tour finished, lunch started, Roger's history and family life nowhere near solved, but she had a fuller understanding that he was a victim if nothing else, she was ready to tackle the day, the week, the month if need be.
She would bide her time until opportunity arose in the form of a wide open door.
Chapter 8
She heard a loud thud and then a dull curse from the bedroom. She figured Roger was up and apparently disoriented. She couldn’t contain her small giggle at his stumble. He came from the room, all grumbling and messy hair. He rubbed his hair with both hands and groaned long and loud. She stopped her silent giggle as she felt her chest tighten
. He may be a mean, scarred man, but he was a beautiful man nonetheless. She turned her face away.
"Did I hear a giggle from this room?" he asked and she turned to look at him, but he was looking around the room by then. "Did you…clean?"
"Yes. And lunch is almost ready," she spouted all business like and went back into the kitchen. She was stirring the rice and determining it was sticky enough to be done when he came in. He was staring at her with a questioning look. "What?" she barked.
"Nothing," he said defense and raised his hands. He backed out of the room that way.
She took two bowls into the dining room to find him already sitting there. She went back and got them two sodas. "I was going to make some tea, but you don't have any."
"I don't like tea. Well, I do, but I don't keep it in the house. That was all my father ever drank and all I was ever allowed to drink growing up." He held up his can and smiled at her. "This is my silent rebellion."
She nodded. "Ok. No tea."
"Water is fine for meals though," he continued. "It's what I usually drink, but then again I was eating frozen dinners and sandwiches every day, so. This looks really good."
"I thought you said no sandwiches in this house," she asked in a small voice.
"I said you weren't to make any," he corrected. She didn’t look up, just looked down into her plate. He sighed and went on. "Sandwiches are man's food. It's what he eats when he doesn't have a woman to cook for him. That's what this community thinks and if my father ever came over and we were eating sandwiches, it wouldn't be pretty."
She nodded and took a bite. It was good. Too bad she didn't feel like enjoying it.
"Look," he said slowly and took a big bite, chewing slowly, "I'm sorry. I'm a grump when I wake up. And I've never had to explain my behavior or reasoning to anyone so… I'm sorry if I seem agitated." He cleared his throat when she stayed silent. "Thanks for lunch."
She nodded again and knew it was going to take some getting used to on both of their sides. She needed to just steel herself and keep her plan forefront on her mind. She finished her lunch and then cleared the dishes. She could feel his eyes on her, but she kept working. When everything was clean, she came out to find him watching TV. He was watching the same show she had turned it to.
"I'm going to go and take a shower, all right?" she said softly.
"Of course. Go ahead," he said and smiled a half smile. He seemed to be puzzled by her, but she kept her resolve. After the shower and a fresh set of clothes, she returned to find him in the same spot. She sat cautiously on the high back chair, pulling legs under her. Her eyes were on the TV, his eyes were on her. She tried not to squirm, but it was pretty hard when she could practically feel the questions burning inside him. She held in her smile and felt pretty smug for putting him so off kilter.
"What's that smile for?" he asked quietly.
Dang, she didn't do a very good job apparently. "Nothing."
"Are you…trying to pull something, Amy?" he asked so low, she barely heard him.
She swung around to look at him. "What? No. What do you mean?"
"What's with the nice guy routine?"
She felt her eyes bulge. She had said that exact thing about him. She pressed her lips in a hard line. "I can be nice for no reason at all. I can choose how to react and respond to things. That's the beauty of free will." She stood, angered. "That's something, no matter what you do to me, you can never take away. I'll always be me inside."
She walked away and went into the bathroom. She shut the door so quietly, though she wanted to slam it. She slid down it and cried. She knew this was going to be hard. She took a deep breath. That man out there had never had anyone be nice or kind or gentle to him for any reason, of course he'd be suspicious. She needed to pull it together and keep the plan together.
She wiped her eyes with some tissue paper and smoothed her hair back. She opened the door and he was there, his hand lifted as if to knock. He jumped. "Oh, sorry. I was coming to… I'm sorry."
She nodded and tried to smile. "It's ok. I'm fine."
His brow bunched. "Were you crying?" he whispered. "Amy…" He cleared his throat. "Listen, I'm a jerk, ok? Just…whatever."
"Yeah, whatever. It's fine." She moved passed him, having to brush against him to do so. She ignored the small noise he made as she did so. It sounded entirely too sensual for someone who had admitted that he wanted nothing to do with her and didn't even want her there.
She went back into the living room and stopped, unsure of what to do. She wanted to keep herself busy with something, but the man literally had nothing to do at all. For a woman, anyway. He followed her back in and watched her. So she improvised. "So, your convertible…what is it?"
"You were in the garage?" he asked quickly.
"Yeah," she answered nonchalantly. "I gave myself a tour." She smiled at him coyly. "You kind of skipped that part."
He chuckled reluctantly, as if taken aback. "Yeah. Uh, it's a '79 Cadillac Eldorado. The only thing I ever bought for myself purely for pleasure."
"Why's that?"
He grimaced. "Well, I never had anything that belonged just to me," he said defensively, gruffly. "I work hard and I don’t think there's anything wrong with me getting myself something-"
"No, no, no," she stopped him. "I meant why was this the only thing you'd ever bought yourself?"
"Oh," he said in surprise. "Uh…well the law is that a man has to have a certain amount of money saved up on top of the cost of the bride when he takes a wife. So, my father kind of exploded when I bought this. Said I set myself back."
"How old are you?" she asked, but noticed that the question might seem derogatory with the topic so she continued, "You look pretty young to have…accomplished so much."
"I'm twenty six. How old are you?"
She swallowed. Twenty six… "Nineteen."
"What?" he said and cringed. "Really?"
She nodded. "Mmhmm."
He blew out a 'whew'. "Most of the women are young, but I thought you were at least twenty one, two maybe." She shook her head, though it wasn't needed. "That sucks," he groaned and pulled on his lip with his fingers. "My God, you are so young. They took your whole life away."
"I'm very independent, always have been." She straightened her back. "I was already living on my own, so…"
"Nineteen," he mused with raised eyebrows. "Wow."
"So what do you do on days off?" she asked to steer the conversation.
"This is it," he laughed. "I usually just sit around and catch up on CSI, mow the grass, work out, take a drive."
"Could we…take a drive?"
He cracked a sideways smile. "You want to take a drive me with me?"
She nodded, thinking about how the dance she'd went to with Lionel was wasted. He'd rented some fancy car to impress her and hadn't even driven his convertible the night of the dance.
Roger shrugged. "Sure. My baby hasn’t been out in a while. Let's go."
Amy was teeming with excitement. Not only was she getting to ride in her first convertible, but she could also get a good layout of the town. But mostly, the beautiful convertible. And when she followed him out to the garage, and he yanked the cover off, she saw how beautiful it was. Cherry red and white leather. She sighed and made a quick path to her side.
He chuckled at her, but didn’t say anything as he got in. It started the first time. The engine purred just for her, Amy thought as she relaxed against the warm leather. She was pretty pasty and the white of the leather seemed to give her skin a glow. She smiled as she buckled her seat belt.
He drove down passed his shop and around through downtown. The wind brushed her face as he waved to a few people whose eyes seemed too interested and nosey. After about fifteen minutes, he pulled into a broken down drive-in theater. The screen had branches skewing the view and a long split down the middle. There were vines and broken speaker poles scattering the area.
He parked it in front of the screen and pulled a speaker to set on
his window. He turned and grinned at her. "What do you want to see?"
She laughed. "I think anything they played here is long gone. Why did this close down?"
"Well," he laughed once, "when the men aren't interested in dating their wives, it doesn't make much sense to have a drive-in. I came here once when I was about six with Alex and his mom, but it closed down soon after that. The only ones who would use it were teenage boys and we were too busy being groomed to be stellar husbands to watch movies." He laughed again and shook his head.
"Well…" she mused, "I bet it was nice while it lasted."
"I guess."
They sat in comfortable silence for once as they both looked at the screen and imagined what it was like to have one normal thing like this in the lives of these people. "Your mom never brought you here?" Amy asked.
He scoffed. "Uh, no. I told you my mother was prickly."
"Yeah, but she was still your mother," Amy countered. His mouth tightened. "What?" she asked. "You can tell me."
His pause was loaded. "My mother hated me."
"Roger, that is not true-"
"Would you love the thing that was implanted in you against your will by the man who kidnapped and beat you?" he said harshly.
She caught her breath. Oh.
He went on. "She hated everything about me. She hated him and she hated me for being born and forcing her to be responsible for me."
"Oh, Roger…" He jerked his gaze to hers at her sympathetic tone. "You want to know the saddest part of all of this?"
"Yeah, lay it on me," he said sarcastically, but his eyes never left hers.
"The saddest part…is that you actually believe that to be true."
He looked away and closed his eyes. After long, silent minutes he finally said, "Why?" When she looked at him in question he repeated, "Why? Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?" she breathed.
"Trying to get me to feel something for you," he answered steadily.
"Is that what you think I'm doing?" He nodded. "Then I take it back. This is the saddest part of it all." She stared him down with a serious gaze. "That you think that no one can show you any amount of humanity without an ulterior motive."
