Broken Wide Open: A Stand-Alone Romance

by Susan Griscom

  I silently read the headline.

  Five-Year-Old Boy Slays Mother’s Lover.

  It was about Leo. I looked up at him, but he hadn’t noticed what I’d found, so I continued to read.

  My throat constricted, and it felt like a vice began to tighten around my heart, squeezing. I couldn’t breathe, but I couldn’t stop reading.

  Yesterday, five-year-old Leonardo Amorelli IV, struck thirty-two-year-old Patrick Santini in the back of the head with a fireplace poker in an attempt to save his mother from what he thought was an assault on her life. Police said Mr. Santini had been struck several times with the poker, killing him almost instantly. The child was questioned but never charged, after it was determined that he’d acted in self-defense. After a thorough examination by the county of Mendocino, psychologists deemed Leonardo to be sane and otherwise a well-adjusted five-year-old.

  Leo had murdered my father?

  “Grace, come look at this piece. It goes with the vanity and with a little clean-up, it will look great in one of the rooms.” I heard Leo’s voice, but I couldn’t answer him. I couldn’t even look at him.

  “Grace? What’s wrong?”

  I dropped the newspaper and ran out of the shed.

  “Grace?” I heard Leo call after me, but I couldn’t face him. I couldn’t look at him. I had to leave. I had to get away from him. He’d killed my father. My father had been taken from me when I was so young, and it was all Leo’s fault. I ran to my cottage to gather my things. I couldn’t stay at D’Amoré’s one second longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Leo

  “Grace? What’s wrong?” I yelled as she ran back toward the inn. I glanced down at an old newspaper clipping that I’d been standing on and picked it up.

  When I saw the headline, I knew. I knew why she ran. I’d been hiding from this my whole life. Wishing it had never happened. My father had helped. We’d gone to numerous counseling sessions together, attempting to cope with the horror of what I’d done. I thought Grace had accepted it, though. She’d said she didn’t blame me for something that had happened when I was a child. Had said that she understood it was self-defense. But I guess after seeing this, she’d changed her mind. They were only words, but I was a fool for thinking she’d be okay with my past. Hell, how could she live with what I’d done when I hadn’t really accepted it myself? I was a murderer. She had every right to feel afraid of me after reading that clipping. But damn, I’d thought she trusted me. But I knew seeing it in writing as opposed to hearing it were two different things. I took off after her and caught her arm in my hand just as she was opening the door to her cottage.

  “Grace. Please. I can’t change my past. I wish I could.”

  She swiped at the deluge of tears that dripped down her cheeks as if a dam had broken. Then she began to sob into her hands. She shrugged out of the grip I held her by and went into the room. I followed her in before she could shut the door on me.

  “This shouldn’t have been a surprise to you. I told you what I did. It was years ago. I’d never hurt you, baby, you’ve got to believe that.”

  “Patrick Santini was my father,” she sobbed almost unintelligibly. But I heard the words and recognized the name. It was a name that had been branded into my brain since I was five years old. It haunted me. It was the name of the man I’d killed.

  I wanted to die, but as much as I wanted death to come for me right then, I already felt dead inside. My heart must have quit beating because I couldn’t feel it anymore. It had stopped at her words.

  Disgrace and dishonor flowed through my mind and body. I didn’t even deserve to stand in her presence. I lowered my head in shame. “I am so, so sorry,” I said. Pivoting, I slowly walked away from her. I knew she’d pack up and leave. I didn’t blame her. I had to let her go. I had to give her up, even though she was the love of my life. She’d never be able to forgive me or live with what I’d done to her father, to her and her mother. I knew that. I knew she’d never be able to be with me again. She’d always look at me as the man who murdered her dad.

  Though I hadn’t been running, I gasped for air as I walked down the path toward the cliffside. It was panic that stole my breath. I headed for the spot I’d taken Grace that first night, the night she’d walked back into my life. The night she’d kissed me until she came to her senses. She’d been right to feel uncertain about me. About us. Though neither of us knew why at the time.

  I sat on the edge of the cliff, my legs dangling, like so many years ago when I was a child, unable to come to terms with what I’d done. I thought of Kate and how she’d talked me out of jumping. She should have let me go. The world, Grace’s world, would be a far better place without me.

  I’d taken her father from her. I hit the side of my head with my fist, wanting to feel the pain I deserved. I was the one responsible, the reason she’d grown up without her dad. I’d hurt her back then, and I’d hurt her again now—after I’d promised I never would. If I’d jumped back then, I wouldn’t have hurt Grace. At least not again.

  I gazed out across the ocean toward the horizon, once again ready to take the leap. Then I shook my head. No. What the fuck was I doing? I wouldn’t jump. Death was a cop out. I needed to face my demons and let them torment me for as long as God deemed it necessary.

  I shoved myself backwards, away from the edge. I didn’t deserve the peace that death would grant me. I deserved to suffer from my grief the way Grace had suffered all these years without her father. I’d lost the love of my life, and now my heart deserved to ache endlessly for hurting her.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Grace

  I shoved my suitcase into the back of the Mazda and shut the gate.

  “Grace! Where are you going?” Len yelled to me as he came running out of the lobby and down the four short steps. He must have caught sight of me putting my suitcase in the trunk. He stopped jogging when he reached my car. He was panting and looked a little pale.

  “I have to leave. I’m sorry. I can’t work here any longer.”

  “Why not?” he asked while catching his breath. He was a little overweight, but not alarmingly so. I guessed he wasn’t used to moving so fast. “Everything’s been going wonderfully since you’ve been here. You and Leo...wait, did something happen between you two?”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to get into any of this with Len. He’d suffered enough with what his wife and son had done. I was sure Leo would tell him why I’d left, but I didn’t need to stick around to listen and watch. I opened the door to the car and got in. “I just can’t stay here any longer. I’m sorry. I wish the best for you and the inn.”

  Without another word, I pulled the door closed and started the engine. I backed up the car, and turned it around, heading down the mountain. I glanced in the rearview mirror to see Len still standing there, watching me go. I didn’t know where I was going. I couldn’t go to my mother’s. She’d want to know why I was there. I couldn’t drum up that whole sordid event for her. And she’d liked Leo.

  I now knew why she’d never told me how my dad died. My guess was that she never wanted to defile the image I had of him with the details of his ugly affair. Tears sprang to my eyes again as I raced down the mountain road toward…anywhere but there. My father had died there. In Leo’s house. No, not in Leo’s house. In his old home. No wonder Len had had it torn down. But Dad had died at Leo’s hand. Oh. My. God! Tears turned to sobs, and my vision grew blurry. To learn now that Daddy was having an affair with Leo’s mother and that Leo had killed him, ached and squeezed my heart as though it were wrapped in barbed wire. My dad hadn’t been the saint my mother had made him out to be. The shrine I’d created in my head for my dad crumbled like stale bread.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Leo

  I loved the ocean. The way the waves lapped up onto the sand all foamy and soft-looking and then flowed so smoothly back to mingle with the rest of the water, never-ending, but always different. At times, the waves roared with
a vengeance, and then at others, the sound was so soothing it lulled me to sleep. If there was one thing in this world I was sure of, it was that I would always live by the ocean.

  I’d snatched a bottle of Jim Beam from the bar before heading down to the beach after leaving the cliffside. Half a bottle later, I realized that drowning my sorrows in booze didn’t seem to be working. The pain was still there.

  Sand tickled the skin between my toes as I bent down, digging my small fingers into the earth. Nothing was more fun than digging up sand crabs, except maybe using the brand new snorkeling gear I’d just received for my fifth birthday.

  Oh, how I wanted to go back up to the house and get the set. The mask and tube were bright blue, as were the fins I couldn’t wait to put on my feet. I could already feel the power behind my kick as I imaged myself floating on top of the water. I’d begged for snorkeling gear for months. When my birthday had finally come, I was ecstatic upon opening the beautiful package my mother had wrapped in shiny, silver-and-blue paper with my favorite color ribbon: blue, like the ocean I loved. The set wasn’t the cheap ol’ gear I’d seen at the local Thrifty’s Drug Store either—the set I’d asked for. No, this one was an official U.S. Diver’s snorkeling set. I knew this because my friend Tommy had brought a set for Show and Tell and bragged about how great it was. Told me I couldn’t even touch it it was so special. Mine had U.S. Diver printed right on the fins, too, just like his. I had the best parents in the whole world!

  However, I was stuck down here with just Gramma. All she did was sit in her chair in the sand and read some dumb book. I wasn’t allowed to go into the water without my mom or dad, and they were busy entertaining some man who’d stopped by to visit. Stupid man. I wished the guy would leave so I could get in the water. My body itched for the roll of the waves under me just before they broke. My daddy had told me that was the best place for snorkeling.

  I could swim, no problem, but they worried the current might take me. I never disobeyed, never went against their rules. And I’d never go in the water without them knowing. I was a good boy. Plus, I knew what it meant to drown. If that current took hold of me, I knew it would pull me under, and I knew what it felt like not to be able to breathe when I was under water. But I was five now and really wanted to use that new gear.

  “Gosh darn current,” I cursed under my breath as I snuck a peek out at the crashing waves while I picked up a fat sand crab from underneath the wet sand. Holding it between my fingers, I watched it, frowning. What did it eat and what did it catch with those claws? Why did it like to bury itself in the sand when all that glorious water was so much more fun to swim in? I let the tiny creature crawl over the palm of my hand before letting it drop back to the ground, and then watched as it quickly burrowed itself back into the cool, white granules.

  Now I was bored. I really wanted to go snorkeling. There were fish out there to see. I glanced at my gramma, her eyes were glued to her book, so I snuck up the hill to find my mom and dad. They had to be finished with that visitor by now.

  When I reached the top of the hill, I ran through the small, dense copse of trees toward our house. Just as I got to the front door, I heard my mommy scream. Panic swept over me, and I ran like a lightning bolt to the sound of her cries.

  A man lay on top of Mommy as she screamed. He was hurting her. I had to save my mom. The fire poker lay on the floor several feet away. I ran to it, picking up the heavy iron, and swung as hard as I could, hitting the man on the back of the head. My mommy screamed again, so I hit him another time, then again. The poker dripped with blood as I held it in my hands.

  A deep gasp came from behind me, and then my dad took the iron rod from me. “Go outside, son.” I always did what my dad said, so I ran outside, but it was hard to breathe as all I could see was that man on top of my mom and the blood dripping from the rod onto my fingers.

  “Leo!”

  “Leo!” My head jerked up at the sound of my name, pulling me from the unwanted memory that too often invaded my mind. I doused my throat with another gulp of whiskey.

  “What happened with you and Grace?” my dad yelled as he came jogging toward me, most of his voice drowned out by the wind and the crashing waves. I kept the bottle at my mouth to be sure and get a good dose before he reached me.

  His breath was ragged, and when he got to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder for support. His hair was windblown and sticking up in all different directions, still moving from the breeze. He bent at the waist to catch his breath. “She’s gone,” he huffed. “Packed up and drove off without an explanation.”

  I’d known she would leave. I couldn’t blame her. But hearing it just made that imaginary knife in my chest dig deeper into my heart. I didn’t sugarcoat it. He knew the pain I’d suffered most of my life, and I didn’t look at him when I answered either, just stared out into the ocean. “Patrick Santini was Grace’s father.”

  “What? No, that can’t be.” His irregular breaths were evident, and his eyes widened in surprise.

  I took another gulp of whiskey, still hoping for a reprieve from my pain. “Yep. I finally met the girl of my dreams, someone who understood everything I felt, and it turns out that I murdered her father. What are the odds of that? I can’t blame her for leaving. She deserves someone better than me. Someone she can admire, not someone she’ll always look at with disdain and hate. Grace discovered an old newspaper clipping about the murder underneath the drawer of Mom’s old vanity dressing table. She saw his name, right there in big, bold letters: Patrick Santini. And my name was mentioned as his assailant. That was her father. How could she love the man who murdered her dad?”

  “Leo, what were you doing in that shed?”

  “Helping Grace look for some old furniture to refurbish a couple of the rooms with. She was so excited about redecorating more. Kate mentioned the furniture in the shed.”

  “How did…” He took a breath. “How did Kate know the stuff was there?” he said in between wheezed puffs of air.

  “She was hiding with me behind the bushes that day you and the other two men put the stuff in there. Checking out Mom’s old furniture sounded like an excellent idea at the time for two kids.” I took another swallow of the whiskey and offered the bottle to my dad, but he shook his head. He looked a bit pale.

  “Son,” he started to speak. “Leo, you—”

  He latched on to my arm as he clutched at his chest and collapsed at my feet.

  “Dad? Dad!” His face was pale and clammy, and his breathing was shallow. “Hold on, Dad. I’m calling 911.” I dialed and held the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “My father is having a heart attack. We’re down on the beach on the stretch of sand just below D’Amoré’s Inn. Hurry.” I threw the phone down without disconnecting, not caring that it landed in the sand. “Help is on the way, Dad. Stay with me.”

  His face took on a bluish tint, and I feared he wouldn’t make it until the paramedics arrived. It had been years since I’d had any CPR training, and I racked my brain through the fog of booze for the procedure. I positioned my hands in the middle of his chest and pressed. The number thirty leaked in through the wall of whiskey. So thirty compressions were what I gave him. Then I titled his head slightly to free his airway and attempted to breathe air into his lungs. Two puffs, then I went back to the compressions. I continued without stopping for a long while until I felt gentle hands on my shoulders, easing me back.

  “We’ll take over now,” someone said, and I stopped the compressions as four paramedics attempted to revive my dad.

  I hated hospitals. The light green walls were supposed to calm and comfort you. To me, they spoke of illness and death. The floor was cold and polished to a sheen. So shiny, I could see my reflection in it when I looked down. People milled around in the hallway and hunched over in chairs with their faces in their hands, waiting for news of their loved ones. All tired and worried people by the looks of them. A woman sat on the ot
her side of the waiting room praying to some beads she tangled in her fingers. This was not a happy place.

  “You did your best, Leo,” Kate said, placing her hand on my shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for this.”

  I stared out the window of the hospital waiting room, tired of watching people come and go. Kate had driven me to the hospital. I hadn’t wanted the company, but when I’d gotten behind the wheel, I realized my vision was too foggy from the whiskey. My dad was dead before they’d even put him inside the ambulance, so there hadn’t been any rush or sirens as we followed behind it. Though now, the adrenaline and the passage of time were enough to sober me almost completely.

  Kate was wrong. I did blame myself. This was another death on my hands. If I hadn’t killed Grace’s father, Grace wouldn’t have left the way she had, and my father wouldn’t have been running down to the beach to find out what had happened.

  “I tried to save him, but I was drinking.”

  “They said you did everything right. The doctors said he was gone before you even began CPR. The heart attack was massive and instant. There was nothing you could have done.”

  I nodded. I didn’t want to argue about it. She’d never understand. We weren’t kids anymore. I knew exactly what had happened. I was certain that breathing the stench of rotten booze into his lungs hadn’t helped.

  I wanted to get out of there. There was nothing left for me to do now. He was gone. But why was I still there? His body was being transported to the mortuary. Everything was done, including the dreaded phone call.