Never Forgotten (5 page)

“He what?”
Stanley exclaimed. “Well, about damn time.”

“He actually said the ‘love’ word,” Rosie sighed. “Oh, Mary, that is so wonderful.”

“So, when are you two getting hitched?” Stanley asked.

“Well,” Mary equivocated, “Things are a little complicated.”

A short burst of knocks on the front door interrupted Stanley’s response.

“Mary, it’s Bradley,” he said from the other side of the door.

Mary blushed and moved to open the door, when Rosie dashed across the room and stopped her. “Mary, stop right there?” she demanded, slightly out of breath.

“What?”

“The man of your dreams, the man who loves you, the man you love,” Rosie began.

“How many men are out there anyway?” Stanley quipped.

Rosie shot him a look filled with daggers.

“You are not going to answer the door, looking like this,” Rosie said.

Mary shook her head. “What,” she said. “He’s seen me like this before.”

Stanley raised his generous eyebrows nearly to his hairline.

“When we’ve worked on cases together,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Well, you are not working on a case now,” Rosie said, grabbing Mary by the shoulders and maneuvering her to the stairway. “You go on upstairs and fix yourself up and we will let Bradley in.”

“Yeah, I got a couple of questions for the Police Chief anyhow,” Stanley added, “Want to know his intentions.”

“Stanley, I won’t go upstairs unless you promise to behave yourself,” Mary insisted.

Stanley sighed.
“Fine.”

Mary nodded and walked the rest of the way upstairs.

“I’ll wait until you come back down,” Stanley added.

“I heard that,” Mary shouted.

“Damn good hearing,” he grinned.

Bradley was more than a little surprised and slightly disappointed when Rosie opened the door instead of Mary. He quickly hid the bouquet of roses behind his back and stepped inside the house.

“Good morning, Rosie,” he glanced across the room and saw Stanley glowering at him, “Stanley. Did you have a nice Christmas?”

Rosie giggled. “Not as nice as yours, obviously,” she said.

Rolling his eyes, Stanley muttered, “Damn fool woman, got as much tact as a steamroller.”

She stamped her foot and turned to Stanley, “You are the most incorrigible man I have ever met.”

“Don’t try to sweeten me up with those big words, girlie,” he responded. “I
ain’t
one of your glassy eyed beaus.”

Rosie threw her arms up in disgust and stormed into the kitchen. Then Stanley strolled across the room and stood in front of Bradley. He met Bradley’s eyes and slowly stroked his fingers down his chin, nodding his head slowly.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Bradley asked.

Stanley paused for a moment, processing the request. “Yes, I believe there is,” he said. “But I can’t ask you about it because I gave my word that I would keep my nose out of someone else’s business.”

“And you’re pretty good about keeping your nose out of other people’s business,” Bradley answered with a grin. “Just ask Mary’s brother, Sean.”

Stanley snorted, knowing that Bradley was referring to the secret agreement Stanley had with Sean to inform him on how Mary was doing. “A man’s got a right to worry about his sister.”

Bradley nodded. “I agree,” he paused. “And a friend has a right to worry about another friend. I won’t do anything to hurt her, Stanley, I promise.”

Stanley nodded and a slight smile spread over his wrinkled face. “I guess that’ll do.”

They heard Mary’s footsteps at the top of the stairs. “Guess I ought to go into the kitchen and see what kind of mess Rosie is making,” Stanley said slowly. “Won’t be able to keep her in there too long, so make it quick young man.”

Bradley grinned. “Thanks, Stanley.”

Mary hurried down the stairs and saw the smile on Bradley’s face soften when their eyes met. “Hi,” he said, moving to the staircase, “how did you sleep?”

“Mary,” Rosie interrupted, “I was just wondering…”

“Rosie, I think I just dumped that fancy egg dish down the garbage disposal,” Stanley called from across the room. “It’s okay if I just scoop it back in, right?”

With a quick squeal, Rosie rushed back across the room.

Bradley grabbed Mary’s hand and pulled her into the living room. “What?” Mary asked.

“I’ve got to make this quick,” Bradley grinned, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her close.

She wound her arms around his neck, “Just not too quick,” she teased.

He pulled her tighter and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was deliberate and tender and caused a slow burn in Mary’s midsection. Mary let out a soft moan.

“Mary, are you okay in there,” Rosie called out.

“Damn you, woman, leave those young people alone to say hello,” Stanley growled. “
Ain’t
you got
no
romance in your soul?”

Mary laid her head against Bradley’s shoulder and started to giggle. Bradley sighed and then chuckled. “He did tell me to make it quick,” he confessed.

Mary laughed. “He’s such a romantic.”

Then she saw the roses he was holding. “Oh, they’re beautiful,” she exclaimed, bringing them to her face and inhaling deeply. “Thank you.”

She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him back, angling the kiss so she could appease the desire that was building. This time he moaned and, heedless of the roses between them, pulled her even closer. The world had disappeared. All that was left was a tiny island where Mary was surrounded by Bradley’s arms and tormented by his kiss. She inhaled his unique scent and knew the masculine, woodsy smell would always weaken her knees.

Bradley finally felt that he was home. This wonderful, amazing woman loved him. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to find love twice in his life. He knew he should stop. He knew Stanley would be coming back, but he just didn’t want to let go.

Mary wanted it to go on forever. She could be very happy just being in his arms for the rest of her life.

“Are they okay?” Rosie whispered loudly.

“Well, looks to me like the roses are going to end up on the casualty list,” Stanley replied.

“Do you mind?” Bradley growled, not wanting the embrace to end.

“No, not at all,” Stanley said calmly, “Please continue.”

Bradley rested his forehead against hers. “Is there anything I can arrest him for?” he whispered.

“I think obstruction of justice could be reasonably considered,” she sighed, waiting for her heart to return to its normal pace.

He kissed her forehead. “I’m crazy about you, Mary O’Reilly.”

She smiled up at him. “I feel the same way about you, Bradley Alden.”

They stepped away from each other and looked across the room at Stanley. He shrugged sheepishly and ducked back into the kitchen. “You really like him, right?” Bradley asked.

Mary laughed. “Well, right now’s not a good time to decide that.”

He pulled the roses out from between them, the stems were bent and, in some cases, snapped in half, but the petals were still intact. He smiled guiltily as he handed them to her. She grinned as she took them. “I never understood the big deal about long-stemmed roses anyway,” she said.

With a delighted laugh, he placed his arm around her shoulders and led her into the kitchen.

Stanley paused, his filled fork halfway between his plate and his mouth, “So, you’re saying her husband beat her to death?”

Mary shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “She was fairly incoherent. There were two things that stood out in the conversation. Her husband’s mother abandoned her children. She was pregnant and when she told someone, most likely her husband, he beat her and told her that she would abandon her children too.”

“That’s not uncommon,” Rosie said quietly.

“What?” Mary asked.

“It’s not uncommon for someone who has been abused to become an abuser,” she said, “And, unfortunately, if they don’t become an abuser, they often find a relationship where they are being abused.”

“That don’t make no sense,” Stanley said. “You’d think they’d know what to look for and avoid it.”

Rosie remained silent for a moment and then she spoke. “When you’re an abused child or when you watch your mother being abused, you think that’s what a normal relationship is all about,” she said. “And when your husband hits you the first time, although you’re shocked, a little part of you wonders if you didn’t deserve it.”

“No one deserves abuse,” Bradley said.

Rosie nodded. “You’re absolutely right,” she agreed. “No one deserves it. But sometimes it takes a lot of counseling and some good people to help you understand that.”

“So, do you want to talk about it, or you
gonna
leave us guessing?” Stanley asked, leaning forward on the table toward Rosie.

She laughed nervously. “Yes, of course, you are all my friends and I can trust you,” she said.

Mary reached across the table and placed her hand over Rosie’s. “You don’t need to share,” she said. “If it makes you relive things you’d rather not.”

Rosie placed her other hand on top of Mary’s and shook her head. “No. No, this is important and it might help you with the case.”

She took a deep breath and began, “My father hit my mother. She wouldn’t have dinner done when he came home, so he’d hit her. The house wouldn’t be as clean as he wanted, so he’d hit her. The kids would be too loud, the dog would bark, the cookies would burn, and he would hit her. It took me a while to realize that it had nothing to do with my mother’s behavior, my father just liked to hit her. He liked to control her.”

Leaning back in her chair for a moment, she shook her head. “I remember the first time I realized that it wasn’t her fault,” she said. “I was about twelve and before that I always thought my mother was a fairly incompetent person. Then my father came home and started yelling at her. He raised his arm and she bent over and cringed, waiting for the blow.”

Her voice shook; she took a deep breath and then continued, “There was this look on his face, a smile of complete satisfaction, just before he stuck her. I finally realized the hell my mother was living in.”

“Did she leave him?” Stanley asked
,
his hands clenched in fists. “Did someone help her?”

Rosie smiled sadly. “Stanley, in those days women didn’t leave their husbands,” she said. “They just endured. And she endured until he died of a heart attack when he was fifty-seven years old. The day after his funeral my mother cried with relief. She would never have to deal with that man again.”

Rosie stood up, gathered some of the empty plates from the table and walked over to the sink. She stared out the window at the snow covered backyard for a few moments and then turned to her friends with tears in her eyes. “It’s hard, you know, when you realize that your father is a monster,” she whispered. “It took me a long time to understand that part of the monster didn’t lurk inside me too.”

Mary hurried over to Rosie and hugged her. “I’m glad you know you had nothing to do with his illness,” she said.

“Illness?”
Stanley growled. “That
ain’t
no
illness. Chicken pox, that’s an illness. Beating on your wife or your kids, that’s just plain mean. That’s just being a bully. And someone
oughta
have beaten on him.”

“Generally, abuse like that is a learned behavior, Stanley,” Bradley said. “Her father was probably abused or watched someone else being abused.”

Rosie and Mary came back to the table and sat down. “That’s why I got involved with VOICES,” Rosie said. “It’s a place here in Stephenson County where people who are abused can go for help.”

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, we work with them all the time when we have domestic abuse cases. They are really good people.”

“Bradley, do you think you could talk to them and see if someone matching our ghost’s description has come to them for help?” Mary asked.

Stanley was confused. “If she came to them for help, how could she have been killed by her abuser?”

“The average abused woman leaves her abuser about seven or eight times before she finally leaves him permanently,” Rosie explained. “She keeps going back, thinking it will be okay.
Hoping that he’ll change.”

“But he
ain’t
gonna
change,” Stanley said. “Why should he, if she always comes back.”

Rosie nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “He won’t change without a lot of help. And he still might not change.”

Stanley got up and paced around the kitchen, visibly upset by the conversation. Finally he walked back to the table, placed his hands on the edge and leaned toward Rosie. “You said that sometimes the people who see the abuse grow up and let themselves get abused. Is that happening to you? Are you letting someone hurt you?”

Tears glistened in Rosie’s eyes as she stood up. “No, when I saw what was happening to my mother, I vowed I would never let something like that happen to me,” she said. “But thank you, dear friend, for worrying about me.”