You’ll understand when you’re a parent.
If I don’t discipline you now, you won’t understand the rules.
And all that was when he was on his good behavior. If he’d been drinking, or just didn’t care, he’d come in yelling, throwing stuff . . . swinging his fists.
“I know he battered your mom around . . . did he . . . ?”
Zoe noticed Luke gripping the steering wheel. “All the time,” she said without shame. It wasn’t her fault the man was abusive. “He was smart about it. Made sure the marks he left weren’t visible in normal clothes. I always thought he wouldn’t get away with it if we lived in a warmer state.” Once again, she felt herself drifting into her own thoughts and memories. “He always had a line . . . why we were sick . . . why we were bruised. Slipped and fell. Rope on the swing broke. Ice on the drive . . . I don’t think anyone ever noticed that our drive was gravel.” She leaned her head back and kept talking. She hadn’t thought about all of this or wanted to talk about it for years.
“Right before he held up that mini-mart, he’d started showing his true self. He stopped being polite to people in town. He’d keep us home from school to avoid anyone knowing there was a problem. In sixth grade, I’d missed about three weeks of school before the winter break. The counselor, Miss Jennings, came to the house right before Christmas break to check on me. I remember her black slacks and polished shoes . . . not sure why the shoes mattered, but I remembered them. She stood in my living room. Dad wasn’t there, he’d told me to stay home and watch Zanya, and he went out to ‘find money.’” She huffed out a laugh, understanding what that meant now. “Miss Jennings stood with polished shoes on our worn carpet. She asked me why I wasn’t at school. I was scared to answer. I don’t think I did.”
“What happened?”
“I met Jo’s dad, formally. I knew of him, of course. But he came over the next day to check on us. I found out later that Ziggy had made a scene in town and the teachers were talking.” It helped to know that people were aware and finally willing to step in. “I had just started to stop by Miss Gina’s on the way to school . . . she never said anything, but I think she had something to do with Miss Jennings coming over that day.”
Zoe looked over to see Luke’s carefully controlled jaw, his tense hands on the wheel. “You probably don’t want to hear this.”
Luke pulled in what seemed like a painful breath and reached over to grasp her hand. “I hate that you went through all that . . . but I absolutely want to hear it. When we were kids and you said your dad was an asshole and in jail, I knew on some level that meant he’d hurt all of you. I heard a few things over the years, but I didn’t really know much of anything.”
Zoe squeezed his hand back. “I told Mel and Jo years ago how bad it was. I made them swear to not say a thing to anyone.”
“Even me?”
She nodded. “It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I wasn’t embarrassed about my dad . . . my childhood. In a way, I still am.”
“You can’t help who you’re born to.”
“I know that.”
Luke pulled off the main road leading out of town and toward his house. “Unless you object, I’d like you to stay with me tonight. I can take you to Miss Gina’s—”
“No. I’d much rather . . .” She kissed the back of his hand. “You make me feel safe, Luke.”
He gripped her hard. “I won’t let him hurt you, Zoe.”
“It isn’t me I’m worried about.”
It was pouring down rain the next morning. Zoe drank her coffee black and stared out Luke’s kitchen window. Tiny drops fell off the gutters and onto the back deck. The small pools of water would give the birds plenty of places to bathe once the rain stopped. She wondered if Luke had birds that showed up on his back step. She leaned over the sink to take a better look at his outdoor space. He didn’t have a bird feeder.
A back porch needed a bird feeder.
The floor squeaked behind her, taking her attention away from theoretical birds.
Luke slid his arms around her waist and leaned his head into hers.
“You smell nice,” she told him. Fresh from the shower and clean-shaven.
“So do you.”
He stood holding her, both of them looking out the back window.
“I’ve never been in your backyard.”
“You can go out there now . . . might get a little wet.”
She chuckled and hugged his arms around her.
“How are you feeling this morning?” he asked.
She hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning with memories and stress. Somewhere around four, she turned her pillow around for the hundredth time, found a cool spot, and drifted off.
“I’m sorry if I kept you up all night.”
“I slept.”
“Liar. But thanks for trying to make me feel better.”
He kissed the top of her head before backing away. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“It is.”
Luke removed a clean coffee cup from his cupboard and filled it.
“I tried to find cinnamon to brew with it. No luck.”
“You’re lucky you found coffee. I don’t always bother until I’m at the shop.”
She found her smile. “I noticed it’s a little lacking in here.”
He turned, leaned against the counter, and took a sip with a grin. “Consider it an empty canvas. Feel free to paint it up.”
“But it’s your kitchen.”
“And?”
She glanced around. “Rearranging your kitchen . . . I don’t know. That’s a big step.”
“It’s a kitchen.” Luke looked at her over his cup.
“Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?”
“It’s a kitchen. I could give two shits about where things are.”
She pretended shock.
“Now if you wanted to talk about a drawer in my bedroom . . . we might have a problem.”
She put a hand in the air. “Wait . . . I can move everything around in here, but no panties with your boxers?”
He was trying hard not to smile, but he wasn’t fooling her. “We would have to negotiate that.”
“And what kind of negotiations are we talking here?”
He held his cup with both hands and kept it close to his face. “For starters, if you have panties here, I have boxers at your place.”
“In Texas?”
“Do you have a home somewhere else?”
He’d lowered his cup, and his smile made his eyes crinkle. This was the second time he’d alluded to taking their relationship to a new level. What if it didn’t work out? What if it did? She felt like she’d had one of her best friends reenter her life, and she didn’t want that going away.
“Tell me what you’re scared of so I can shatter it.” Luke’s words shook her out of her head.
“A shotgun isn’t going to destroy my fears.”
Concern replaced the humor in his eyes. “I don’t think I said anything about weapons.”
She studied her pedicure, wondering how her thoughts turned so violent. “I live in Texas . . . everyone has guns.”
She heard his coffee cup touch the counter and looked up when he placed both hands on her arms. “When you’re ready to tell me what your fears are . . . I’m here.”