Found: A Mother for His Son

by Dianne Drake

  “Drank. Went to work sober, came home and got drunk. Told me I was worthless, that I’d ruined his life.”

  “You believed that?” There was more. Something she wasn’t telling him because she was still rigid, and this seemed so rehearsed. It was the little speech you practiced over and over in your mind for the day when you’d finally have to give it. No emotion. Just words. And if there was one thing he knew about Jenna, she was tied up in so many different layers of emotion, layers all waiting to be peeled back and revealed. It was something he loved most about her because her emotional depths made her so vital, so caring.

  “As a little girl, sure I did. You’re supposed to believe your parents. Even when they’re like my dad was.”

  “And how was he, Jenna? Other than mean, how was he really?”

  She shivered, then shook her head rather than speaking. But she didn’t try pulling away from him, which he found surprising. Maybe this little bird didn’t want to fly away as badly as he thought she did. Or as she thought she did. “How did your father hurt you?”

  “He hit me,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “Every day. It became part of my daily routine. He didn’t like the way I fixed his coffee, so he’d hit me. His shirts weren’t pressed to suit him so he’d hit me. I was there so he’d hit me.”

  His stomach started to knot, and he could feel the acid burn of it all the way down. To hit a child like Max, or to hit Jenna…

  “Sometimes he’d lock me in the closet. If he didn’t want to be bothered with me, he’d shove me in and lock the door.”

  “For how long?”

  “A few hours, maybe. Then he’d let me out.” She took in a deep, wobbly breath. “A couple of times he got drunk and forgot and I was in there for a day. But I always knew that he’d come back for me when he needed something.”

  Dear God, he couldn’t even imagine. Not for Jenna, not for Max. “Did he molest you, Jenna?” he asked, trying to sound more like a doctor than the man who loved this woman. But he was the man who loved her and his voice trembled.

  “No. I guess even my father drew the line somewhere. And the thing is, I was always glad when he hit me because I knew he wouldn’t do it again for a while, then I would have a few hours where I didn’t have to be so scared.” Finally, a single tear slid down her cheek, and she let it fall. “And I functioned. I went to school when I was supposed to, did my homework, and to everybody looking on, we were a good family. Admirable single dad raising his daughter alone. Pretty little girl making good grades in school, always wearing nice clothes, always smiling. Who would have guessed all the ugly secrets behind our doors?”

  No one in town, Dermott thought. Not one single person. Suddenly, he understood. Now that this wasn’t about him, he did see it. “But you went to live with your grandparents, didn’t you? They saw what was happening?”

  “Not until I was thirteen. They’d come to visit unannounced, and literally walked in on us. My father had just slammed me into the wall, and at the point my grandfather walked through the door, my father had hit me only once. He was ready to hit me again. Grandpa asked me how often that happened, and I told him it happened all the time. He took me by the arm, took me out of there, and I never saw my father again.”

  “Your mother’s father?”

  Jenna shook her head. “My father’s father. My grandfather told me years later that my father had always had a bad temper. That even when he was a little boy my grandparents couldn’t control him. But they were sure he’d grow out of it, and they’d never thought he could do anything like he’d done to me. At the time I wanted to believe that, but sometimes I wondered if, deep down, they did know and just couldn’t face it. I mean, how do you look at someone you love and see so much ugliness?” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe when you love someone that much blind spot keeps growing until it blocks out everything you truly aren’t able to deal with. You know, love is blind, and all that.”

  This was incredible. With the exception of a few details, it was Max’s story and, dear God, that scared him in so many ways. He wanted to hold her tighter, wanted to know more, wanted to say so many things, but the doorbell jingled downstairs, and Clyde Fister had arrived to discuss hair plugs. If ever there was a time Dermott didn’t want to discuss hair plugs, this was it. But the moment was over. Jenna was pushing away from him now, looking much more composed about what she’d told him than he felt. It was his knees that were wobbling when he stood up, his hands that were shaking, his head that was spinning.

  And it was Jenna who walked solidly down the stairs and greeted their patient.

  Dermott sagged against the wall at the top of the stairs before he went down, trying to compose himself, trying to make some sense of this. But there was no sense to be found, no composure to be had. He was mad as hell at the bastard who’d hurt Jenna so deeply. Mad as hell at Nancy for what she’d done to Max. Mad at himself. Mad at the world. So mad that he balled his fist and hit the wall. Over and over. Until his fist was bloody and swollen. And that didn’t make him feel any better. Not any better about anything.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JENNA dropped the gauze pad in the trash and pulled a fresh one from the stack. “I don’t think anything is broken,” she said as she dabbed at the scrapes across his knuckles. “Without X-rays it’s hard to tell, but your function is intact, so unless you have complications, like smashing the wall with your other hand, I’d say you’ll be better in a day or two. Just keep your hand away from plaster for a while.”

  “You’re not very sympathetic,” Dermott grumbled.

  “And you’re not a very convincing liar.”

  “I stumbled,” he grunted.

  “And caught yourself on the wall with your knuckles.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  But it was. She knew why he’d punched the wall. Some of it was for her, some of it was what he saw for Max. She knew that same anger, but she’d had years to put it in its proper place. Dermott was only just now beginning to deal with it. The trouble was, as the outsider looking in, he was experiencing the rage, but not the deep-down kind of emotions that caused people to do the crazy things like run away from a good thing the way she’d done before and would probably do again. Rage resulted in scraped knuckles. The deep-down emotions that tended to keep themselves locked away resulted in scraped lives. “What’s a big deal, Dermott, is that someday, somewhere, Max is going to say something to you about what happened to him, and you’re going to feel like putting that fist through the wall again. You’re justified in your feelings, but Max will need more than your gut reaction, and if he was hit by his mother, that gut action could frighten him. Or, worse, cause him to retreat.”

  “And you don’t think I haven’t thought about that? I mean, what if he’d seen me do this?” He held up his battered fist.

  She smiled gently. “He didn’t. No harm done.”

  “Isn’t there?”

  They were in exam one, he on the table, she standing in front of him. Mr. Fister had come and gone, taken his hair-plug pamphlet with him, and promised to try shaving himself totally bald and living with that manly look for a while before he put himself through the new hair ordeal. Jenna had convinced him that a nice head such as his deserved to be on display, and she reminded him how many people were doing that these days. The truth was, he had a look that would support being bald. Maybe an earring, too. But he’d said he’d have to think on that one for a while. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you. Don’t know why I did, because I never talk about it to anyone. Not even my therapist when I was a teenager and my grandparents forced me to have counseling.” She’d told him because she’d never known anyone as easy to talk to as Dermott.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna. For what you went through. For overreacting. All the time when you were telling me about your father, I was picturing Max with his mother.”

  “I know,” she whispered, as she applied a bandage to his hand, crossing the gauze over the
back of his hand and bringing it around to cover his palm. He had nice skin, soft. And nice fingers. She loved those fingers, loved the feel of them on her flesh—just a few nights ago in the stream, just a few years ago…Time blurred for a moment, thinking about the way her skin prickled with the sensation of his touch—prickled even though she didn’t want it to.

  But she always had, and that was the problem. Always had, always would. She knew that as surely as she knew that her heart was beating a little faster right now, and that her breaths were slightly quicker. “I, um…It’s not easy to blot it out, and sometimes…” Sometimes, what? It just overtook her? How could she tell him that, when he applied everything she said to Max—how he would react, the things he would say, the feelings he would have? It was such a delicate line, and she wasn’t the one who should be walking it. Heaven knew, when it came to the emotional journey, she was barely able to take care of herself. So how could she ever do anything for Dermott’s little boy?

  She wanted to, though. Deep in her heart she wanted to pick him up and hold him and never, ever let anything else bad touch him. No one had done that for her, not even her grandparents, and in the deep, dark hours when she’d slept alone in her bed she’d clung to her dolls, wishing the lifeless stuffing inside them could hug her back. But Max had Dermott to do that, and he would. Of that, she had no doubt. So there really was nothing else to say. “You know, Dermott…I think your hand is all fixed up now. Provided you don’t put it through another plaster wall, you should be fine in a few days.”

  She backed away, took a look at her bandaging job, and nodded. “And make sure you don’t do something stupid with your other hand in the meantime.”

  “Something stupid?”

  “Walls, doors, any solid object. The town doctor really does need one hand available to him.”

  “The town doctor might have to rely on the town nurse for an extra hand for the next few days.”

  “You know where to find her. She’s right upstairs.” Scared to death of what might happen when he did find her. And wanting it so badly.

  Tonight she was especially restless. She’d been holed up in her apartment for hours, reading, pacing the floor, reading some more. A while ago she’d gone to the diner for a light supper, then taken a good, long walk, but once she’d come home the restlessness had begun again. So much so that she needed to get out of there. Needed to go for another walk, or perhaps a good, hard run. Something…anything to take her mind off Dermott, Max…her future here.

  After tying on her white athletic shoes, Jenna dashed down the flight of stairs, pausing briefly at Dermott’s door, wondering what he and Max were doing inside, wishing that she could be part of it, knowing that she didn’t have that right. Then she hurried on down to the first floor and out the front door, but when she made it to the sidewalk and looked back at the building to make sure the door had latched, she noticed a light on in exam one. She couldn’t see into the room, of course, but there was a faint glow through the shade, so she went back to turn off the light and discovered Dermott in there, sitting in the dimness.

  “Is it your hand?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

  “Hand’s fine,” he snapped. “Max thought it was funny that I tripped and broke the wall.”

  “You lied to him?”

  “I protected him. How could I tell him that I got angry and hit the wall? He’s an abused kid who has no concept that his dad could ever have a bad temper. So what should I have done? Planted an image in his mind that the one person he trusts most in the world got so angry he hit the wall? Would that somehow remind him of his mother?”

  “Max knows what his mother did, Dermott. Even in his young mind, he understands how she was. And he also understands how you are. What happens, though, if in an unguarded moment he sees you react, sees you hit that wall? What then? Does he live in mortal fear of you because he never knew it was in you? Or do you let him know that you do react that way on occasion, but that it has nothing to do with him and never will? He lived in a secret world for a long time. Think about that. He never told anybody what was happening to him…maybe because he was ashamed and thought he deserved the abuse, or maybe because Nancy threatened him. We really don’t know yet, but what you don’t want to do is force him to go back and live with secrets again. Even if it’s your secret.”

  “It’s always going to be a balancing act, isn’t it? My need to protect him versus doing the right thing.”

  “You’re a good father. Just start from there and the rest will work itself out.” She took several steps closer to Dermott, then studied him for a moment. He was agonizing over the little things and she loved that in him. Never, in her life, had she known anybody who tried so hard to do the right things by everyone the way he did. To the exclusion of himself, actually. Which was a shame. Dermott had become so involved in caring for all the people around him that he’d forgotten about himself. “Is Max upstairs?”

  “He’s spending the night with his grandparents. Under the circumstances…” he held up his bandaged hand “…we all thought that would be better. And they’re going to make popcorn and root-beer floats. I was going to make…boxed cookies and nothing.” He laughed. “Never let it be said that my son doesn’t know a good thing when he sees it.”

  Jenna laughed. “Well, then. Since that means you’re a bachelor for the evening, do you want to go out and take a run with me? I need to work off some energy, and a couple of kilometers might just do that.”

  “Run?” Dermott sputtered. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve done anything like that?” He shook his head. “Even if I wanted to, I’m so out of practice I’d make it a block or two, then you’d have to carry me back. Maybe I could drive alongside you and watch?”

  “Drive? How’s that going to be good for you?”

  “It’s not the driving that’s good for me. It’s the watching…watching you.”

  “You’re trying to be incorrigible, aren’t you?”

  He chuckled. “Am I succeeding?”

  He was, in so many ways. Which should have made her happy, buoyant, dancing on clouds. But she wasn’t, because the happier she was, the more she stood to lose. Happiness was such a risk in her life and it frightened her more than just about anything she could think of. Suddenly, she was sober, sad, depressed. “Look, I’m going for a run. You can come, or you can stay here. Just…just do whatever you want.”

  A puzzled frown crossed his face when he saw her mood swing so quickly. “What is it, Jenna? What does that to you?”

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “Can’t talk about it, Dermott.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Pushing himself up off the chair, he took a few steps toward her, and she took a few steps backward.

  “Of course I do. It’s just that…” She’d never wanted to settle more than she did now. Better than anyone else, she knew what she had in her, and it always made her leave. A person’s true nature had a way of winning even when it was being held down. But, oh, in the dim light of the night, with nobody around except the two of them, she really didn’t want to run away, and she so much wanted to tell him that. She also wanted to take those few steps forward, into his arms. To stay there forever. Wanted it so badly she could feel it. But she could also feel the fear running through her, cold and brutal. And that’s what stopped her, what pulled her back. “Why are you making this so difficult on me, Dermott?” she asked, her voice frail, on the verge of tears. “I’ve been honest with you, and that’s all I have.”

  “No, it’s not, JJ. You don’t allow yourself…anything. Don’t allow yourself to be honest with yourself. You get so close, then…” He shrugged. “Is it me? Am I reading something into this that’s just not there? Or is it about my screwed-up mess of a life?”

  Jenna shook her head. “From where I stand, your life looks wonderful. And no, it’s not you, Dermott. It’s just that…that my life has these patterns that keep repeating themselves. Nothing works out and I move on, start ove
r. I’ve already told you all that.”

  “But how would you know that it won’t work out if you never stay in one place long enough to find out?” He reached out and ran his hand through her hair. It was tied back for her evening run, and he pulled the clips away, letting it down. “Life doesn’t come with guarantees, but that doesn’t mean it’s always best to just give up on it and go away.”

  “It does if you hurt other people. And that’s what I always do—I hurt other people.”

  “Have you ever thought that the biggest hurt those other people might suffer is losing you?”

  The biggest hurt, or the biggest blessing. The two were interchangeable. “Pretty words, Dermott, but we still can’t do this. As much as you want it, and as much as I want it…you know we can’t. You both need someone stronger than me. And I’m not strong, Dermott. I go through life being scared…of everything, of everyone.”

  “Oh, Jenna. You are strong, even if you don’t see it. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And if you are scared, that’s OK. We all are at some time.”

  “But other people get over it. I don’t.”

  “Because no one has ever helped you. You’re always so busy taking care of other people, but you’ve never let anyone take care of you. And here we are, both of us scared, both of us playing all the way around our feelings—circling, but never quite landing. What I know more than anything else, JJ, is that if this is something we both want, shouldn’t there be a way to have it? To make it be what we want it to be?”

  “Ideally, maybe,” she admitted.

  “So tell me what you want, Jenna. If your deepest hopes and dreams came true, what would you have?”

  She spread wide her arms and spun around. “This. All of it.” She wanted it like she’d never known she could want anything. Except Dermott. And she wanted him even more. “But what happens if Max gets attached to me and I just can’t do this? What if I’ve overestimated myself? And what happens to you?”