Taking Faith (8 page)

So, she shook his arm gently, and when his eyes opened, she took his arm and pulled him up. He fell in
to the bed and groaned a little, grabbing his side. She lifted his shirt as he pressed his face into the pillow. He was pretty banged up, but it was just red and yellow bruises. With his eyes closed she pulled the blanket over him there in the bed. She heard his deep sigh as he sprawled out further and got comfortable
.

And now, she stood
looking at the dinner he had been
making, though he swore he'd never cook or clean a thing in this house. He also swore he'd never stand up to his father, but he'd done just that
for her
.

She grabbed the dustpan and went into the living room to clean up the broken vase pieces. The vase had been empty so the floor was only scattered with shards. She swept them up, and then repeated the process to make sure she got all the pieces up.

Then s
he
righted the table chairs, went back into the kitchen and
dumped the pot's contents into the trash
,
ignor
ing
her growling stomach at n
ot having any dinner last night
or breakfast.
She gathered the dishes together and
started to
stack them into the
dish washer. It was then she heard the handle jiggle on the front door. She peered out and then started to bolt to Roger's room, but it was too late. Roger's father stood in the doorway, holding his head, still squinting at the sunlight.

He looked down at the plate in her hand and back up. "Where's Roger?" he barked.

She pointed to the bedroom without a word. He went swiftly down the hall, leaving the door wide open…almost as if testing her. Her mind flipped for one split second. Could she make it out? Had Roger been telling the truth about escaping? She knew it was true, she'd been in town and seen the eyes everywhere, but it still crossed her mind to bolt.

But she didn't.

Roger's father came back into the living room and glared at her. "I must've fallen asleep in my truck last night. Tell Roger to call me when he gets up."

She nodded and he left
,
slamming the door and locking it from the outside. He had a key.

She had literally just cleaned up the evidence of their struggle from last night…and Roger was in the bed. It painted a perfect picture for his father; her doing the dishes
while the little husband slept
in. She sagged against the wall and thanked whoever wa
s above them for perfect timing.

She was not interested in watching another rematch between Roger and his dear old dad.
S
he set out to make breakfast and coffee. She noticed Roger had grabbed some creamer when they had their little shopping spree.

When the coffee was made, the biscuits in the oven and the ham in the pan, she drank
the hot mug
slowly and sighed at the warmth and goodness. It was amazing what a little bit of
hot
coffee could do for your soul. She smiled. It really was the little things that mattered most…

She was just turning on the dish washer and wiping down the counters when Roger emerged. He was an exact copy of last night; hair a mess, shirt wrinkled from fighting and sleeping, his face lined with strain. She tried to smile slightly at him. "Good morning."

His eyes bugged at that. He watched her and looked around the room. "You've been up for a while," he said. "And you put me in bed."

"This morning when I got up," she confirmed and poured him a cup of coffee. She brought it to him and set it in his stunned hand. "I thought you could tak
e a couple hours of sleep in a
bed."

"You thought right," he said and chuckled as he sipped his coffee. "I slept hard." He sighed and groaned in his throat as the coffee went down. "Thank you."

"I made some ham biscuits," she said and turned to get them from the stove. When she came back he was still root
ed to his spot. She gave him a
questioning look and his eyebrows lifted as he made his way to his chair. "You father was here this morning," she ventured carefully and continued quickly when he jolted u
p in his chair. "You were right;
he woke up in the truck and had forgotten everything. He said to call him."

"He was here, alone with you?" He looked her over quickly, head to toe. "Are you all right? What did he do? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"He just said he fell asleep in the truck and he went into the bedroom to see you. You were asleep so he said to call him later. What?"

He shook his head. "Just…thinking of my father alone with you…" He inched closer and winced a little as he touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "This is why," he explained. "Does it hurt?"

"Drunks don't have very good back swings I guess," she played off. He cracked a smile, but she could tell he was trying to fight it.

"Seriously, Amy. Are you ok?"

"I'm fine.
I
cleaned up everything before he came in. And you were in the bed, so… I'm sure everything looked just peachy to him."

Roger nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Probably." He continued to stare at her, so she stared back. "Amy, thank you. You did what I couldn't last night. I…
" H
e swallowed hard. "I don't know
what to do about…this." She didn't know what he meant by 'this'.

He moved slowly and practically slow motion as his arms came around her. She knew he was being cautious so as not to scare her, but she still held her breath as he pulled her gently against his warm, hard chest. He exhaled and let his arms relax a bit when she didn't pull away.
His cologne was a full on assault in her nose pressed to his shirt.

She knew he was just thanking her, but she had begun to feel
strangely about him and though
it felt nice, she didn't know if she was ready to welcome that or not. So she pulled back and gave him a small smile. "Sit down. I'll get you some breakfast."

He did as she said, yawning and rubbing his hair as he did so. She brought him a refill of coffee and a ham biscuit, and one for herself. She sat opposite him and tried to think of what to fill the awkward silence
with
.

"Are we working today? I let you sleep late, I didn't think about that. Sorry."

"No. No work today," he answered and rubbed his side. "I think we'll just stay here today and relax a bit." He took a bite and groaned as he chewed. "This is some kind of biscuit. Where did you learn to cook?"

"My mom, I guess." She swirled her coffee in her cup and watched it. "She was always raising me to be a good wife." She
look
ed sadly at h
im. "I guess it worked out, huh?
"

He laughed once without humor. "I'm sure this isn't what your momma had planned for you."

"And what about your momma?" Amy asked, remembering the
gruff
woman that she'd met. "What was she like when you were growing up?"

He shook his head, a line creasing his forehead in thought. "Momma
was pretty much..
. She was always…prickly, like Dad is. He broke her long before I came along." Amy flinched at that. "Sorry," he said sincerely and put his head in his hands. "She's never smiled for as long as I can remember. She never laughed or did anything with me that wasn't on her chore list."

"That's terrible," Amy said, imagining such a life. "It must have been terrible to be stolen and then be pregnant. With that man…" She looked up at him to see her watching. "I know he's your father, but-"

"No, the truth's the truth." He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "No man in his right mind would say that my father was a kind or just man."

"So, why did you…" she stopped, changing her mind about her question.

"Why did I what?"

"Nothing." She started to get up, but he grabbed her hand easily.

"Tell me. Why did I what?"

She took a deep breath. Was she really about to get emotionally intimate with him? "Why did you turn out the way you did?"

He scoffed. "Like what? A mean bastard?"

"No," she whispered. "Not a mean bastard."

His face was tight, like he was once again struggling with something. "Do you have any idea how much I wish I hadn't hit Elena?"

She felt her mouth drop open. That was the last thing she ever expected him to say. "Why did you?" she asked, tough in her heart, she already knew the answer.

"Because, my mind, the mind that my father gave me and drilled with his rules, made me think that I had to hit a woman to do what was right, to teach her. I needed…to hit something. I know that
's so stupid and messed up." His face twisted
and he turned so she couldn't see his face. "Have you ever tried so hard to do what you thought was good and right and it was never good enough? I had to hit something, Amy, just once in my life to feel like the man my father wanted me to be. But it couldn't be you. T
her
e was no way on heaven or this E
arth that I could hit you.
But you know what?"

She stayed silent, knowing he was silently torturing himself. He finally looked over at her and she shook her head. He continued, "I didn't feel like a man afterwards. I didn't f
eel good or right. I felt like the
bastard
I am and
I felt like cutting off my own hand just so I could never do it again."

"I'm sorry, Roger," she told him, pretending not to see the way his eyes glazed with wetness.

"You should never," he muttered and came closer to her face, "ever say that you're sorry to me. Or anyone else in this town."

"I'm sorry for what was done to
you. It wasn't right. My being kidnapped
wasn't right, but what was done to you wasn't either."

"What's that old saying about two wrongs…" he mused and plopped back in his chair forcefully.

She sighed and licked her lips.
"I'm going to do the dishes. Why don't you go take a nap or something?"

"Why?"

"Because you look like hell," she said bluntly
, but softly
.

He laughed, a real laugh. "Well, then. I
guess that's my cue." He stood and drank the last of his coffee in one gulp
.
"
Thanks, Amy. I'll change the locks so my father can't come in uninvited anymore
, all right?"

She nodded. "That would be nice, I guess. As long as you won't get into trouble."

He didn't say anything to that, just left the room. She heard his loud sigh and groan as he plopped back into the bed, the springs squeaking a little from the force.
She finished the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, top to bottom. She just needed to keep her hands busy.

She needed to think.

After a while, she took a mini tour of the
living room
. She hadn't seen it, hadn't even really paid attention before. The first thing she did was check to see if the front door was locked. It was. She understood Roger's position on that and the trust would have to go both ways. Besides, who was to say that she wouldn't one day run when she saw a real opportunity?

She searched his walls and saw his little knick-knacks on a shelf near the door. There was a town bank calculator displayed like a treasure. There was a
mug from some coffee shop.
There was also a small picture frame with him standing in front of Mitchell's Supply with his father
, both looking unhappy and sullen
.

These were the things he treasured?

She decided then to set out and find his life, his history. There had
to
be something. She looked in all the drawers and cabinets and shelves, finding nothing, but eventually opened the doors to the entertainment center. There was one plain red photo album there. She lifted it gently, setting it on the carpet in front of her as she crouched. She opened the front cover and found one picture in the front. It was Roger as a baby.

It wasn't a professional picture, just a candid of a baby playing with a spoon. He was wearing a blue jumper, his black hair piled in little curls on the top of his head. She smiled as she flipped the page, but the rest of the book was empty. Completely empty! What did Roger have to show for his life other than bruises and scars then?

It was then that Amy decided. She needed this man right now, but he needed her. He needed someone to show him some kindness if for no other reason than to
be kind
.
No expectations, no tit for tat, just being good to someone for absolutely no reason at all.

Amy bet that he'd never had that a day in his life. It wasn't fair. She thought about all of the kids in the community being raised by these men to behave a
certain way. Was it any surprise when that was exactly what they did?