Aftermath (38 page)

Mary stood against the wall, her face ashen and distraught.

Frankie looked at her. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asked. “I used to come around all the time to bring you money when he wasn't home.” Frankie had always avoided his father, waiting hours for him to leave the house at times before he climbed the stairs to visit his mother and brother. “You could have told me what was really going on.”

Mary's voice was surprisingly steady as she spoke, though barely above a whisper. “There's a lot you don't know, Frankie.”

His brow furrowed and he licked his lips, dry after such an emotional outpouring. “What don't I know?”

Mary all but collapsed into a nearby chair under the weight of what she'd held inside for so long. She took a deep breath and looked her only surviving child in his eyes. It was time to stop keeping quiet.

“When you left,” she began, “your father was so mad. He drove around the neighborhood looking for you, but he couldn't find you. He came home that night and he beat Steven bloody because he thought Steven knew where you were.”

Frankie closed his eyes as if to block out the enormity of what he was hearing. He opened them again and Mary was staring at the floor as if entranced.

“Steven didn't know where you were, though. So John got even madder and he … raped me. He beat me and raped me for so long that I passed out. When I woke up, he was gone and Steven was there with a cold rag on my head, begging me to get up and leave. He wanted us to run away like you had.” Mary squeezed her eyes shut and tears spilled forth. “But I wouldn't go.” She shook her head. “I wouldn't leave John.”

“Why not?” Frankie asked. He had always wondered why.

“I loved him.” She seemed to laugh at how ridiculous that was now. “He was your father, and I wanted us to be a family. I thought it was better to be with him than to be without him.”

Frankie stared at his mother and felt such contempt for her. She could have left, could have spared her children the horror of growing up with a monster. But she had chosen to stay, and no matter how noble her reasons were, no matter how hard he tried not to, he resented her for it.

“After you left, he got worse. That lawyer lady was right. The school did contact us about how Steven was coming to school. So John stopped hurting him in ways that left visible marks. If Steven did anything wrong, if he moved too slowly or spoke too loudly, John would take a broomstick and beat him across his back.”

Frankie grimaced, picturing little Steven enduring such abuse. Steven had been a frail and lanky kid, skinny and weak. Their father's blows must have all but broken him.

Mary was crying harder now. “I remember that Steven got to the point that he stopped crying when John would beat him. John didn't like that. He took it as a challenge. So one day I came home from food shopping and found him … he had Steven tied down … and the broomstick…”

Frankie stared at his mother with his mouth agape. “Ma…” he stammered. “Please don't tell me—”

She nodded, confirming his worst fears. “Steven was screaming and I yelled for John to stop. He did, and Steven was laying on the floor, crying and screaming. John said it was the only way he could get Steven to cry as hard as he wanted him to. He penetrated him with that broomstick and I don't know how many times he had done that before I found out about it.” She was sobbing now. “Steven wasn't strong enough to fight back. And I just stayed. I just stayed and kept my mouth shut!” She looked at Frankie, her face so pained. “I deserve to be the one in that grave, Frankie. I'm the one who should be dead, not Steven. He didn't have a chance! And all I did was sit back and let it happen.”

Frankie stared at his mother in disbelief. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and he worried that he might be nauseous. Mary was trying to stop crying, but talking about what she had witnessed in silence for the first time was hard to handle.

Gillian came back in the room and saw Frankie sitting with his head in his hands and Mary sobbing quietly in the corner. She frowned. This wasn't what she'd expected to happen when she'd left the two of them alone together.

“Court is about to reconvene,” she said. “The prosecutor says they need you back on the stand.”

Frankie couldn't move. He stared at his weeping mother and shook with contempt and pure rage. His father had done them all a favor when he shot himself. He looked at Mary and wondered why she hadn't done the same.

Slowly, Frankie got to his feet and walked back to the courtroom, his mother and Gillian trailing behind him in silence.

He walked up to the witness stand more upset than he had been when he left it. The judge reminded Frankie that he was still under oath and Frankie took his seat and a long guzzle of water before Teresa got started.

She picked up right where she'd left off before the recess.

“Had you ever suspected that Steven was affected by the abuse in a very different way from you?”

Frankie told the truth. “Yeah,” he said. “I could tell that it was different.” He shook his head. “He was human. Anybody would have been damaged after going through what he did.”

Teresa nodded. “Were you sexually abused as a child?”

Frankie frowned, hating that she would even suggest that. “No!”

“To your knowledge, was your brother ever sexually abused?”

Frankie looked at his hands, replaying what his mother had just told him in his head. He didn't know how to answer the question so he said simply, “I don't know.”

Teresa stared at him. “Your father is deceased, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How did he die?”

Frankie looked out across the courtroom, hating that his family business was being laid bare for all the world to see. He watched reporters staring at him in anticipation of his answer and knew they would cream themselves when they heard his response.

“He committed suicide. He put a forty-five in his mouth and blew his brains out.”

“How did you feel when you found out?”

Frankie shrugged. “Relieved.”

The courtroom was abuzz again and Judge Felder was banging his gavel once more.

“Just one final question,” Teresa said. She saw the look of relief on Frankie's face. “Mr. Bingham, do you believe that Steven sodomized your nephew when he was left in his care?”

Frankie looked at his mother, thought about what she'd just revealed to him. It was entirely possible that what their father had done to Steven had warped him in unimaginable ways. He shook his head and then looked at Camille, her belly bulging with his unborn child. He thought about how cruel he'd been to her, how hearing Born describe her pregnancy cravings had made him feel like shit. He looked then at Misa and his eyes filled with tears.

Misa had never done anything to Frankie. In fact, he had practically watched her grow up in the years he'd been with Camille. He thought about Shane. Although he wasn't much for children, Shane was a good kid. He had been so happy, so carefree, and now this. Frankie couldn't help wondering if what his brother had been accused of was true.

“Mr. Bingham, please answer the question.”

Frankie shook his head. “I don't know what to believe anymore.”

Teresa was satisfied with that. She had gotten him to go from absolute denial to the possibility of Misa's suspicions being correct.

“No further questions,” she said, returning to her seat.

“Your honor, may I redirect?” the DA asked.

The judge nodded and the DA stood up, addressed Frankie.

“Mr. Bingham, do you believe that Steven deserved to die?”

Frankie got choked up. Fighting back tears, he looked at his mother again and then looked at the jury. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, he didn't.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. His father had done a number on them all.

One Step at a Time

“Did you know about all that stuff that Frankie went through growing up?” Lily asked. Celia, Misa, Dominique, Toya, and Lily all waited anxiously for the answer. They had gone out to eat dinner after court recessed for the day. Now, as they sat at a table in R.H. Tugs surrounded by tons of food, they were all eager to chew the fat of what they'd witnessed.

“No,” Camille answered, shaking her head. “Frankie never told me that he was abused as a kid. I had no idea.”

“It makes sense,” Celia said, looking at Misa, “that Steven had been abused by their father and then he would turn around and become an abuser. I watch Oprah faithfully, and she always says that abusers abuse others. It's a cycle.”

Camille thought about that. She thought about Frankie and his reluctance to be a father. It all made sense to her now, and she wondered whether or not his past would affect their baby.

“I felt kind of sorry for Frankie,” Misa said, her voice low and sad. “I know that might sound crazy…”

“It doesn't sound crazy to me,” Camille said. “Not crazy at all.”

Misa glanced at Camille and smiled at her weakly.

Lily shook her head. “Well, it sounds like he had a terrible childhood. Frankie's mother was over there falling apart today. She seemed like hearing all of the details of her son's life like that was too much for her.”

“She sat there and watched her husband abuse her kids and she stayed,” Toya said, thinking back on how her own mother had done the same thing. “She should feel like shit.” Hearing Frankie breaking down in court that day as he recounted his tough childhood had touched her. She understood the torment Frankie and Steven had endured at their father's hands and her heart went out to Frankie. She agreed with Celia. Abuse victims tended to continue the cycle. Toya wondered how her own past had shaped the woman she was today.

Dominique chewed her food and shook her head. “All I know is that Teresa Rourke is worth every penny she's being paid. If I was sitting on that jury, I would be thinking that Steven was guilty of what Misa says he did. I think there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Steven was abused, and that he would have had the potential to abuse Shane. So far, I think you've got a good chance for acquittal.”

Misa crossed her fingers tightly. “From your mouth, to God's ears,” she said. “I pray that you're right.”

*   *   *

“I loved him,”
Mayra was saying. “I know you may not believe that, but I did.”

Gillian sat across from her mother in the living room of her parents' house. Mayra had summoned her there so that she could plead her case regarding her affair with Guy London. Gillian's face was set in a permanent grimace, her hands crossed in her lap as she listened to her mother's excuses.

“I married him knowing that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. But then he got sick and he stopped being the same Doug I fell in love with.”

“And you blame him for that? You think he wanted to get sick?” Gillian's face was twisted into a look of pure loathing.

“No, no,” Mayra hurriedly clarified. “I'm the one who was at fault. I guess I thought that he was bionic or something. It never seemed possible to me that anything—not any disease or any human being or any bullet—could ever overpower your father. When he got sick and the disease weakened him…”

“You started sleeping with his friend,” Gillian said flatly.

Mayra looked at her daughter and shook her head. “Why are you being so cold, Gigi?”

Gillian laughed then. “
I'm
being cold? You're the one who carried on an affair with Daddy's friend while he was confined to a wheelchair. Sounds pretty cold to me.”

“No, Gigi. It's not as simple as that. I'm trying to get you to understand, but it's pointless. You're not hearing anything I'm saying.” Mayra shook her head in frustration.

“I'm serious. Something is very different about you and it's not in a good way.”

Gillian rolled her eyes.

“Ever since Doug died, you've been so distant. I know you're mad at me. You have every right to be. But we're family, Gigi. You can't keep acting this way towards me when all we have left is each other.”

Gillian leaned forward, looking her mother squarely in the eyes. “Guy probably doesn't want you anymore now that you're not the wealthy heiress that he thought you'd be,” she said. “And Daddy's gone, so maybe you think I'm all you've got.” Gillian picked up her purse and held it in her hand as she continued. “But you are not all that I have left. I have Frankie. And to be honest with you, he's all that I need to keep me sane these days. I don't hate you, Ma. I just want to be left alone for a little while. Just give me time to forgive the fact that you lied to me and to Daddy for God knows how long.” Gillian rose to leave. “And please don't keep showing up at court with your breasts hanging out. You're still supposed to be playing the role of grieving widow.”

Gillian got up, and walked out, leaving her mother sitting speechlessly in her wake.

She sat in her car with the key in the ignition and stared blankly at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Gillian knew that her mother was right about one thing. She
had
become colder since her father's murder. She was angry that she had been robbed of him so unexpectedly and she was furious with Baron and Mayra for their transgressions against him. She realized, though, as she looked in the mirror, that Nobles probably wouldn't fully approve of how she was handling things.

It was almost as if she could hear his voice clearly in her ears, telling her to forgive her mother and brother. Baron was confined to a wheelchair and had been stripped of his role in the family business. Gillian had cut Mayra off financially and emotionally. But it still wasn't enough for her. Gillian wanted them both to suffer more for what they'd done to her father.

But Nobles hadn't raised her that way. He had drilled the notion of family loyalty into her head so effectively over the years that she could hear him reminding her now, telling her that Baron needed her help, that Mayra was too weak to survive on her own. Gillian had little sympathy for either of them. They alone were to blame for the way things had turned out. But she knew that she couldn't turn her back on them completely, knowing that both of them needed her desperately.