by Beth Flynn
He pushed my books out of the way and laid me gently back on the bed. Then in one swift movement he straddled me and brought his face close to mine. “Okay,” he said, grinning down at me and kissing my forehead softly. “How about a trip? We can get a house in the Keys for a couple of weeks. Just the two of us.”
I just looked at him and smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. And after a few seconds something did occur to me: something I’d been wanting to do.
“You know, yes, there is someplace you could take me.”
“Name it, baby. I can have Eddie get you a passport. We could go to Mexico, Paris, anywhere. Name it.”
“I want to go to church.”
As hard as it may be to believe, I missed church more than I missed my home. I’d come to rely on my faith for survival from a very young age. I missed the feeling and sense of peace I got when I was there—the knowing that I was loved unconditionally, that I didn’t have to do anything to earn that love. I wasn’t required to cook or pay the bills. I was required to do one thing only: accept Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior. I did that when I was nine years old.
Grizz scratched his chin and sat up. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to asking that.”
I looked at him questioningly.
“I know you went to church every Sunday.”
Of course he did.
“Kit, I can’t take you to your church. I don’t even think it would be a good idea to take you to any church on this coast.”
Years later, I found out Grizz’s connections had told him it was my church, and one nun in particular, who’d pushed investigators to search for me. Sister Mary Katherine had taken a special interest in me. She was worried about the young girl who attended Mass every Sunday by herself. She’d become my friend and my confidant. I missed her more than I missed Delia.
When I allowed myself to think about it, I didn’t miss Delia at all. I just missed the familiarity of a home. I knew what to expect in that home. Living at the motel was frightening in that it was fraught with uncertainty. I rarely allowed myself to think about what was going on outside the door of number four.
That’s how I was able to cope for years with the reality of my husband’s criminal behavior: I ignored it. I actually pretended it didn’t exist. Of course, there were some things I couldn’t avoid or ignore, so I played a little mind game with myself. I called it “that didn’t happen.”
When investigators refused to cooperate with Sister Mary Katherine, she used Catholic churches up and down the east coast of Florida as a way to keep my disappearance in the spotlight. Even if it was just within the church circle, it was kind of her to do it.
“Why not?” I asked him now. “If we went just a little north or even south toward Miami, I think it would be safe.”
“I just think there’s more of a risk of you being recognized. But I’ve got an idea. Trust me. I’ll take care of it.”
And he did. For many years after this conversation, early every Sunday morning, Grizz either took me himself or had someone else drive me across Alligator Alley to the west coast of Florida. It was about an hour and a half drive. Sometimes, he would take me over on Friday or Saturday and we would get a hotel. He never attended church with me. But he was always waiting for me when I came out. I eventually started attending on my own coast as development migrated west. But he kept his word in those early years.
Christmas and New Year’s soon passed, and I was approaching my real sixteenth birthday. I wasn’t sure if Grizz knew when it was. I was wrong. Grizz knew everything. Well, almost everything.
I woke up that morning and busied myself like I usually did. Grizz was outside doing something with Chowder. He peeked his head in number four and asked me to come outside. When I got outside, there was a shiny new black Trans Am parked in front of the motel. He was smiling at me.
“Do you like it?”
“You got a new car? Of course I like it! I love it! Take me for a ride.”
“No, you take me for a ride,” he smiled. “It’s yours. Happy birthday, Kitten.”
He hugged me and kissed me on the top of the head. I didn’t know what surprised me more—the fact that he remembered it was my real birthday, or the fact that he bought me such an unexpected and expensive gift.
“The keys are in it. Let’s go,” he said. “You drive.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
I blushed. “Because I don’t know how to drive.”
____________
For someone who knew every detail about my life, this seemed an important one that he missed.
“I know you don’t have a real license, but Ann Marie O’Connell does,” he told me; Eddie had made me a new license after we were married.
“But, Grizz, I don’t know how to actually drive. You know, steering and gas and all that.”
“What do you mean? I saw your driver’s permit last year.”
“Yes, I took a written test to get a driver’s permit last February, but drivers ed classes weren’t until summer school. I don’t need to tell you why I never got to take them.”
The look on his face was comical, and he started laughing hard. “How’d I miss that?”
I started laughing, too. “I don’t know, but you did.”
“Hop in. Let’s go. You’re going to learn to drive.”
For the rest of the month, I got driving lessons from Grizz, Grunt, Chowder and Moe. Whoever was available took the time to give me lessons. But it was Grizz I spent the most time with. There were certain rules he insisted on. At least in the beginning, I was never to go anywhere by myself. I was never to go anywhere near my old neighborhood. I could live with those rules, but he made one exception that angered me: I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere alone with Sarah Jo.
I’d argued back that he’d told me I couldn’t go anywhere alone, and if Sarah Jo was with me, I wouldn’t be alone. Besides, he himself had dropped the two of us off at the movies a few times. But it was no use—he didn’t like it. It wasn’t about Sarah Jo; he just didn’t like the idea of two young girls riding around in a Trans Am.
“Then you should have bought me an ugly old clunker,” I yelled.
It was our first real argument, and I fought him tooth and nail. But of course, I didn’t win. I stayed mad at him for days. I ignored him. I wouldn’t cook for him. I definitely didn’t sleep with him. I locked myself in one of the unused motel rooms and did my homework and read my books, only coming out to eat and check on Gwinny. He left me alone, which only made me madder.
Then something happened that I didn’t expect: I realized I missed him.
I guess it was because I’d been taken from a home where I’d been virtually ignored. Here, Grizz lavished me with attention and gifts. At this point in our relationship, he’d never denied me anything, other than my freedom. Not counting my first sexual experience with Grunt, he’d never hurt me.
Actually, he spoiled me rotten.
Grizz was quiet. He didn’t talk a lot, but he was affectionate. And it wasn’t always the sexual affection. He was touchy, always holding my hand whether in public or strolling out to the pit. If I walked out to the pit alone, he would pull me down to sit on his lap. I woke up every single morning wrapped in the warmth and protection of his arms.
I tried to think what I had given him in return. Well, I gave him me, if that counted. I gave him my loyalty. I certainly could’ve figured out a way to escape and warn Delia and Vince. But was loyalty enough? By then, I’d started feeling guilty, so I made my way back to number four. I didn’t know if he would be there or not.
He was there, relaxing in his recliner with his eyes closed. I knew he wasn’t asleep. The stereo was on. He was listening to one of my albums. Seals & Crofts. “Summer Breeze” was playing.
I’d accumulated my own record collection by now. It was rare that Grizz and I agreed on the same music. He liked hard rock, and although I liked some, I also enjoyed easy listening:
Loggins & Messina, Bread, Paul Davis, ABBA.
I stood over him. “Since when do you like Seals & Crofts?”
“Don’t,” he said, his eyes still closed.
“Then why are you listening to them?”
“Because you love them and I love you and I missed you.”
Did he just say he loved me? My heart thudded.
Grizz opened his eyes then and looked at me.
“Does that surprise you, Kit?” His green eyes were warm. “That I’m in love with you?”
I didn’t know what to say. Even after last year’s explanation of the reason behind his obsession with me, I’d never heard him talk about love.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled the recliner—and him—into an upright position. Then I sat down on his lap and wrapped my arms around him.
“I love you too, Grizz,” I said.
And I meant it. It was probably more of a shock to me than to him.
He kissed me then. “Can you do me a favor, baby?”
“Yes, Grizz, anything.” I answered him, smiling. I knew what he was going to ask for, and I was willing.
“I have a bad headache. Can you get me some aspirin?”
I pulled back and looked at him, surprised. “Sure.”
“What’s wrong?” I said, returning with aspirin and some water. “Have you been in the sun or something too long? You never get headaches.”
“Nah. I think it’s from listening to your music.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was now March, and I was finally ready to give Grizz his Christmas present. We’d just eaten dinner, and he went to sit down and do some work at his desk. I went into the bedroom and brought out his gift. It was heavy.
I sat it on the small coffee table and grinned at him. “Merry belated Christmas!”
He turned around and noticed the present. I must have shocked him. Either he wasn’t used to getting gifts or he thought I’d forgotten I owed him one. He just looked at me.
“Are you going to just sit there and stare at me or are you going to open it?” I teased.
Without saying anything he got up and started to pick it up with one hand, but I think the weight of the box surprised him.
“Whoa, what’s this?”
“You have to open it and find out.”
He picked it up with both hands and sat down on the couch. I sat next to him and pulled my knees up and rested my chin on them. He slowly started to unwrap it. It was a plain brown box. He opened the box and lifted out one of many individually wrapped pieces. I watched his face closely as he unwrapped the first one.
It was a customized chess set, all handcrafted pieces of ivory—skulls and other symbols.
He held up the first piece and looked at me.
“How? How did you get this for me, Kit? If the rest of the pieces are this intricate, it must have cost you a fortune.”
“Doesn’t matter. Do you like it?” I hugged my knees tighter. “Just tell me you like it. Oh, and the chessboard is under our bed! It was way too heavy to wrap. You like it, don’t you?” Suddenly I was worried whether I chose the right gift.
“How did you pay for it?” His eyes were serious.
“That’s a terribly impolite question, Grizz. Don’t worry, I didn’t use your money, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking that at all. I just can’t figure out how you came up with this kind of money.” Carefully he unwrapped every piece, setting them all down in an even line on the coffee table.
I knew the minute he figured it out. I could tell by the expression on his face. It was one of only two times I saw something close to tears in his eyes. The second time was when I showed him a picture of our daughter when I visited him in prison.
In barely a whisper, he said, “You hocked your guitar.”
____________
He was right. I’d hocked my guitar. It was a special guitar, and I’d received a substantial amount of money for it. Thank goodness Guido had picked it up in Delia’s yard sale before she sold it. She never did believe me when I’d told her how valuable it was.
I got the guitar as a gift in 1969. I was nine years old and attending Woodstock with Delia and Vince. The only thing Delia let me bring to keep myself occupied were some magic markers and coloring books. We’d set up our small camp next to a young couple. I wish I could remember their names. The guy had a guitar he would bring out and play when there were no performances. He caught me staring the first day. I think they both felt sorry for me since Delia and Vince were either wasted or asleep. He gave me guitar lessons. He showed me the basic notes and let me practice on his guitar.
It rained that weekend and performances were delayed and it was a muddy mess. The young couple left for home late Sunday night. While his wife was packing up, he called me aside and told me he wanted me to have his guitar as long as I would keep learning to play it. I’d already learned “Jingle Bells,” and he said it was good to learn that, but I needed to practice the notes he taught me, too. He said it was an old guitar, but tuned well, and I could keep it. I was thrilled.
The next morning, most of the crowd had cleared out. I woke up to loud music that was so good I was mesmerized. It was Jimi Hendrix playing “The Star-Spangled Banner” on his electric guitar. I tried to wake up Delia and Vince, but they were completely passed out. Before Jimi was finished with his set, I took one of my black magic markers and my newly acquired guitar and hauled myself up to the side of the stage.
“Sorry kid, can’t let you back here,” some guy with an official-looking pass told me at the gate. He had to yell over the sound of the music.
“My parents are working back there and I’ve been walking around with my dad’s guitar. He’s gonna be so mad at me for running off. Please let me back there before I get in trouble,” I lied, shouting up at him.
He either believed me or figured a kid wasn’t much of a threat. He let me in. I was waiting for Jimi Hendrix when he finally came down off the stage. I barged right up to him and stopped him in his tracks.
“Could you please sign my guitar, Mr. Hendrix?” And before he could answer, “I just learned how to play it this weekend.”
I think this amused him because he gave me a big smile. His face was glistening with sweat, and he used his arm to swipe across it. “Sure, gotta pen or something?”
I handed him my magic marker. He wrote “Gypsy Eyes, Jimi Hendrix, WS, 8/18/69” right on the back of the guitar.
“What are gypsy eyes?” I asked him as I tried to make out the words of his hasty scribbling.
“What’s your name?”
“Gwinny.”
“Well, Gwinny, it’s a song I recorded last year, but since you have the biggest, brownest eyes I’ve ever seen, I think it applies to you today.”
I gave him the biggest smile I could muster. “Thank you.”
He didn’t reply. He just smiled and started walking. I took my newly autographed guitar and headed back the way I came in.
“Hey, your parents are gonna be mad if you take your dad’s guitar out there again,” the guy at the gate said to me.
“No, it’s okay, my parents are out there camping,” I said as I sauntered past.
“What? I thought you told me your parents were on the crew.”
“I did. I’m sorry for lying. But I got Jimi Hendrix to sign my guitar!” I lifted it up for him to see.
“Nice going,” he said with a smile.
When Delia and Vince finally sobered up enough for us to leave I showed them my autographed guitar. They didn’t believe it was an authentic signature. I guess it was just sloppy enough that they thought I signed it myself. Either that or they were too hungover to care.
“Yes, I hocked my guitar,” I answered Grizz, my eyes on the ground. “You’ve given me so much, and I just wanted to give something back. I’m sorry it took so long, but it’s handmade and there was no way I could get it in time for Christmas.”
He stood up and looke
d down at me. Then he took my hand, pulled me up and caught me in a bear hug that almost took my breath away.
“It’s the nicest present that anyone has ever given me, Kit. Thank you. I love it and I love you.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Now let’s go get your guitar back.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
By now I’d almost forgotten I was a victim of an abduction. I continued to disguise myself when I left the motel, but for the most part I just assumed people had forgotten about me. I was okay with that. I didn’t want to be found.
There were always new people coming and going, and I did my best to avoid them. I knew what Grizz was. He was a criminal. So were the majority of the people he associated with. I despised that the man I loved earned a living illegally. The only way I knew how to deal with it was to ignore it. It wasn’t always easy.
I’d been living at the motel for almost a year. One day in particular I heard a loud fuss out by the pit—yelling and hooting. Lucifer and Damien were barking. Grizz walked out to see what was happening. When things didn’t quiet down, I went out, too. It took me a few minutes to assess what was happening, and when I did I was horrified.
It was a young couple. He was getting beaten and she was getting raped. Grizz was just standing there talking to some guy and ignoring everything that was happening. The dogs had stopped barking because Grizz had commanded them, but other than that, there was still a frenzy of activity and yelling. I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Apparently, this young couple had been tricked into coming back to the motel. The guys who did it didn’t want the couple; they wanted the couple’s motorcycle. And they made sport of the young guy and his girlfriend for kicks.
I walked right over to Grizz and interrupted him. “Can you please stop this? Do you see what’s going on?”
He looked at me hard. “Not your concern, Kit. Go back inside.”
I looked around for someone I might recognize, but there was no one. Where was Grunt, Chowder, Moe? I saw Monster, but he was enjoying himself too much. He must have raped the girl before I got out there because he was zipping up his jeans while simultaneously kicking the young guy in the ribs. I was outraged. Not my concern? I was witnessing a rape, for goodness’ sake!
