by Kelli Kimble
“My advice is for Mr. Damien’s parents to be informed of the state’s findings. If they drop the charges of assault against your daughter, then Sheriff Stone would have no choice but to back down.”
“What about the potential charges against Gary?” I asked. “He assaulted me.”
“I am aware of that, Iris. And I know this will be difficult for you to hear. But your last and best bargaining chip with the Damien’s would be if both parties mutually agreed that there will be no charges against the other.”
“He’d get away with it,” Mr. Anu said.
“Yes.”
Mother and Daddy exchanged worried glances.
“On the bright side, the documentation of the state’s investigation would make it very difficult for Gary to get away with this behavior a third time.”
That didn’t feel very bright to me.
“Will you inform them?” Daddy asked.
“If you so wish.” Mr. Finch gathered his papers and placed them into his briefcase. “I shall contact you when I’ve something to report.”
* * *
Mr. Finch called later that evening.
The phone ringing jangled at my nerves. We were sitting around the television along with Mr. Anu, who had stayed for dinner, watching the evening news. Daddy turned off the television and answered.
“Hello, Mr. Finch. I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.”
I grabbed Mother's hand. She’d been reaching for her apron strings, but I needed the comfort. She pulled me in close, and we watched Daddy.
“I see. And is that your recommendation? That we follow through with that?”
I closed my eyes. Daddy’s expression hadn’t changed, but his voice had hardened.
“I understand, Mr. Finch. I thank you for your time. Will you send me your bill, then?”
Next to me, Mother stiffened, and I opened my eyes. Daddy looked surprised.
“But that’s quite generous of him.” He turned his back to us. “Can you . . . what would the fee be, if I may ask?”
A long pause. “Yes, you’re quite right. Thank you very much, Mr. Finch. I’ll let you know what happens.”
Daddy placed the receiver back in the cradle.
“Clark? What did he say?” Mother’s arm tightened around me. Now I wished I’d let her grab the apron string.
“Gary’s parents have agreed to drop all charges and close the investigation,” Daddy said. Mother let out a squeal, and he held up a hand. “But there’s more.”
“Oh dear,” she said. She sat on the edge of the sofa, her posture and positioning demure and proper; it was her southern roots girding her for the worst.
“There’s a condition. They want Iris to visit Gary. They think it’s important that she sees his injuries and acknowledges them.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Also, they would like her to apologize to him.”
“Me? Apologize?” Without realizing it, my voice had elevated to a shout. “He tried to force himself on me. I was only defending myself!”
“We all know that sweetheart,” Mother said.
I wanted to smother him with his stupid sterile sick-room pillow, and then bash him over the head with my bare hands. I wanted him to die, truly die, in the most horrible way possible. And I wanted his wretched parents to have to watch.
“Iris, calm down,” Daddy said. He put a gentle hand on my shoulder, but I shook it off. My fingers were curled into claws, and my breath was heaving in and out of me as if I’d run for miles. “You call him back and tell him no. No way. I won’t do it.”
Mr. Anu gave a serene nod. “I cannot dictate your actions, Miss Hond. But I’d urge you to think about this very carefully.”
“I don’t need to think about it!” I whirled back towards my parents. “Why would you ask me to do this? Don’t you love me?”
Mother stalked stiff-legged to me. She grabbed me by the upper arms, her hands like steel clamps. She shook me and gave me a shove, sending me tumbling to the floor.
“Get ahold of yourself, young lady. We all know that Gary is the monster here. We all know that you were only doing what you had to. We all believe you.” She arched her spine and leaned her head back, yelling up to the ceiling, “We all believe you!” She bent over me, jabbing at me with her pointer finger. “And what they want is ludicrous, but you damn well are going to give it to them because that’s the only way this is going to go away!”
I cringed on the floor, one arm shielding me from her.
“Betty.” Mother turned to Daddy. She started to cry and dissolved into his arms. He smoothed a hand over her back. “Iris. We understand this is hard for you. I’ll give you until tomorrow at breakfast to decide what you want to do. Whatever you decide, your mother and I will support.”
He looked at Mr. Anu. “We’re indebted to you, Anu. Thank you for all that you’ve done. I trust that Iris can see you to the door while I escort my wife upstairs.” He put an arm around Mother’s shoulders and led her up the stairs. Their bedroom door clicked shut and the house was silent.
“I’m surprised at you, Iris,” Mr. Anu said.
I got to my feet. “I’m going to bed.”
“Iris. I hope that you’ll see that apologizing to Gary doesn’t have to forgive his actions. It only means that you wish for him to forgive yours.”
“That’s just it,” I said. My arms hung at my sides, feeling useless and dead. “I don’t wish for him to forgive me.”
“My dear, if ever there was someone who should be forgiven, it is you. I see that you blame yourself. I see that you think you should have just surrendered to whatever abuse he was going to dole out. I see that you feel terrible for wishing ill on him and everyone else who’s judged you harshly.
“I see all of that. And I see that you deserve forgiveness.”
I retreated to my bedroom, not bothering to see Mr. Anu out. His words felt like beads on an abacus, moving my feelings from negative to positive and back to negative again. Did I have to mean it when I told Gary that I was sorry? Did he have to believe me? If he forgave me, would it change anything about the way I felt? Would it be worth the degradation of apologizing to my attacker?
I flopped onto my back, letting my legs dangle to the floor. The simple truth was that I didn’t know how I felt. I didn’t even know how I should feel. But I was going to have to decide by morning.
* * *
Gary’s house was much larger than ours. It was Victorian, with multi-colored shingles in shades of pink and brown on the sides. Curlicues of wooden decorations dripped like icing from a gingerbread house from every edge. One corner was round, like a grain silo, and a lace curtain on the first floor in the room twitched. The three of us sat parked at the curb, the engine still idling.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do, Cinnamon Bun?”
“Yes, sir.” My voice warbled as I said it. Mother didn’t say anything. I closed my eyes and let my forehead rest against the cool glass of the window for a moment. Daddy shut off the car.
“Let’s get this over with, then.”
He got out and walked around the car. He opened Mother’s door and then mine, helping us each to the sidewalk. “This doesn’t have to take long, Cupcake. Just tell him you’re sorry, and we’ll go.”
I nodded. He put a hand on Mother’s back, guiding her to the door, while I walked behind them. I felt alone and exposed.
Mother raised a gloved hand and knocked. Gary’s mother opened the door after only a moment.
“Mrs. Damien,” Mother said. “This is my husband, and you remember Iris.”
Mrs. Damien locked eyes with Daddy and nodded.
“Mr. Finch told us to come by,” Daddy said. “I hope we aren’t intruding.”
“No. Please, come in.” Mrs. Damien stepped back.
We entered the hallway. A grandfather clock presided over the space. It produced a loud tick, and as we entered, it began bonging the hour.
“Gary’s only been home since Thursday. He’s not move
d up to his room yet. He’s in through here, in the parlor.” It was the round room. His bed was arranged so that it faced the panorama of windows; though he couldn’t see out because of the lace curtains.
I stepped around to the side of his bed. I wasn’t prepared for how he looked. His face was black and blue, one eye was swollen so much that it wasn’t even visible, and black stitches zigzagged across his face haphazardly. His lips were pulled slightly back, and glints of metal shone on his teeth. Blankets were drawn up to his armpits so that he looked like a lump underneath.
“Gary,” Mrs. Damien said. “You’ve got some visitors.”
His good eye, which had been cast towards the light of the windows, turned towards me. Somehow the sight of his one good eye made his appearance all the more horrific. His expression didn’t change when his gaze met mine.
I swallowed. “Hello, Gary,” I said. “It’s me, Iris.”
I remembered the bunch of flowers Mother had made me bring. She said you don’t visit someone who is bedridden without flowers, even if I was the one who’d confined him to the bed. I raised them up into his line of vision. “I brought you some flowers.”
“I’ll put them in some water,” Mrs. Damien said. She took them from me. “I’ll be right back, darling.” She patted the form beneath the blankets and left.
“We’ll leave you to talk for a moment,” Mother said. She drew Daddy out into the hall.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
He blinked his eye. His lips twitched as if he were trying to form words, but he didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, I can see you probably aren’t feeling so well.”
Mrs. Damien returned and set the flowers on the window sill. She spent a moment rearranging them. When she was done, she turned to me. “Shall I give you some privacy?”
“Can he talk?”
An expression of pity mixed with deep-seated hatred washed over her face, twisting her lips to one side. “No, dear. He can’t.”
“Then maybe you should stay,” I said.
“All right.” She pulled over a rocking chair and sat, taking up his free hand in hers.
Gary’s eye was on me. Self-conscious, I wanted it to turn away. For a moment I didn’t think I could do it. How could I ask his forgiveness? He looked more like he’d been thrown through the windshield in a car accident than someone who’d been beaten by a girl half his size. Guilt weakened my knees. I’d come close to taking this person’s life.
“Was there something you wanted to talk about?” Mrs. Damien prompted icily.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. I licked my lips. “Gary, I wanted to say that I’m terribly sorry for your injuries. I don’t quite remember how I did this, exactly, but I wish I hadn’t done it. I hope you can forgive me.”
Gary pulled his hand from his mother’s and reached it towards me. I thought he was trying to shake my hand, and I grasped it. He snatched it away and shook it as if to say no. Then he used it to gesture to me, to come close.
“He . . . I think he wants to say something to you,” Mrs. Damien said.
I leaned in as close as I could. I didn’t want to be any closer. He reeked not just of the antiseptic cleanser and blood and medicine, but of something sickly sweet. Besides that, I didn’t feel safe, in spite of his mother sitting right there.
“Iris,” he said. He couldn’t quite pronounce the r sound, but it was clear he was saying my name.
“Yes?”
He made a signal with his hand, and his mother abruptly stood and moved towards the hall. “I’m just going to speak with your parents, Miss Hond.” She left us alone. Gary grabbed the collar of my blouse and pulled me close, so close that his lips touched my temple. His breath was hot on my ear.
I struggled against his hold, but his grip was surprisingly strong.
“You’ll get yours,” he said.
My lip curled, and I jerked from his grasp, but I didn’t back away. I glanced over my shoulder. Had the adults heard? Mother and Daddy were in deep conversation with Mrs. Damien.
A rise of hatred forced my eyes up to the stitches crisscrossing his face. “I’d like the chance to finish what I started,” I whispered.
Gary’s eye narrowed, but then he started to make a sound, something almost like a bark. Now his lips were curled up and away from his teeth, revealing the wiring that was holding his mouth closed. The sound: it was laughter.
Shame swept over me, so strong that it seemed to push me. I backed away. His laughter died, but his eye watched me. When I got to the door, I said in a voice loud and clear enough for the adults to hear without mistake, “I’m praying for you, and for a speedy recovery.”
In the hall, Mrs. Damien glared at me. “I want you to know that I don’t believe a word of what your slick Mr. Finch had to say. But you’ve apologized, and we’ll drop the charges. We expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”
Unsure of why she would address this to me rather than my parents, I lowered my eyes to the floor. “Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“We appreciate your taking the time to speak to us,” Daddy said.
“Time’s all I’ve got until he’s healed. Though the doctor says he’ll be on his feet again in only a few days.” She turned on her heel and went back into the parlor. She didn’t look back.
Daddy put an arm around my shoulder and tucked me into his side. Mrs. Damien obviously wasn’t going to show us to the door, so we let ourselves out.
“I’m proud of you, Cinnamon Bun. I know that was hard. And Lord knows that boy doesn’t deserve even a lick of humility from you. But them dropping the charges is the first step towards our family returning to normal.”
I didn’t point out that nothing about our lives would ever be normal again.
Daddy opened the car door, first for Mother and then for me. As he walked around the car, Mother turned to look at me.
“I’m so sorry for the way I reacted yesterday, sweetheart.”
Mother had never in her life raised her hand against me, though she wasn’t above a good ear-bending.
“It’s fine, Mother. I know you were upset. I was, too.”
Daddy got in, and she turned to face the front.
“That woman is a piece of work,” he said. “I’ve never seen someone so delusional about their child’s behavior. She seems to think he’s an angel.”
I frowned and looked out the window. The trouble was, everyone but us seemed to agree.
Chapter 12
The violent knocks made the door rattle in its frame. We were eating a cold supper of leftover-pot-roast-and-mashed-potato sandwiches. Mother was rubbed too raw by the trip to Gary’s house, and, when we returned, she went straight up to bed to lie down. I wondered if she had a bottle stashed up there — perhaps in the linen closet — but she came down looking much better; it was just too late to make a hot meal.
Daddy looked out the window, and his back straightened. “It’s the sheriff,” he said. Mother and I went to the foyer to see.
Daddy opened the door. Sheriff Stone pushed in without waiting for an invitation.
“What in tarnation did you do?” He jabbed a finger at me and crowded me against the coat tree in the corner. It clattered against the wall, and Daddy reached around to steady it and draw me from the confined space. The sheriff turned with me.
“Sheriff, she’s a minor. I think you can address your questions to me,” he said.
“I don’t know what bologna you’ve been feeding that poor Damien family, but I’ll not have it. I intend to fully prosecute this . . . this girl.”
“How will you do that if they’ve dropped the charges and we won’t be bringing any ourselves?” Daddy deftly stepped in front of me, shielding me.
“I heard how you went to the state police. That’s a dirty business, that. You’re airing our town’s laundry all over the capitol, and not giving a care about it. What kind of people are you?”
“We’re the kind who want justice for our daughter,” Mother said. “A
nd It’s clear we won’t get it from you.”
“Are you crazy? I am the law around here. Me.” He jerked a thumb at his chest. “And you three are getting in the way of that.”
“Mr. Stone,” Mother said. “We’ve no need of your services this evening, though we did need you several nights back, and I’m certain you didn’t mean to hang up on Iris, but you did. So, if you have anything else to say, then I’m going to firmly request that you state it to our lawyer.” Mother stepped forward, crowding him. She stood half a head shorter than him, but he backed away.
He sneered at her and put a hand on the butt of the gun holstered at his waist.
“You people should just go back where you came from,” he said. He turned and went out the door, slamming it behind him.
Mother slumped against Daddy’s side. “Maybe he’s right.”
“No. He’s not. This is our home, goddammit. And I’m not going to let that snake push us out of it.”
We returned to the dining room to finish our meal, but none of us had an appetite.
* * *
Tuesday afternoon, I lurked around the locker room door, hesitant to go in. Although I wished that I could play on the field instead, cheerleading was the thing I liked best about school.
Don’t let them get to you. You earned your place on the team. I took a deep breath and put my hand on the doorknob.
Coach Dimmit stopped me.
She crooked a finger. “Iris. A word in my office, please.”
I followed her to her office, which was nothing more than a storage closet with an ancient desk, propped up on one side with a mound of old playbooks where the leg was broken. It was shoved between shelves of medicine balls and gymnastics mats.
We didn’t sit because there were no chairs. She leaned a meaty hip against the desk and cleared her throat. I sometimes wondered why she chose to be the cheerleading coach. She didn’t seem to like physical activity.
“It’s come to my attention that you’ve behaved in a manner that draws negative attention to the cheerleading team,” she said.
“I have?”
