CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I peek through the living room curtains with Arissa, Jason, and Damian.
A small group of reporters and cameramen mill around on the sidewalk, waiting for someone, anyone, to leave the house.
“Don’t they have anything better to do?” Arissa asks, pursing her lips.
“It’s their job, babe,” Damian answers.
“I can’t believe they got here so early,” I say. “No way we can sneak out without being mobbed.”
“This is insane,” Jason mutters, his arms akimbo.
“Our cars are in the driveway,” Damian states, “and they’re watching the front door. What if we went out the back, around the side, and made a run for it?”
“We’ll have to take one car,” Jason says, glancing at Damian. “I won’t be able to get in my car with Arissa getting in yours at the same time.”
“Which car do we take?” Damian asks.
“Mine. It’s closer. The girls first and us right behind so they can get to the doors easier.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Guys,” I interject, “it won’t work. They’re closer to the cars. They’ll be on us before we can open the doors.”
“How do they even know where you live?” Arissa asks.
“Notice how no one is in front of my parents’ house?”
“Oh,” they say in unison.
“I bet it was my mother.” I move away from the window. “So, do we stay in or get mobbed?”
“What do you want to do?” Jason asks me.
“No, I warned you guys this could happen and you all said you were in. You have to decide. Do you want to avoid the reporters more than you want to go out?”
The three of them regard each other expectantly.
“If your dad was here, he could hold them back,” Damian says to Arissa.
“Yeah, but he’s at work,” she states.
“It’s Friday. The trial starts Monday. We have the weekend to go out if we want,” Jason suggests.
“We have the cookout at your house tomorrow,” I remind him.
“I want to go out,” Arissa whines.
Damian shrugs at Jason. “You two don’t have to go with us.”
“No,” Jason says. “We should go. We can’t help that they got here right after we did.”
“Okay. Then we’re back to how do we leave?”
Jason ponders a minute, left arm across his chest and his right index finger curled around his lips. He glances between me and Arissa.
“They really want you,” he says, pointing to me. “If we hid both of you under a blanket or a jacket, they wouldn’t know which one you are.”
“How are we going to keep from breaking our necks if we’re under cover?” I ask.
“We’ll walk you two out and get you in the car. Or we could carry you two.”
“Which would be faster?” Arissa asks.
“Carrying.”
“Okay. Let me get some blankets.” She heads up to the linen closet.
“You sure you want to do this?” Jason asks me.
“I’m not letting other people run my life anymore, J. Andrew and Rose get to draw the boundary lines because they’re my guardians. But no one else.”
He grins.
“What?”
“You’re more assertive. I like it.”
I smirk. “Must be all that therapy.”
“Or just tired of taking crap for so long.”
“Definitely that.”
Arissa returns with two beige throw blankets cradled to her chest and Rose in tow. “I figured Mom could at least close the door behind us if you two are carrying us.”
“Good idea, babe.” Damian grins. “We’ll take my car. If we’re going out the front door, it’s closer.”
He and Jason each take a blanket from her.
“You guys be careful,” Rose says.
“Don’t worry, Rose. We will be,” Jason states, pecking her on the cheek as we gather around the door. “Is the car locked?” he asks Damian.
“No. I left it unlocked, thinking we weren’t going to be here this long.”
Jason looks to me. “Ready?”
I nod. He shakes out the blanket and then laughs once I’m covered.
“What?”
‘You two look like ghosts that were rolling around in dirt,” Damian laughs.
“Ha ha.”
Jason takes my arms and places them around his neck like he does with Mike. “Hold on, Parker.”
I clasp my hands together and one of his arms slips around my back while the other sweeps me up behind my knees. The door cracks as it separates from the doorjamb and Jason bursts forward like he just got the ball on a fast break. A flurry of muffled rapid questioning is garbled through the blanket. Jason sets me down and guides me into the backseat. Jason and Damian remain quiet and refuse to respond to the reporters. The car rocks side to side as Damian and Jason climb in and slam their doors.
“Keep the blankets on until I tell you to,” Jason tells us.
“Yeah, I kinda figured we should wait,” Arissa retorts with a sharp edge of sarcasm in her voice.
Damian starts up the car. “At least they didn’t completely rush us. It could’ve been worse.” He reverses and because I can’t see the curb, the bump going from driveway to street feels bigger.
After a few minutes, Jason says, “You can take the blankets off now.”
The theater is dim while commercials and trivia questions play on the screen. Arissa and Damian make out on my right. Jason sits on my left with the armrest between us pushed up. The soda we’re sharing is snug in his cup holder and our popcorn is in the empty seat next to him. His fingers draw slow circles on my back.
I like the comfort. I like the safety. I know Arissa is right. There’s no one better for me.
No one.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Jason picks me up the next morning and takes me to his house.
“Sara,” Alana greets, coming out of the kitchen with her arms wide open.
I meet her embrace. “Hi, Alana. Do you need any help?”
“Oh, no, honey. Enjoy yourselves for a while. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for some extra hands.”
“Okay. Is Mike awake?”
“He fell asleep after breakfast. Must be storing up energy for later. Would you two like some lemonade?”
“Sure, Mom.”
He gestures to the living room. An assortment of board games covers the coffee table.
“What? No video games?” I jest.
“We can play video games later.”
We sit on the floor on opposite sides of the table. Alana quietly brings us our lemonades and we thank her before she returns to the kitchen.
“So, what will it be? Monopoly? Scrabble? Trivial Pursuit? Pictionary?” he asks.
“Scrabble.”
We’re tied at two games each when Alana comes in. “Time to get everything ready, kids.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll start the grill.”
We put the game away and he heads outside. I join Alana, who is mixing a pasta salad, in the kitchen.
“What would like me to do?” I ask.
“How about chopping the veggies for the salad? Everything is there on the counter.” She points to the pile of vegetables from her garden, already washed, next to the large, wooden cutting board.
I tear the lettuce into the big serving bowl.
“Are you ready for Monday?” Alana asks, keeping her eyes on the pasta salad.
“As ready as I can be.” I grab a knife and a cucumber.
“Mike wants to go.”
I twist at my waist to face her. “The stress won’t be good for him.”
“I know, but once he gets an idea in his head, that’s it.”
“I’ll talk to him later. Maybe I can change his mind.”
She snorts. “Not likely. Haven’t you noticed how stubborn Jason is?”
“Yeah.”
“He g
ets that from his dad.”
“Figures.” We laugh together and I resume chopping.
“What can I help with, Mom?” Jason joins us, hugging me from behind.
I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.
“You can get out the plates, silverware, and cloth napkins for the table. Then the glasses for the counter where the drinks will go.”
“Got it,” he says, bustling around us. “So, what kind of girl talk are my favorite ladies engaging in?”
“Your dad wanting to go to the trial on Monday,” I say.
“Ah. The touchy subject of the house. We’ve tried to talk him out of it. He insists.”
“Just like you,” Alana pipes up.
“Mom, stop giving away all my secrets,” he says jokingly.
“It’s not a secret if I already know,” I point out.
He raises his brows. My heart skips a beat and I sigh in fake exasperation.
“What’s next, Mom?”
“Get out the ice bucket and fill it up.”
“Salad is done, Alana,” I inform her.
“Thanks, honey. Would you slice up that baguette, please?”
I clean off the cutting board and grab the bread knife. Halfway through cutting the loaf, a shock of freezing cold and wet slides down my back.
“AH!” I scream, jumping, trying to grab the frosty object. The ice cube falls to the floor and Jason grips his knees, doubled over in laughter hard enough to shake his body. “Jason Nicholas Waters!” I drop the knife on the cutting board and punch him as hard as I can on his arm.
“Ow!” He massages his arm where I hit him. “That hurt.”
“That’ll teach you.”
Alana snickers behind me.
“I had to lighten the mood. You two were being so serious.” He tugs me into his embrace and plants a swift kiss on my nose.
“Payback’s a bitch, you know,” I warn.
“Bring it on, Parker.” He cocks the left side of his mouth into a half grin.
I love that half-cocked grin. Sometimes I think he does it just for me.
“I’ll bring it when you least expect it.” I return to slicing the bread.
“Honey,” Alana says, “you’ve met your match.”
“Why do you think I chased her all those years, Mom?”
I smile to myself.
We play charades outside after eating. Adults versus kids with screaming and uproarious laughter. Mike smiles bright with color in his cheeks, and although his movements are slow, he’s sharp as a whip, shouting guesses faster than any of us.
I’ve come to love him and Alana as much as I love Andrew and Rose. I know he wants to be in court with us, but I don’t want to be the cause of his undoing.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The polished wooden bench I wait on outside the courtroom is a contradiction. It looks inviting, begging passersby to sit for a spell when it is in fact cold, hard, and uncomfortable.
It’s less crowded than the revolving door of family court. Jason holds my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb. Andrew and Rose sit on another bench down the hall. Everyone else is inside for the opening arguments.
My heart skips along. I take some deep breaths, but my heart beats faster and faster. Jason squeezes my hands and searches my eyes. He kisses my cheek softly and my heart slows a beat.
“What was I thinking?” I ask, kneading my hands. The anxiety is higher than it has been in months, making it hard to capture and box up. The Terrible Dogfish is about to swallow me whole and I have no way avoid it.
“You were thinking you want your parents in prison, paying for what they did to you,” he reminds me.
“Right.” I scan the hallway, tapping my foot. “Maybe for Mother’s trial, I won’t be so anxious.”
The door to the courtroom opens and a petite female sheriff’s deputy with short, black hair comes out. “Sara Parker?”
I stand and she re-opens the door, gesturing for me to go first. She follows with Jason behind her. Everyone in the room stares at me. The short walk from the door to the stand is interminable. Each step seems to take me further from my destination.
I allow myself one glance at my father. He wears a dirt brown suit, white shirt, and yellow tie. His hands clasped together on the table in front of him and his lips are held together in a grim expression.
He doesn’t deserve more attention from me than that. What he deserves is to spend the rest of his life behind bars in an orange jumpsuit. I hear rapists and child abusers become an alpha’s prison bitch. The once powerful turned powerless. Justice.
Len approaches me as soon as I’m sworn in and seated, then begins with questions about the abuse. I retell my story to him in front of a roomful of strangers. He wasn’t joking about it being worse. I don’t know these people and they don’t know me. The ones in the box on my left will decide my father’s fate. The rest are spectators, gawking at a drama that will make them feel better about their lives.
Len gathered my medical records from the multiple emergency rooms and doctors my parents took me to in order to prevent suspicion, including the records from Dr. Black indicating the bruising to my cervix and vagina. He reminds the jury that a medical expert will organize the records into one big picture for them, and presents each piece of evidence to them as I recount the injuries, pregnancy, and abortion.
I don’t know how much time has passed when Len finishes, because the clock is behind me and I dare not sneak a peek at my watch.
Father’s lawyer, Gary Prescott, stands, smoothing down his green and white striped tie. A charcoal gray suit and light green shirt fit with a little give.
“Miss Parker,” he starts. “How long have you been dating your boyfriend?”
“Since the night before the Jerichos found my father beating me outside.”
“You two were friends before you dated?”
“Yes.”
“And you never hooked up with him before that first date?”
“No.”
“Not even when he came to the house asking your father’s permission?”
“No.”
“Tell us again what you did on your first date.”
What does this have to do with my father? “We went to the football game, then Joe’s for pizza. My best friend and her boyfriend joined us.”
“No sneaking out to the car or into the bathroom?”
My body temperature elevates. “No,” I answer, pursing my lips as his insinuation sinks in.
“What about since then?”
“I don’t understand your question.” He’s going to have to say it.
“Are you and your boyfriend sexually active?”
I glance at Jason sitting between Mike and Alana, each with a hand on his arms. His face red, jaw set, and fire in his eyes like when Rick wouldn’t leave me alone.
Hunter clutches the wooden dividing wall while Damian’s arm bars him from getting up, both of them wearing their outrage like Jason.
“No.” I glare at Father and he averts his eyes to his hands. “He knows exactly what my father did to me and that I’m not ready for sex.”
“You expect us to believe a healthy teenage boy is willingly engaging in abstinence?”
“Yes.”
“You claim that your father sexually abused you for two years. How can we know you weren’t a virgin before you claim the first incident happened?”
My blood boils with rage and my fists clench automatically. It’s like being trapped in the same room with the Lloyds, Blake, and Irving.
“Objection,” Len calls out. “Relevance, Your Honor.”
The judge’s gaze shifts to Gary.
“Prosecution claims Miss Parker was a virgin when my client allegedly began sexually abusing her. Subsequently causing the damage documented by Dr. Black in the medical records they introduced into evidence,” Gary answers.
I want to claw his eyes out.
“Overruled,” the judge states, then glances at me. “An
swer the question, Miss Parker.”
I press my lips together and then take a breath. “My parents were so controlling I couldn’t do anything without their permission. Where was I going to have sex with a boy that they didn’t know about?”
“What about at school?”
“They knew when I wasn’t in class. In fact, they grounded me one time for walking out of class before it even started because I was so upset. And it happened to be the morning after one of the incidents,” I say, throwing one of his terms back at him.
“Are you taking birth control pills?”
I stare at him hard and furious. I already answered this. “Yes.”
“But you’re not sexually active?”
“My mother made me take them after the abortion so my father couldn’t get me pregnant again.”
“Why not stop taking it now?”
“I did when I moved in with the Jerichos, but the nausea and cramps from my period were debilitating.”
“Why didn’t you fight your father off when he allegedly sexually abused you?”
Yes, blame the victim once again because holding the perpetrator responsible is illogical. “I tried the first time, but he had me pinned. Fighting made him more brutal.”
“So you willingly let him rape you repeatedly?”
“I didn’t willingly let him do anything,” I say, raising my voice. “I’ll rephrase for you. Trying to defend myself only made the beatings and the rape more painful.”
“Can you tell us why you never reported the alleged rape when the Jerichos took guardianship of you?”
“I was embarrassed after my father told me I was damaged goods over and over again, because I believed him. I thought if they knew, they wouldn’t want me anymore.”
“And your therapist thinks you are mentally stable?”
My stomach churns. He’s trying to tear me down right here. I can’t let him. “Yes.”
“How long have you been in therapy?”
“Since going to live with the Jerichos.”
“Did they force you to go?”
“No. I needed help adjusting and moving on from the abuse.”
“Did your father physically or sexually abuse your sister?” he asks with no segue. Probably trying to throw me off, looking for an opening to pick apart with semantics.
Family Ties Page 19
