Heart on a Chain (27 page)

Ten days pass before the arraignment. I’m met at the door by a harried, agitated man who says he’s my lawyer. He’s wearing a brown corduroy suit, has brown, curly hair that looks as harried as he does, and round spectacles. He’s juggling a folder jammed haphazardly with papers, walking quickly into the courtroom as if he’s in a race, without waiting to see if I’ve even followed him. I look at Henry, who’s holding my hand in support, then shrug and follow him. Henry looks as sick as I feel.

My father sits next to me, looking uncomfortable in a too-small wrinkled suit, tugging at the collar as if it’s choking him.

My case is called and there are a lot of long legal words spouted by the prosecutor, my lawyer and then the judge. I’m trying to follow along, only really understanding the “not guilty” and “self-defense”, but then the judge pounds his gavel, and suddenly my lawyer is hurrying back up the aisle into the hallway, motioning me to follow.

I follow him, Henry right behind me.

“
Okay, so that was as expected,” the lawyer says, pausing. Even in his relative stillness, he gives off the sensation of being in motion. “You’re free to go; no bail. A trial date will be set. As soon as I know when that is I’ll let you know.” He digs in his jacket pocket and comes out with a slightly crumpled business card. “Here’s my card in case you have questions. I’ll talk to you soon.” And then he’s gone.

I look at Henry; give a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“
What
was that?”

Henry’s face is taut with strain as his eyes follow the man who is practically running down the hallway. His eyes come back to mine and I can see the agonized look there. I don’t like being the cause of that unnatural expression on his face.

“
It’ll be okay,” he tells me, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself.

A week later another man comes to my door. He’s tall, dark hair combed neatly, in an expensive looking pin-striped suit.

“
Kate Mosley?” he asks, when I open the door.

“
Yes?”

He holds out a hand.

“
My name is Rufus Cain. I have been given your case to handle.” When I just stand there, he says, “I’m your new lawyer.”

“
Do you always make house calls?” I ask, distrusting him.

“
Not always, no. But sometimes yes. I knew you’d been injured so I didn’t want to ask you to come to my office.”

I’m home alone. I’ve made Emma reduce the amount of time she’s spending at my house waiting on me since I’m now able to get around somewhat easier. She’s only coming three times a week, in the afternoons, which is still too often, I think. It’s the least amount of time I can get her to compromise to.

Henry turns up the street just then. I can’t see him, but I’ve learned to listen for the sound of his engine so well I can now pick it out above all others. Rufus Cain turns at the sound of the car pulling to a stop in front of my house. He watches with me as Henry climbs out of his car, and I’m grateful for Henry’s broad shoulders and height that can be intimidating.

“
A friend of yours?” Rufus Cain asks.

“
Yes.”

“
Do you mind talking in front of him or shall I make an appointment to return when he’s not here?”

“
No,” I shake my head. “He knows everything. I want him here.”

Henry comes up to the porch, eyeing the lawyer suspiciously. But Rufus introduces himself and I can see Henry relax. I have to admit, this man does inspire more confidence than the previous lawyer.

He comes in and we sit around the kitchen table, Rufus pulling out a notepad and pen, as well as a tape recorder.

“
This is so that I make sure my notes are correct later,” he says, indicating the recorder.

We go over some basic facts; name, parent’s names, and birth date. Henry jerks in surprise when he hears that; I have never told him when my birthday is. It is, in fact, only a few days away, on February 23.

“
Okay, I’m not sure how much you understood of the arraignment,” he begins. “That was just a formality for you to enter a plea, which was…” he flips through some papers, making sure he’s correct. “Not guilty by reason of self-defense. Okay. Good. That’s all right for now. Now, I’m not sure how aggressive the prosecutor will be in your case. You’ve been charged with involuntary manslaughter,” I feel the world tilt as he speaks the words, “but I want to have the charges dropped. That’s what we will be going for.”

Henry reaches over and takes my hand. I turn my hand in his, interlocking fingers and holding on tight.

“
I know this is going to be difficult, but we need to go over everything that happened that night, in as much detail as you can remember. Then we need to go back over past offenses committed by your mother on you.”

I don’t want Henry to hear
this
, to know the entire depth of my shame and humiliation, but somehow I can’t find the courage to let him go. So I tell my new lawyer everything, while he records my indignity, and Henry sits next to me, still as a statue except for the slight trembling that shakes him as he listens to the horror that has been my life.

Chapter Twenty

I came home
from Florida, from a vacation I had taken with the Jamison’s,” I begin.

“
I assume you were given permission to go?” Rufus questions without looking at me, writing on the yellow legal pad.

“
Of course. I really didn’t think she would say yes, really wasn’t even planning on asking.” I shoot an apologetic look at Henry, but he isn’t looking my way.

“
She was actually being nice, something that’s rare. I think she was feeling guilty about how badly she’d hurt me on Thanksgiving.” Rufus glances up, but doesn’t interrupt, going back to his note taking. “Up until that last night—” I stumble, clear my throat and continue, “Well, up until then, the worst she’d hurt me was on Thanksgiving. I think she knew she’d gone too far.

“
Long story, short, she said yes. Maybe out of guilt. So I went. I guess while I was gone, she took enough pills to forget where I was.”

“
Pills?” Rufus interrupts.

“
Um, yeah, she had a problem with pills.”

“
What do you mean by ‘problem’?”

I refuse to look at Henry as I confess this new humiliation in front of Henry. “She took a lot. Too many. It was the only way she could cope.”

“
Were these pills prescription, or…” He doesn’t speak the words, lets the question hang.

“
Prescription, as far as I know. At least, they were always in prescription bottles.”

Rufus is scribbling madly. I wait.

“
Okay, so she was angry that you’d been gone.”

“
Yes, but…” I trail off, remembering. “She came at me almost immediately with the bat.”

Henry winces, and Rufus looks up again.

“
She had the bat with her? And this was unusual?”

“
Yeah, I mean, I’m not even sure where it came from. Somewhere in the garage, I guess. But always before, if she’s hit me with something, it’s been a weapon of convenience, you know? Like a chair, or broom or something that was handy.”

Henry shudders, and once again the thought flits through my head that I should tell him to go. I’m just selfish enough to ignore the thought.

“
So that was weird—
different
, I guess. I don’t remember a lot of detail, just her coming at me again and again with the bat. I honestly thought she was trying to kill me.”

Henry squeezes my hand tighter.

“
I grabbed the bat once when she came at me with it, and shoved. She fell. I heard her hit her head.” I swallow loudly, realizing that must have been the moment of her death. I remember the sick fear that had choked me, trying to get away before she could get up and finish what she’d started. I take a deep breath. “I was on the floor, Henry called, and that’s all I remember,” I gush out on a single breath, “That, and crawling through the blood, to get away.”

“
Okay, Kate, that’s fine.” Rufus reaches out, as if to take my hand, then pulls back and clears his throat. “I know this isn’t easy, but we need to talk about past abuse. Do you remember when it started?”

“
When my brother died,” I tell him. He looks startled.

“
You had a brother?”

“
Kind of, I guess. My mom was pregnant, and they knew it was a boy. But she and my dad had a fight, and she lost the baby. I was nine.”

I look at Henry, pleading with him for…what? I don’t even know.

“
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when we were a normal family, when they loved me. But my dad…he lost his job, and everything changed. He started drinking, but she would still try to protect me. She loved me.

“
But when she went to the hospital, and came home alone, she changed too. I think I must have been too strong a reminder of what she’d lost. I was the one who found her and got help. Maybe I wasn’t fast enough, or I waited too long. I don’t know…maybe it was my fault.”

“
No, Kate, no,” Henry murmurs.

“
She started taking the pills, to forget, I guess. And then she got angry, and took it out on me.”

There is silence, stillness in the room. Henry looks at me, eyes wet with anguish, mouth tight, jaw clenched. I can’t stand to see it, so I look at my new lawyer. He’s suddenly searching for something in his briefcase, with some suspicious throat clearing going on. Finally, he looks up, and I pretend not to see the pity shining in his eyes. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s pity.

“
Can you, uh…can you give some specific examples of some of the abuse?’

I laugh, but the sound holds no humor. My fingers are beginning to go numb from Henry’s grip.

“
Besides being starved, sometimes for days on end?” I ask, caustically. “Or do you mean other than being forced to stand in a corner for hours at a time? Or there’s always the classic forcing me to sit in the closet for a few days, knowing that when she let me out I would be beaten, because it’s impossible to go that long without going to the bathroom. Also, I don’t suppose it’s normal to get hit, pinched, slapped or kicked for breathing the wrong way.”

In agitation, I throw myself backward, rising to my feet in the same motion as I jerk my hand from Henry’s. I turn and stalk a few paces away, crossing my arms protectively. I’ve held the memories private for so long, it feels almost like a betrayal to let them go.

But a betrayal of whom?

“
Did your father abuse you as well?” Rufus’ question is almost too soft to hear.

“
No,” I say, hoping he didn’t catch my slight hesitation.

“
Was your father aware of the abuse?”

“
He probably suspected,” my voice is almost as low as his. “But we were pretty good at hiding it from him. And he was so rarely here, mostly just to sleep, that it was probably pretty easy for him to ignore.”

“
And do you feel the abuse increased over time?”

“
It was pretty consistent after the first couple of years when she learned just how much she could get away with. But in the last year, yeah, it was getting much worse.

“
I think after Thanksgiving, she knew she’d crossed a line. She lay off for a while, until I came home from Florida.”

“
Were there ever any hospital visits?”

“
Sure, a few. But never so many there might be suspicion, and none at all for the past few years. I think the only reason she ever took me before was because she knew I would get a prescription for pain pills. Of course, I was never allowed to take the pills.”