A turning point came when Hawk knocked on my door.
“You need to get up,” he said. “You’ve spent your entire life being passive, then wondering why things were out of your control.” He pulled my blankets off, then grabbed my hand and pulled me to sitting. “Be the mother you want to be. Starting right now.”
I’d cried again, knowing he was right but also not knowing where to begin. “How?” I asked my child, the tables being turned on us once again.
“You begin by taking a shower each morning, brushing your teeth, eating breakfast, and getting dressed. Then you go to the hospital and talk to Mark. Do therapy for his arms and legs. Ask the therapists the right way to do it.”
I looked up at him, startled. “How do you know that?”
He lifted his chin. “Because I’ve been working with him twice a day. When he gets better, and he will get better, he will need his muscles working as soon as possible.” He walked to the window and threw open the drapes. “I’ve been looking at the layout of your land and think that area would be best for an indoor therapy pool and spa.”
Stunned, I rose and walked to the window, my hand on the wall to steady myself. “For when he gets better?” The words felt wonderful on my tongue.
“Yes. I’ll call the architect and get it started with your approval. I’ve already spoken to the therapists and know everything he will need.”
I gazed up at my eldest son. “Thank you, Hawk.”
He swallowed. “You’re welcome. Now, get showered and dressed. We’re going to the hospital, just you and me. I’ll be downstairs.”
He turned and left the room, leaving me to my thoughts.
Hawk was right. I knew I had to find strength. I knew I had to pull it together and resume the routine. I couldn’t continue to be drugged and sleeping all the time, wallowing in my self-pity.
I stepped into the shower, then dressed in jeans and a shirt. I left the room that had become my prison and carefully descended the stairs. As I looked around, I realized I was searching for Worth. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been there with me. Why he had abandoned me. He must know I was hurting as much as he.
Hawk kept his arm around my shoulder as we walked into the ICU that morning. This time I looked at my younger son through non-medicated eyes. The bruises were fading, the cuts closing into little red lines that would someday fade to white.
Because there would be a someday, I thought for the first time.
Yes, there would be a someday.
It could have been my imagination, but I thought Mark’s eyelids fluttered when I spoke to him. I kept speaking and that became our new routine.
Hours later, a hand fell on my shoulder. I looked up to see it belonged to Hawk. He smiled down at me. “You did good, Mom. Real good. It’s time to go, now. I’ll bring you back tomorrow.”
I stood and reached for his face and pulled him down to kiss his cheek. He didn’t flinch or pull away, just let me press my lips into his warm skin. “Thank you, Hawk.”
He smiled down at me. “You’re welcome, Mom.”
With his arm around my shoulders again, he walked me to his car.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Hawk
I was trying to figure out how in the space of a week my life could have gone from joyous to a living hell. Typically, I looked for someone to blame and typically, my father won that honor. I couldn’t heap it on him completely — not this time. My hands were soiled as much as his.
I tried to recall the conversation that terrible afternoon at Mom’s. I struggled to remember if there had been any kind words at all in Mark’s presence, but could think of none. Everything said had been poisonous and intentionally hurtful — his side and mine. The three LaViere men had taken one another on, and now one of their lives was uncertain.
Liane, although sensitive to my maelstrom of emotions, knew she was needed more by my mother’s side. Someone had to take charge, and no one else was stepping up. The vicar had come out, but Mom had been sleeping and Father was missing most of the time, or so Liane told me. He extended his sympathies to Marga and Letty before coming up to see me.
We sat next to one another on the patio. I noticed suddenly how the blades of grass bent in the breeze and in the distance, the redwing blackbirds rode the tips of swaying tall grasses seemingly without any support. He patted my shoulder and gave his sympathies, but he knew that was just a formality. He knew there was a deep, deep rift in my soul and it would not heal anytime soon.
“You expect others to heal your hurt for you, Hawk,” the vicar said.
“Ben, I don’t expect anything from anyone,” I spat back at him, then immediately apologized.
“Oh, but you do. You feel wounded, and you have a right to, but you keep pouring salt into those open wounds. Hate is that salt, my son.”
He was right, I knew it, but I didn’t know how to stop. When I asked him how, he shared one word, “Forgiveness.”
I scoffed. “They don’t deserve my forgiveness.”
He simply nodded. “Maybe not, but you do.”
Surprised, I jerked my head toward him. “What do you mean?”
“My son, forgiveness is never for those who have hurt you. Forgiveness is the key in which you unlock the door to your self-imposed prison. You can release the hate you feel with three words—I forgive you.”
Hate curled its fist around my heart. “Forgive my mother and father for sending me away? Forgive my brother and sister for taking what was mine? Impossible.”
Ben sighed deeply. “Then maybe you should begin by forgiving yourself.”
I stared at him and heat burned behind my eyes. I blinked rapidly and turned my head away.
“How badly do you hate the young boy you once were?” he continued. “The hellion who did those terrible things?”
“I was just a boy,” I defended myself.
“Yes. So forgive that boy. Forgive the boy who screamed those terrible things, did those terrible things. Killed your uncle. Threatened your siblings. Scared your mother. Emasculated your father.”
Fury rose inside me. “Emasculated my father? How can you say that? I was a boy; he was a grown man.”
He frowned at me. “Your father has never been a grown man. He still isn’t to this day. He was abused as a child, Hawk. Horribly abused, emotionally and physically from what I understand. No matter the education he’s received or how hard he has tried to be the better man, he still carries the weight of that abuse with him. He still strives to protect himself at all costs first. Abused children often do that.”
He was right. A deep part of me knew that. But a deeper part wasn’t ready to let go of the anger. Not yet.
“Forgiveness is a process, son, one that doesn’t happen overnight as much as people want to believe. The day you become grateful for the lesson you received is the day the healing really begins.”
I shook my head. “Grateful for the lesson. What do you mean?”