California Dreaming: Four Contemporary Romances (28 page)

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“No … nothing.”
Liar, liar pants on fire.

“Maybe something you aren’t ready to admit.”

“There’s nothing. Really. Wasn’t finding my father dead enough?”

“It was plenty.”

Silence.

“I had my first body work session,” Annie announced.

“Annie, I know there’s something more … maybe something that you’ve never told anyone. And I also know that you’re still not ready to talk about it. But I urge you to do it soon, if not with me then with someone else. When you bring whatever happened out into the light, you’ll begin to heal. Will you think about that?”

She hesitated, hating to admit she was hiding something. But maybe the coach was right. “Okay.”

“Good. Tell me about the body work session.”

They finished up the call ten minutes later.

She spent much of the day drifting around the house, avoiding the dredged-up memories. There was no e-mail from Jim. Time was running out. Her layoff would be effective at the end of April — a week and a half away. Maybe the decision had been taken out of her hands.

A long walk on the beach shook the dregs of horror from her mind. As she walked, she began to think about what would happen if she didn’t get the job offer. She’d pinned everything on it and never truly considered the possibility of not getting it. Didn’t they think she could do the job? Or maybe there were consequences for her “accidental” injury of the hand-roving corporate director. She shivered, remembering his meaty paws on her skin.

She shoved the thought from her mind. It was time to get practical. She returned to the house, determined to start looking for a new job, even a temporary one.

The phone rang while she was finishing up dinner.

“Annie?” a strange woman’s voice asked.

“Yes.”

“This is your Aunt Beverly. Hello, dear.”

“Oh, hello. Where are you?” She’d totally forgotten the woman’s arrival.

“In San Jose. Our flight came in about ten minutes ago and I couldn’t wait to call you, to hear your voice. I’m so excited to see you tomorrow!”

“Yes, me too.”

“Where do you want to meet?”

They arranged to have lunch at Michael’s on Main. She tossed and turned that night, wondering what her aunt had to say. An hour before lunch she started getting ready, taking extra care with her makeup to hide the circles under her eyes, but she still arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early.

Beverly Gerhard arrived at Michael’s right on time. “Thank heaven for GPS!” she exclaimed. Thin, with a gray pixie haircut, Beverly moved with a grace that must have come from decades of dancing.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, enveloping Annie with a hug. She stood back with her hands on Annie’s shoulders. “You are beautiful, like I knew you’d be. You’re the spitting image of your great-aunt Ruth.”

“I never knew her.”

“She couldn’t stand her brother, your grandfather, so she didn’t come around much. I think she died when you were about five.”

There was so much she didn’t know, Annie realized. They seldom went to her father’s parents’ house — her father and grandfather didn’t get along — and her grandparents died when she was ten. She didn’t know anything at all about aunts, great-aunts, or cousins. Her mother was an only child whose parents had died before she was born.

“I can’t wait to learn more about my family,” she said as they walked inside.

“It smells wonderful,” Beverly said. “Oh, how beautiful!” The hostess seated them at a window overlooking the kitchen garden. Huge oaks necklaced with strings of lights hung over the unseen river.

“It’s even prettier at night,” Annie said.

“What’s good to eat here?” Beverly asked.

“Almost anything. You have to have an order of crispy sweet potato fries though — it’s the specialty.”

“Let’s split them. And I’ll have a Corralitos Cobb Salad,” she said to the waiter. “It sounds delicious. I love to try new things.”

“Make that two,” Annie said.

Suddenly, Annie ran out of things to say. Who was this woman? Was she the demon her mother had called her or someone else?

“What have you heard about me?” Beverly asked.

“I didn’t even know you existed.”

“Well, someone must have told you something because you’re looking at me like I have horns and a tail.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean … it’s just … well … Mom didn’t have anything nice to say.”

“I imagine,” Beverly said drily.

“It’s none of my business. What do you do now? How did you become a dancer?”

“I think it probably is your business. I’m sorry I stayed away so long. But they were all against me — my parents, your dad, even your mother. I was buried by their righteousness. I had to leave to survive.”

“Mom said you were pregnant.”

“I bet she said I had an abortion, too.”

“Yes.”

Beverly shook her head and leaned back so the waiter could serve their drinks. Idly, she ran her finger down the condensation on the glass. “I think I need to begin at the beginning.” She looked up at Annie. “Some of this may be hard to hear, but it’s important. Can you handle tough stuff?”

I’ve been handling it all my life.
She nodded.

“Mark, your father, was about five when I was born. I was an ‘accident.’ My dad told me my mother slipped up and he was burdened with me. I didn’t even have the decency to be born a boy.”

The words were clipped and unemotional, as if the memories were too painful to relive.

“I could feel my father watching me as I grew. It was like he was waiting for something. Everyone was always tense, watching him, waiting. Then everything would explode. He’d yell and scream about the stupidest things — his shirts weren’t hung up correctly, or my mother had used the car without his permission. He’d hit her. Mark hid me in his room.” She looked at Annie. “Your father was a good man once.”

“He didn’t stay that way.” Annie’s stomach churned.

“Physical abuse is passed down, unfortunately. It takes a strong person to break the cycle and your father wasn’t brave enough. I learned more about abuse after I ran away. It was part of the healing process for me.”

She leaned forward. “There’s a cycle. After the craziness subsides, the honeymoon begins. In our family, there were dinners, flowers, and pretty jewelry for my mother. We’d go to movies as a family. Eventually, the tension would begin again. We were living on top of a bomb and we all knew, even though we never talked about it, that the bomb would eventually go off. Sometimes I think my mom hung the shirts up wrong just to trigger it and get it over with.”

“Why didn’t your mother leave? Why didn’t
my
mother leave?”

“Abusers are very clever. They manipulate their victims into thinking that they’re powerless. My mother was convinced she’d starve without my father. She believed he’d take us away from her and she’d never see us again. Like most victims, my mother believed she deserved the treatment. If only she’d been a better wife, lover, cook, whatever, she wouldn’t be hit.”

Annie heard the words echo in her own mind. If only I’d been a better wife, daughter, mother … “I think I understand that,” she said slowly.

Beverly paused. “Yes, I think you do. And I’m sorry for that.”

“Why should you be sorry?”

Her aunt sighed and took a long sip of iced tea. She tented her long fingers, her rings gleaming in the sun streaming through the window. She looked outside, as if trying to gather strength from the natural beauty outside the window.

“It’s a shame to bring such horror into this peaceful place,” Beverly said. She looked at Annie with her deep hazel eyes. “Remember I said that I felt like my dad was watching me, waiting for something?”

Annie nodded.

“The first time I got my period, my parents made a big deal of it. It was odd, because they’d never made a big deal of anything else in my life. When I was finished for the first time, they had a special supper — I think Mark stayed at a friend’s house to avoid it. My father said, ‘You’re a woman, now, Beverly.’”

Annie felt like a stone dropped in her gut.

“My mom gave me a gift after dinner,” Beverly continued. “A very pretty white nightgown. She had a strange expression on her face when she told me to go put it on and come out to show them.” Beverly’s voice tightened. “I could hear them arguing while I changed. It stopped when he slapped her. When I saw how the gown made me look, I really didn’t want to go out.”

Beverly took a long drink. “It was sheer. I left my bra and panties on, but I still felt exposed. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this, much less my father. I heard him bellowing for me to come out. My mother came to the door, her cheek red and tears in her eyes. She took me by the hand and led me out.”

“I think you know what came next,” she said to Annie. “My mother went to her bedroom and my father took me back to mine. He … he raped me.” Beverly’s voice choked.

Annie’s mouth went dry. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

It was the same age that Annie had been when she first got her period.

The two women sat in silence.

“You’d think I should be over it by now. It’s been forty years,” Beverly finally said. “But I don’t think you ever get over a betrayal that deep.” She drained her glass. The waiter, who’d been keeping an eye on them from a far doorway, immediately came to refill it.

“He came to my bedroom a few times a month after that. It continued through my high school years. He threatened to kill my mother if I told anyone. I believed him and never told.”

“How did you survive?”

A small smile came to Beverly’s face. “When I was little, my mom had taken me to dance lessons. I loved ballet and jazz. She only paid for lessons for a couple of years and then said they were a waste of time. I stopped going, but I never forgot the feeling. I was in my own little world of music and movement.

“When I was in high school, a new dance teacher came to town — someone who’d retired from a dance troop in Los Angeles. I saved from my lunch money, stole from my mother’s purse and my dad’s wallet. I figured they owed me. I talked my way into a scholarship and got my lessons. Claire, the teacher’s name was Claire, said I had talent and took me on as an assistant. She gave me private lessons and encouraged me to go to New York when I graduated.”

“Did you ever tell Claire about … ”

Beverly shook her head. “Not until I had to. Saying it aloud would make it real. When it was only in my mind, I could pretend it wasn’t really happening.”

The waiter came to serve their meals. With unspoken agreement, the women changed topics. Beverly told Annie about her friend in San Jose. Annie gave Beverly an abbreviated picture of her life — college, marriage to Fred, and David’s birth. As the meal wound down, Annie realized she still had unanswered questions. How had her aunt escaped? How did she become a dancer in New York?

The waiter cleared their plates and they ordered coffee. “It’s too bad you can’t stay and meet David,” Annie said.

“Perhaps next time. Unfortunately, this is a busy time of year for dance instructors — spring recitals eat up a lot of time. And, since this is my first full year in Athens, I need to make it work.”

“What made you move to Georgia?”

“To answer that, I need to finish telling you my story. That’s why I took this trip. After my husband died, I felt a strong urge to reconnect with you. I guess I felt guilty for abandoning you all those years ago. I want to tell you my story in hopes that you’ll forgive me.”

Annie felt Beverly’s gaze bore into her. It would be difficult to hide secrets from her aunt. And she wasn’t ready to talk about herself. “I don’t think there’s anything to forgive you for. But I do want to hear your story. What happened next? How did you get away to New York?”
And what about the baby?

“I learned to lie there doing imaginary
jetés
in my head until it was over.” Beverly’s breath caught. “The only time it didn’t work was the day I saw Mark watching. My dad had left the door slightly ajar. He was on top of me, grunting, when I heard the door squeak. I looked up and there was Mark, outside the bedroom, staring at me. I mouthed the words, ‘Help me.’ He didn’t move. Then I saw him smile. He just stood there and watched, smiling.”

Beverly used the napkin to blot a tear that had slipped from her eye. She grasped Annie’s hand. “That’s why I felt it was important to come here and why I feel bad about staying away all those years. I worried that Mark would turn out to be like my dad.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Did your father abuse you?”

“No.”

Beverly cocked her head and said, “I think we both know that’s not entirely true. I can see it in your eyes. I know this is tough. You’ve probably never admitted what happened to anyone, no matter how many therapists you’ve gone to. I felt ashamed for years. Like it was my fault somehow.”

She took a deep breath. “But I learned that you need to say the words aloud to heal. You hardly know me, but maybe there’s someone you trust to tell the truth. Is there?”

Annie steeled herself. “Nothing happened.”

Beverly leaned back, her face sagging a little, the dancing sprite gone from her eyes. “I hope you change your mind someday.” She hesitated a moment. “In fact, if you need to tell my story so you can tell your own, you have my permission.”

“Oh, okay.” Annie didn’t know if she’d tell the story to anyone.
Maybe Elizabeth. Maybe not.
“You still haven’t told me how you got to New York.”

Beverly drank deeply from her coffee cup and stared out the window. Annie didn’t think she was seeing the riverside garden.

“I came up pregnant. I couldn’t stand the thought of having my father’s bastard, but I couldn’t abort it either. I finally told Claire, my dance teacher. She helped me set up the appointment, pretended to be my parent, and signed the consent form, but when the time came, I couldn’t go through with it. No matter what someone else had done to me, I couldn’t take it out on the child.

“The night after I graduated, I ran away. Claire gave me bus fare and the name of a contact in New York who helped me get a place, find a job, and start taking classes again. But the stress and activity must have been too much. One day after coming home from class, I started bleeding. I miscarried the baby.”