Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
For the Love of Suzanne
by Kristi Hudecek-Ashwill
Copyright © 2015 Kristi Hudecek-Ashwill
Published by OnlineBookClub.org
All rights reserved.
This book has been published by OnlineBookClub.org with exclusive publishing permission from the author, Kristi Hudecek-Ashwill. The text of this book cannot be reproduced in part or in whole without permission.
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my mom, who was my pal and best friend. It was the only thing she ever read that I wrote. Until we meet again, fly with the angels, Mom.
Chapter 1
“You bitch!” he raged and slapped her hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor. He came at her again and yanked her to her knees by the long, blond ponytail at the back of her head and glared at her. “How could you do that?”
She cowered, hoping he wouldn’t hit her anymore. “I didn’t mean to,” she said shakily.
“You’re pregnant and you didn’t mean to. How nice,” he hissed as he pulled her hair tighter, getting a little yelp from her, glaring into her swelling blue eyes. “Who’s the father?”
“You are,” she squeaked.
He laughed harshly. “How can that be? I haven’t touched you in months. You’re far too ugly for me.”
But he had touched her. He’d forced himself on her a couple of months ago while he’d been drunk and angry. She didn’t want to remind him of that, though. He was drunk and she saw no need to antagonize him more.
It hadn’t always been like this. They’d been high school sweethearts and had gotten married the summer they’d graduated, against the wishes of their parents. Her mother had remarried shortly before Suzanne’s graduation and her new husband brought four daughters with him when he’d moved in. Despite her weak protest, Jeannette had seemed almost relieved when Suzanne had told her she was marrying Beau Dillon. Of course, she’d told her daughter they were too young and suggested she go to college instead, but Suzanne hadn’t listened.
Beau’s father was a minister and had refused to marry them. With their eyes full of stars and their heads in the clouds, they’d packed what they could into Beau’s Grand Am, and had run away to New York City and eloped.
That was seven years ago. Although the first few years had been happy, they didn’t have much money. They’d moved to a small town in Arizona when Beau had landed a job as a heavy equipment operator for a construction company. The money was good, but she got a job waiting tables at a local café to add to their income anyway.
Along with his new job came new friends and his new friends liked to drink themselves stupid. He’d never been much of a drinker and the first few times he’d come home drunk, she’d taken care of him. But then he’d hit her in one of his stupors. He’d hit her as hard as he would hit a man and had given her a black eye.
The next morning, he’d apologized and was nice to her all day, but he’d gone out that night, and had come home and given her a bloody nose and a split lip. There were no apologies after that. There was only blame and contempt. She knew she should have left him after the first time, but their bank account was dry and he’d taken her tips she’d been saving to go to the bar.
She often wondered where the man she’d loved had gone. He’d been so handsome with his shoulder-length dark brown hair and dark eyes. He was tall, slim, and muscular, and had a charming personality when he wanted to. She used to love to lose herself in his eyes, but the love he’d once felt had been replaced by anger, hate and resentment. Now, she feared him more than any person who walked the earth. As big and as muscular as he was, it wouldn’t take much for him to kill her.
She knew she was no match for him. Standing at five feet five and weighing a hundred and fifteen pounds, she wasn’t able to put up much of a fight. She’d tried to hit him back in the past, but that had only served to infuriate him more. With the advent of the pregnancy, she knew she couldn’t let him do this to her anymore.
She wrenched away from him and jumped to her feet. “Don’t you ever touch me like that again!” she shouted.
He stepped back, staring at her in shock. She’d never raised her voice to him before. “What?” he asked dumbly.
She wiped the blood away that had been running into her mouth from her nose. “I said, don’t touch me like that again,” she said a lot more evenly but still breathing hard. “I’m pregnant and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. Now, stop hitting me.”
“Oh yeah?” he challenged, stepping toward her, sending a lamp shattering to the floor.
She backed up. “Yeah,” she said defiantly with bravado she certainly didn’t feel, backing her way into the kitchen.
He followed her with menacing steps and venom in his eyes. “What are you going to do about it?” he sneered.
She quickly grabbed a butcher knife from the cutlery block on the counter and held it to his genitals. “Get out of here, Beau,” she said shakily, brushing more blood out of her mouth. She applied pressure to the knife, piercing the heavy denim material. “You’re going to lose ‘em if you don’t.”
He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You can’t make me leave. I own this dump,” he said angrily, gesturing toward the trailer as a whole.
“You’re drunk and I want you to leave. Now,” she said venomously.
With a quick movement, he had her by her ponytail again and was about to slap her when he felt a sharp pain go through his forearm. He dropped her to the floor and gaped at the sizeable cut she’d inflicted upon him. “You cut me,” he said wondrously.
She scrambled to her feet and held the knife to his genitals again. “You’re going to get it a lot worse if you don’t leave,” she seethed, breathing hard.
He felt the point of the blade against him and figured she might just do it. He was already bleeding profusely from the cut on his arm. “Maybe we can talk this over,” he said uneasily.
“We’re done talking, Beau. Get out of here right now. You can come back for your stuff in the morning after I go to work.”
“But where will I go?” he asked lamely.
She pushed the knife a little harder through his blue jeans, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath. “You’ve never had that problem before. Go find one of your girlfriends. Just don’t come back here,” she said coldly. “We’re done for good this time. Now GET OUT!” she raged.
He slowly backed away from her, raising his hands to calm her down. “Easy, honey,” he said smoothly as he looked at her, never before seeing her like this. She was always calm, cool and collected, not
this angry beast with fiery eyes and a desire to unman him.
After she heard his pickup start and saw him back out of the driveway, she sat down in a kitchen chair and let the pent-up tears of anger, frustration and humiliation roll down her cheeks. She tossed the knife onto the table and buried her face in her hands.
She’d booted him out at such a crucial time. They could have raised this baby together, but she didn’t want it to be subjected to his excessive drinking, drug abuse and philandering. She also knew that she couldn’t take anymore of his beatings. Not in her condition.
It was over for good.
Chapter 2
Suzanne went to work the next day and put in a full day with Beau on her mind. She hoped all of his stuff would be gone when she got home. She was worried about how she was going to pay her bills and support the baby without his income, but knew she would figure it out eventually. She wanted to stay here, but moving back to New York was not out of the question.
She waited on a table of four big, burly men dressed in blue jeans and t-shirts and knew they were all truckers from a nearby distribution warehouse. They teased her about her black eye and cut lip, laughing when they told her they hoped the other guy got the worst of it. She gave them a congenial smile and played along despite her acute embarrassment.
“You know, you really should call the police,” Angela, the other waitress, told her seriously as she was getting food out of the window. “Your old man should be in jail for what he’s done to you.”
Suzanne watched her whisk her plates of food away before she could even muster an answer. Angela was right. Beau should be in jail. There were laws against this sort of thing and she didn’t have to take it. Still, for whatever reason, she couldn’t bring herself to make the call.
She’d come to work on numerous occasions with black eyes and bruises where they were easy to see and had been the topic of conversations many times amongst the patrons and her coworkers. Yet she still couldn’t make that call.
At the end of her shift, she got into her rundown black Chevy Cavalier that had body damage, rust and fading paint. Beau had kicked in the driver’s door while he’d been drunk, leaving a big dent in it, and had keyed it a few times. It looked terrible, but ran like a top. The other added bonus was it was paid for. She wasn’t in the market for a new car anytime soon.
When she got home, she was surprised to see that Beau hadn’t come for his stuff. Maybe it wasn’t so surprising. He looked like she’d kicked him right where it counts when she’d told him to leave. Maybe he was going to hang on as long as he could or even beg her to take him back.
She shook her head at the absurdity of that thought. He wasn’t going to beg her for anything, and it was easy to see him hurting her again. She needed to get his key or have the locks changed. She thought getting locks changed would be expensive and she was short on money. She had to get his key.
She was tired and not feeling so well. She put on her bathrobe and went across the hall to start a bath when there was a knock on the front door. She turned off the water and gathered her robe around her, making sure she was covered as she went to answer it.
She was surprised to see Pete Hood, a local deputy, on the porch. She knew him from the café. He was a young man with dark hair and eyes and was always polite and respectful with her. “Hi, Pete,” she said pleasantly with a forced smile, wondering what Beau had done now. It couldn’t be good if the sheriff’s department was here. “Come on in.”
He took off his hat. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely and stepped inside the air-conditioned old trailer and closed the door. He took off his sunglasses and slipped them into the front pocket of his light blue shirt, then ran his hand nervously over his dark hair.
She knew something was up. He never called her “ma’am” and he’d never acted nervous around her before. She wondered if Angela had called the cops and pushed the thought to the back of her mind. “Can I get you some iced tea or something? It’s really hot out today.”
“No, thank you. I’m here on official business,” he said uneasily, fidgeting with his hat as he held it in his hand.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked worriedly, then remembered her manners. “I’m sorry. Please, sit down.”
He sat down on the ripped green sofa. “Thank you,” he said politely and cleared his throat nervously. “You aren’t in trouble, ma’am.”
“Then it’s Beau,” she said flatly. “What did he do?”
“Ma’am, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Beau was killed in a freak accident today,” he blurted in an unsettled manner.
She sunk down in the tattered brown leather recliner in shock. “What?” she asked as if she hadn’t heard him right.
“It was an avalanche. They were trying to go through a hill for that road they’re building and it sort of just came down on them,” he finished quietly. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No, ma’am,” he said somberly.
“That’s good. When did this happen?”
He checked his watch. “About three hours ago. The medical examiner would like you to identify his body. Do you feel up to that?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Um, let me get dressed. Where is the medical examiner’s office?”
“I’d be more than happy to give you a ride, if you like.”
“Thank you, Pete,” she said shakily. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Suzanne couldn’t bring herself to speak to Pete as he drove to the Medical Examiner’s office. She stared out the windshield with her hands folded on her lap and a pit in her stomach, dreading what was to come.
Pete didn’t press her for conversation and escorted her into the building, opening the doors for her. He told the portly, balding man who she was and stepped back.
Suzanne waited patiently, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the man dressed in a white lab coat open a sizeable stainless steel drawer just far enough to let her see Beau’s face.
Suzanne felt tears come to her eyes as she viewed her husband’s handsome face that was now pale and devoid of life. Just because she’d thrown him out yesterday didn’t change the fact that she’d once loved him very much, had made her life with him and was now pregnant with his child. She’d wanted him to change. Not die.
She looked at the doctor. “That’s him,” she said softly.
“My condolences,” he said sincerely and eased the drawer closed again.
After a few minutes of doing paperwork and signing forms, he gave her an envelope with his personal effects in it. His keys, wallet and his wedding ring were all in there as well as the money they’d found in his pockets.
“Would you like to take his clothes, too?” the medical examiner asked her with compassion in his voice.
She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she whispered, choking back tears again and gathered the envelope and her purse and rose to her feet. “Thank you for being so kind,” she said shakily, and rushed out the door to the street and broke down sobbing.
Pete was behind her a minute later and guided her back to the sheriff’s SUV that was parked in the lot, feeling bad for her. He didn’t say anything on the way back to her house, but took her inside and sat with her for a minute before being dispatched to another call.
She thanked him for everything and after he’d gone she called Beau’s parents in New York.
Chapter 3
John and Darla Dillon arrived at Suzanne’s trailer, overdressed for the heat. John wore his traditional black suit with a black shirt and white collar, the uniform of a minister, while Darla wore a shapely black dress with long sleeves, an enormous black hat with a huge white flower in the band and black high heels. They both looked like they were ready for the funeral that wasn’t to take place for another two days. Suzanne cut them some slack. They’d never expected to bury their son.
Darla was understandably devastated; her wrinkled face was swollen from so many tears shed ov
er the past few days. She looked older than her forty-seven years, but her secret love for gin, combined with the grief of losing her only child, would do that to a person.
John, as always, was reserved. He never drank alcohol and no matter how he begged his wife to stop, she wouldn’t hear of it. He never complained to anyone, but it distressed him. And now that Beau had been so tragically and unexpectedly taken from them, her drinking had increased and he found himself alone more than usual. He normally dived into his work, but couldn’t concentrate now because of his own grief. He couldn’t even pray which distressed him even more.
Suzanne got them settled into the bedroom she and Beau had shared and asked them if they would like some iced tea or something to eat. They both politely declined and Darla laid down to rest.
John followed his daughter-in-law out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him to allow Darla some peace. He sat down at the kitchen table as she stood at the refrigerator with the freezer open, dropping ice into two glasses.
She filled them with tea and put the pitcher back in the refrigerator before setting one in front of John and taking a chair across from him. “I wish this visit was under better circumstances,” she said morosely.
“Me, too,” he said with a sigh and sipped the tea. “I keep telling myself that there’s wisdom to it all, but as it is now, I’m failing to see it.”
She saw plenty of wisdom to it. She’d loved Beau intensely at one time, but that feeling had begun to fade with the way he’d acted. Now she felt guilty after throwing him out of the house the night before he was killed. Of course, there was the baby to consider. She would never know if Beau would have continued to beat her while she was pregnant or if he would have come to his senses and laid off. She would never know if he’d accept his own child and love it and straighten out his life for it. God had taken care of all of that for her; although she felt guilty, she was also relieved.
“What happened to your face?” John asked her curiously.
She covered the black eye with her hand self-consciously. “I fell,” she lied easily. She didn’t see the need to drag Beau’s name through the mud to his father. It was over and would never happen again. She just wanted to let it go.
For the Love of Suzanne Page 1
