Bittersweet Creek (20 page)

Romy

W
hen he backed out of the driveway, I wilted in defeat.

The welts on Julian's back. I felt them more than saw them, but the thought of them and the pain he had endured turned my stomach. I fell to my knees to retch, but my stomach didn't have anything to give.

And he'd left me.

Again.

The hell if he'll leave me again before I'm done talking to him.
Something snapped inside of me, something I hadn't known I was holding so tight. I jumped to my feet and stomped down the road the short distance to Julian's house. Lightning struck a tree on the other side of the road, but I walked on. Rain stung my face, but I walked on. Some idiot came flying down the road, splashing me in the dip between the houses, but I walked on.

No more. Julian was going to tell me the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. That thought carried me up the hill, past the sorry-ass trailer where he'd grown up, and up the steps to his mamaw's porch. I banged on the door.

He didn't answer.

I gave him a few minutes, and I banged again.

Nothing.

Sure enough, the latch to the back door hadn't caught, and I opened it with ease. And there was Julian, with his scarred bare back to me, holding the tape boxers use. He looked over his shoulder, frozen.

When he turned around I couldn't help but stare at his chest. He'd always been lean, but now he was, as Shelley Jean had so eloquently put it, built. Only the white skin in the outline of his T-shirt made me frown. I was used to a golden brown, almost carefree Julian. This Julian was muscular—no doubt due in part to the boxing habit he'd taken up since I left—but he wasn't the Julian who'd brazenly walked up from the lake wearing nothing but a smile.

I stepped forward and he stepped backward. I almost laughed hysterically at the idea that we might be working on our footwork.

“Julian.”

“Don't. Don't look at me like that.”

I forced my eyes to meet his. “Don't look at you like what?”

“Like I'm half the man I used to be.”

What a ridiculous thing male pride is.
But thinking it didn't keep tears from clouding my vision. My throat closed to the point I couldn't have formed words even if I'd been able to find the ones I wanted to say. Instead I reached out and gently traced a scar on his chest. It was a thin, tiny scar hidden beneath a generous dusting of blond hair. It was much smaller than the ones I'd seen before. He flinched as though my fingers were on fire.

He backpedaled. “I'm serious, Romy. Stop it!”

Oh, the backing away. I was sick to death of having him back away. Anger flushed out anguish, and I took another step toward him. “Stop it, or you'll what?”

“Just stop.” He hit the wall, and I stopped right in front of him. I reached for him again, but he grabbed my wrists, reminding me of the night outside The Fountain. That night, I'd been certain he was going to kiss me. That night, I'd been almost certain I was going to let him.

Today, kissing me didn't seem to be on his mind.

So I stood on tippy toes and kissed him. Determined to remain impassive, he didn't flinch when I brushed my lips across his. By the third pass, his breathing was shallow, and I was dizzy from the pull between us. As I leaned forward a fourth time, his lips caught mine savagely. I met him hungry kiss for hungry kiss, surprised to discover he'd released my wrists in favor of wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer. Someone whimpered. It was me.

Parts of me I'd forgotten I even had ached, and the world spun as Julian kissed my cheek, my neck, and then my lips with all the fervor of a man who'd been given up for dead only to realize he was going to make it after all. “Julian, please. I'm begging you.”

He froze and, with effort, pushed me to arm's length. “No. I can't.”

Still dizzy.
“You can't? Or you won't?”

“Both. Neither. You're engaged to someone else, and—”

“Not anymore I'm not.”

“You're not engaged?” He held up my hand to see it had no ring, proof I'd made my decision the day before.

“Mostly not?” I said with a wince.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I haven't given him his ring back, but I broke it off for good.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly from right to left. When he finally spoke, his voice came out in a whisper. “Doesn't matter. I can't let anyone hurt you. Especially not me.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I am not going to beat my wife.” He said it louder because it obviously made sense to him.

“Why would you ever beat me?”

“I don't know!” And he exploded, jumping to the center of the porch, punching the bag that hung from the rafters then pacing anxiously. “I don't know how it works. All I know is when Curtis married my mama they were happy. I've seen the pictures. And then I came along, and he started beating her.”

I swallowed in horror. “Julian, no.”

“I told myself I was different. I thought I could control it, but then we beat the hell out of each other once, and I've wanted to kill him with my bare hands ever since.” His nostrils flared. I wanted to kill Curtis McElroy for all of the pain he'd caused Julian, for all of the pain he'd caused us.

“Wanting to kill Curtis doesn't mean you'd ever want to hit me.”

“But how do you know that? It feels awfully damn good to hit things, and that's not normal, Romy.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you know someday something won't snap inside me and make me beat you until you're the one sitting in that emergency room?”

“Because you wouldn't. You couldn't.”

He ran a hand through his wet hair in frustration. “You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

“But where do I fit in all of this? Tell me, Julian, why don't I get to have a say in this decision?”

“You don't understand.”

“Because you won't tell me!”

“You're loyal. You'd stay. Just like Mama.”

I snorted. “I am not your mama. Hit me once and see if you don't wake up with a pistol up each nostril.”

He stepped forward, cupping my cheek with one hand. “Romy, I'm not going to risk the once.”

“No, Julian, you don't get it.” I poked his hard chest to punctuate each word. “I'm not leaving until you tell me exactly what the hell made you think you needed to protect me from you.”

Julian

“A
ll right. Fine.” I started back into the house, but stopped to hold the porch door open for her so she'd know I was inviting her in. On my way to the kitchen I grabbed a clean shirt from the dryer. No way was I going to tell this story with those ugly-ass scars in plain view.

I pointed to one of the mismatched chairs and reached into the fridge to get a Coke for each of us, hoping she didn't see how my hands shook. Then I sat down, took a deep breath, and finally told Romy the truth.

“We'd come home from graduation, and I wanted to pack a few things before we left. At first I was too excited to catnap. Then Curtis started beating up on Mama. Again.

“I told myself not to get involved. I told myself she was a grown woman. She'd never once taken any of my offers for help. If she wanted me, she'd call for me. Then she cried out really loud, and I started to wonder what he might do to her when he found out I'd run off with you. He'd blame her for it. He blamed her for everything.”

I closed my eyes against the memory of that night. I had been eighteen. I thought I knew it all.

“If I was smarter, maybe I would've called the police, let them handle the whole thing, but they weren't much help the time I did call them. Besides, I thought I could take him. I was younger, faster, smarter . . . sober. So I walked down the hall and hollered at him to stop. He only stopped long enough to yell, ‘Go away, boy!'

“I barged in and found him sitting on her, slapping her face repeatedly like in
Chinatown,
so I pulled him off her. He hit both my ears so hard they were ringing. I only meant to hit him once, but once I started I couldn't stop. I think I wanted to take care of him forever since I knew I was leaving. But then Mama tried to pull me off him, and I pushed her back into a lamp. It crashed on the floor, and the bulb burst, leaving us in only the gray light from the kitchen.

“I looked at my bloody knuckles. I even had blood along the sides of my fingernails and underneath the edges. I'd only meant to stop him, but I'd hurt him. I'd hurt Mama. And I sure as hell didn't want to hurt you.” I had to stop there. At least for a minute.

“But, what about your scars?” she asked. “Why couldn't you just come tell me this?”

“I'm getting there. You see, I was pacing in the yard, debating whether I would meet you or not. You were the only good thing in my life, and I didn't want to mess that up. Here, I thought I was able to keep a lid on my temper, but I'd just beat the shit out of my father and pushed my mother.

“I knew I had to tell you something, so I reached for my keys and headed to the truck. Only, I hadn't beaten Curtis enough because he came up behind me with a cast-iron skillet and whacked me in the back of the head.

“Yeah, I was younger and quicker, but Curtis was meaner. He never would've got the best of me if he hadn't banged on my ears until I was half-deaf and then hit me from behind. He'd already rolled me over on my stomach and got three licks in before I knew what was happening.

“He kept yelling, ‘Boy, I'm gonna wear you out like I shoulda done every day of your damn life.' Then he unbuckled his wide leather belt. That belt whistled through the air, but I was still so stunned from the blow to the head that each stinging cut only began to hurt just before the next one hit.

“Every time I'd try to get to my feet, he kicked me in the ribs until I fell down and then he'd lash me some more. He kept yelling about how he didn't deserve to be saddled with me, about how I needed to learn my lesson. He'd probably still be beating on me today except Mama came in wailing like a banshee about how he'd promised he'd never do anything more than spank me. She kept pulling on his arm and crying, ‘You promised!'

“He slapped her down, but she'd distracted him enough that he was done with me. He took out his flask and poured his rotgut liquor on my back. That's when I blacked out. When I came to, he was snoring on the back porch. Mama was still crouched on the back stoop, rocking and crying and wringing her hands. Somehow I managed to get to my feet and to trudge to the one place I knew he would never dare to look for me: your barn.

“I tried to tell you the other day when we climbed up to the loft, but I couldn't. How're you supposed to tell someone that your father beat you black-and-blue even after you were a grown man?

“I got lucky. Hank went looking around up there for something, and he found me. He wanted to take me to the emergency room, but I made him promise not to. Told him I'd drag my sorry carcass somewhere else before the ambulance got there, and I made him promise to never, ever tell you.”

Romy swallowed hard, tears running down her cheeks. She did pity me, and, really, my sorry, scarred ass deserved nothing less. Still, she deserved the truth, so I continued.

“Hank called Dr. Winterbourne, who patched me up as best as a vet in a barn loft could. I finally told Hank he could call Ben, and the two of them kept watch over me until I was well enough to go home. But I didn't go back to Curtis's house. Instead I moved into Mamaw's old house.

“Dr. Winterbourne lost count of the stitches—both on my back and in my head. He bandaged up my broken ribs, too. He had to give me painkillers because I didn't know which way to lie down between the broken and bruised ribs and the sores on my back. I don't know how he managed to get antibiotics, but he did—probably damned horse pills. Ben changed out the bandages on my back despite the fact he gets faint at the sight of blood. I owe him more than I'll ever be able to repay him. Him, and Hank, too.

“At first, I didn't call you because I was too out of it to know where I was or what was going on. Dr. Winterbourne's pain pills worked a little too well those first few weeks. As I weaned myself off them, I had a lot of time to think. The more I thought about it, the more I thought about how smart you were and how much you deserved to go off to Vanderbilt instead of giving up that scholarship and staying here to be with me like we'd talked about after I broke my leg. I would've never forgiven myself for holding you back, and you wouldn't have forgiven me, either. I had a lot of time to think about the McElroys and how I didn't know of a one who wasn't a sorry bastard. Almost all of them have beaten their wives and drank too much. One uncle and at least two cousins were in jail right then.

“I didn't have anything to do but think, and I tried to think of any way I knew to stay married and be sure I would never hurt you the way Curtis hurt Mama or the way my uncles beat their wives. Or drink you out of house and home. Or leave you to fend for yourself when I finally had to serve a little time.

“I thought of the pictures of Mama and Curtis back when they were happy. They looked normal and in love. Sure, it was a shotgun wedding. Sure, I was one of those six-month miracle babies, but they looked so happy in all of their pictures right up until about the time I turned five.

“So I thought if I held back, you'd eventually send those papers in the mail. I wasn't going to go after you because I might end up staying. I never once thought you'd hold out this long.”

I looked at her, willing her to understand. Even though I couldn't let her love me, I didn't want her to hate me anymore. “So that's why I've stayed away. There's something wrong with me, Romy. It's in my blood. Someday I might wake up and be just as evil as Curtis, and I'll be damned if I'm going to ruin your life over it.”