by Miles, Ava
“No, you’re coming with us.” He walked over and grabbed her hand. “You remember what I said?”
How could she forget? And while she didn’t want to go to the manor house, she nodded because Rory wanted it.
“Then that’s enough of that,” he said in a grown–up voice.
Tammy’s eyes widened, and Rye strode forward. “Rory, you sound like your Granddaddy Crenshaw. How about I tell you and Annabelle about him at bedtime tonight? You would have liked him a whole lot.”
“I need to turn the stove off,” Tory murmured, suddenly remembering the pot roast.
“I just checked on it,” Tammy said. “Why don’t you bring it up to the house?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll go pack it up. Be right back.”
Tory arranged the food in a couple of brown grocery bags. When Rye strode in, she nodded her head to the counter. “Could you grab the chocolate chip pie and one of the sacks?”
“What did Rory say to you?” he asked, doing as she’d asked.
“That’s between us for now.” It held so much meaning for her that she wasn’t ready to share it, not even with the man who held her heart.
He stepped in front of her. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Her heart pounded faster with his closeness. “Because it meant a lot to that little boy, and I’m not sure he wants anyone else to know.” There was truth in that.
“Do you think I would do anything to hurt him?”
“Never. I’m just not ready to tell you.”
His jaw clenched, the only sign that he didn’t like her response. “We need to go. They’re waiting for us.”
Rory waved out the SUV window when Tory emerged. She smiled at him, her eyes burning with held back tears again. When had she become so involved with this family—this dysfunctional, hurting family—that she was willing to risk being hurt?
Rye took her bags and started arranging the food in the back of his father’s SUV. It felt normal, somehow—like domestic moments like this happened all the time with them. She wedged the pie in the corner so it wouldn’t slide and heaved a sigh. Perhaps her food would help the others.
“Buckle up,” he muttered, opening the back door for her.
Hampton turned around in his seat as Tory slid in. “Seems like the men in this family really like you, Ms. Simmons. I hope you know how rare that is. We’re not easy to get along with.”
She didn’t believe that anymore.
I don’t want silent dinners no more.
Where even the dog don’t come ‘round anymore.
And all that can be heard is a fly,
Beating against the screened porch.
I want a healthy dose of noise.
My woman watching me with joy.
Smiling her sweet smile.
The one reserved just for me.
I want my kids to chatter about their day.
Giggle over little things and play.
And bow their heads to pray.
Silence with others around is hell.
I don’t want to hear that sound again.
I don’t want to hear it anymore.
Rye Crenshaw’s Number One Hit, “Silent No More”
Chapter 15
After just a few moments at the house Rye wanted to duck back out. Mama immediately took Rory to task for being filthy and gave Rye a scorching look that told him as clear as any words that she’d heard all about his skirmish with Sterling. Then she gave Daddy a piece of her mind for disappearing, but he shut her down and announced they were having a family dinner. Unaccustomed to Daddy challenging her authority, everyone waited in silence to see how she’d respond. She finally tapped two perfectly manicured pink fingernails against her emerald necklace and gave a full–watt smile, announcing her intention to make cocktails. Rye wanted a bourbon—straight up.
At the threshold to the parlor, Mama said, “Tammy, dear, why don’t you take Rory upstairs and clean him up? He looks like he’s been rollin’ around in the dirt. And Tory, since my son seems to think so highly of your cooking abilities, I’m sure you can finish everything up in the kitchen.”
Rye ground his teeth. “Leave her be, Mama.”
Tory just squeezed his hand before heading off with the pot roast.
When they sat down in the dining room, the gold damask tablecloth showcasing the Hollins china—white porcelain with a gold rim—everyone was as silent as a tomb. Mama looked like she’d sucked the lemon in her cosmopolitan, and Amelia Anne’s eyes fairly shouted questions about what had happened earlier. Rye noticed Rory grab Tory’s hand and wondered again what the boy had said to her.
Fortunately the roast she’d made was large enough to serve their crew, and she’d wisely created a few additional sides of sugar snap peas and green beans to add to the potatoes.
After taking the first bite of Tory’s food, the tense atmosphere at the table changed. Rye almost smiled, Daddy’s eyelids fluttered, and Annabelle outright giggled. Everyone reached for more—except for Mama. She didn’t touch the food, well aware that it was a grave insult to the chef.
“This is so good,” Annabelle cried, spooning in another carrot. “What’s it called again?”
Tory’s mouth lifted. “Chinese Pot Roast.”
“Like people in China?” Rory asked. “I thought they ate rice.”
Tory gave a nervous laugh. “Well, I don’t know why my Grandma called it that, but I’m glad you like it.”
Hampton lifted his glass to her. “It’s wonderful. Thank you for sharing your talent with us. I can see why Rye thinks so highly of your cooking.”
Rye winked at Tory, whose face instantly went red. When the doorbell rang, Mama rose quickly. Since no one solicited at dinnertime in Meade, Rye had a bad feeling. Everyone’s eyes followed her.
Rye heard Tammy’s sharp intake when the sound of low conversation filtered to the table, and he instantly knew who it was. Mama had invited Sterling. He started to stand, but Daddy put a hand on his arm.
When Sterling came in, his arm linked through Mama’s, Rye wished he’d punched him in the face. Still, he’d known that would generate more talk, so he’d gone for the stomach.
Mama smiled, but her face remained frozen, as if she’d received a Botox injection at the beauty shop that afternoon. “I called Sterling to join our family dinner.”
Daddy rose to his feet, which was when Rye realized why he’d stopped him. This was his house. He was the one who needed to make a stand.
“Until his behavior changes, he is not welcome here,” Daddy said.
Mama gasped. “But Hampton—”
“Your help is not needed, Margaret. Rye and I have already spoken to Sterling. Haven’t we, son?”
His use of son was intentional. Sterling’s face paled.
Rye let his sneer loose. “Yes, sir, we had a right pleasant conversation. Didn’t we, Sterling?”
Mama straightened her spine as if she were preparing for battle. “Amelia Ann, please take the children up for their bath. It’s been a long day for them. Tory, you can clean up the dishes. And the rest of us can retire to your study, Hampton.”
“No, I want Tory to come with me,” Rory cried.
She met Rye’s eyes as she took the boy’s hand. “Okay, I’ll come with you guys if your Aunt Amelia doesn’t mind.”
His sister’s nod was little more than a wobble of her head. When they walked out, Rye was comforted by the thought that the little ones would be well cared for. He walked to Tammy’s side in a show of support and settled a hand on her shoulder, but he broke the contact when she flinched.
Daddy walked forward. “It pains me to say this, Margaret, but I think it would be better if you went upstairs to get ready for bed, too.”
Her hand flew to her throat. “Hampton!”
Go Daddy.
“Sterling, let’s go to my study,” he said, gesturing to the entryway. “Rye, please bring your sister.”
He took Tammy’s elbow in his hand, taking care to be
gentle so she wouldn’t flinch again, not sparing a look at Mama as they walked past her. Rye hadn’t been in his Daddy’s study since he’d been disowned, and his stomach went from queasy to greasy as the memories came rushing back.
Daddy conducted business from home at times. His office could impress and intimidate, depending on the reason the person found himself or herself sitting across from him at his massive, freshly polished mahogany desk. When Daddy settled back into his high–back leather chair, he reached for his antique letter opener, said to have been used by Andrew Jackson during the War of Northern Aggression.
There were two chairs in front of the desk, and Rye gently nudged Tammy into one, gesturing for Sterling to take the other. Now that he’d had some time to process the unexpected turn of events, his brother–in–law didn’t even look upset.
“Well, it appears we have some things to discuss,” Daddy began.
Privilege had run through so many generations of Sterling’s family that he acted like it was part of his DNA. He settled back with his typical arrogance, casually crossing his ankle over his knee like they were going to talk about golf or something. God, he’d always hated this son of a bitch growing up.
“Sir,” Sterling began. “I’m not sure what mendacious thoughts Rye has been putting in your head, but none of them are true. He’s had a dislike of me since childhood. While he abandoned his family, I’ve been here, taking care of mine.”
Rye’s gut burned. It would have been a good tactic if he and Daddy hadn’t reconciled. Clearly, Sterling hadn’t believed it possible.
“Sterling, I’m sure it will surprise you to learn this, but I’ve heard stories about you running around on my daughter for years—since your first year of marriage, in fact.”
Tammy gave a small yelp, like a dog being stepped on.
“Women hear their gossip at the beauty shop. Men hear it on the golf course.” He made direct eye contact with Sterling like he was a hostile witness in court. “I chose to let it be your business. That was my mistake. I’ve made lots of them. But recent events have made me realize that it’s not too late to make amends—or change the status quo. Margaret and I raised our children to respect marriage, but unfortunately, we also instilled a horror of divorce. I don’t want Tammy to feel she needs to put up with an untenable situation, whatever the reason. And repeated and flagrant adultery falls into that category.”
Sterling clenched a fist in Rye’s direction. “You son of a bitch. This is your fault.”
Daddy tapped the letter opener on his desk like a judge’s gavel. “Enough, Sterling. Rye may have been the one pay you a visit, but I can assure you he and I are of one mind. We do not want Tammy to feel alone any longer.”
“By assaulting her husband over something little like this?” he said, running a hand through his blond hair. “She doesn’t care. Look at her. She’s not saying anything. She never does. The only thing at issue here is appearances and her pride.”
Daddy put the letter opener down. “You’re mistaken.” He finally looked at Tammy. “It’s not a little matter, is it?”
***
Oh heavens, why did Daddy have to ask her that? This was their show, wasn’t it?
Then she saw Sterling’s smirk, the way his mouth tipped up to the side. It always did that when he expected her to cave and do nothing. She tugged on her skirt and noticed a spot of dirt she’d missed earlier. The dirt made her remember Rory—why he’d run away. She fingered her sleeve, remembering the bruise on her shoulder. Would he ever hit the kids? Had he when she wasn’t looking?
It was time to take a stand for Rory and Annabelle. And for herself, she realized.
When Rye placed a hand on her shoulder again, she didn’t flinch. His touch wasn’t intended to harm her, and it made her feel less alone. Sterling couldn’t hurt her here.
“No, it’s not a little thing.” The muscles in her face trembled. “The children deserve better. I’m tired of seeing Rory and Annabelle’s disappointed faces when they go to bed before you get home because you’re out with some woman. And I deserve a better husband.” There, she’d said it, even though her throat had squeezed to the size of a thimble.
“You deserve better?” Sterling drawled, uncharacteristically tugging at his tie. “I give you and the kids everything. Don’t you have the best house, car, and clothes? Do you think it’s easy to come home to a frigid bitch every night?”
How could he say that out loud? Shame shot through her, heating her face.
“Shut up!” Rye shouted. “You don’t talk to her that way.”
When her eyes met her Daddy’s, she only saw compassion there, and it gave her the courage to say the things she’d locked inside her heart long ago. “Why do you think I act that way? I know where you’ve been. It doesn’t inspire wifely affection, Sterling. But the children shouldn’t suffer for it.”
His shrug enraged her. “I don’t do anything to the kids.”
“That’s the problem. You don’t love them, Sterling.” Her voice shook as she finally admitted her worst fear. “You don’t even like them. Rory’s old enough to realize it, and Annabelle will soon too.” She twisted her wedding ring, hating the weight, the symbol. “I won’t tolerate it anymore, Sterling.”
Sterling’s mouth twisted as he shoved out of the chair. “You won’t tolerate it? Don’t talk to me like that, Tammy.”
His anger scared her, but Rye and Daddy were here. “I mean it, Sterling.”
”And what exactly are you going to do about it?” he asked, flexing his hand.
Her mind flashed back to other times. His hands—always his hands—on her arms, her wrists, her waist, digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise.
“We can do this easy or we can do this hard, Sterling,” Rye finally said. “You’ve had a taste of easy. I’ll be more than happy to show you hard.”
“You’re going to pay for what you did to me, Rye. Do you think beating me up is going to make me love my wife? You must have turned as stupid as the hick you pretend to be.” He pointed at him, sneering. “You think you’re some hot–shot, but I’ll make you pay. I’ll charge you with assault. I have witnesses.”
Witnesses? Who? And what would they say about her?
Rye only laughed. “If you’d like to admit that you’re a big enough pussy to have crumpled after one punch, that’s your business. Press charges. See if I care.”
No, they couldn’t bring the law into this, and the media would get a hold of this, which he didn’t need right now. Rye had been only trying to protect her.
She rose swiftly and grabbed his arm. “Rye, I don’t want you to get into trouble.”
His gaze softened, and he rested his hand over hers. “It’s okay, Tammy.”
Sterling clucked his tongue and stood up. “Well, isn’t that precious? Who knew country–club Tammy still cared for the black sheep in the family?” He lifted a hand and stroked a lock of her blond hair before she could knock his hand away. “Seems there’s an easier way of handling this all ‘round.”
Daddy raised a brow. “And that would be?”
Sterling rocked back on his heels. “Well, since you’ve taken a dislike to me runnin’ around on your daughter, Hampton, and I don’t want to change my ways, I’m thinkin’ you should pay me to divorce her.”
Tammy inhaled like she’d taken a punch to the stomach. A divorce? She looked at him to see if he were serious. He’d always said he’d never let her go.
Sterling flicked a piece of lint off his suit. “After all, you’ve just said I’m not much of a husband and father. So why should we stay married? I can find a replacement soon enough. You’re a good mama, Tammy, but you’re not much of a wife.”
“I’m going to beat you into a bloody pulp if you say anything about her again,” Rye hissed.
Oh the shame. It made her want to disappear from view.
Daddy slammed his hand on the table. “That’s enough maligning. State your terms, Sterling.”
He tilted his head
to the side. “A million dollars, or I’ll make things worse for everyone.”
He wasn’t serious, she realized. When Sterling didn’t want to do something, he made the terms so high that they couldn’t be met. His lawyer training.
“Done,” Rye responded, shocking her.
She slid into the chair when her legs wouldn’t support her.
“You’ll get half the money now and the other half when the divorce papers are signed. And you’ll sign over full custody,” Rye added.
She watched for Sterling’s reaction. His eyes widened, and then he blinked. So she was right—he hadn’t expected anyone to agree to his terms. Then his mouth quirked up at the corner, and she knew it wouldn’t be enough. That she and the kids would never be free—exactly like he’d always threatened.
“I want another million for giving up custody,” he said.
Tammy lowered her head, already thinking of his retribution.
“Don’t push your luck,” Rye said, acid in his voice. “I’m already being generous.” His fist slapped his other palm. “Best not to provoke me right now. As you’ve heard, I can’t always control myself.”
When she looked over, Sterling was swallowing like he’d choked on a June bug at a picnic. “Fine. So long as we’re done.”
Daddy pulled open his desk drawer and drew out legal stationery, like it was the most natural thing in the world for them to sit down together and outline the terms of her divorce. He picked up his personalized fountain pen and started to write in the special ink Tammy had found him in Charleston.
“Since we have an agreement,” he said, “I’m going to draw this up right now. That way there will be no need for us to meet again. I will file formally for Tammy tomorrow. Since we’re so generous, we’ll state ‘irreconcilable differences’ and not adultery. We’ll deal with the other details in the coming weeks, but I warn you not to fight me on this, son. I’d like nothing better than to destroy you.”
Tammy watched his bold handwriting cover the paper. People would know the reason anyway. Meade was a small town. She was surprised by how little she cared.
