Bridge to Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

She was trembling violently and her knees threatened to give out. Without mercy, his fingers dug into the bruises he’d made before. It hurts so bad! She couldn’t say the words aloud; he might do even worse. He had before.

  “Books fell on me,” she said in a frightened whimper.

  Troy laughed and let go of her so quickly she almost fell. The intense pain subsided.

  “Go to my room,” Nedda ordered under her breath, shoving her in that direction.

  Jennie Anne fled.

  They fought more, as they always did. Jennie Anne knew it was bad to want people to die, but she hoped that Troy would.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As Mickelle left the church building, she felt her spirits, so uplifted by the services, plunge into a deep melancholy. Jennie Anne hadn’t been allowed to come with them after all. When Damon had stopped by to pick her up, an unshaven man had met him at the door and told him she wasn’t going—wasn’t feeling well. Damon had asked to see her, but the man had refused.

  “I don’t know who he is,” Damon had told her, his frustration showing through, “but he seemed too young to be Nedda’s boyfriend.”

  “The son maybe? She said he came around occasionally.”

  “Could be.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “Brown hair. Longish. Not sure about the eyes. Not very tall but he had some good-sized muscles. Looked mean, too. I think he enjoyed telling me no.”

  “Didn’t you see Nedda?”

  “Not a sign. I bet I could have gotten around her.”

  Mickelle had hated the idea of Jennie Anne returning to her aunt the night before, and had only agreed to allow Damon to take her because mentioning any other alternative had thrown Jennie Anne into a fit of anxiety. Now she wished she had kept the child, even against her will.

  Bryan’s absence made things worse. Mickelle kept wondering if he was all right, getting enough to eat. They were going to see him after lunch. She had the option of taking him home today or waiting until tomorrow, but she hadn’t made any decisions yet. She was fasting and praying hard to know what would be best for her son—and for their family. He wasn’t like a husband she could leave if he wouldn’t repent of the abuse, but her own precious child. A part of her flesh. Calling the police yesterday had been the hardest thing she had ever done.

  * * *

  Damon slammed the door of his green Lexus, and took Mickelle’s arm as she limped toward the juvenile facility where Bryan had stayed overnight. The lines on her forehead and around her eyes were etched deeper than he had ever seen them, as though she hadn’t slept well. He hoped Bryan could see the change, too. I’ll make him see it, he thought.

  Bryan was brought into the room, and his eyes lit up momentarily, though the rest of his face showed no expression. They sat around a small table awkwardly, glad for the privacy they’d been allowed.

  “Are you ready to come home?” Mickelle asked.

  Bryan’s jaw tightened. “To our home, yes.”

  She ignored the implication. “It’ll have to be on my terms, Bryan. What you did yesterday was wrong, and it cannot happen again.”

  “It won’t.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “It never happened before.”

  “No, but you’ve been heading in that direction for a long time.”

  Bryan didn’t reply.

  “We brought a contract for you to sign. It states that you will not leave home without our permission, and that you will address us with respect—among other things.”

  His eyes flicked over the paper. “Whatever.”

  “It’s not whatever. I want you to read it and sign it. I want you to promise me that you’ll behave.”

  Bryan stood up so fast his chair tipped over. “You want, you want, you want!” he sneered. “What about me? Look, I don’t want to come home—ever!” He turned and walked toward the door.

  Mickelle stared at Damon helplessly. They had thought Bryan would be miserable and want to come home; in fact, the counselor they had talked to assured them that most first-time offenders were immediately repentant and many never repeated the offense. They had hoped Bryan would be more compliant.

  Damon stood to go after him.

  “Wait,” Mickelle said. “He’ll calm down. He always does.”

  Damon gazed at her beseechingly. “I’ve got to start being his father sometime, Kelle. And I need to go after him now.”

  For a second she hesitated. Then with a nod, she let him go.

  He walked quickly and arrived at the door as Bryan did. “Excuse me,” Damon said to the aide outside the door. “We need to talk privately. Is there any other place?”

  In another empty room down the hall, Bryan glared at him, folding his arms across his chest. Neither sat in the vacant chairs. “I don’t want to talk to you,” Bryan said through gritted teeth.

  “That’s too bad.”

  “I wish you’d just back off. Leave us alone.”

  “I can’t do that. I love your mother.”

  “So? A lot of people do. People better than you.”

  “I suppose by that you mean Colton Scofield.”

  Bryan shrugged. “He was cool.”

  “Cool, huh? You think he’s cool after what he did to your mother?”

  “He might not have. You said so yourself.”

  “And your mother’s money just disappeared on its own?”

  Bryan didn’t answer.

  “Well, let me tell you what I know for sure that Colton Scofield did do to your mother earlier that same day. I know it for a fact because I came over after he’d been there and she had the marks on her wrists.”

  Bryan said nothing, but Damon could tell he had his interest.

  Suddenly Damon walked up to Bryan, using his larger frame to push him backward. “She didn’t want you to know but maybe it’s time you did.” He kept talking as he walked, his voice calm and even. He didn’t stop pushing Bryan until his back was against the door. “He took her to your house when she was alone and pushed her up against the sink. He grabbed her hands like this.”

  “Hey, stop!”

  “Then he forced them down to her side and told her she had to go see his friend to invest her money. He was angry, you see, because he and his buddy had a plan to have the investment go bad. That way he could take the money without the police tracking it to him. She tried to get away, but he held her still. How does it feel, Bry, to be so helpless?”

  Bryan’s jaw jutted angrily. He tried to free himself, but Damon held fast.

  “She looked away, but he grabbed her face like this. His fingers pinched into her skin, her head was immobilized. Can you move, Bry? How do you feel? How do you think your mother felt?”

  “Stop it!” Bryan’s voice rose an octave.

  “That’s what she said, but he didn’t. She tried to pull his hand away with her free one, but he grabbed it again, came closer . . .” Damon gripped Bryan hard without really hurting him, seeing the fear in his face, the tears welling up in his eyes. He released Bryan abruptly and backed away, feeling that he shouldn’t push further.

  “Luckily, your mom’s friend came over just then. The door was open. If it hadn’t been . . . well, I don’t know what your friend Colton would have done to your mother.” He let the thought seep in. “The truth is that Colton Scofield is a user. He would have hurt your mom, like he has so many other vulnerable women. He did steal her money. Is that the type of person you want to be? Is it?” He paused so the next words would stand apart from the others. “Even after that little episode with Colton in the kitchen, your mother didn’t have to take pain medication for the goose egg on her head, or limp from the huge grapefruit-sized bruise on her leg. That’s what you did to her. To your own mother.”

  Damon could see that Bryan was fighting tears, though he still looked furious. But Damon had thought about this all night, and there was much more to be said to the boy he wanted to have as a son.

  “None of this is really about
Colton Scofield, is it? It’s about your father.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “I’m sorry you had to see your father emotionally abuse your mother.”

  “Go away!” Bryan was still backed up against the closed door though Damon stood more than an arm’s length from him.

  “I’m sorry you were abused.”

  “I wasn’t!”

  “He manipulated and controlled you, Bry. That’s abuse. But you need to know that real men don’t take out their frustrations on the women and children in their lives. They find better ways to deal with their anger.”

  “So my father wasn’t a man?” Bryan’s chin lifted, though his voice wasn’t as defensive as before.

  Damon sighed heavily. “Your father had medical problems, and I believe the Lord will take that into account. But no matter what he was going through, he shouldn’t have treated your mother any less than a queen. And just because he didn’t, doesn’t mean you have the right to follow in his footsteps. No right at all. As long as I’m alive, you will never touch your mother again. Never.”

  Bryan remained quiet so Damon continued, “Now it’s up to you how you’re going to behave. I love your mother very much. More than anything else in this world. And I love you and Jeremy, whether you believe it or not. Regardless, I am going to be a part of your life. You don’t have to like me, but you do have to put up with me. And you do have to show your mother the respect she deserves. In turn, I can promise you that I will never hurt your mother. I will try to make up for the years of hurt she has endured. I know you love her, too, and I hope you are man enough to act like it. I think you are.”

  Damon didn’t know what more to say. His anger and urgency had drained away with the words. He didn’t know if what he said had made the situation better or worse. How did any parent know? But he believed in setting limits, and Bryan had finally been given his.

  Leaving Bryan in the room, Damon went out to the hall where Mickelle and the aide waited. Mickelle’s turbulent blue eyes searched his. He shrugged, not knowing what to tell her. He wanted to say that it wasn’t Bryan’s fault, not really, but his father’s. The pain in her eyes made him hold his tongue.

  * * *

  Tears slipped from Bryan’s eyes. He hated what Damon had said to him about Colton and about his father. Worse, he knew it was true. He felt it deep in his gut. And it hurt.

  What about his mother? She had walked in today with a limp. Was that really because of him? He didn’t know. Yesterday, he’d simply become so furious at her, so entirely enraged that he hadn’t been thinking straight. He had wanted her to hurt as much as she was hurting him.

  It’s all Damon’s fault!

  The thought came with less conviction than before. The truth was, he didn’t know whose fault it was. Somehow everything had spun out of control.

  Now he would have to stay here another night, maybe more, listening to people talk about how wrong he had been, how stupid. The boys here weren’t what he was accustomed to either. He didn’t belong.

  He wiped at the tears on his face but more sprang to take their place. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this, or they would tease, push him around even more than they already had.

  The ache inside him grew so big that he wondered if there was anything in the world large enough to fill it. His family was gone, and there was nothing left for him. For a moment he wanted to die. Like his father. Except he really didn’t. He wouldn’t.

  The next thing he knew, warm arms came around him. He immediately recognized his mother’s smell, though he’d tried to recall it last night in his strange bed to no avail. Sobs burst through his mouth, sounding like an animal in pain.

  “It’s okay,” his mother said, holding him tightly.

  Bryan never wanted her arms to leave. “I’m sorry,” he choked out.

  “I know. I am too. I am so sorry.”

  Bryan wondered what part she was sorry for but decided it didn’t matter. “I want to come home. I want to sign that contract.”

  “Okay. Let’s go get your things.”

  She helped dry his eyes as she had when he was little. Instead of triumph at his surrender, there was a beaten aspect in her manner that he remembered seeing so often when his father had been alive. As she limped to the door, a powerful remorse filled his being. I’m so sorry, he told her silently.

  He still hated Damon—that hadn’t changed—but he now hated his father even more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  They were arguing again, and Jennie Anne thought it best to stay in her aunt’s room. She couldn’t help going to the open door to listen. After all, it did concern her.

  “. . . and you went behind my back and said she couldn’t go. Now he’ll never give me more money.”

  “Not true. I only showed him who’s boss. That we control whether or not they see Jennie Anne.”

  “I told him he could take her.”

  “And I told him no. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” There was a pause. “You might even be able to afford better food—this stuff is crap.”

  “What do you mean?” Nedda’s voice was worried, and that made Jennie Anne feel uneasy.

  “You don’t need to know about it, hear? I’ve got it taken care of.”

  “You and that pretty boy, you mean?”

  “So? What of it? You didn’t mind the money he gave us.”

  “I only saw what he gave me. What’d you do with the five hundred you say he gave you?”

  “Ain’t no concern of yours. I got expenses. Now leave me to eat in peace.”

  “I won’t have you hurting her again.”

  There was a crash, and then a silence. Jennie ached to go to see if Nedda was all right, but her sore arm throbbed in protest. She sank down by the closet in terror. Her senses urged her to hide, but she knew it would be of little use. He would find her. He would find her anywhere she could run, except maybe at Wolfe Estates which was so big not even Belle would find her if she hid. Then again, maybe Belle would help her hide. She could stay in the basement like that security guy and no one would know.

  She clung to the thought as she heard her great-aunt moan from the kitchen. At least Nedda wasn’t dead. Jennie Anne would be sorry for that, she really would. Nedda didn’t hit her.

  “This is my house,” she heard Nedda say.

  Troy laughed. “So, call the cops, Mommy.”

  Nedda didn’t say anything, but a short time later she came into the bedroom and closed the door. She sat on the edge of the double bed they had shared for the past few weeks. It was the closest they’d ever been since Nedda never hugged her. Not like Mickelle, who hugged everyone.

  “Get your things together,” Nedda said evenly. “Not everything. Just what you really need. Don’t let him see.”

  Jennie Anne studied her great-aunt from her crouched position by the closet. Her aunt’s eyes looked smaller and meaner than she had ever seen them, her face more droopy and old. The terror in her heart returned, but she tried not to show it. Showing the fear always made it worse. At least this way she could pretend she didn’t care.

  Jennie Anne nodded and moved down the narrow space to the far side of the bed. All her belongings were in a corner, between several boxes filled with who-knew-what and a huge mound of clothes that she had never seen Nedda wear. She pulled out her yellow backpack with her schoolbooks and stuffed in the old photo album that had been her mother’s. Next, she put in the small box with the silver necklace that Mickelle had given her last week. She didn’t wear it around the house because one never knew when Troy would show up in a fit, or when Nedda would decide to save something for one of her summer yard sales.

  That was Nedda’s excuse for keeping all this junk around, most of which was given to her or found at the city dump. “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure,” Nedda was fond of saying. Jennie Anne had never found much that interested her in Nedda’s junk, and the few things she did like were sold to people who came to look down t
heir noses at the stuff piled on boards and blankets in the yard. She had stopped asking Nedda for anything but the old clothes which usually didn’t fit well or had stains and holes.

  Belle, of course, never wore second-hand clothes. Jennie Anne almost laughed at the very idea.

  A sigh from her aunt, now standing before a closet as jam-packed with junk as the rest of the house, pulled Jennie Anne back to the task at hand. She put in the small heart-shaped box that carried the rest of her personal treasures—small rocks she liked, a piece of a robin’s egg, a length of wire, an old coin. This stuff she knew had no value to Nedda or the people who came to the garage sales, but to Jennie Anne they were special treasures.

  On top of this she put two of her new pairs of jeans and several pairs of socks. That was it. Nothing more would fit if she wanted to use the zipper. At least she was wearing the nicest dress Belle had given her, donned in anticipation of going to church. Of course, that meant she had to put on the new stiff church shoes instead of the comfortable tennis shoes—both gifts from Mickelle and Damon. And what should she do about that sweater Belle had given her, and all the other clothes? Jennie Anne gazed in amazement at her mound of belongings. She couldn’t bear to leave any of the clothes behind, not when they were so new and pretty. She suspected that if it had been summer, she would lose many of these clothes to a yard sale, so she meant to enjoy them while she could.

  “Here.” Nedda shoved a large bag at her, made of bright green cloth. “Put some of them clothes in. You’re going to need them.”

  With relief, Jennie Anne filled the bag, carefully storing most of the items she had been given since meeting Belle. The tense pit in her stomach eased slightly. If Nedda was letting her take all this stuff, then wherever they were going couldn’t be so bad.

  A sudden thought brought tears to her eyes. Would she ever see Belle and Mickelle again?

  Behind her the door slammed open, knocking into the piles of stuff between the door and the wall. Clothes, papers, books, and knickknacks went flying. Under cover of the commotion, Jennie Anne pulled the edge of a blanket from the unmade bed to cover the green bag and her backpack.