“This is hard for you, isn’t it?” he said, his grin widening as he flipped open the menu. “Having someone serve you and ask you what you want.”
Cory shrugged, surprised at his perception.
She gave him another quick glance over the menu, surprised to find him looking at her.
His smile was engaging, his manner casual and inviting, his charm irresistible. Though part of her instincts told her to keep her distance, she was tired of being lonely and alone. She hadn’t been on a real date for years. Could barely remember which town it was in and when.
“It is difficult,” she replied, smiling back. “Like you said, had we gone to the restaurant, I would have had a hard time not getting up and serving you coffee.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “I love being right.”
She didn’t answer, but instead studied the menu, finally deciding on a pasta dish.
“And how is your work with Mr. Stanley going?” Cory asked once the waiter left with their order.
“Good. In a couple of weeks I’ll have the piles on the floor dealt with. Then we can get to work on his desk.” He shook his head. “How he has managed to keep clients all this time is truly amazing.”
“I guess people in small towns tend to be quite loyal. From what I hear if you need help right away, he’s there for you.”
“Probably part of his problem. But I don’t want to talk about Nathan Stanley. I’d sooner talk about you.”
“And here I thought this was a business meeting.” Cory forced a light laugh to cover up the jolt his words gave her. Ordinary chatting up had been much easier.
“It is. Sort of. I do have a piece of paper I need you to sign.” He pulled a folded-up envelope out of his shirt pocket and took out a single piece of paper, explaining to her what it meant.
Cory signed it, using the pen he handed her. He took it back, folded it back up and then put it back in his pocket. “There. That’s done. Now we can carry on.” Matthew leaned forward again, his pose relaxed.
“That was it?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you had more to show me….” A trill of confusion and expectation shivered down her back.
“I have to confess, it was a bit of a ruse.”
“Why?”
Matthew pulled in one corner of his lower lip, as he studied her. “I’m not sure. A couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Why wouldn’t you dance with me at your prom?”
Cory stiffened, then forced aside her reaction. “This is going way back,” she said with a forced laugh.
“In a way. It was also the last time we talked to each other. And one of the only times we met outside of court.”
Cory looked down, once again feeling the sting of humiliation of that evening.
“I’ve never had a chance to ask you why since then,” Matthew continued. “I have to admit, I’ve always wondered. Male pride maybe,” he said with a short laugh.
“There were a couple of reasons,” she conceded.
“Zeke being one?”
“One part,” she admitted.
“And what was the other part?”
Cory sat back, wondering what to say. How to say it. At that time in her life, Matthew had already been firmly established as the bad guy. To meet him socially had been extremely difficult for her. Especially when she had been fighting her own perfidious attraction to him for a couple of years.
“I didn’t like it that you saw where my mother and I lived,” she admitted. “I didn’t like it that you had to see me wearing a dress that I knew was ugly. Zeke had promised to buy me a dress. But I didn’t want to take anything from him.” She paused a moment, to take a steadying breath, to send up another quick prayer. “So my mom went out shopping. All she could find was that pink thing. In a thrift store. We tried to fix it up as best we could. I wore it as a favor to my mom. To show her that I appreciated what she did.”
In the silence that followed her comment, Cory could hear the murmuring of the other patrons of the restaurant, the faint clink of silver on china. The memory of that evening seemed to her the culmination of her and Matthew’s relationship. A distinct reminder to her of the differences between them.
It had hurt more than it should.
“Yet you came. Without an escort,” Matthew said, his voice gently breaking the silence.
Cory fiddled with the crease in her pants leg and smiled. “I had been asked, but I had sworn off men at that time of my life. Besides I wasn’t exactly the belle of the ball, you remember.” She tried to laugh it off. Tried to take refuge in her usual humor, but those very insecure years of her life could still haunt her. And Matthew was very much tied up with them. “I guess I thought you asked me as a joke.”
Matthew laughed shortly. “No, Cory. Not for that reason at all.” His expression became suddenly serious as he leaned forward. “You made that ordinary dress look remarkable just by wearing it, by walking around with your head up and those brown eyes daring anyone to say different.”
Cory looked away, flustered. His words weren’t businesslike. They had nothing to do with wills and pieces of paper. Compliments and words of admiration leaned more toward the beginnings of relationships and she didn’t know how to deal with that. Not coming from Matthew McKnight.
“But I knew what you thought of me,” she said quickly, as if to erase the gentle mood he had created. “I knew you didn’t approve of Deirdre hanging around with me.”
Matthew inclined his head. “I have to admit that was true. At first.” He leaned sideways, running his thumb along his chin as he looked at her. “But that night I saw a girl who wouldn’t bow to peer pressure, who didn’t care what people thought of her.” He was quiet a moment and Cory couldn’t help but look at him. “I saw a girl that I admired.”
His words rearranged and unsettled her own view of him. Never, in all her dealings with Matthew McKnight, would she have suspected admiration. Not from him.
She felt a quickening of her heart, and again she had to look away, unable to reconcile her memories and her own emotions with this new information. She had no defenses against this gentle onslaught. It was tempting to believe him totally, to accept his admiration, to think that maybe his comments, his glances, the sum total of what had been happening between them the past few days might go somewhere else. But she didn’t dare.
“It couldn’t have been for long. We were back in court the very next week,” Cory said, bringing a strong dose of reality back into the moment.
She heard his sigh. “Yes. I know.”
She sensed he was about to say more when the waiter came with their food. She welcomed the interruption, smiling her thanks at the waiter as he placed the steaming plates in front of them.
“Enjoy your food,” he said, then took a step back and left them alone again.
Cory tossed Matthew a quick glance, then, folding her hands, bowed her head. Her prayers were a confusion of Thank You and please help me as she wondered how she was going to navigate her way through this evening.
As she raised her head, she caught Matthew’s quizzical glance.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, automatically touching her hair.
“Nothing. You look fine.” He laughed shortly. “I find it uplifting to see how easily you express your faith.”
“Praying before a meal is hardly a strong expression of faith. I’ve seen you pray, too.”
“Yes. I guess I didn’t think of you as a praying person.” Silence again as he picked up his fork, toying with it. “You went to church with Zeke, but never with Joyce. Do you mind if I ask why?”
“A lawyer asking permission to ask a question?” Cory found refuge in her usual wry humor. “That’s a new one.”
“Can we just be Matthew and Cory tonight?” he asked. “Not a lawyer and a woman who hates lawyers?”
Cory dug her fork into her plate of pasta, wrapping the noodles around it, aware of his eyes watching her,
studying her. Admit it, she thought, you like him. You’ve always liked him.
“Okay,” she conceded with a tilt of her head.
Matthew was silent a moment. “So why church with Zeke and not Joyce?”
Cory sighed, intently watching the swirl of the noodles around her fork. She didn’t want Matthew to think less of her mother and wanted him to understand. But in order for that to happen, he had to believe her view of Zeke. She wondered if he would.
“My mother had many disappointments in her life,” she said, evasively.
“Her divorce from Zeke being one of them?”
Cory shook her head. “It’s inevitable, isn’t it? Every time we get together, there hangs the shadow of my stepfather. Can’t even go out for supper, but he’s there. I’ve spent half of my life outrunning him.”
“So tell me what life with Zeke was like.”
Cory took a mouthful of food, the pause giving her a chance to formulate her answer. “I don’t think you’ll believe me,” she said finally.
Matthew sat up, his elbows on the table. “I know you well enough that you have principles and standards. I’ve heard Zeke’s side of the story. Now I want to know yours.”
“For what reason?” Why would it matter to him now?
“One of the symbols of justice is a set of scales. I’ve realized that in order to balance those scales, I need to hear what you have to say.”
Cory played with her fork, as she tried to find the place to start, tried to find the tone that didn’t sound like she was seeking sympathy, yet would tell Matthew in no uncertain terms what she and her mother lived with.
“Your mother married him when you were quite young,” Matthew prompted.
“I never knew who my real father was,” Cory said. “He died before I was born. My mother married Zeke when I was two. He was the only father I knew.”
“And your mother divorced him when you were twelve?”
“You know your facts, Mr. McKnight,” Cory said, unable to keep the sardonic tone out of her voice.
“Sorry. I’m sounding like a lawyer.” Matthew leaned back. “Just ignore me. Tell your story.”
Cory smiled at his admission. “Zeke Smith is, was,” she corrected, “quite a charmer. My mother was overwhelmed. She was also broke with a baby girl to take care of. When Zeke proposed after only a couple of dates she accepted. She didn’t know what he was really like.” Cory paused, still cautious about telling Matthew, her father’s one-time defender, the same things she had tried to tell many other people without success.
But Matthew said nothing, just leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table beside his untouched supper, his hands clasped loosely in front of him.
So she continued hoping she could present her mother in a positive light, aware that she wanted Matthew to see, to understand what they had to live with.
She also knew how Joyce looked to both Matthew and his father. Harsh, unyielding and sharp. They didn’t know.
“Mom tried, she really did. Zeke was unpredictable in his behaviors. She never knew if he would approve or disapprove of decisions she made, things she did. One day he would tear a strip off her for spending too much on groceries, the next because she was being cheap. He would yell and throw things around and then, in a breath, would stop and apologize.” She stopped, wondering if Matthew really and truly understood the tension that permeated the house living with someone like Zeke. The constant uncertainty. How could she translate that into words?
Matthew said nothing, his silence encouraging her to continue.
“I think the best examples of the real Zeke were my birthdays,” she said, looking away. “I was five the first time I remember him yelling at my mother for buying me a present. It wasn’t much. Just a little stuffed bear. He was going on how he wanted to be involved and how was he supposed to be a father to me if she was always taking over. So, when I was six, he took me shopping. I was allowed to pick out a doll. I was so excited. I found just the doll I wanted. Porcelain, with curly hair. But it was too expensive, he said, so I picked out another one. Same deal. Finally I found one that suited him, and I carried it to the front, happy as a clam. Then, when we got to the cashier, he pulled out his wallet. ‘My goodness, no money. Sorry, honey, we’ll have to do this another day.’” Cory looked Matthew straight in the eye. “The day he promised never came. When I turned eight we went through exactly the same scenario. I would get presents at Christmastime. Empty boxes. ‘Full of hugs,’ he would say. He was a strange man with a warped sense of humor. I stopped trusting him when I was nine.”
The silence between them was absolute. Cory took a few bites of her supper, forcing them down.
“And later on…”
Cory swallowed, took a drink of water. “Lots of other promises to take me places to do things that never materialized. Always, under the surface, was this control thing. He was always ragging on my mother, calling her lazy. Among other things.” Reluctantly she told him about the verbal abuse that he heaped on her mother, the humiliation, the pain her mother had to deal with as her fibromyalgia got worse and worse. “As I got older I started defending her, then I was the butt of his anger.
“Oh, he was his usual charismatic self in public. Had that aura, that charm, but at home, it was another story. At home my mother was a useless drudge, and I became someone else’s kid, a waste of his money.” She stopped, feeling once again the sting of humiliation, the helpless fury she felt when Zeke would start in on her mother.
“So your mother divorced him,” Matthew prompted gently.
“Our home life as such was one round of fights and anger and intense pain for my mother who was told by the doctor that she was a hypochondriac. I was the one who urged my mother to leave, but she said she had made vows and promises. Zeke, however, didn’t seem to think promises needed to be kept.”
“Did you think he was unfaithful?”
Cory shrugged. “I don’t know. Doesn’t matter anymore. He didn’t treat us very well. I don’t imagine it would have been different with anyone else.”
“So what made your mother finally decide to leave?”
Cory toyed with her fork, her appetite gone as memory after memory surfaced. “He started hitting me,” she said quietly, laying down her fork, sitting back in her chair, her arms folded over her stomach.
“I recall that,” Matthew said quietly. “It was in the file as an allegation.”
“It was never an allegation.” Cory’s fingers dug into her arms remembering the questioning from social workers, psychologists and the unbelief. “It was true,” she snapped. “All of it. We couldn’t prove that he had been physically abusive. I was never hurt that badly. My mother took me to the doctor to get some proof, but the doctor didn’t believe me or my mother. After all, he was the one who thought she was a hypochondriac.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that I was questioning you, Cory.” Matthew sat forward, his hand resting on the table between them as if he were trying to reach out to her. “I’m just stating what was in the file.”
Cory drew a slow steady breath, trying to find equilibrium. “Do you know how many years I’ve said what I just told you, how many times I’ve prayed for someone who would believe me, who would say that I was right?”
She looked up at him and was undone by the sorrow on his face. For a moment she clung to her anger, but found it hard, looking at Matthew’s expression.
“It wasn’t really me that he wanted, you see,” Cory continued, unable to stop the flow of words now. “It was the idea that my mom had me during the week. That she had control for five days of my life. So he wanted control of the weekends. Funny thing was, I never knew if he was going to be there or not. So the times he was gone, I went home. Then he would find out, accuse my mother of encouraging me to run away, of not allowing him to have his rights….” Here Cory faltered.
“And that’s where my father and I came in,” Matthew finished for her.
“Yes. I guess our lawyer wasn�
�t as convincing as you both were, because my mother always ended up losing. Trouble was, I know she didn’t always come across as kind and sympathetic. Life taught her to be hard. However we still ended up with lawyers’ bills. We finally paid them off a few months ago. Lawyers’ fees really add up when you don’t have a lot of income coming in.” She glanced up at him, suddenly aware of what she was saying and the position she had put him in.
Matthew drew his hand back, frowning down at his plate. Then he picked up his fork and began eating.
They ate in silence for a while, Cory lost in her own thoughts. She wondered what Matthew was thinking.
After a while he looked up. “You and your mother moved around a lot. Why was that?”
Cory felt the beginnings of a headache, wishing this was over. Suddenly it didn’t seem as important to her as it once had.
She felt tired of Zeke and wanted him gone from their lives. For most of her life everything had revolved around him, his moods, his needs.
She didn’t want to talk about Zeke anymore. For the past nine months they had lived in relative peace in Stratton. For the first time in years she and her mother could make plans for the future. God had watched over them, just as they prayed He would. What did the past matter?
“It doesn’t matter, Matthew,” she said quietly, taking a sip of water.
“Yes, it does,” he said, glancing up. “I want to know everything. You and your mother moved around a lot. Was it to get away from Zeke?”
“Yes. We would move away, he would find us and slowly step up the intimidation. He would follow us and make threats. The stress was too much for Mom. She would get worse so we would move. I’d have to find another job and explain to each new employer why I never worked more than six months at any given job. When I first saw you in the restaurant, I thought Zeke had found us again.” She felt suddenly weary. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”
Matthew pushed his plate away and sat back, his arms crossed over his chest. His mouth was curved up in a cynical smile, his eyes hard. “Can we get out of here?” he asked suddenly. “Can you stand my company a little longer? I need to go for a walk. Unless you want to finish your meal?”
A Family At Last Page 10
