ABUSED - A Daughter's Story Read online

  Daddy showed up the next evening, and I worried that he’d somehow found out about my guilty secret. He’d always seemed so big, so strong, so invincible, but that night he looked pale.

  “Bobby, you watch the kids, I want to talk to your mother and your sister,” he said tiredly. Mama looked frightened as he sat us down at the kitchen table.

  “I’ve got heart problems,” he said without warning, and Mama gasped. “I’ve been having chest pains for a while now. Probably all the stress of working two jobs for so long.”

  Mama looked guilty, like it was all her fault they’d had so many kids—why he’d needed to work so much. Had she forgotten how freely he’d spent for all of his toys?

  “I need surgery,” Daddy said. “And afterwards, I’ll need time to recover. I want to come home.”

  “Of course you can,” Mama said, and reached out to hold Daddy’s hand.

  “Why can’t your friend Cheryl take care of you?” I asked.

  Daddy’s face reddened, but instead of yelling, he put a hand on his chest and took a shaky breath.

  It wasn’t guilt I felt, but anger that he’d use his illness to gain our sympathy.

  “When can I come home, Janet?” he asked, turning sad eyes on Mama.

  “Tonight, tomorrow. Whenever you want,” Mama said.

  They talked for half an hour more, making plans, but I couldn’t listen. I went up to my room and beat my fist against my pillow.

  I heard Daddy’s car take off, and Mama brought the girls upstairs to put them to bed.

  “Why are you letting him come back?” I asked her, tears still stinging my eyes.

  Mama handed Dee-Dee her favorite doll and tucked her in, then turned to me.

  “When I got married, I promised to take care of your father in sickness and in health. Right now he needs us.”

  Funny how he never needed us when he was driving his boat, or going away on hunting weekends, or screwing around with his girlfriend.

  Daddy had heart surgery the next week. I spent the day at school—afraid he would die, but also afraid he would live and insist on being a part of our lives forever. Mama was at the hospital the whole day, holding his hand when he awoke from the anesthesia. He was back living with us in a matter of days.

  At first, he was listless and if we were quiet, he’d leave us alone, preferring to lie on the couch and watch TV for hours on end. Mama quit work to take care of him, and for a couple of weeks, I didn’t see as many whiskey bottles in the recycle box.

  That didn’t last, either.

  As Daddy began to feel better, he began to drink again. And even though he wasn’t well enough to go back to work, he would disappear for long hours during the evenings—probably visiting his girlfriend, I realized. He and Mama would fight, and Daddy would clutch his chest and tell Mama she’d be the death of him.

  Still, it took two long months before Daddy moved out again. With no real skills, Mama had to find yet another minimum wage job—this time at a fast-food joint.

  She’d only been working a couple of weeks when the phone rang early one evening.

  “Is this Emily Miller?” a voice asked.

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Sergeant Hodges, with the Gardener Police Department.”

  The blood in my veins seemed to freeze. “Is something wrong with my mother?” I said, sensing bad news.

  “She was involved in a car accident. The paramedics have taken her to Mercy Hospital. You were listed as her next of kin.”

  I sank into one of the kitchen chairs, not knowing what to do next. The officer gave me the hospital’s number, but upon hanging up, I called Grandma in Ohio instead.

  “Oh, sweetie, Grandpa and I will be there by morning. It’s all right, Emily. It’ll be all right,” she promised.

  But it wasn’t.

  The next afternoon, Grandpa took Bobby, Amber and me to the hospital to visit Mama. She looked at us, and tears filled her swollen, blackened eyes. Her mouth worked, but she couldn’t seem to speak. I held her hand, but her fingers didn’t curl around mine.

  “It’s okay, Mama, I’ll take care of the kids until you get home,” I promised. I hoped she’d understood my unspoken plea for her not to let Daddy reenter our lives.

  Grandma had other ideas.

  “That’s your father’s responsibility,” she said sternly. “And it’s about time he lived up to it.”

  She stalked out of the room.

  We were still there when Daddy showed up an hour later. His face was red with anger. “Why wasn’t I called sooner?” he demanded, and his shouting upset Mama, who started to cry again. The nurse threatened to send hospital security to drag him out if he didn’t quiet down.

  I pulled Grandma out into the hall. “Why did you call him?” I demanded.

  “Because he’s your father.”

  “Sperm donor you mean,” I said.

  Horrified, Grandma slapped my face, hard. “Where did you learn to talk such filth?”

  “I’m not a child anymore, and I haven’t been for years.” I looked toward Mama’s room, where Daddy stood blocking the doorway. “And that man hasn’t got a clue how to be a father.”

  The doctor arrived and ushered the family into a conference room to talk about Mama’s condition.

  “Her injuries were relatively minor, but she hasn’t responded well to treatment. She’s malnourished, and I’ve ordered a mental exam. She seems clinically depressed.”

  Daddy listened grimly.

  “Is my Mama gonna come home soon?” Amber asked the doctor.

  “Pretty soon,” he promised, as we left the room.

  A uniformed officer waited nearby to talk to the doctor.

  “What’s he here for?” I asked.

  The doctor’s expression darkened. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but at the time of the crash, your mother’s blood alcohol was double the state limit.”

  Oh my God! Mama had been drunk at the time of the crash! Why hadn’t anyone told me?

  Daddy moved back into the house that night—and Bobby ran away. How I envied him, but it left me having to deal with Daddy by myself, and take care of the rest of the kids, too. It turned out Bobby had only gone to stay with his friend, Gordon, and Gordon’s parents offered to keep him for a couple of weeks, until things settled down.

  Mama was supposed to be released from the hospital and arraigned on Friday, but the phone rang on Thursday evening soon after visiting hours had ended.

  Daddy looked pale as he hung up. “Your Mama just died of heart failure,” he said.

  I stood there at the kitchen counter, making the kids’ school lunches for the next day, not believing what I had just heard.

  “She can’t be dead—she was supposed to recover. The doctor said so.”

  “I’ve got to call the funeral home,” Daddy said, and headed for the shelf where Mama kept the phone book.

  “Wait a minute—aren’t you going to tell Amber and the others? What about Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “You can tell them,” he said.

  Stunned, I left the jelly-smeared counter and stumbled up the stairs to the kids’ bedrooms, wondering how I would ever tell Amber, Dee-Dee and Christopher that their Mama was never coming home.

  The youngest two couldn’t seem to grasp the fact, but Amber understood too well. She sat down on the edge of her bed, holding her favorite doll, and just rocked for hours on end.

  I held her for a while, but I really didn’t know what else to do for her, so I left her alone and called Grandma and Grandpa, who were still at a nearby hotel. Grandma burst into tears and it was then I realized that I hadn’t cried for my own mother.

  I couldn’t.

  I had no tears left.

  The next two days were a nightmare. Bobby came to the funeral parlor, but he wouldn’t look at Mama or speak to Daddy. I heard a couple of our neighbors talking in hushed tones.

  “I asked the nurse,” Mrs. Taylor said, shaking her head. “She said Janet should have ma
de a full recovery.”

  “Then why did she die? Was it hospital negligence?”

  “No. Janet willed herself to die because she didn’t want to live.” Mrs. Taylor looked toward Daddy. “And who could blame her.”

  After the funeral, Grandma begged Daddy to let us to go live with her and Grandpa in Ohio. I prayed that Daddy would say yes, but of course he didn’t.

  “They’re my kids and they belong with me.”

  That was the end of the discussion.

  I faced Daddy that night, feeling terrified, but determined to speak my piece.

  “There have to be new ground rules if we’re all going to live here together,” I said to him as he sipped his coffee laced with whiskey.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You may be our father, but your behavior is no longer acceptable in this house.”

  His eyes narrowed, but I didn’t let him interrupt.

  “Our mother is dead because you treated her shabby. You hit her, you cheated on her, you let her work herself—and drink herself—to death all because of your own selfishness.

  “You had a boat, but she never had a dishwasher. You went bowling, and she never went out at all—unless it was to work. You treated her like a punching bag, but you will never hit one of us, or I will have you arrested.”

  Daddy pushed his chair back from the table. “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

  I met his steely gaze.

  “Janet Miller’s daughter.”

  In that moment I knew I was stronger than Mama had ever been, standing up to the brute who’d made her life—and the lives of her children—a living hell for so many years.

  For the first time in my life, I saw Daddy back down. He looked away, staring at the worn Formica tabletop for long minutes. He suddenly looked old, and I realized that despite the operation, he had not regained his health. Finally he got up, went into the living room, sat in his chair and watched television for the rest of the evening.

  Mama’s death changed Daddy. He was still an incredibly selfish man, but he didn’t yell quite so much. Bobby never lived with us again. Daddy told Social Services he couldn’t control Bobby, who was placed in foster care. I almost envied him, because the people he went to live with were nice. They even had a cake on his birthday and invited the kids and me over. Bobby had his own room, in a clean house with new furniture. His foster parents even talked about helping Bobby go to college some day.

  Despite Daddy’s more subdued attitude, he still made our lives miserable. Without Bobby to protect him, Chris became the focus of most of Daddy’s rages. He’d pick on Chris when I wasn’t home, and my baby brother’s once quiet disposition changed to that of an angry, surly boy.

  For the next year I went to school and took care of the house and the kids. But on graduation day I came down to the kitchen and faced Daddy once again.

  “I’m leaving.”

  Daddy glared at me.

  “I’m eighteen now and no longer a minor. Amber can help with Dee-Dee and Christopher.”

  “Where will you go?” Daddy asked. He didn’t seem angry, just annoyed, because I was about to inconvenience him.

  “My school counselor got me a job as a live-in nanny. God knows I’ve had enough experience.”

  “Your mother wouldn’t like this,” he said. He always said that when he wanted me to do something, but I’d had enough of guilt.

  “I’m only taking my clothes. They’ll pick me up tonight.”

  Daddy didn’t say a word, just finished his coffee and headed out the door for work.

  That was the last time I ever saw him.

  I tried to keep in touch with Amber, but she refused to talk when I called. She blamed me for dumping the responsibility of taking care of Daddy, the house, and the other kids on her. I couldn’t make her see that after ten years, I’d earned a life of my own. Despite this, I felt miserable. I had promised Mama I’d take care of the kids.

  To soothe my conscience, I got the county welfare people to check on them and make sure Daddy wasn’t physically abusing them.

  Amber left home at seventeen, leaving fifteen-year old Dee-Dee to handle the house—and Daddy. Chris got mixed up with the wrong crowd at school. Daddy didn’t want to deal with him and had him shipped off to a foster home, too.

  Chris didn’t make out as well as Bobby. He ran away countless times and ended up in a juvenile facility. I blamed myself, but wondered if things would have been any different if Mama had lived or if I’d stayed at home.

  Christopher’s problems only reinforced my own resolve to make a better life for myself. I took computer classes in the evenings, and got a job in an office. It was there I met a wonderful man named Joe Renner. He was everything Daddy never was—kind and gentle—and when I met his parents I instantly liked them. I could see that his father was a good man who loved his wife and children, and that Joe would be the same kind of husband and father.

  We were married the next spring. Dee-Dee begged me to invite Daddy—and forgive him. She insisted that he’d changed, but I didn’t believe her.

  Mama’s five children were reunited for my wedding, and for a day, at least, we were happy.

  Daddy had a fatal heart attack later that summer, and Chris died of a drug overdose a few months afterward. Dee-Dee came to live with Joe and me and stayed for a couple of years. We helped her pay for junior college, and she got a good job and met her own Prince Charming.

  I’ve got my own kids now, a boy and a girl, and our home life is nothing like what I grew up in. I often think about the baby I never had, and wonder what he or she would have been like.

  I see Bobby, Amber, and Dee-Dee as often as I can, and am pleased that at least four of Mama’s children have good lives.

  Just about every day I think about Mama and wish she could have lived to see—and know—her grandchildren. But at least I know that the cycle of abuse my father started has been broken, and that Bobby, Amber, Dee-Dee and I will never let violence and selfishness corrupt our own families.

  About the Author

  A native of Rochester, NY, L.L. Bartlett honed her characterization and plotting skills as a frequent writer for romance magazines and was a finalist in the St. Martin’s/Malice Domestic contest.

  Bartlett also writes the New York Times Bestselling and Agatha-nominated Booktown Mystery series under the name of Lorna Barrett. Bookplate Special, the third book in the series, was nominated for an Agatha Award for best novel of 2009.

  Bartlett’s Victoria Square Mystery series will debut in February of 2011.

  Visit her website at: www.LLBartlett.com

  (You can also find her on Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter.)

  Also by

  L.L. Bartlett

  The Jeff Resnick Mysteries

  Murder On The Mind (2005)

  Dead In Red (2008)

  Short Stories:

  We’re So Sorry Uncle Albert (Amazon Shorts)

  Abused: A Daughter’s Story

  Lorraine Bartlett

  The Victoria Square Mysteries

  A Crafty Killing (2/2011)

  The Walled Flower (2/2012)

  Short Stories:

  Only Skin Deep

  What I Did For Love

  Lorna Barrett

  The Booktown Mysteries

  Murder Is Binding (2008)

  Bookmarked For Death (2009)

  Bookplate Special (2009)

  Chapter & Hearse (2010)

  Sentenced To Death (2011)

  Murder On The Half Shelf (2012)

 

 

 
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