by J. P. Bowie
“Anthony, you have to understand—”
“Oh, I understand, Doc. My father had you by the balls, didn’t he? Because of what he let you do to me, you couldn’t refuse him. Right?”
The doctor stared at Anthony, his pale face now so pinched by despair and fright that for a moment Anthony thought he was going to keel over.
“Oh please, don’t have a heart attack now, Doc,” he cried with mock anguish. “There’s something I need you to do for me.”
“What? I’ll do anything to make amends, Anthony.”
“Good to hear. I want you to call the police and confess to your part in my father’s sordid liaisons.”
“No, I can’t—I’ll be ruined!”
“You’ll also go to jail as an accomplice,” Anthony told him, his smile returning. “Oh well, it’s either that or I tell the world what you did to me. The press, the police, the Medical Board; just about anyone who’ll listen.” He paused, then added almost as an afterthought, “It’s funny, you know, how much more harshly the rape of a child is dealt with by the judicial system.”
“Oh, my God.” The doctor wept. “Anthony, please…I’m begging you. Please don’t.”
“Please don’t?” Anthony looked coldly at the cringing man. “You know Doctor Tom; it seems to me that I said those exact same words to you that night, several years ago on our little fishing trip.” He stood up and leaned menacingly over the doctor’s desk. “As I remember it, all my pleas for mercy were ignored by you. Now, I’m simply returning the favor.”
He turned to go then paused by the door. “You have until tomorrow noon to call the police—or I will. Bye, Doctor Tom.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Peter rolled over on the beach blanket and looked at Jeff who lay sleeping beside him. The week in Hawaii had done them both good, he thought as he admired Jeff’s tanned and muscular body. There had been way too much stress in their lives for the past few months. He propped himself up on his elbows and gazed out at the blue Pacific, at the few surfers daring the breakers, and the less adventurous folk paddling at the water’s edge.
“Paradise,” he murmured to himself, lying back down again and letting the warmth of the morning sun caress his bare skin. A whole week of doing nothing other than eating, sleeping, sunbathing, and making love was just what Doctor Peter had prescribed, and it had worked wonders on their libidos.
Right now, Emily and Jerry would be on their honeymoon in Tuscany and Anthony would have moved in with Justin in LA. He really had to call Andrew on his return to the mainland. He’d been neglecting his friend recently and he didn’t want that to become a habit. Andrew had been too good a friend to him when he really needed one—and now he had a feeling Andrew could use a good friend to turn to.
Beside him, Jeff stirred and squinted at him, holding his hand up to shield his eyes. “Was I asleep?”
“Yes, you was. I was just thinking of Andrew and how I need to call him when we get back.”
“Oh, no. We’re going back?”
“Sorry, but you’re the one who insisted we only take a week off.”
“I know, I know,” Jeff groused, rolling over on top of Peter and tickling him.
“Argh…” Peter didn’t put up much of a struggle. “Not in public, please.”
Jeff leapt to his feet, dragging Peter up with him. “Oops!” he exclaimed, looking down at the bulge in his shorts. “Now look what you’ve done, you naughty boy.”
With one quick motion, he threw Peter over his shoulder and charged down the beach, flinging himself and Peter into the waves.
“You bully!” Peter spluttered as he surfaced.
“You love it,” Jeff yelled, throwing his arms around him and lifting him off his feet.
“You’re right—but you don’t have to be so damned smug about it.”
§ § § §
Two days later
“Good to be home,” Jeff said, stacking the suitcases at the foot of the stairs.
“This from the man who didn’t want to leave Hawaii,” Peter teased.
“I know. Still, it’s always sweet to come home.”
Peter grinned at him. “I’ll just go next door and tell Mom we’re back.”
“Bring her back for a drink, why don’t you, if she’s not busy. I’ll take the luggage upstairs then I’ll fix us a drink.”
“Be right back.” Peter ran the few steps to Eve’s door and rapped a merry tattoo on the window pane.
His mother beamed a welcoming smile. “Oh, I missed you both,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Where’s Jeff?”
“He’s in the house. Come on over. He’s making drinks for us.”
“Just for a little while then. You must be tired after that long journey.”
“Not at all. We’re totally rested up. How about this tan?”
Eve smiled at him. “You look very handsome darling.” She eyed his Hawaiian shirt. “That’s a bit startling isn’t it?”
“Wait ‘til you see Jeff’s—it’s even louder.”
Jeff chuckled when he saw Eve’s eyes widen as she gazed at his shirt of wildly mixed colors and birds of paradise. “Your son picked this one out for me.”
“And I’m always bragging about his good taste. I must say, you both look very colorful.”
Jeff handed Eve her martini and Peter his Scotch, then they walked out together on to the patio.
“I saved a couple of interesting articles I saw in the newspapers while you were gone,” Eve said after sipping her drink.
“Oh, yeah?”
“One I especially liked—Jeff got mentioned several times, saying he helped crack the child prostitution ring.”
“That reminds me,” Jeff said. “I have to call that children’s shelter tomorrow and volunteer our time. That is, if you still want to help, Peter.”
“Of course I do.”
“The article said a lot of shelters are lacking support,” Eve said. “I think I’d like to help too.”
“Great. I’ll sign us all up.”
Eve got up from the table. “I’ll be right back. You should read this—and there’s another article you’ll really find interesting.”
Jeff watched her walk away, a curious smile on his lips.
“What’s on your mind?” Peter asked.
“Your mother. She is, without a doubt, the sweetest lady I’ve ever met.”
“Well, she loves you too, you know.”
“I know. It makes me feel guilty that I don’t hold my own mother in the same high esteem. That I’m not closer to her.” Jeff shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I haven’t been to see her in Arizona since I moved in here with you.”
“You know…” Peter stroked Jeff’s arm. “People have to put something into a relationship to get something out of it—it can’t be a one way street all the time. Your mother hasn’t made much of an effort to show her affection. We might be adults, but when it comes to our parents we’re still kids really. We still need our parents love, and without it we feel the emptiness. I’m lucky, I’ve never felt that, but I’ve seen your pain when you talk of her.”
“One of these days,” Jeff said, “I have to try and close the gap between my mother and me. If anything should happen to her—well, I’d feel pretty rotten if I hadn’t at least attempted…” He broke off as Eve returned carrying newspaper cuttings.
“Look at this one, Jeff.” She handed him a newspaper clipping.
“Doctor Found Dead In Office,” Jeff read aloud. “Doctor Thomas A. Watt was found dead in his own office. He had apparently committed suicide.” He whistled softly. “The doctor was discovered when his receptionist arrived for work at 8am. He had been dead for several hours, a police spokesperson said. An autopsy would be ordered, but several empty drug bottles were found near the body.
“Dr. Watt had been a resident of Newport Beach for a number of years and was a close friend of the late Charles Hastings, a Newport Beach businessman who was found murdered in his office several weeks ago. Associa
tes of Dr. Watt said they knew of no reason why he should take his life. He did not leave a note, according to the police report.”
“Wow,” Peter murmured.
Jeff glanced at the date of the article. “This was written two days after Emily’s wedding,” he said thoughtfully. “That means he committed suicide the day after her wedding.”
“What are you thinking?” Peter asked.
“Anthony had a lot of animosity toward the doctor, if you remember. He also said it wasn’t over between the doctor and him.”
“You don’t think Anthony killed him, do you?” Eve gasped.
“Not directly. But he knew his father had taken that little girl he’d beaten up to a doctor. He might have figured Dr. Watt was that doctor, went to his office, and threatened to expose him. The doctor panicked, knowing it would ruin him—so he committed suicide.”
Peter’s mind went back to that night he stood on the verandah with Anthony, and seeing him caught in the gold of the sunset, had imagined him as…“An avenging angel!” he murmured.
“What?”
“I was remembering the night Anthony came over—after the funeral. As we were all standing on the balcony, I had a sudden vision of him as a kind of avenging angel. Pretty fanciful, eh?”
“Well, as it turns out, you might just have been right about him.”
“If you’re right Jeff, has Anthony done something wrong?” Eve asked.
“Well, not really. Ideally, he should have contacted the police and let them know of his suspicions. But, it probably appealed to Anthony’s sense of poetic justice that he do it that way—if he did it, of course.”
“Will you ever ask him?” Peter wanted to know.
“Maybe one day. I’ll always be curious.”
“Well, if he did, I can’t say I blame him, knowing what that man did to him.”
“I have a feeling I don’t want to hear about that,” Eve said, getting to her feet. “Come on you two, I’ve prepared a little snack for you inside. It’s getting chilly out here and even the reflection off those shirts isn’t warming me up.”
Later, as Peter and Jeff lay dozing in bed after a bout of hot lovemaking, the phone rang shrilly in their ears.
“Damn,” Peter muttered, extricating himself reluctantly from Jeff’s embrace.
“Hello?”
“Peter, it’s Andrew.”
“Oh, hi Andrew. We were just talking about you!”
“Liar,” Jeff mumbled from under the covers.
“I’ve been meaning to call you just about every day for the last three weeks,” Peter said, punching Jeff’s arm.
“I miss you guys.”
“Are you okay? It must be late in New York.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning. David had to go out of town for a few days on business. I can’t sleep, so I just wondered if you’d be home.”
“Well, I’m glad you called.”
“So what have you been up to?” Andrew asked.
“Oh my God, Andrew. You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on here. Okay, it’s all kind of involved, so pay attention.”
Jeff sighed and sat up in bed. He pulled a magazine off the nightstand and hunkered down to read.
This was going to be a long phone call.
EPILOGUE
Emily gazed appraisingly at the flower arrangement she had just created in the dining room of her new home. She and Jerry had returned from their honeymoon three weeks before, and since then she had been kept busy getting the place looking and feeling as homey and comfortable as she could in that short space of time.
Her main frustrations had been the slowness of some of the furniture deliveries, but yesterday the new dining room suite had arrived. Emily had fallen in love with the design and the texture of the rosewood table the very first time she set eyes on it in the store.
Jerry had chuckled at her almost childlike enthusiasm as he watched her lovingly stroke the highly polished wood and look at him wistfully with a ‘please buy it for me’ glint in her eye. Of course he had bought it for her and she had counted the days until it arrived. It looked stunning sitting on top of the black and gold Persian rug Anthony had given her as a wedding gift. The table was perfect, the room was perfect, the house was perfect. But best of all, she and Jerry were at last married and she was freed from all the stress and bitterness of the past.
She couldn’t wait for him to come home tonight. She had some extra special news to tell him. Something she knew would make him an even happier man. With a little smile, she walked into the living room. Jerry had hung her portrait over the fireplace—the most conspicuous place in the room.
“I want everyone to see my beautiful wife’s portrait as soon as they step into this house,” he’d said, smiling at her with pride after he and Peter had completed the task together.
Now she paused for a moment and stood looking at her likeness smiling thoughtfully back at her. She shivered slightly as she remembered the day she had told Peter of her father’s perversion. How, she wondered, had Peter managed to catch that almost serene look when what she had actually been feeling that day was closer to despair. She had been convinced at that time that somehow her father was going to find a way to stop her from marrying Jerry. It had even crossed her mind that her father’s death was the only sure way of knowing he could not ruin her life.
She had wished for him to die—and he had. Did that make her as guilty as the man who had actually done the deed? Be careful of what you wish for, the old saying went. It just might come true. She knew she would never have had the strength to carry out her father’s murder, but she could not hide from herself the fact that she was very glad he was dead. If that made her a bad person, then so be it.
A knock at the door made her jump and brought her back to reality.
“Anyone home?”
She smiled as she recognized Peter’s voice. She had invited him to drop by this morning for coffee. He and Jeff lived only three blocks away, something that had made Emily even more delighted with her new home.
“Hi, gorgeous,” Peter sang out as she opened the door. After a hug and kiss he handed her a large brown envelope. “This was sitting on the porch.”
Emily looked at the envelope and frowned. “That’s my mother’s handwriting. What on earth can she be sending me?”
“A belated wedding gift? A check maybe?”
“Not likely.” She threw the envelope down onto a chair. “Come see my new dining suite. You have to say you love it, even if you don’t.”
“I do love it. It’s beautiful. The flowers too. Jerry’s still sending you bouquets, I see.”
“No. I mean, yes, he does.” Emily laughed. “But those I bought this morning and arranged myself.”
“Such talent the young lady has.”
“Let’s have the coffee in the kitchen, shall we?”
“Sounds good.” Peter followed her into the large sunny kitchen, picking up her mother’s envelope as he went.
“Here…” He handed it to her. “Better get this out of the way.”
Emily sighed as she tore open the envelope. “I haven’t heard a word from her since the day of the funeral, Peter. I can’t think she’s about to send congratulations now.” She pulled two pieces of thin cardboard from the envelope. Sandwiched between them was a photograph. Emily looked at it in silence then handed it to Peter.
It was a family portrait, obviously taken several years ago. Emily’s mother and father sat stiffly side by side, Emily on her father’s lap. Paula and Anthony stood on either side of their parents. Not one person in the picture was smiling.
“Lord,” Peter muttered under his breath.
“I remember that day very well. I was six, I think. Father took us all out for dinner afterwards, and that night he came to my bedroom and…” Her voice broke and she gazed at Peter with tears glistening in her eyes.
“Why on earth would your mother send this to you now?”
“Because she hates me. Because she want
s to remind me of that horror. She knew what happened that night. This is her way of trying to spoil my happiness with Jerry. She and my father never had anything like the relationship I have with Jerry and she hates me for that.”
“What an incredibly bitter bitch she is,” Peter said.
“Look, there’s even a note.” With a trembling hand, Emily lifted a small scrap of paper and read, “‘Perhaps this will help you to never forget your real family.’”
Peter reached out and took Emily’s hand in his. “But you have a new family now, Emily. You have a marvelous husband who loves and adores you. You have Anthony and Gloria and Johnny who love you, and last but certainly not least—you have Jeff and me who think you’re the bravest lady we know.”
Emily smiled. “I know, and believe me it more than makes up for the hate my mother feels for me. She’s probably got a voodoo doll she’s sticking pins in every night.” She laughed quietly at the thought then her eyes cleared as she looked at Peter again.
“Well, there’s something I’m going to tell you. I was saving this for when Jerry gets home tonight, but if you promise not to tell anyone, I’ll tell you.”
“I promise. Scout’s honor.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Peter let out a whoop and jumped up to hug her. “I am so happy for you. When did you find out?”
“I went to see the doctor yesterday. I had a feeling I was, but I wanted to make sure. He called this morning and gave me the good news.”
“My God, Jerry will be thrilled.”
“Yes, he will. He wants children—lots of ’em he says.”
“Emily, one thing I am certain of; this child will have the best parents he or she could ever wish for.”
“Yes. He’ll have parents who love him unconditionally, no matter what…and who will never, never hurt him.”
“Or her,” Peter added, chuckling.
