"You can't forbid me from going there, Anthony," she'd snapped at him one hot afternoon.
"Yes, I can, Christy," he'd barked back, giving her a look that would've sent a grizzly packing. "It's my camp, and they're my men, and I don't want you there if you’re going to interfere."
"How is me telling them to not force sex on the girls interfering?" she questioned.
He rolled his eyes. "Christy, that is the only reason some of those women are there. To have sex with the men in exchange for money or drugs."
"But if a woman doesn't feel like it, she shouldn't have to," she yelled, her voice rising with every word.
"If she doesn't feel like it, she should leave," he screamed back. He knew she wouldn't back down, so he said in a softer voice, "How about we meet somewhere in the middle?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, her tone laced with skepticism.
"Instead of you randomly showing up there whenever you feel like it, how about we put the word out that you'll visit on Tuesday afternoons? You could go to the cemetery like you do every week, and afterward, swing by the camp. This would give the girls you help an opportunity to know ahead of time that you'll be there in case they need something. And the guys who know you'll be there the opportunity to stay away, he thought.
He could see her thinking about it, and he knew she'd bite. At least he hoped she would since he already told the men he’d make sure she showed up on the same day every week.
She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought about his suggestion. "I guess it would work out better for me and them. The last few times I was there I kept missing one of the women, and I knew she needed help with scheduling a visit with her doctor. If they knew I would be there every Tuesday afternoon, it would mean less driving for me and less frustration for all of us."
And less ball battering for my men, he thought.
"It would also free up your time to get started on the park project you've been talking about," he reminded her.
Her eyes lit up as she nodded. She'd recently mentioned to Anthony that she wanted to personally oversee funding a park in Abigail's name.
They were interrupted by the telephone. It was Grizz. It had taken a year, but he'd finally found the man who'd raped and almost killed Kit, and the person who'd helped him plan it.
"Grizz is bringing Kit over to this coast while he takes care of business," Anthony told Christy.
"Is she staying with us?" she asked, her voice one of excitement. She really liked Kit.
"No. He's putting her up in a hotel but is arranging for people to visit with her and keep her company until he comes back for her. How do you feel about spending a day at the beach?"
"I'd like that," she told him, excited at the prospect of spending time with Kit.
"You didn't have to stay the whole day, Anthony," Christy told him as she walked in their front door, Anthony close behind.
"I wanted to," he told her.
She turned around and smirked. Cocking her hip, she said, "I've been with you for over a year and not once have we spent an entire day at the beach. Not once."
"I didn't hang out at the beach with you two," he countered. It was true. He'd spent most of the time in an air-conditioned bar and grill that overlooked the spot where Kit and Christy had set up an umbrella and beach chairs. He sat at the end of the bar, facing the ocean and handled some business from the bar phone, tying it up for several hours. The owner didn't complain. He'd owed Anthony a favor and was only too happy to let him use it. Or maybe he was too scared to tell the imposing man no.
Anthony had sauntered down a few times to sit with the ladies under the umbrella and they both walked Kit back to her hotel room at the end of their visit.
"I heard what you told Kit when I went to use the bathroom," Christy told him.
"Of course you did," he smiled.
Anthony had expressed concern to Kit that he still wasn't certain whether Christy would pull another episode like she had a few months earlier. She seemed happy and busy, but there was always that nagging feeling that if he let his guard down, she would leave him again.
"I'm not leaving again, Anthony, and like I told you when you found me, you don't have to give up your lifestyle for me. I know that's what she wants from Grizz. As sweet and kind as Kit is, and as much as I like her, I'm not her."
He walked toward her and hoisted her up. She knew to lock her legs around his waist.
“Good,” he told her as he kissed her forehead. He was relieved she didn’t want him to give up his less-than-savory endeavors. “I don’t want you to be Kit or any other woman.” He carried her to their bathroom where they undressed and showered together.
Afterward, they ate dinner, and he mentioned, "Nisha is supposed to call tonight with an update on X's case. Do you want to listen?"
She had a mouthful of food and nodded. After swallowing, she said, "Yes, definitely. Besides, I haven't officially met your sister, so these phone calls are the only time I get to talk to her."
Two hours later, Anthony let out a resigned sigh after hearing from Nisha that Alexander’s trial would be a difficult one for the defense. He cast a sidelong glance at Christy and noticed a single tear rolling down her cheek. In a solemn voice he told her, “It’ll be okay, Owani. We’ll figure this out.”
“What did you call me?” Nisha’s voice blasted through the speakerphone.
“I didn’t call you anything,” Anthony replied. “Christy is upset and I told her we’d figure it out.”
“But you called her Owani. I can’t believe you are being so disrespectful to her, Anthony!” Nisha remembered calling Alexander this same word on their first dinner date. After all Alexander had done for her since then, and based on what she now thought she might feel for him, she could only pray he hadn’t heard it, and if he had, she was relieved he would have no way of knowing what it meant. It wasn’t a nice word at all.
“It’s okay,” came Christy’s soft reply. “He used to call me Princess when we first met. And not in a good way.” She sniffed. She wasn’t in the least upset about the endearment. She was still shaken over the news about Alexander. “He told me about the fantasy world game you made up as a child. I already know Owani is something insulting. But I also know he doesn’t mean it like that.” She smiled at Anthony.
“You’re darn right it’s insulting,” Nisha replied. “And derogatory.” Her voice was starting to rise. “I made it up to describe—”
“Nisha, stop talking!” Anthony interjected. “Owani is not insulting or derogatory. The other word you made up is the one you’re thinking about. Owanu. That’s the word that describes someone hateful and despicable.”
“You’re wrong, Anthony,” Nisha squealed. Her voice seemed to echo off the walls of his office. “It was my game. I would remember my own game better than you.” Her tone was both accusatory and defensive.
“No, sister. It’s you who is wrong. I used to get them mixed up when we were kids, so you went so far as to make up rhymes to help me remember. You drilled them into my brain. They’re still there. You’ve obviously forgotten them.”
“B-but…” Nisha stammered.
“Don’t you remember telling me the easiest way to remember Owanu was because it rhymed with dog poo?”
Christy stifled a laugh.
“Oh my gosh!” Nisha exclaimed. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right, and I can’t believe I forgot about that.”
Nisha’s voice floated through the speakerphone as she recited the poem she’d created to describe the name given to someone who was considered an Owanu.
“Hateful and mean, you have no kindness. No heart in your chest is what causes your blindness. You pinch, and you push, you punch and you shove. You will never have an Owani to love.” A beat passed, and she added, “I wrote it to describe a boy named Albert. He used to pick on me before Anthony showed up.”
“Anthony saved you?” Christy asked.
“No,” Anthony interjected. “I didn’t save
her. She saved herself that day.”
“Not a bad poem for an eight-year-old,” Nisha added. Her tone sounded lighter as she remembered the happiness Anthony had brought into her life. Remembering the fact that he used to endure the silly game for her sake caused her heart to swell.
“You were always the smartest kid in the class,” he told her. The pride in his voice was easily detected. Anthony could feel his sister’s smile through the phone.
“So, what does Owani mean?” Christy interrupted.
“It means cherished one. Prized above all else.” Nisha’s voice held a dreamy quality.
As if not hearing his sister, and without taking his eyes off Christy, Anthony recited another poem.
“Two hearts connected by strands of gold. My heart you will always hold. Safe by my side, you will always be. My forever love, you belong to me.” He reached for Christy’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Again, not bad for an eight-year-old.” He smiled.
Christy smiled back at him.
Later, Nisha lay in bed and stared at her ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come as she tried to evaluate why she’d called Alexander an Owani that day. Had she really forgotten its true meaning or was there something in her subconscious that knew he was special? She flipped over onto her stomach and pulled her pillow down tight around her head. No, she told herself. Alexander is someone I care about, but he’s facing life in prison. He can’t be my Owani. That’s not the life I want. I refuse to fall in love with a man I could never be with. She let out a long sigh, and thought, It’s too late, you fool. You’re already in love with him.
As sleep finally began to take hold, her last conscious thought is what consoled her confused and tormented mind.
If Alexander did hear me that day, I’m just grateful he’ll never know what Owani really means.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Naples, Florida 1981
Despite the devastating outcome of Alexander’s trial, life went on, and Nisha continued to file appeals and dig for evidence that would hopefully reverse the verdict and repeal his life sentence without parole. She’d hired a legal team whose sole purpose was to get Alexander out of prison. A legal team that Anthony and Christy gladly and willingly financed.
In the meantime, Anthony continued running his landscaping and other businesses as well as managing his crew at the camp. He continued to oversee the automobiles that were being transported over the Alley for export, always keeping a cautious eye out for the future technology that would bring a halt to his endeavor. Christy stayed busy with making sure the women who regularly visited the camp were receiving proper healthcare as well as mental wellness checks. Word had gotten around about her charitable concern for the women, and some were showing up just to receive free healthcare at the expense of letting some of the men use them for sex. When Christy realized what was happening she turned her efforts to financing a clinic that was separate from the camp. That way, the women who wanted to be at the camp could be there, and the ones who were only showing up for help would have another place to turn to.
Anthony now stood in the sunroom and glanced out at his backyard. He took a sip of coffee as the morning sun cast bright beams of light through the windows. Dust motes were floating through the air, giving the room a spectral quality. He smiled when he caught sight of Christy’s most recent charity case: Crook.
Christy had been standing in line at the grocery store when she overheard an elderly couple talking about what to do with one of their goats. Apparently, he’d gotten his head stuck in a fence when he was a baby, and it caused permanent damage. Because he was different, he’d become a target in their small barnyard. The other goats bullied him, not letting him get to the food. So, he had to be kept and cared for separately and it was becoming increasingly difficult due to the couple’s age. When Christy heard about the lonely goat, she followed the man and woman to their house.
Anthony laughed aloud when he remembered how he’d been working in his shop when she pulled up, a goat with a crooked neck riding shotgun in her Volkswagen. Crook was now living the high life in their expansive backyard and enjoying his days with the female companion Christy insisted on getting him. Crook and Esmeralda had become inseparable but hadn’t shown any signs of dishing up any baby goats.
Kind of like us, Anthony thought to himself. Their life lacked for nothing. They were as perfectly matched as a mismatched couple could be. A child would only make it more perfect. It hadn’t been for lack of trying. It had been over two years and still every month, like clockwork, Christy got her period. He knew that Christy was capable of getting pregnant. Last year, it occurred to him that perhaps he was the problem. His male pride hadn’t allowed him to take the necessary steps to see if it was true. But maybe it was time to face some facts. I’ll see a doctor, he finally told himself. I’ll have some tests done.
His coffee finished, Anthony had another important matter to attend to. Due to zoning restrictions in the beginning, Abby’s park had been temporarily put on hold. Eight months ago, the green light had been given, and Christy had thrown herself into having the park finished. She was now planning the grand opening and dedication ceremony and couldn’t hide her disappointment that Litzy wouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t want her brother, Richard, there; and Nadine, who was now pregnant with her third child, wouldn’t be able to make the trip and didn’t want to be away from her family. Especially since it was so close to Thanksgiving.
Anthony thought long and hard before deciding to go behind Christy’s back to invite the one person who had a right to be there—Abby’s father, Lenny Renquest. When he’d questioned Christy further as to why she’d never told Lenny, Christy explained that she hadn’t wanted to burden him. Even more so after discovering Abby’s life-threatening illness. “I thought more than once about telling him after she was born,” Christy explained. “But after her diagnosis, it didn’t seem right to bring him into a situation that he had no control of and would ultimately result in the worst kind of pain.”
Anthony now waited in the lobby of the company where Lenny worked. He stood when the door opened and Lenny walked out, glancing around curiously as to who might’ve asked to speak to him. His eyes widened in surprise when they landed on Anthony Bear.
Knowing that Lenny might be cautious of him, Anthony walked toward the lanky man and extended his hand in friendship. “I’m here as a friend, and I have a story to tell you. You have a few minutes to take a walk with me?” Anthony asked, nodding toward the double doors that led outside.
It took a few seconds to place him, but Lenny remembered Anthony from the restaurant where he’d run into Christy Chapman. She’d told him and Lucy that Anthony was her husband even though she'd elected to keep her last name. Lenny now seemed to hesitate, but after casting a wary glance at the receptionist, he nodded and followed Anthony out the door. If Christy’s husband was going to do anything to him, at least he had a witness.
They walked to a far corner of the parking lot where Anthony had parked his truck under a shade tree. Anthony leaned his back against the truck and told Lenny the reason for his visit. Lenny never said a word or interrupted as Anthony told him about Christy’s secret pregnancy, the Chapmans’ cover-up and Abigail’s death. He then explained about Christy’s decision to dedicate a park in their daughter’s name. The last statement caught Lenny by surprise.
“Our daughter?” he asked incredulously while shaking his head. “You mean, mine and Christy’s daughter?”
“Yes, I mean yours and Christy’s daughter. Abigail. Christy never told you, so I know this is a shock. Especially coming from me.” He ran his hand down his face. “Look, you don’t need to try and deny it. I know about you and Christy. About the night you met at the drugstore and how her first time was with you in the back of your father’s plumbing van. It’s okay, man, and she should’ve told you. I’m not here to accuse or ask anything of you other than to see if you’ll be there as a show of support for Christy and all the pain she’s endured alone.??
?
Anthony watched a myriad of emotions flicker over Lenny’s face. The man seemed to be confused.
“I’d be glad to be there as a support for Christy. As a friend,” he stammered. “She was always nice to me and Lucy. But the other part—I honestly don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I never slept with Christy so there is no way that Abigail could’ve been my child.”
Anthony pushed off from the truck and it was his turn to look confused.
“Besides,” Lenny added. “My dad died when I was four and he was a tax attorney, not a plumber.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Naples, Florida 1982
Anthony stood outside the bathroom and listened to Christy vomiting up her breakfast. It brought back memories of the day he abducted her. Only this time, he was positive he knew the cause, even if she didn’t.
He thought about the day almost four months ago when he went to see Lenny Renquest. He hadn’t been angry with Christy for lying to him about Abigail’s father. He’d been concerned that his original assumption that she was raped by her father, Van, was true. And that she was still carrying a burden so weighted by shame that she couldn’t bear to share it with him.
He’d determined then to do some snooping of his own. Remembering the shoebox that contained pictures of Abby, he decided to see if there was anything else in there that could confirm his suspicions. He’d stood alone in their closet and delicately sifted through more photos, some letters from Litzy and other mementos and keepsakes. When he got to the bottom of the box, he felt his jaw tense in anger. He’d been expecting to find something that would offer a shred of proof of Abby’s biological father. Not tangible evidence of why he still wasn’t one himself.