by Lisa Heaton
The next morning, they sat in bed and polished off an entire dozen donuts. It became their thing, donuts, and because of it, she had not eaten one in years.
Robin knocked on Chris’s door, and when he did not answer, after another minute, she turned to leave. They had agreed to meet so she was surprised to find him gone. On the way back to the house, she saw him heading up from the dock.
Lifting his hand, he shouted, “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
In that moment she became aware of something she should have recognized before. He was there on vacation, paying handsomely for the cabin rental, and here she was taking up his time with free counseling. He was rushed from his morning out on the water to get back to meet with her. She felt incredibly selfish.
Meeting him halfway between the cabins and the dock, she stopped and admitted, “I just realized how I have monopolized your time. I am so sorry I haven’t seen it before now.”
“Monopolized my time? What are you talking about?”
“You felt rushed to be back here to meet with me when you should have no schedule to keep. I am so sorry.”
He chuckled. “You have to be kidding me.” Passing by her, he added, “Come on.”
She fell in behind him, still concerned. “Are you sure?”
Reaching the cabin, he dropped his backpack on the porch and moved to sit in one of the rockers. Pointing to the other, he smiled reassuringly. “Sit.”
She did so. For a moment, she was quiet, still concerned that she was invading his vacation. How could someone, a virtual stranger to her, give so much of his time to a woman he barely knew? Determining he was one of the kindest men she had ever met, Robin couldn’t help but compare him to the other men in her life. By comparison, she found the others to be lacking. Her dad was a good man but could be abrupt, harsh even. Mike was fun-loving for all the time she had known him, up until that final year, but she would never have described him as kind necessarily. Chris was kind, through and through. There were not many men like him, of that she was sure. Finally, after a few moments of pondering his kindheartedness, she became curious, asking, “Have you always been this way, so giving?”
He smiled shyly. “I don’t know that I would call myself giving.”
“I would.” His humility was sincere, she had no doubt. “So, where shall we begin today?”
Rocking slowly, he inquired, “Are you ready to tell me about the hard times?”
“Maybe.” She squirmed a bit in her seat.
“When was the first time he hit you?”
Looking away, staring out at the water, she was not at all prepared to talk about it. But knowing there would be no relief over the end without taking him through the beginning, she began. “I went to work for a car dealership as a receptionist. One night after closing up, my car would not start. Of course I tried to call him, but he never answered. He had been going out after work drinking with the guys. At first, it was just occasionally, but before long, he went out a few nights a week. I imagine he was ignoring my calls because he didn’t want me asking when he might come home. I did that sometimes.
“I wasn’t sure what to do. One of the sales guys offered to drop me off, and I thought it was no big deal.” She was quiet for a minute. The memory of that night, the beginning of the end, brought with it an ache deep within. It reached a hidden place she was certain had become numb. In that moment, however, it was anything but numb.
“Even after I got home I tried to call, but he still never answered. When he came in a little while later and heard I had accepted a ride home, he went off the deep end. It was like nothing I had ever seen in him before. He began accusing me of cheating, threatening the guy. I didn’t understand what was happening. I kept trying to explain, and it seemed the more I did, the angrier he got.”
A shiver ran along her spine at the recollection it. “He reeked of stale beer and cigarette smoke from the bar, and at one point, he grabbed me and tried to kiss me. I was so disgusted by him in that moment, I shoved him away.” Hesitating, she recalled how he looked at her after she pushed him. It was the very first time she saw his anger directed toward her. Up until then, he was simply angry at everything. Burnt toast might cause him to throw the toaster. Lost keys would result in upside down furniture and slammed doors. In those moments, she would rush in and try to help diffuse his anger. This night though, she was the target of his rage and no one was there to help her. “After I pushed him, he slung me across the kitchen and into the counter. I think maybe I cracked some ribs. The bruising was so bad, it lasted for weeks.”
She stopped, unwilling to go on. That night, from there on, things only got worse. He never hit her or pushed her around again, but it was the first of many times he forced himself on her. Not in a violent way, but as some means of trying to make up with her, he began kissing her, telling her how sorry he was, and how much he loved her. Even while she tried to stop him, he held her firmly in his grasp and continued kissing her, until finally she gave in to him.
Afterward, and all throughout the next day, she lived in stunned silence, as if the entire thing had been a terrible dream. No matter how much she tried to push the memory away though, the bruises on her wrists where he held her down were evidence of its reality. Even worse was the memory of how she responded to him, desiring him as much as he did her.
“That night, was there anymore violence?”
“No.” She looked back out at the water. Some things were too humiliating to discuss.
“What happened afterward?”
“He was so drunk, but eventually, he realized what he had done. He cried and told me how much he loved me. I became the typical, stand-by-your-man woman.” She snorted at how stupid she was. In truth, she believed him when he said he would never hurt her again. Of course she believed him. He had never lifted a finger to harm her before. How could she ever anticipate what was to come? For nearly a year it happened, not every day, or even weekly, but enough to make life so completely miserable that even when he was stable and not drinking, she lived in fear that he would snap, or that something she said might set him off.
“Did he hit you only when he was drinking?”
“Yes.”
“How long did it go on?”
“Nearly a year.”
He stopped rocking and leaned up. Clasping his hands together, he told her, “I am glad you got out when you did. Many women stay for years. Some never make it out.”
“That last night, I had no choice.”
“What happened?”
Shaking her head, trying to ward off the bloody memories of it, she whispered, “I can’t, not yet.”
“Okay, I understand.” He noted how the color drained from her face and knew better than to push her. “After that first night, how long before it happened again?”
“A few months later. Honestly, I am surprised it didn’t happen sooner than it did. He was becoming more and more volatile. Everything upset him. Even sober, he had this incredibly short fuse. I never knew what might set him off and felt as if I was walking on egg shells constantly. I became nervous and jumpy, knowing something was terribly wrong. Then one night, it happened again. Actually, the second time he backhanded me…several times. The next morning, I was pretty beat up.”
Out at a movie one night, a guy from one of the classes she attended while he was on his first deployment, someone she barely knew really, came up and began talking to her. As he was about to walk away, he reached over and hugged her. When he did, she froze, noticing the look on Mike’s face. He was beyond furious. Stepping forward, he grabbed the guy’s arm and shoved him. Though the guy apologized, she knew it wasn’t over. Ignoring her as she pleaded with him to stop, he took a swing and knocked the guy flying into a wall.
The entire way home he grilled her, asking if she had gone out with him, if she slept with him. Crying, she pleaded for him to believe her. Once inside, he ranted and raved, then finally he left. When he came home much later, he dragged her out of bed and the who
le thing began again. It was different though than the first round. In his drunken state, many times he shoved her and eventually, he began to hit her. Until that final night, it was the worst of all the times.
“Did you call the police?”
“He was the police.” Just after returning home from the Marines, he got on at the Sheriff’s Department. The friends he drank with were all deputies. Even if not, she would have never called and risked getting him into trouble. His job was everything to him, since being a cop was all he had ever wanted to be.
Looking at her, he shook his head and sighed. “Did you tell anyone?”
Pulling her legs up, propping her feet on the chair, she wrapped her arms around her legs. Resting her head on her knees, she admitted, “No.”
“Were you scared to?”
“I don’t know, I guess.” Thinking, she added, “Not scared. It was not as if he threatened me if I did. I just didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Shaking her head, she shrugged her shoulders. By the time the abuse began, they had been married over five years. In all those years, she and everyone else believed them to be the happiest of couples. Was that what kept her silent, her embarrassment?
“Did anyone at work notice?” He had once worked with a woman whom he suspected was being abused. The first time, the first bruise explained away as clumsiness, he ignored. But the second prompted him to discreetly talk with her. She denied it, as many abused women do. After some time, she opened up to him a little more, admitting they were having problems, but never outright saying she was abused. Eventually, she transferred to another school. From a mutual friend he learned she finally left her husband.
“I never went back to work after that first night. From then on, he was extremely jealous, so I simply stayed home. It was easier than the accusations and fights that arose when I did go out.” Her mind drifted between the two Mikes. When he was sober, though he was different from the man she married, he was at least remorseful of the things he did while drinking. In a drunken state, however, he was a total stranger to her, and treated her as if she were a stranger too. In either state, he lived with some sort of new fear, bordering on obsession, that she would leave him. He often said so, and it was something she could never understand. Never, not once had she threatened or even considered doing such a thing. Robin was willing to suffer the abuse as long as she was with Mike.
“Did you go to church then?”
“Yes.” She stood and moved to the railing. “But not when I had bruises.”
Millions of women lived that very life every day. His deepening feelings for Robin brought the reality of it painfully close to his heart. Standing, he walked to where she stood. She was gripping the railing, so he placed his hand over hers. “I am so sorry you had to live that way.”
Sighing, she agreed, “Me too. I was so sorry things became what they did.” Closing her eyes, she admitted, “I loved him so much.” Looking back at Chris, as if trying to convince him of something she was certain of, she added, “He loved me too. I never doubted that. After he came home, he was never the same. I have always wondered – what if I would have gotten him some help?”
“You cannot blame yourself. I am certain you did the best you could with what you had at the time. We all look back at our past and make sound judgments of what we could have done differently. Then we spend way too much time beating ourselves up over what we didn’t do.” Sensibly, he removed his hand. When he placed it on hers, it was an innocent gesture of concern, but after a minute, he realized he was allowing it to remain there simply to be touching her. Clearly, the lines were getting blurred, and he would never do anything to jeopardize her trust in him.
“I know. Honestly, there are many things I would do differently if given the chance.” Thinking for a moment she asked, “Ya know what?”
“What?”
“Looking back, I can see it happening. Every strike was like another stitch, until finally, I could see nothing of God at all.” After he would hit her, and then the things that would follow, she would lie in bed and cry herself to sleep. The power he had over her mentally, emotionally, and especially physically was so traumatic, she was losing the desire to even get out of bed most mornings. Early on, she would wonder if God was looking on, watching what was happening in their home. Eventually she thought of no such things. At some point, though she was not sure when it finally happened, she stopped caring if God was watching or if He even cared at all. It was then all things inside her died, and she became numb to life altogether.
“Hindsight gives you great insight. It also will help you heal. You can see what caused you to turn from God, and in knowing that, you know what barriers have to be removed.” His head was hurting, so he went back to sit down. Rubbing his temples, he admitted, “I may have to call it a day.”
“Are you okay?” She went to him and squatted down. “Can I get you something?”
He was feeling a bit nauseous and needed to lie down. The headaches were becoming more frequent, but the nausea was new. “I think maybe I am coming down with something. I’ll go in and sleep it off.”
Concerned, she offered, “Please let me know if you need anything. Can I leave you my number?”
“Sure.” He went in, trying not to make too big a deal of things and pointed to a pad of paper on the table. “Just write it there.” Without another word, he went into the bedroom and closed the door.
Standing there in the middle of the room staring at the closed door, she wondered what had just happened. Was he suddenly that ill? Leaving quietly, she felt uneasy. He was fine one moment, and practically staggered to the bedroom the next.
That afternoon, she went about her work, but by dinner time, she was concerned enough to go by and check on him. When he answered, she was relieved to see he looked much better. “You had me worried.”
He laughed. “Sorry about that. It came out of nowhere. I am better now.” And he was. Headaches were common, especially upon waking and were what led to his diagnosis, but the intensity of the one he suffered during the afternoon was like nothing he had ever experienced.
“Would you like to come up for dinner? Emma is cooking, and she wanted me to invite you.”
“I feel privileged. If it is anything like her breakfast, consider me in.”
“Great. Come up in about half an hour.”
“I’ll be there.”
When she left, he went and sat on the sofa. He should have told her then that he was dying, or at least that he was sick. Many times, he considered how he might tell her, but every time, he acknowledged it would likely derail her progress. Out of concern for his condition, she would feel the need to give him his space, or something to that effect. Deliberating on it regularly, he was not so sure he would tell her at all. With only two weeks remaining there at the lake, there was no reason she would ever have to know.
7
In her room alone Emma sat with the phone lying next to her on the bed. Having just hung up from the sheriff, she felt a terrible sense of dread over impending things. He agreed to call and find out when Mike would be up for parole, promising to get back with her when he knew. Certain that Mike would show up at the inn, she briefed the sheriff on his and Robin’s history, in part anyway. Even with the sheriff’s assurance that everything would be okay, she knew better. Mike could be at the inn long enough to do serious damage before a patrol car could arrive.
She walked down to the lobby, hoping to catch Robin alone and at least let her know she had placed the call. Instead, Tommy and Becky were behind the counter, Tommy working on Robin’s computer. “Where’s Robin?”
“I’m not sure. I think she’s with Chris.”
Walking into the kitchen, she sat on a stool and looked out through the large picture window. She could see them out on the dock talking. They had been meeting for a few weeks, and there were some signs of restoration in her. Emma was incredibly thankful for the progress she was seeing and
for Robin’s willingness to seek help. There seemed to be something brighter in her outlook and attitude.
Chris had begun going to church with her, and once, Emma even dared to go with them. When the roof didn’t cave in, she decided she might give it a try again sometime. She had always believed in God and gone to church as a girl, but it had been many years since she thought of such things. Recently though, witnessing what a miracle was happening in Robin’s life, she seemed to be catching a glimpse of Him in action. Something about that gave her hope for her own heart, and almost a willingness to seek God for some restoration of her own.
“Emma, there’s a call for you.” Becky was peeking around the kitchen door.
“Thanks, sweetie.” As she stood, she thought about Robin again. She had tried on several occasions to talk to her about Mike, but every time Robin changed the subject. Whether Robin was prepared to face what his release might mean or not, Emma was surely not going to sit by and let him surprise them. Her plan was to take a proactive approach. If she had to hire full-time security, she would do it. Robin meant that much to her, and she would pay any price to keep her safe.
While talking with the sheriff, her greatest fear was confirmed. Mike’s parole hearing would be in two days. She began to cry, asking how they could consider letting him out early.
Becky and Tommy were exchanging looks. Neither had ever seen Emma upset like this. As they quietly began to walk from behind the counter, she shook her head no. Holding up one finger, she mouthed, “Stay here.” Hanging up the phone, she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.
“What is it?”
“Robin’s ex-husband will probably be out this week.”
“Oh, no!” While she did not know the whole story, Becky knew he was responsible for the nightmares Robin experienced. Emma at least told her that much the summer before.
Although it was Robin’s personal business, Emma realized it would affect them all, so she felt compelled to share with them. “He’ll show up here. I have no doubt.”
