You’d be amazed what waxing your mustache off and plucking that unibrow would do. But is there a tactful way to say that without sounding like a mean bully? No. “So you really believe Brittany might try to commit suicide, Chris?” I asked. “It’s difficult to think of that bubbly Barbie-princess doing something like that.”
“I don’t know the girl, but yeah, I do. I guarantee it has already crossed her mind.”
I remembered Brittany’s words at the fitness center. I’ll be ruined; my family will be ruined. God, I wish I was dead.
Chapter Eleven
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
MONDAY • JULY 1
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
Keeping this post private. Ruby reads my blog and she cannot know about this.
Pop called around lunchtime today. “Honey? Your mother needs you. She’s had some bad news, and I’m just passing through L.A. now and can’t turn around and go home. If I could I would, but your sister has to be out of her apartment by tomorrow morning.”
Was Mom sick? Ruby had breast cancer in her fifties, and Mom is fifty-three now, so of course I automatically went to the worse scenario. “What is it, Pop? Does she have cancer?”
“No, nothing like that. But the story is hers to tell, not mine. Take Daisy with you. You know how much she loves her.”
I barely got the front door unlocked before Daisy shoved her way through, searching for her grandma. From the kitchen window, I saw Mom sitting on the stone bench by the pond that she and Pop had built several years ago. Daisy had a paw on her lap and was kissing her hand. I pushed through the screen door and hurried to her.
“Pop said you need me.” I sat, pulling her trembling body close. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“What is it, Momma?”
She scratched behind Daisy’s ears. “You will be so disappointed in me, Katy.”
“Mom, I could never be disappointed in you. Just tell me what it is, okay? You’re scaring me.”
A dove couple landed on a protruding rock in the pond and dipped their beaks into the water. Their soft coos seem to calm Mom a bit. “It’s about my Uncle Ted.”
“Grandma’s brother? All I know about him is that she hasn’t spoken to him in years. Nobody’s ever told me why.”
“This has nothing to do with any of that.” A few moments passed while she watched the birds. “One night when I was six, I woke suddenly. I was lying on my stomach and warm hands were rubbing my back. My first thought was that it was Mom. She always did that when I was sad or sick. But when I came fully awake, I realized the hands were much too big and rough to be hers.”
She paused, drawing a choppy breath. “I was uncovered and my pajama bottoms were down around my thighs. And then the big hands started rubbing places my mother’s hands had never gone. Into my buttocks, under me to my flat little chest and then… into… my… vagina. The scary fingers would not stop digging into me. Rubbing, probing.” Her desolate eyes met mine, wrenching my heart. “Katy, I hadn’t even known about that part of my body until that moment.”
“Oh, Momma. What did you do?”
“I didn’t know what to do.” The birds took flight and Mom watched them disappear. She stood. “I should fill the bird feeder.”
I pulled her back down to the bench. “The birds can wait. You can’t. Please tell me the rest. Please.”
She sat, eyes closed, hands clenched in her lap. “I lay there for what seemed like an eternity. I knew it was my uncle making those awful sounds. I knew it was wrong. Terribly wrong, yet he kept doing it. And it hurt. My uncle was hurting me in my private places. Rubbing me harder and harder and moaning. I desperately wanted him to stop, but I was afraid to say or do anything, so I just lay there, frozen, so he wouldn’t know I was awake.” Mom clasped a shaking hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. “Oh God, Katy. I was so frightened. Finally I got an idea that I hoped would make him go away.”
“What was it?”
“Katy, to this day, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I pretended I was waking up. I squirmed and yawned, made little fussy noises. And it worked. He stopped and I turned on my side, facing the wall, then reached down for the blankets and tried to yank them up. He was on top of the blankets, so the pulling forced him off the bed. I drew the covers up to my nose and curled into a tight little ball, then lay still again, barely able to breathe, pretending I was asleep. After a while, he went to the daybed across the room and pretty soon, I heard him snoring.”
She looked at me and I could see the terrified little girl. “I lay awake all night, afraid he’d do it again, afraid for morning to come when I would have to face him.”
“Mom? Would you like a cup of tea?” I knew the story wasn’t done, but she was shaking so hard I was worried.
“I think a glass of wine would be better.” She moved to the sectional sofa under the pergola and wrapped herself in a red fleece blanket, even though the temperature was in the high seventies. Daisy settled beside Mom, watching her with concern.
I brought out a bottle, poured us each a glass, and cuddled her to me. “What happened in the morning?”
“It’s strange how my memory of his violation is so vivid after nearly fifty years, but the next morning is so sketchy.”
“You were in shock.”
“Yes, that would make sense. I do remember there were blood spots on my sheet and how much that frightened me. I was afraid I was going to die. And it burned terribly when I urinated. I didn’t know what to do or how to tell anyone what had happened. I didn’t even know the words to use. And I was so embarrassed.
“I know I avoided him. I thought maybe this is what some grown-ups do. Maybe they wouldn’t think it was bad. I mean he was my Uncle Ted. That meant he had to be a good guy. Maybe only I thought it was a bad thing. And then everyone would be really mad at me for all the trouble I would have caused.”
“Oh, Momma.” My heart ached for that frightened little girl.
“So I never told.” She sipped her wine. “Those years were so hard. Family gatherings, the holidays, all ruined because he was always there with his family, or we went to their house. And I had to keep pretending nothing had happened. I always avoided him, especially when everyone was hugging and kissing. Eventually they moved across the country. And then a few years later Mom had a falling out with him. So no more pretending for me. I could finally put it behind me. Until today.”
“What happened today?” I asked, refilling her glass.
“For some strange reason, I felt compelled to google his name. I have no idea why. But a mug shot came up. I haven’t seen his face since I was a kid. But no mistaking it. It was him, all right. And under that photo were several newspaper stories dating back over several months.”
“What did he do to get arrested?”
“He was arrested on suspicion of molesting a child. His nine-year-old granddaughter. She told her mother and made a statement to the police. There’s already been a trial and he was found guilty, but he hasn’t been sentenced yet. He faces a penalty ranging from sex offender probation to life in prison for repeatedly molesting a child while in his care.” She paused to drink her wine. “And he doesn’t live across the country anymore. He lives in the Central Valley. Clover. That’s just two and a half hours away. He’s been there for over ten years. He and his wife. My Aunt Shirley. According to the stories, she’s left him and has filed for divorce. Can you imagine finding that out about your husband after forty-something years of marriage?” She took my hand, squeezing hard. “Katy. This is all my fault. If I had told, this wouldn’t have happened to his granddaughter.”
“Mom, back then you were a scared little six-year-old. How can you possibly be to blame for what has happened nearly fifty years later?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t help but feel responsible.”
“Well, I do know. Even if you had told, it’s not like the law would have puni
shed him. It was the 1960s. A very different time.”
“As an adult, I know that if I’d told my parents, he would have been banished from our lives.”
“But your uncle still would have gone on with his perverted life, no matter what. Nothing, absolutely nothing would have changed that.”
“You know, all these years, I have always hoped it was just a one-time thing for him. That maybe he’d been drunk. And I was the only one. That it never happened again.”
She drained her glass. “I mean, the times I saw him after that, he seemed like a happy family man. And he never acted like anything had happened. That’s why I’ve held onto the idea that he was stinking drunk at the time.” She slowly shook her head. “So I never, ever thought…”
“How are we going to tell Ruby?”
“We’re not.”
Chapter Twelve
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
TUESDAY • JULY 2
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
I spent half the night wrestling with my conscience and finally concluded that Emily should stay at my house for a while. Mom’s got enough on her plate right now and doesn’t need any added stress. Before I changed my mind, again, I called Mom first thing this morning and offered my guest room.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
No. “Yes, of course, I’m sure.” No, I’m not. “It’ll give us some time to bond. I should have offered sooner.”
“Oh, honey. I really appreciate it. I’m so worried about telling Mom about her brother that I might not have enough patience for Emily.”
Who does? “So you’ve decided to tell Ruby?”
“I don’t really have a choice now. Sooner or later she’s going to find out, and it’s better if she hears it from me. I doubt she’d ever google him, but it could wind up in the local paper. But I want to hold off until after the Fourth of July weekend. And I do not want Emily to know about this.”
“Okay, Mom. But you do know she’s twenty-two now. Right? She’s not a little girl anymore.”
“I know. And in time I will tell her. But right now it’s all I can do to muster up the courage to tell Mom.”
“What time do you think Pop and Emily will get here?”
“He is trying to get out of San Diego before noon, so he doesn’t get stuck in L.A. traffic. So maybe five. Five-thirty.”
I glanced at my watch. Only nine hours of freedom left.
Chapter Thirteen
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
THURSDAY • JULY 4
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
The hospital cafeteria is not my first eatery of choice, but Sam only gets a half-hour break, and yesterday I desperately needed to be talked down from killing my baby sister. Already.
“Emily didn’t come home until four a.m. this morning?” asked Samantha. “Are you serious? On her first night in your house?”
“Four-o-eight to be exact, but who’s counting? All her stuff is piled in the garage and in the living room, and no sooner does Pop drive away and she’s calling her friends and tearing out of the house. She was still in bed when I left to come here.” I shoveled a hunk of chocolate cake (my lunch) into my mouth, telling myself I would work it off at the gym when my ankle recovered. “So basically I’ve shared about three words with her since she moved in yesterday. Nice, huh?”
“That must’ve hurt your feelings,” said Sam.
“Ya think?”
“And why is she staying with you?”
I told her about Mom’s uncle, knowing Mom would be okay with that. Sam is family.
“God, that’s so awful. Your poor mother, dragging that around all these years. That man should be castrated. That should be the automatic punishment for all sex offenders. But instead they usually get released so they can do it again.”
“I think when it involves a child, it should be the death penalty.”
“Whoa! You’ve always been against that.”
“Changed my mind. This man got to live his whole life a free man. Who knows how many children he’s screwed up? Going to jail in his seventies just means he doesn’t have to worry about anything anymore. Free room and board. Three hot meals a day, clean clothes, free health care. The ultimate retirement home.”
“I’ve always heard that child molesters do not fare well in prison. The inmates have a code, and someone like him is going to suffer.”
“God, I hope so, but I’m guessing that because of his advanced age and the fact that he’s probably not a flight risk, he won’t be placed in a prison with hard-core murderers and gangsters.”
“He’ll still suffer, Katy.” She reached over the table and placed her hand on mine.
“He hurt my mother.” Tears threatened to spill and I tilted my head up, trying to contain them and save my mascara. “And his grandchild. And God knows who else. How could he?”
“He’s a sick man.”
Those words made me flash on my police ride-along. “Please, Tanya. I’m begging you. Don’t kill me. It’s not my fault. I got a sickness. I need help so I can get cured.”
And Tanya’s answer had been: “That’s a joke, Leon. The only cured pedophile is a dead pedophile.”
Sam checked her watch and stood, gathering her things. “Honey, I’m sorry, but I have to get back. I hate to leave you.”
I dabbed my tears with a napkin. “I’m okay. I’ll walk you back.” I wrapped my cake in a napkin and stuffed it in my purse, in case I had a chocolate emergency later.
Today
It’s fourth of July. It used to be one of my favorite holidays, but now I have a sweet doggy who is terrified of loud noises like firecrackers. So, instead of shooting off fireworks tonight at my parents, I’ll be sitting in the closet with Daisy panting on my lap, listening to soothing yoga music.
Chapter Fourteen
BETTER DEAD THAN WED
MONDAY • JULY 8
Posted by Katy McKenna
Private
I’m too angry about my sister’s continuing selfish, rude behavior to even blog about it, so this morning I took a beginners’ yoga class at Forever Fit, hoping it would cleanse my “chi” of my seething sister-hate. Brittany wasn’t at the desk when I signed in.
The yoga studio was softly lit and sandalwood scented, bringing back childhood memories of strolling through Chinatown in San Francisco with my folks. A slate-backed waterfall trickled down a wall flanked by tall windows revealing a stand of bright green bamboo growing outside. Tranquil spa music soothed my rotten mood as I set my yoga mat as far away from everyone as possible.
An elderly woman with long silver hair glided to the waterfall. She placed her palms together in front of her slender chest and bowed. “Namaste. Greetings, everyone.” Her kind eyes floated around the room. “I see we have a new pupil today.”
Everyone turned to me and did the namaste thing again.
“My name is Moonlight.” Her tranquil voice was barely above a whisper. “What is yours, dear friend?”
“Katy McKenna,” I said too loud, my voice echoing through the room.
“Katy. We bring our hands together at the heart chakra to increase the flow of divine love. Bowing our heads and closing our eyes helps the mind surrender to the divine in the heart.” She namasted me again, and I did likewise, not so much feeling divine love and more like feeling goofy.
“All right, class. Let’s begin with child pose. Katy, you may want to remove your crocs.”
We got down on our knees, put our heads to the floor, extending our arms along the floor behind us. Easy and it felt good.
Then lifted into cat pose—think of a cat hunching his back.
Then into cow pose—like a swayback horse. I was really liking yoga. The stretches felt wonderful and were easy-peasy.
Next we moved into downward dog. Not quite so easy.
Plank: hard, especially with my bad elbow and sore ankle.
Then back to downward dog, then lifted one leg up. Then
back to plank. Only ten minutes into the class and I was sweating buckets.
Then a series of lunges. Was this really a beginner class? Seriously?
Cobra position finished me off.
Finally it was time for relaxation. Lying with bolsters under our knees and lavender-scented eye pillows, Moonlight played a glass Tibetan singing bowl….
“Katy? Katy, wake up. Class ended ten minutes ago.”
I pulled off the eye pillow and looked up into Moonlight’s ancient, beautiful face. I was groggy and it took a moment to connect the dots.
“You did very well for your first session, Katy. I look forward to our journey together.”
So my question is: Is there a yoga class that just does the nap time?
On my way out, I stopped at the front counter to ask the hunky, bald receptionist about Brittany.
“All I know is she’s in the hospital,” he said. “Don’t know why.”
After I cleared the exit, I texted Sam at the hospital and asked her to see what she could find out. About an hour later she called. “It’s not good,” she said. “She’s in the ER and it looks like she tried to kill herself.”
“Oh my God! How?”
“Aspirin and alcohol. Debra’s her family doctor and—”
“I know that.”
“Anyway, she’s with her now, and I was able to talk to her for a sec. They pumped her stomach and she’s stable, but they’re checking for internal bleeding, kidney and liver damage. Her parents are here, but they have no idea why she did this.”
Murder Blog Mysteries Boxed Collection Page 32
