She didn’t want to go in there. But she opened the door.
Suddenly, she was in the bathtub. Tepid, dingy water surrounded her. She felt pain. Intense pain.
She looked up. There was the angry face of her grandmother hovering over her.
“Filthy. You’re filthy,” her grandmother growled as she scrubbed hard between Meryl’s legs.
“No!” Meryl cried out. “That hurts.”
But her grandmother wouldn’t stop. Her face transformed even further into a visage of evil. She increased the pressure, causing Meryl to sob and shake uncontrollably.
The bathroom door creaked open. Meryl turned to see who was there. Maybe they would help her.
It was her father. Meryl tried to focus on his face through her tears.
“Daddy!” she cried.
He stood very still in the doorway as his expression morphed from worry to acquiescence. Then he pulled the door to with a quiet click.
“No!” Meryl slammed her eyes shut and rocked back and forth in her pain. She tried to block it out. Tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. But it was no use. The pain was still there. She pushed her grandmother’s twisted face into the dark recesses of her mind.
She cried until she felt there was nothing left.
But no one came. No one rescued her.
* * *
“Meryl! Meryl. Wake up.”
A hand gripped her shoulder. Meryl awakened and shrank in fear to the other side of the bed.
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s me. Angie.” Angie moved closer, her face full of concern. It was dark in the sleeping berth, but moonlight streamed through the small porthole beside the bed.
Meryl took shallow, ragged breaths. She felt as though she’d hyperventilate.
“You were having a nightmare.” Angie stroked Meryl’s cheek.
“Hold me, Ange. Please hold me.”
Angie sat up in the bed and took Meryl into her arms.
“Shh. I’m with you now.” Angie rocked her gently and began humming a soft tune that comforted Meryl with its soothing melody.
Meryl kept her cheek pressed to Angie’s chest, letting the sound vibrate in her ear. She held onto Angie even tighter.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Angie whispered. “Never again.”
Meryl’s breathing returned to normal—enough so she could sit up next to Angie.
Angie took hold of her hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I… I’ve been having nightmares about when I was a child. Something happened then.”
Angie tensed beside her.
“The first time I had one of the nightmares, I was with you. It was the first night we’d slept together after watching Somewhere in Time.”
“I remember. You cried out a few times in your sleep. Not just then, but other times when we were in bed.”
“My therapist told me it was because I felt safe with you. If we’d stayed together, I think this would’ve become much clearer years ago. But we didn’t, and the nightmares disappeared for a long time. They returned full force when I found out my father was dying of pancreatic cancer and had only months to live.”
“He didn’t…” Angie gripped her hand.
“No. He didn’t physically do anything to me.”
“But someone else did?”
“My grandmother. My evil bitch of a grandmother.” As soon as the words left Meryl’s mouth, she began crying again.
Angie tightened her embrace.
“She did it in the bathroom. I’m still not sure how old I was. I think I was old enough I didn’t need someone giving me baths. But my father knew what was happening.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“I was in the bathtub. My grandmother was scrubbing me… down there.” Meryl knew she sounded like a small child with her description. “And it hurt. It hurt so much. I asked her to stop. I did. I told her, ‘Grammy, it hurts.’ But she didn’t listen. She told me I was filthy. She kept repeating the word. And scrubbed even harder.” Meryl sobbed.
“What else do you remember?” Angie asked in a soft voice.
“The bathroom door opened. My father stood there watching. I asked him to make her stop, but he just stood there. He didn’t speak. He didn’t do anything. Then he turned and shut the door behind him.” Meryl wiped at her tears. “My therapist said my grandmother probably thought I was displaying lesbian tendencies. In her own sick and perverted way, she was trying to rid me of the feelings at a young age. It might be difficult to believe now, but when I was a kid, I was a tomboy. I had a girlfriend named Tully. We’d play army together. I can still see my grandmother at the picture window, glaring out at us while we tumbled around in the front yard.”
Angie waited for Meryl to continue.
“My grandmother would always talk down to me and shattered my self-confidence every opportunity she could. Later, she insisted my parents send me to charm school. She was determined I’d become more ladylike. My therapist asked me once if I ever felt like a child or if I’d always felt older. I’ve felt like an adult for as long as I can remember.”
Meryl ran her hand across her nose and sniffed. “Things came to me while discussing this with him, like acting out sexually with dolls. It happened when I was in third grade. My grandmother caught me. She told me at the time to stop and that it wasn’t appropriate. He said today, the psychiatric community sees the acting out as a possible sign of sexual abuse. I never talked to my mother about it because I was ashamed.” Meryl laughed derisively. “Now that I’ve worked on this in therapy, I understand why my reaction when my grandmother died was to go to a movie that night with Tully.”
“Did you ever confront your dad?” Angie asked.
Meryl clenched her jaws in anger. “After the therapy session where I realized what had happened to me as a child, I flew home. They’d already diagnosed the cancer. My mother was at a golf outing with her friends that day. I stormed into the house. He acted pleased to see me until he saw my expression.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I told him the details of the dream. At first, he denied it. I kept on him until he admitted it. And then he laughed at me.” Meryl’s eyes burned with tears again, but this time, tears of anger. “He fucking laughed at me. He said it had been in my best interest. My grandmother had told him what she suspected. He thought my grandmother’s ‘solution’ would help. He didn’t want his daughter growing up to be a pervert. The bastard.”
“I wish I could have been there. I’d have cold-cocked him,” Angie said, her voice low with anger.
“I slapped him. He rubbed his jaw and sneered at me. He said at least he’d kept me away from that woman.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“That infuriated me even more. I told him I hoped he rotted in hell next to his mother. I left and haven’t been home since.”
“I’m sorry for all you’ve been through, Meryl. God, that sounds so inadequate after what you’ve told me. I only wish I could take away your pain.”
“Being in your arms… it’s enough. I feel so safe.” Then the image of her father standing in the doorway of the bathroom flashed into Meryl’s mind. “Why? Why, Angie?” Meryl pushed her face into Angie’s chest as she cried. “Why wouldn’t he save me? I’m his daughter.”
Angie hugged her closer. “I don’t know, sweetie. Just believe none of it was your fault. None of it. You were an innocent. He and your grandmother took away your childhood.”
Meryl allowed Angie to rock her until her crying subsided and then she turned onto her side. Angie tucked in behind her, draping her arm around her waist. Meryl tugged Angie closer.
“I love you, Ange.” At first, Meryl thought Angie hadn’t heard her.
“I love you, too,” Angie whispered into her ear.
Meryl drifted off into the most peaceful sleep she’d had in months.
* * *
Meryl’s measured breathing told Angie she’d fallen asleep. Her mind reeled with Meryl’s revelation and her own
deceit.
In the morning. I have to tell her the truth. In the morning.
Chapter 20
Meryl opened her eyes. A golden light from the rising sun filled the small sleeping berth. She stretched and reached beside her to run her fingers across the cool sheets. The shower was running a few feet away. She rose and dressed. As she buttoned her shorts, she peered out the small porthole and took in the mixture of colors in the morning sky. Her mood matched the tranquil glow reflecting off the calm water.
She paused at the opened door to the head on her way to the front of the cabin. When she poked her head in, the outline of Angie’s nude body greeted her, but she resisted the urge to strip and join her. She needed some moments to herself.
“I’m going up above,” Meryl said loudly.
“Okay. I’ll be there in a few.”
“Don’t hurry. Do you mind if I start a pot of coffee? I thought I saw a coffeemaker in the galley.”
“Help yourself.”
In the small galley, she put the coffee on and took the few steps to the sitting area. She flopped down onto the couch to wait for the coffee. She glanced around the room. It was tidy except for some stacks of paper on the floor beside the coffee table. Assuming it was one of Angie’s manuscripts, she leaned forward to read the typed title.
The papers faced away, so she turned the stack toward her. Dying to Meet You jumped off the page. Meryl hesitated, but then picked up the papers. She turned the first page back, then the next. Red ink marked up each page. Words had been crossed out, other words inserted in their place. Comments filled the margins. All of it resembled Angie’s handwriting.
Meryl continued turning the pages. This was an original, edited manuscript.
“Sorry it took me so long.”
Meryl raised her head to see Angie combing back her wet hair. The comb stopped in mid-stroke, and Angie paled.
“I didn’t mean to be nosy, but I couldn’t help but notice.” Meryl held up the papers. “This looks like an original manuscript.”
“Uh…” Angie rubbed her hand over her face. “It is.”
“Are you… did you…” Meryl swallowed. “Are you Zach England’s editor?”
Angie walked toward her. “I’ve wanted to tell you for days. I’d planned to tell you this morning.”
“Tell me what?” Meryl had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Angie sat beside her on the couch and took her hand.
“I wrote the book. I wrote all of the books.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wrote them under a pseudonym.”
“Wait. You’re Zach England?”
“I can explain—”
“You lied to me.” Meryl yanked her hand from Angie’s grasp.
“I was going to tell you. You have to believe me. I was afraid if I told you right away, that you’d—”
“That I’d what? What, Angie? Tell me why you lied to me.”
“That you’d leave. That you’d take the story and leave. I was afraid I’d lose you again. It might sound irrational to you. And there was another reason—”
“You’ve been lying to me this whole week. And I believed you.” Tears sprang to Meryl’s eyes. “I bared my soul to you last night, and… and…”
“I’m so sorry. I love you. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I trusted you. I trusted you enough to tell you about what happened to me as a child. Do you realize you’re the only person besides my therapist who knows about the sexual abuse? That’s how much I trusted you. And now this?”
Meryl couldn’t breathe. She needed to get out of there. To get off the boat. She jumped to her feet.
“Wait.” Angie grabbed her arm.
Meryl wrenched free. “Don’t touch me.”
Meryl saw the hurt on Angie’s face. She didn’t care. She wanted to go home. As far away from Key West and Angie as possible.
Meryl climbed the stairs to the deck.
Angie followed her. “Please. Let’s talk about this.”
“Talk? What the hell is there to talk about? You’ve made a fool of me this week. I thought you loved me.” She laughed contemptuously. “And I thought I loved you, too.” She glowered and jutted her jaw. “There’s nothing more to discuss.” A horrible thought crossed her mind. “I suppose you lied to me to get me into bed.”
“No. God no.”
“It doesn’t matter. Take me back to shore.” Meryl crossed her arms in front of her chest.
“Meryl…”
“Now, Angie!”
Angie’s shoulders slumped. She pulled up the anchors, started the engines, and turned the boat toward port. Meryl ignored Angie all the way to the marina. She jumped off and helped secure the boat, but as soon as that was accomplished, she walked away.
“Wait!” Angie shouted.
Meryl heard Angie’s footsteps behind her.
“I’ll find a taxi to take me to the hotel. You don’t need to worry about it.” Meryl clenched and unclenched her fists as she walked. She stormed across the parking lot to the street. A taxi rounded the corner, and she raised her hand. The cab screeched to a stop at the curb in front of her.
Angie grabbed her elbow from behind. “I’m so sorry, Meryl. You have to believe me. You can’t leave like this. Please. Not like this.”
Meryl jerked free and sat down in the backseat. She looked up at Angie.
“And who the hell is Hal Morris, by the way?”
Angie stared at her feet.
“That’s what I thought.”
“Where to, miss?” the cabbie asked.
“Southernmost Point Resort.” Meryl reached for the door handle, but Angie stopped her from shutting the door. “I swear, if you don’t let go, I’ll slam this on your hand.”
Angie released her grip.
“Good-bye, Angie.” Meryl pulled the door closed with a loud thud. She turned to the driver. “Go.”
Angie ran alongside the cab, pounding on the window.
The cabbie looked at Meryl in the rearview mirror.
“Keep going,” she said, choking out the words, “the faster the better. There’s nothing for me here.”
* * *
Angie leaned over with her hands on her thighs and gasped for breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
She rose and watched the taxi make the turn on the street leading to the hotel. The scene was too familiar, too loud an echo from her past. The only difference was that this time she wasn’t down on her knees and it was a taxi, not a limo.
She walked back to her car. Her hands shook as she took her keys out of her pocket. She unlocked the door and sank into the driver’s seat.
Holding onto the steering wheel, she pressed her forehead against her hands and cried.
* * *
Meryl gathered her things into her small suitcase in a matter of minutes and left for the airport. She had booked a ten o’clock flight to Miami.
She sat in the Miami airport, waiting for her departure to New York and trying not to break down in front of strangers. Her cell phone had rung nonstop since she’d left Key West. She had no desire to talk to Angie, so she turned it off.
The attendant announced boarding for first-class passengers. Meryl put her laptop case and bag in the overhead compartment and buckled her seatbelt. The attendant came around for drink requests when they reached cruising altitude.
Meryl ordered a Chivas, poured it over the ice, and took a sip. Normally, the liquor smoothed away her troubles, if only for a moment. This time, it failed to do the job. She set the drink down on the tray in front of her and gazed out the window to the clouds below.
I can’t believe I allowed myself to trust someone again.
She lifted the cup to her lips and finished off the rest of the drink, welcoming the slow burn down her throat.
What am I going to do? Lie to my editor? Or reveal that I was right and Zach England’s a woman? A woman I love. Or is it loved?
She handed her empty cup and bottle to the flight attendant, pushed her tray upright, and hit the button to lower the seat. Closing her eyes, she prayed she could make it through the next few hours without having a nightmare.
Or worse, dreaming of the love she’d made with Angie.
Chapter 21
Angie labored with her breathing until the muscles in her legs tightened, but she kept on going, her heels kicking up the sand beneath her feet. Shit. This is what you get when you’ve neglected running for several weeks. And you deserve the pain.
It was Monday morning. The sun hadn’t risen yet over the water. A mixture of purple and pinks blended in with the indigo sky. She tried to appreciate the beauty. Any other day, any other time in her life, she would have sighed with contentment and thankfulness that God could create something so stunning. But she wasn’t content or thankful. She was sad. More than that, she was angry at herself.
She stopped when she came to the lighthouse that marked the turnaround spot in her run. She bent over at the waist, grabbing at the stitch in her side. She thought about all the unreturned messages she’d left on Meryl’s cell phone. She’d long since lost count and thought she was probably bordering on harassment. Time for the last resort.
“I’ll call her at work.” Angie started back home. “And enough of this running crap.”
* * *
Angie took a cold shower. She stood in her open bathrobe under the living room ceiling fan and waited for the main switchboard at the New York Banner to pick up.
“Hello. Could you please connect me to Meryl McClain’s office?”
“Hold the line, please.”
She heard a couple of clicks.
“Meryl McClain’s office, Wade speaking.”
“Uh, yes, may I please speak with Ms. McClain?”
“May I tell her who’s calling?”
Should she lie? Like I haven’t done enough of that already.
“Hello. May I tell her who’s calling, please?”
“Angie. Angie Cantinnini.”
“One moment.”
Another click. While on hold, Angie listened to Barry Manilow croon “Mandy.” It segued into Neil Diamond’s “Love on the Rocks.” Angie reflected on the irony of the lyrics. She realized she’d been on hold for over five minutes. Was that good or bad?
Come Back to Me Page 16
