The doors slammed shut with a bang so loud. It echoed throughout the church and shook the stained glass windows.
Once again, Jake was leaving.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
BY THE TIME THE SERVICE HAD ENDED, Jake was long gone. The sad truth of it all was that, if it hadn’t been for Georgia, I would have run after him, right out of the church. I was glad that I hadn’t. I didn’t need another image of his beautiful face haunting my every move. I had enough to last a lifetime as it was. Even if I had gotten the chance to talk to him, what would I have said? He hated me because I’d let him hate me. Because it was easier to have him hate me than it was to deal with allowing someone in my life who I believed didn’t trust me, or what I thought we’d had.
The empty space in my life Jake once occupied would’ve only been made even bigger if he stayed.
I skipped the customary cake and coffee they were serving in the meeting room after the funeral. Tess, Georgia’s babysitter and my assistant at the garage had to get back to the shop to process a new shipment of parts, and I wasn’t about to expose Georgia to the wicked ton for the rest of the afternoon. I’d told her if she was good at church I would take her over to the new playground at the elementary school.
That’s exactly what we did.
Tess had been a godsend since she moved to town from Gainesville. She happily took Georgia at every chance she got so she could spend time with her, which allowed me more time to work on my photos.
It was nice having a friend around again. Someone I could trust with my daughter, anyway.
I lifted my squirming little girl from her car seat and set her on the grass, her little legs moving at full speed before I even had a chance to put her on the ground. “Be careful, Georgia!” I shouted after her as she made her way to the swings and pulled herself up on the lowest hanging one. She held onto the chains and kicked and kicked her legs, but the swing didn’t move.
She was going nowhere fast.
The playground was crowded with children and their families. I worked my way through a sea of running and screaming little folk. I ducked under a stray soccer ball whizzing by my head. It took me twice as long to reach the swings as it took Georgia.
When I reached her, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Bethany Fletcher, Owen’s mother, was pushing Georgia on her swing. Georgia was squealing with glee. “Higher...higher!” she shouted.
“Not too high,” I said, making my presence known.
Bethany gave me a courteous nod. “Hello, Abby.” Her smile slid into a straight line. Bethany wore a light beige suit jacket with a white blouse and a matching knee length flowing skirt. Her signature bright red lips were no more. Now, they were just glossed over, neutral. Her once-severe bun had been replaced by soft dark waves falling around her face and shoulders.
She looked almost human.
“What can I do for you, Bethany?” I asked. I kept my tone even. I didn’t need her using the anger or anxiety I felt in her presence against me.
Before she could answer me, Georgia interrupted. “Mama, the nice lady pushed me on the swing!”
“That’s great, baby!” That girl could make me smile through a plane crash. “Why don’t you try out the new slide, okay? Mama will watch you.”
“Okay!” She squealed. Bethany held the chains on her swing still so Georgia could jump off. She took off running toward her next adventure on the shiny red slide.
“Can we talk?” Bethany asked. She sounded hopeful and even a bit kind, nothing at all like the Bethany who’d ordered my beating four years earlier. Her voice was calm. There was no hatred radiating off of her. I’d only seen her in passing since the day she dropped all the major charges against me. Only the marijuana possession charge had been kept. I paid a three-hundred dollar fine and served six months probation for that one. She could have easily dropped all the charges, but keeping one was her way of letting me know who pulled the strings in Coral Pines.
I was all too aware.
I sighed and took a seat on the bench facing the jungle gym. If Bethany wanted to talk, Bethany was going to talk. My saying yes or no had never made a difference to her before.
She took a seat next to me. “I’ve been wanting to tell you something for years now, and have never had the opportunity, and really didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to reach out because I didn’t want to scare you away.” She wrung her hands in her lap and nervously continued, shifting her focus from her feet to where Georgia was playing. “It’s just…I’m so tired.” She took a deep sigh and finally turned to look me in the eye. “I’m so tired, Abby... of everything.” Her bright green eyes that used to stare daggers into my own, were now softer and watery.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been cleaning up messes my entire life. Sweeping things under the rug, justifying horrible behavior on a regular basis. Not just in my practice, but in my life, in my own family. Had I known you were pregnant, I would have tried to stop that, too.”
I had thought of that, and it was the reason I’d hid my pregnancy for as long as I possibly could. Nobody knew until Georgia was already here.
I didn’t even list Georgia’s father’s name on the birth certificate.
“So, I’m done now. I’m not doing it anymore and haven’t for a long time,” she announced, like it was something she’d been thinking about for a while. “I know you could never forgive Owen, and I don’t blame you. I can’t forgive him, either. Our relationship hasn’t been the same since this happened if that makes things any better.” She looked up from her hands at my raised eyebrows, realizing how weak that sounded. “Of course it doesn’t.”
“What did you really come here for, Bethany?” Avoiding one another for four years had been downright peaceful.
“I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything after the way I treated you, and you should know that I am so, so sorry for that, too. I don’t even recognize the person I am anymore, and it makes me sick to think of all the things I did to hurt people back then, what I did to hurt you.” She shook her head as if she was shaking the bad memories from her brain. “I want to get to know Georgia,” she said. “I’m willing to work for it, to gain your trust. I know you’ve never come right out and said who her father is, but I saw her with her babysitter in the grocery last week and got a really good look at her. She’s got those green Fletcher eyes, although they are a little brighter than everyone else’s.” She cleared her throat. “I would really like a chance to get to know her.”
I was shocked to hear that she wanted anything to do with Georgia, and my instinct to fight her off from four years ago bubbled at the surface.
Bethany did look tired though... hurt, even. The harshness of four years ago was gone and in her place was a woman whose sharp edges had been softened and rounded down with time.
Shortly after the secret was out that I had given birth, Owen had come to the apartment demanding to see his daughter.
I‘d slammed the door in his face and called over to Frank’s office in the adjoining shop. Thankfully, I’d caught him in a run of sobriety, and he was in that day. Within seconds, I’d heard a scuffle outside, and then a car pulling out of the gravel lot. Frank didn’t come over to check in on me afterwards, he waited until he was back in his office before calling me on the phone to let me know the problem had been taken care of.
The morning after, there was a note from Frank on my desk about a new alarm system being installed in the apartment that very afternoon, and a loaded .22 on my keyboard.
Owen never bothered me again, but with my .22 at the ready, I kinda wished he had.
“You want to bring my daughter around Owen?” I asked Bethany. I tried to rein in the panic in my voice, but I know she’d heard it.
“No, no. It would just be me,” Bethany assured me. “I haven’t told anyone about this—not even my husband. I’m not asking to take her anywhere, either. Maybe, we could meet up at the park, just like this, and I could play with her a little...get to know her.” She looked like a woman who was desperate to form a relationship with someone—one that didn’t take everything she had to keep it from falling apart.
Bethany let out a long held sigh. “You know, I tried to have him put away, but Owen’s father wouldn’t have anything to do with the idea. Instead, I had Cole lock him in a cell for a few days to calm him down after he’d had a fit. That’s what we called his behavior, anyway. I started recognizing the similarities between my son and my husband. Jamie’s never been a gentle man.” Bethany’s eyes glazed over. “He is very much like my son. I think he’s just better at covering his tracks.” She crossed and uncrossed her legs.
I couldn’t figure out why she was telling me any of this.
“If I had to pinpoint a time when it all started to go wrong, I would say it was when Mason died.”
“Mason? Mason Dunn?” I asked.
What did Jakes’ brother have to do with the Fletchers?
“Yes. They grew up together, practically shared a crib. Marlena was my oldest and dearest friend. I think when both Mason and Marlena died, Owen started to lash out. He blamed everyone and anyone for Mason’s death, especially his brother Jake.”
“Why?” I asked. “It was an accident.”
“Yes, well. Jake was supposed to be with Mason that morning, but he was still a teenager and probably didn’t want to be on a boat in the middle of the river at five a.m. on a Sunday. So in typical teenage fashion, he didn’t show up at the docks. Mason went out alone. Nobody knows what happened to capsize the boat. The waters were due to be rough, but nothing more than usual. Owen just assumes if Jake had been there with him, then maybe Mason would still be alive.”
“Or they both could’ve died,” I said. At least now, I knew why Owen and Jake had hated each other from the very beginning. That hatred hadn’t started with me. I’d just added to it.
“I know that. But Owen couldn’t see it that way. I felt so helpless, he was hurting so much. Instead of getting him help to work through it, I justified his behavior. I enabled him. Instead of making him realize he was wrong, I made excuses.” She gave me a sad smile. “I helped to make him what he is.”
“Has he hurt anyone since me?” It was something I wondered about almost every day.
When she nodded, I almost fell off the bench. I clutched my stomach. “The Preston girl. Stacy, I think her name was. Owen gave her a black eye and roughed her up a bit. We also think he might have sunk the Prestons’ shrimp boat, but he denies it, and they have no proof.” She wiped her palms on her skirt. “Nothing compared to what he did to you, though.”
No. Nothing did.
She cleared her throat. “I know this doesn’t mean shit to you, Abby, but I think you are doing a great job as a mom, a much better job than I ever did.” Bethany's eyes had started to glaze over. Was hell freezing over, or was Bethany Fletcher—formerly Satan’s right hand man—actually about to cry? And in front of me, no less. “Is Owen her father, Abby? I mean, I know you were living with Jake for a while…”
It was time to tell someone about it.
I would never have dreamed in a million years it would be Bethany Fletcher. But, she happened to be the one who was asking.
“When I first found out I was pregnant, I was sure she was Owen’s, but then she was born with bright blue eyes, and I thought for a second there was a chance…” I shook my head and laughed. “I was so young. I didn’t know most babies born with blue eyes change color over time. One day I was staring at my six month-old baby girl and her eyes were as green as the freaking Emerald City. That’s when I gave up all hope that she was Jake’s.” It was difficult to admit out loud.
“Oh, Abby,” Bethany said. “That must have been hard for you.”
I nodded. “It still is.”
“Will you at least think about letting me get to know my grand-daughter, about giving me a chance?”
“I can’t promise you a yes or a no, but I can promise you I’ll think about it,” I said. Bethany may have been ready to let go of the person she was, but I couldn’t forget so easily. That person caused me too much pain to be given a do-over and a free pass to form a relationship with my daughter.
“That’s all I’m asking.” She got off the bench to leave. “Thank you.” It was said so softly I could barely hear her over the parents calling to their children from the benches next to us. “Thank you,” she repeated and walked away.
Had I just agreed to think about letting the most evil woman I’ve ever known have a relationship with my daughter simply because she no longer looked like the devil and had spewed some sincere-sounding words?
Apparently, I had.
I sighed and looked over at Georgia, who was showing a little brown haired boy how to position his feet in front of him before sliding down the shiny new slide. “Hey Bethany?”
“Yes?” She turned around, her cheeks flushed red.
“You know what Owen did to me. You know how badly he hurt me. But what you haven’t said is how you know.”
Her face paled. “Abby…” She started, her voice shaky and unsure. “Owen was in terrible shape afterwards.” He wasn’t the only one. “He drove two towns over and called Cole. Cole called me. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “I helped Cole bring you home that night.” Tears streamed down her face.
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT BETHANY and her request from that night, or her revelation that she had more to do with covering up Owen’s sick behavior than I had initially thought. But, I did tell her I would think about letting her get to know Georgia, and I meant it. I wouldn’t do it right away. I had other issues on my mind.
Tall, blonde and leather issues, to be specific.
My housing situation had changed, too. I had that on my mind more than anything else. After Nan’s house had been foreclosed on, it sat empty for years as the economy continued to slide downward. Eventually, the bank sold it to some big time investor who fixed it up and turned it over to a property management company to find a renter. When I passed the window of the Matlacha Realty office and saw the familiar pink siding and white shutters on the picture taped to their window, I ran inside to sign the lease right then and there. After a few phone calls to the owner, they accepted my check and handed me the keys.
I didn’t even have a chance to tell Frank about the house before he died. I knew he would have been really happy for us though.
Georgia and I had officially moved in a few days earlier. There were still boxes piled in the corner of her room that I hadn’t had a chance to unpack yet. Actually, there were boxes I hadn’t unpacked in every room.
I gave Georgia a bath before tucking her into bed in the very same room where Nan had so generously given me the deadbolt I requested on the first night I’d stayed with her. I’d felt safe there, like my heart could finally lay calm and quiet. Now, the framed photo above my little girl’s bed made my heart skip a beat and my stomach double over.
I wish she hadn’t asked me to hang it up for her.
A few months earlier, I’d been sitting on the couch in the apartment sorting through some old photos in my scrap box when Georgia turned from the cartoon she was watching and asked if she had a daddy. I had no idea how to answer that. Telling her about Owen was out of the question. I was trying to figure out the right way to tell her she actually didn’t have a daddy when she pulled a picture from the bottom of the box I was sorting.
“Mama, is this my daddy?” She had asked, holding up my favorite picture of Jake. He was on his bike, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had just parked in the lot and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was happiness there. It captured exactly who he was. My heart fluttered just looking at him. I had almost forgotten the effect his appearance had on me.
Almost, but not quite.
My childhood had been built on lies and mistrust. I decided then that I wasn’t going to continue that cycle with my daughter.
“No, baby girl, he’s not,” I answered. “I wish he was though.” My eyes watered.
“Don’t cry, Mama. We can pretend he is. Okay?”
“Pretend?” I asked. Georgia had such a huge imagination.
“Yeah. We just pretend he’s my daddy.”
I couldn’t say no to her liquid green eyes. “Just for pretend though, okay, baby girl? He’s not your daddy. Not really.”
She looked down at the picture then back at me, smiling like she’d just ransacked an ice cream truck. She also lost all interest in knowing anything more about who her father was. She was satisfied with her new picture and the promise of a game we could play together.
“Yes, Mama. Just pretend.” Then, she ran off to her room with the picture in hand. It wasn’t until I changed the sheets on her bed a few days later when I realized she’d kept it under her pillow.
The day we moved into Nan’s house she requested a frame for her picture and announced she wanted it hung over her bed. I didn’t want to do it. It took the pretending a little too far for my liking. But, the picture went up, and each night when I put Georgia