Family Inheritance (11 page)

Still sitting on Sam's bed, Alice became conscious of the fact that over this last
week, she was starting to feel different about love. Since realizing Jake was hurting
her children, a real protective kind of love had emerged. It surprised her when it
surfaced, because her kids had always been just a part of her life with Jake, something
that had happened to her, like the rest of her life. She and Jake had had sex, she
had gotten pregnant, miscarried a couple of times, and then when the kids were born,
they just were. Not a lot of thought or energy had gone into them.

She gently touched Sam's face. While she had always made sure the kids, had clean
clothes to wear and food to eat, she had never been aware that children took a lot
of thought or energy, and she certainly didn't understand they deserved it.

Alice felt broken, not only in body, but in spirit. Her whole life was a shamble;
her children were scared and she didn't know where to go from here. An inexplicable
force kept drawing her back to Jake, and she was fighting it with all the strength
she had, but she had no idea where she and the kids would go next. Maybe she should
go back to Jake. Maybe he could change. Maybe everything could be okay again.

The thought of facing the world and raising the kids by herself was scary and she
didn't believe she could do it. Her mind was muddled and obsessed with the need to
be with somebody, to be connected somehow, and the thought of being totally alone
in the world brought extreme panic. For Alice, being connected, even to someone abusive,
was better than being all alone.

As she left Sam's bedside and climbed back under the covers of her bed, Alice was
convinced that going back to Jake was the only solution. She had convinced herself
that things would be okay now. Then Sarah turned in the bed, and Alice's eyes focused
on her daughter. Sarah's long, dark hair fanned out against the pillow, emanating
childlike innocence as she slept. Yet Alice knew that in the daylight hours Sarah
was not innocent, that she would never
be innocent again because of Jake. Sarah had
lost her childhood in a sick, sexually perverted experience. Alice's muddled mind
clung to her daughter and her daughter's chance of a better life. There had to be
something better out there for them.

Chapter 11

Dallas, Texas

It had been a long week at work for Suzanne, and the dream about Stephen had returned
to haunt her every night, leaving her feeling lonelier than before. She had been
divorced for eleven years, yet dreams about her ex-husband still went straight to
her heart, filling her with anguish and a renewed sense of failure.

To top it off, Melanie had been on vacation all week and Suzanne had a temporary
fill-in. She not only missed Melanie's knowledge about everything that went on in
their area of the company, but she also missed her camaraderie and friendship.

Her ten sales reps were scattered throughout the state, and Suzanne regularly traveled
during the week to work with each of them. That usually helped her cope with the
pain of her personal life because it got her away from her lonely apartment, keeping
her busy so that her mind couldn't dwell on either her past life or the sad reality
of her present life. But this week, even that hadn't helped. The desolation had followed
her as she traveled to see several of her reps. It had been hard to keep her mind
on business, and fear had started creeping in on her—fear that the wall she had hidden
behind for years was beginning to crack.

Friday was finally here. Her body welcomed the chance to relax, but her mind, as
always, was fighting the thought of leisure with nothing to keep her thoughts busy
or occupied. The walls in her condo began closing in shortly
after she shut the door.
She poured herself a large scotch, hoping it would relax her and help her fight the
urge to go out and find the nearest bar, the quickest route to drunken oblivion.

Tonight, a part of her didn't want to go out. An almost-silent voice deep inside
of her seemed to be trying to warn her—to keep her home—but the thick curtain of
loneliness was heavier than usual, smothering out any warnings or rational thinking.
She desperately needed the peace that a drunken stupor provided.

Racing like a haunted spirit, she slipped into jeans and a silk blouse. She was too
frenzied to notice that the blouse clung seductively to her breasts. The suffocating
blackness of her life was advancing so quickly that as Suzanne grabbed her purse
and hurried for her car, the pins came loose in her coiled hair. She frantically
pulled at them and her hair tumbled down onto her shoulders.

As she drove to her destination, that voice deep inside of her begged her to turn
around and go back home. A feeling of dread burned in her stomach, but Suzanne raced
away from the consuming loneliness and whirling memories. She couldn't turn around.
She just couldn't. Suzanne started to regret her decision, but the ghosts of her
past pushed her onward.

Billy Bob's Nightclub and Bar was noisy and crowded with country music blaring from
the live band on the large stage. Suzanne was feeling relaxed from the alcohol in
her system, the skillful arms gliding her around the dance floor, and the soothing
hands that were moving around her back and shoulders, carefully nudging their way
to the sides of her breasts.

Her head was leaning against his shoulder as she moved with him to the music. Her
eyes were lazily gazing around the room as the alcohol kept her mind blurred. For
a moment she thought she recognized someone on the crowded dance floor, but then
they glided in another direction and her view and recognition blurred.

“May I cut in?” a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

Her partner pulled her closer to him as he said, “Buzz off,” and danced her away
from the man who had spoken.

Through an alcoholic haze, Suzanne thought she recognized the man
who had tried to
cut in, but as her partner's hold gently tightened, she relaxed against his shoulder
and once again became lost in the music.

“Suzanne?” a voice behind her said with a tap on her shoulder. She turned toward
it, resisting the nudge by her dancing partner to ignore it. Blinking to try to clear
her vision, she gazed at the intruder who'd said her name. Recognition of the voice
slowly broke through the blurriness. “Jeff?”

“That's right.”

“Hey, do you mind?” her dance partner balked at the intrusion.

“Sorry, fella. We're old friends. I just want one dance. How about it, Suzanne?”
Jeff was holding out his arms for her.

She smiled a faraway smile, turned toward Jeff, and stepped into his arms.

The fringes of sleep unwillingly left Suzanne in the morning as she awoke to a headache
that was throbbing more than usual. Quietly getting out of bed, she didn't look at
the man lying next to her. It didn't matter. He didn't matter. In fact, she would
rather not know what he looked like. She would rather keep him to the foggy liquor-blurred
memory of the night before.

Gathering her clothes tightly against her, Suzanne tiptoed into the en suite bathroom.
She quietly closed the door and avoided looking at herself in the mirror as she pulled
on her slacks and blouse. Carrying her shoes in her hands, she re-entered the crowded
bedroom that was crammed with a large bed, two dressers, and a full-length mirror
in a wooden standalone frame, and stepped carefully past the bed. Usually extreme
silence wasn't necessary because the man typically didn't want to face Suzanne any
more than she wanted to face him, but this morning was different.

Suzanne had reached the bedroom door, her hand on the knob, when a voice stopped
her. “Why in such a hurry this morning, Ms. Simpson?”

Suzanne reeled at the use of her last name as panic stuck in her throat and slight
remembrances of the night before started playing in her head. Memories of a familiar
face danced before her.

Sitting up in the middle of the sheet-strewn king-sized bed was a naked, handsome
Jeff Davidson. Everything about him was seductive and suggestive,
everything except
his face. His expression was cruel, and his leering smile betrayed his anger as he
ogled Suzanne and threw his head back, laughing derisively. His words were sarcastic
as he flung them in her direction. “You know, I never would have believed it, but
you're a pretty good lay. There is some hot stuff underneath all that frigid ice.”

Suzanne felt sick to her stomach. She vaguely remembered a familiar face, a soft
voice, strong arms. She turned to flee the room, afraid she would throw up, but the
door was locked. She desperately fumbled with the handle. In those few moments, Jeff
leaped from the bed, pressed his hand against the door, positioned his naked body
between her and her escape, and arrogantly glared down at her.

“Not so fast, Ms. Simpson. I'm not about to let you leave yet. We have a lot to talk
about.”

Drawing deeply from a sense of control and strength she possessed when she was not
drinking, Suzanne replied in the voice she used as his superior. “We don't have a
thing to talk about.” As she spoke, she tried to keep her eyes from wandering the
length of his naked form.

Jeff laughed a nasty laugh. “Why, Ms. Simpson, don't tell me you're interested in
seconds. Or let me see, is it about fifths or sixths?”

Nausea took hold of her. Out of control and frightened, Suzanne's stomach began to
roll as realization of what had happened began to sink in. Now she had done it. She
had gone too far.
I'll get through this . . . I can do it. I just have to keep my
head.

Turning to face him, she gathered her strength. “We both had too much to drink last
night, Jeff. We made a mistake, but we're both adults. We can pretend this never
happened.” A knot lodged in her throat as she turned to the door.

“It's not going to be that easy,” Jeff said angrily. “I thought you might be interested
in seeing what great pictures you take.”

“Pictures? What pictures?” Suzanne placed her hand over her mouth. She was going
to throw up, she knew it—right here on his rug and all over his naked form. Her stomach
was going to turn inside out and leave all of its contents splattered all over his
body. As she subtly gulped in air to keep her stomach from unloading its liquid contents,
she tried to pretend she didn't
know what he was talking about, yet somewhere in
the cavern of her mind, she knew. Oh yes, she knew.

Walking to his dresser, Jeff held up a stack of pictures. “I think we have a lot
to talk about.” One by one he showed her Polaroid photos of herself in naked, sickening
poses. She was really drunk last night. She didn't remember much, but tiny pieces
of her memory flickered in and out of her consciousness—their naked bodies, the sex,
the release. But she didn't remember anything explicit that would separate last night
from all the other times.

Ashamed and scared, she fought for composure as Jeff gloated. Jeff Davidson was the
type of man who worked to get his opponents into vulnerable positions, then basked
in their defeat. During sales calls, she had watched him in action, so she knew the
viciousness underneath that smile. Even though her mind was still blurred from the
alcohol and her blazing headache, she was beginning to understand the situation into
which she had so blindly stepped.

In business, Jeff kept his maliciousness covered with a veneer of charm and manners,
but Suzanne knew it was a very thin covering. As her alcoholic blur was quickly burning
away from the panic that was surfacing within her, Suzanne's sharp mind came quickly
to the surface. And with that thought, the numbers in her bank account flashed across
her mind as she accepted the fact that she could afford blackmail—at least for a
while. But, she wouldn't make it easy for him.

Looking him straight in the eye and gathering strength into her voice, she responded,
“So, you took some good pictures. What do you want me to do about it? I'm not in
the photo-judging business.”

“Well, now.” He grinned wickedly. “I thought you just might be in the photo-buying
business.”

Anger welled up inside of her. “All right, Mr. Davidson, I'll bite. What the hell
do you want?”

A wicked smile encompassed his entire face. “Several things, Ms. Simpson. And each
one of these pictures will be traded in turn.”

Suzanne's throat went dry as she scanned the stack of pictures. Her mind immediately
went back to the numbers in her bank account as well as her
savings and investments.
She had built a nice nest egg, but if the price per picture was too high, she could
be broke halfway through the stack.

Turning away from Jeff, Suzanne noticed the bedroom and adjoining bathroom for the
first time. It was nice, but nothing like the large, luxurious condo she had. Suzanne
knew what Jeff made because she gave him his raises and bonuses. She knew he could
afford more than this and quickly calculated that he must be spending his money on
something other than a place to live. Her mind circled with possibilities—maybe he
gambled or had some addiction that needed cash.