Promises (23 page)

“It does,” Izzy agreed softly.

Lora still didn’t look at her.  “People take and give abuse differently, Izzy.  One person can take more verbal abuse than another, one can take more emotional abuse than another, some the violence. It’s all abuse that destroys us.  Those who think they know better say we shouldn’t take it at all.  But we’re all individuals.  Abuse in all its different forms hurts each of us in all our individual ways.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that.”

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.  I married young with stars in my eyes, didn’t listen to my family, so why would I crawl back to them with my tail between my legs?  No.  And did I become used to the abuse?  Would I be wrong if I said I came to accept it, to know when it was coming?”  Lora tilted her head back ever so slightly.  “No one can tell you what is right or wrong.  No one can tell you what to do, make you do it.  I could leave but mentally I wasn’t prepared.  I grew accustomed to being beaten down, living my life in my own narrow little world, surviving day-to-day.  Bringing up two sons, tied to the farm, tied to my husband through my boys.  Should I have taken them away when they were younger?  Yes.  So why didn’t I?  I wasn’t ready.  Shamed, embarrassed, but not able to leave.”  She rubbed her thumb along the door handle, her quiet voice drifting through the air, soothing Izzy though the subject was one that made her inwardly cringe.

“People mean well.  They give you pamphlets, their cards with the numbers of services to help you, but you can’t bring yourself to ring them, can’t bring yourself to reveal your shame, your life, so you just keep going, keep your head down.  And when you see your sons go down a pathway you wish they wouldn’t, you know you’re a coward for not leaving, for letting it happen.”

Izzy swallowed.  What was she supposed to say?  That Jason had turned out good even though the other son, Brand, hadn’t?  So she stayed silent, twisting the lose thread around her finger, unwinding it again.

“And then one day you see your husband in your son,” Lora murmured. “He raises his hand, he looks at you with that same expression, and it’s his father all over again.  And you’ve failed.”

“Mrs Dawson, you didn’t fail-”

“My story, Izzy.”  Reaching out, Lora lightly brushed Izzy’s hand away from the thread. “Don’t do that, dear, you’ll ruin your cardigan.”

It was the same thing her own mother would have done in Lora’s place, and it left Izzy both speechless and surprised.  It was also, oddly, strangely comforting.

“Good girl.”  Lora smiled slightly, looked back out the windscreen.  “Jason came to my rescue.  I’ll never forget his expression - the shock, the disbelief, the fury.  My husband and Brand both beat Jason up, you know,” she added conversationally, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.  “I started seeing a change in Jason.  He got into several fights with his brother over something he wouldn’t tell me.  But this beating, it was brutal, unfair.”

Jason’s father and brother had beaten him up?  Izzy blinked.

“He was beaten pretty badly.  And then he waited until they were out and he grabbed me.  We didn’t have to talk, didn’t have to say anything, we both knew we were finally leaving.  On our way out of town he spotted Brand heading behind some shops, Jason knew he was going to threaten someone, someone he liked and admired, and he stopped and helped her.  Got another beating, but he helped.  My boy,” Lora said with quiet pride.  “My good boy.”  She stretched her neck from side to side to ease some hidden tension.  “Jason checked out of hospital that same night and drove us all the way to the city with busted ribs and in so much pain, but he wouldn’t stop except for fuel and food until we got safely to Harris’s place.  Our lives started again, new place, new beginnings, new hopes, and new direction.”  Serenely, Lora linked her fingers on her lap.  “My story.”

“I’m sorry,” Izzy said.  “I mean it.  But I’m glad it’s okay now.”

“Thank you, Izzy.”  Lora smiled.  “So am I.”

Wondering if Lora expected Izzy’s own story, Izzy started fiddling again with the loose thread.  Confiding in people wasn’t easy for her.  Oddly it kind of was with Jason, but then she hadn’t told him what had happened, thinking it too soon.

“Are you hungry?”

Surprised, she looked up to find Lora picking up her purse.  “Um…”

“There’s a lovely little café on the other side of the car park that sells the most delicious curries and spaghetti and things.  Not expensive, either.”  She opened the car door.  “Join me for a bite to eat, Izzy.”

It’d be rude to refuse, especially after Lora didn’t push for the reason behind Izzy’s tears and telling her own story, so Izzy nodded even though she felt more like going home, grabbing Arnie and curling up on the sofa for some mindless drivel on TV.

She was still wishfully thinking of home when they crossed the car park and entered the café.  Lora led her to a table at the back of the room and sat down in one of the booths.  Sliding onto the bench seat on the other side of the table, Izzy placed her shoulder bag beside her.

Not feeling very hungry, she opted for a toasted ham and cheese sandwich while Lora leisurely perused the menu before settling on the beef curry.

“Harris is going out tonight.”  Lora handed the menu to the waitress with a smile.  “No one to cook for, so I’ll have my hot meal now seeing as I’ll be home alone.”

“I like being home.”

“Your house looks cosy.  I like what you’ve done with the garden.”

“It’s not the home I was supposed to have.”  Izzy bit her lip.  Cripes, she hadn’t meant to say that!

Chapter 8

“Really, dear?”  That unruffled smile curved Lora’s lips.

Her face was lined, but the pretty woman she’d been when younger was more than evident.  She had kind eyes but a direct gaze, and for the first time Izzy realised where Jason had gotten his hazel eyes for the exact same shade was right opposite.

Lora was quiet, pleasant, but something about her reminded Izzy of her own mother, and before she knew it the words were spilling out.  “I was supposed to have Mum’s house when she died, our childhood home, but it had to be sold.”

Linking her fingers, Lora rested her hands on the table as though she had all the time in the world to listen.

About to start picking at the thread again, Izzy stopped, instead fisting her hands beneath the table and gently knocking her knuckles together in a soothing rhythm, tiny little bumps that no one would notice.

“My sister, Moira, married Jarrod.  He had big dreams, came from a well-to-do family, and inherited his father’s company when his father retired.  They had two girls.  I guess we kind of grew apart, we didn’t see them often and when we did they always stayed elsewhere.  They said the house was too small for them all, that they were just thinking of us, but I know it was because we weren’t good enough for them.  That was okay, I didn’t mind.”  And after the first initial anger and sorrow, Izzy really hadn’t cared.  “Mum and I were happy doing our own thing.  We lived in a big town, I worked at the local dress shop, and Mum cleaned homes.  Gradually, however, she kept getting sick and…well…” Izzy shrugged, though the memory hurt more than she was prepared to show.  “She had cancer.  We went through radiation therapy, chemo, the usual things.  Turned out she couldn’t be cured.”  Izzy rubbed her knuckles together.  “As she got sicker I had to cut my hours to care for her until finally I resigned altogether to become Mum’s full-time carer.  But I cared for her, you know?  She was my Mum.”

Lora nodded.

The waitress came and set their drinks before them.

Izzy continued.  “A carer’s pension isn’t much but between Mum’s sick pension and my carer’s pension, we made ends meet.  Moira professed to want to help but her idea of it was to bring an expensive cake now and again.  Once she gave me a fifty dollar gift voucher for the supermarket.  She couldn’t even get the groceries herself, just gave me the gift voucher.”  Izzy stared at the cup of steaming tea, swirls of heat coming off the surface.  “When Mum first started needing help Moira said she couldn’t do it, she lived too far away, had too many responsibilities, but that was okay, I’d manage.  There was a great Palliative Care team who came and visited, and I got some respite volunteers in to sit with Mum while I shopped and did the banking.”  Picking up a sugar packet, she ripped the top off and poured it into the tea.

Opposite, Lora serenely sipped her coffee, her gaze never once wavering.

“When the bills came rolling in, Mum called Moira and me together, and she said that she wanted the house to come to me.  I was paying all the bills, the treatments and medicines had almost drained my bank account and hers.  Moira was well off and was occupied with the girls.  Mum said it was only fair I had the house as I had nothing behind me anymore.  Moira agreed.  She never paid one cent towards Mum’s care and I never asked.  When it got really hard I thought Moira would at least be there to talk to, but she rarely visited or phoned.  The girls - Mum’s own granddaughters - came only twice while she was sick, said they couldn’t stand the smell.  Cancer isn’t pleasant, and sometimes it shows on the outside, not just the inside.  The tumour…well, it didn’t treat Mum’s face well.”  Memories.  The pain, the medicine, the fear.  The way it ate into her mother.  “She got mets in the brain, became confused, agitated.  Moira saw it, Jarrod saw it, they were horrified.  I never saw them after that, they’d just ring once a week.  Mum got worse, we coped.  With help from the nurses and volunteers, the doctor, the oncologist, the Palliative Care specialist, we coped.  Then Mum died.”

The waitress appeared, placed the food on the table and left.

Izzy looked at Lora.  There was compassion in her eyes, kindness.  “It wasn’t an easy death, not until they sedated her enough, got her pain and agitation under control.  It took several days for her to die.  She was so thin, a skeleton, her wound…”  Izzy drew a deep breath, picked up the toasted sandwich, put it down, picked at a piece of cheese.

Taking a small spoonful of curry, Lora carefully blew on the hot surface while keeping her attention on Izzy.

“She died at three in the morning.  The police came as it was a home death.  Even though it was an expected death, they have to attend, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

Izzy nodded, tore off a piece of toast, crumbled it between her fingers.  “I rang Jarrod and Moira.  Jarrod was angry because I’d woken the girls with the phone ringing.  Moira was upset but said they couldn’t come down straight away, they had an event the next night that they had to attend.  Turned out it was dinner with influential friends.”  Izzy stared unseeingly at the crumbs on the plate.  “It took them five days to come up.  I didn’t have many friends, caring for Mum had isolated me, and its funny how those you thought were friends kind of drift away when things aren’t so nice.”

Lora nodded understandingly.

“Guess you know, huh?” Izzy gave a small smile.

Lora smiled back.  “Isolation can come from both our own doings and from circumstances out of our control.  Yes, I do know.”

A feeling of camaraderie passed between them.  Izzy felt better, making it easier to continue.

“Moira told me I could make the arrangements.  She and Jarrod came the day of the funeral, they didn’t bring the girls, and they left right after the small afternoon tea we put on for those who came to the funeral - just a couple of Mum’s old friends, mostly the Palliative Care team, my old boss.  I paid for the funeral.  But there was home.  I could go back home, walk in, feel Mum everywhere, see Mum everywhere, everything she had.  It was comforting and sad all at the same time, but it was familiar and I was so glad that I had a home.  The next time I saw Moira and Jarrod, they came for the reading of the will.  Mum had left me the house as had been agreed, as I’d paid all the bills, cared for her.  As she saw it, I’d given everything up for her.”  Sadly, Izzy looked at Lora.  “I'd do it again.  I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.  No regrets.”

Briefly, Lora reached out, touched her work-roughened palm to Izzy’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.  “I know you would.  It’s who you are.”

“I’m not an angel.  I’m not special.”

Lora’s eyes crinkled at the corners, something else she had in common with her son.  “No one’s an angel, but everyone is special.”

Lora might have had a hard life but she knew how to comfort someone, knew how to calm them.  Knew how to touch them deeply.

Izzy had to swallow the lump in her throat and take a sip of tea to regain control.

Lora gave her the minutes to get her composure back, eating some curry with quiet absorption.  As soon as Izzy shifted, Lora’s attention snapped back to her.

“Moira and Jarrod contested the will.”  It still had the power to hurt after all this time.  “It wasn’t about the money for me, it was never about the money.  The house was old, wasn’t even really worth much.  It was in a town, it needed a lot of repairs I hadn’t been able to afford to make while Mum was sick.  But it was home.  It was my home.  It was the home I thought I’d live and die in.  It was my sanctuary.”  Izzy desperately wanted Lora to understand.  “It wasn’t about the money.”

“Izzy,” Lora said gently, “I believe you.  I do.”

Clasping her hands beneath the table again, Izzy finished in barely a whisper.  “They said the house was in Mum’s name, that Moira as a sibling and daughter had an equal claim.  I could have fought it in the courts but I didn’t have the money, and somehow fighting it seemed so wrong right after Mum had died.  That we’d be fighting over her home like two rabid bitches.  I begged.  I pleaded.  I tried to make them see what the home meant to me.  Jarrod said Moira had as much right to her inheritance as I had.  It didn’t matter that they had a house worth a million dollars, three cars, and holidayed overseas every year.  It was something Moira had a right to.”  She started picking at the thread again.  “A loan to pay out her half wasn’t something I could get.  I had no money, no income, no job.  Even mortgaging the house wasn’t an option.  Who was I going to ask for help?  My mother’s old friends, already on a pension?  Friends who had drifted away?”

Those had been dark days.

“Betrayal is one of the hardest things,” Lora said softly.  “Betrayal in any form cuts to the bone, shatters the soul, can leave marks for years.”

Jason’s Mum understood so much, easing Izzy’s tension.  “The house was sold, we each got our half.  The day the ‘For Sale’ sign went up I told Moira I never wanted to see her and Jarrod again.  I wanted them out of my life.  All I could see when I looked at them was…betrayal, like you said.”  Taking a deep breath, Izzy straightened her shoulders.  “I came to the city, rented a house, got a job, put my money in the bank, and I’ve worked hard to save enough for a deposit on a house.  I’m almost there.  I want a good deposit, a decent deposit, one that’ll cut less off my repayments.  I don’t earn a heap of money, Mrs Dawson, but I don’t need much to keep me happy.”

“A wise woman knows that riches don’t make you happy.”

Izzy gave a wry grin.  “No, but you could be unhappy in comfort.”

Lora laughed.

Izzy drew the envelope from her handbag, set it on the table.  “Moira and Jarrod have been trying to talk to me.  When I refused they started putting these envelopes addressed to me in some of my friends’ letterboxes.  It’s their way of saying if I don’t help them, they’ll tell everyone my personal business.  My personal business, Mrs Dawson,” Izzy said bluntly, “I don’t like going around.  I’m a private person, and they were playing on that to make me see them.”

“So you did.”

“I did.  They’ve lost everything, they say.  House, boat, cars, business.  They want any money I have left over from the house to help them.  I wouldn’t give it to them.”  Izzy paused, gauged Lora’s reactions.  “I turned my back on them.  I haven’t changed my mind.  I don’t hate them, but I don’t consider them family.  They left me and Mum when we needed them most, then they betrayed me.  Call me hard, call me a bitch, but they chose their life and they live with the consequences.  I made my choice, and I’m living my life.”

Breath held, she waited for Lora’s response.  Would she be disgusted that Izzy didn’t help family?  That she didn’t help her own sister, brother-in-law and nieces?

  Thoughtfully, Lora chewed on a mouthful of curry, wiped her lips with the paper napkin, and hunted down a piece of beef in the bowl with her spoon.  “Family come in different varieties.  Some are blood, some are not.  Real family stick up for each other, they’re there for each other.  That’s family.  I believe you did the right thing.”

Relief flooded Izzy.

Placing the spoon down in the bowl, Lora pushed it aside, linked her fingers in that way she did so often, and leaned her forearms on the table, studying Izzy intently.  “I like you, Izzy.  I respect what you did for your Mum, I respect your decision now.”

A little embarrassed, but relieved nevertheless, Izzy smiled.  “Thanks, Mrs Dawson.”

“Just don’t let what happened eat your soul out.”

“I try.  I thought I was over it.”

“But seeing them brought it all back.”

“Yes.” Izzy nodded.  “But somehow, telling it to you makes me feel a little better.”  It was no lie, she felt like a little piece of weight had lifted from her heart.

“Have you told anyone else?”

“No.”

“Sometimes sharing it with someone helps put things into perspective.”

They smiled at each other. Then Lora picked up her coffee cup.  “You’re also good for my son.”

That caught Izzy off-guard.  “Pardon?”

“Jason is a serious boy, he doesn’t laugh a whole lot.  But you, Izzy, you make him smile, you make him laugh.  I’ve never seen him so happy.”  Lora’s eyes warmed.  “You might not be blood, but I think of you as family.”

Family?  Izzy’s eyes widened.  “I’ve only met you once, isn’t that a little…rash?”

Lora laughed.  “You are so frank, Izzy.  You’re refreshing.  Just accept it graciously.”

“Oh, I do.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Relax, dear.  Now, stop picking at that thread.”

Automatically, Izzy obeyed.

“When you get home I want you to give Jason that cardigan.”

“Jason?”  Izzy frowned in puzzlement.  “My cardigan?  Why?”

“Because he can give it to Harris tomorrow at the building site, and Harris can bring it home to me.”  At Izzy’s blank look, Lora smiled.  “Someone needs to mend it.”

Izzy looked down at the cardigan sleeve.  Man, she’d done a good job of yanking the thread.  It had pulled and now stuck out a whole lot more.  “Thanks, Mrs Dawson.  All I can do is hem and put a button on.”

“Maybe you need some sewing classes.”

Izzy couldn’t help the involuntary shudder.

Amused, Lora raised an eyebrow.  “If you don’t sew, what do you do?”

“I’d staple the hems if I could, but the steel look just doesn’t cut it.”