Scales: Of Justice (Broken But ... Mending Book 3) (8 page)

“Really? That’s a little twisted, isn’t it?” Startled, his words shook her out of her daze. She’d read about a lot of people and their odd reactions to stress and pain, but that was a new one on her.

“There are some very sad cases out there.”

“And here,” she muttered.

“As long as we do what we can.”

“Everyone is doing what they can,” she said quietly. “Even those still locked in that same horrible place they went to during the abuse. And they can’t move out of there because it’s either too painful or fear won’t let them move. Either way, it’s all they can do, too.” Quiet, Paris wondered at what she’d started. What she’d inadvertently shared.

“You’ve been there?” Weaver questioned.

“All my childhood and teen years. I should have run away. Should have gotten help. I couldn’t.” Hands jammed in her pockets, she tried to still the shakes rattling her calm.

“It’s easy to look back. Not so easy to avoid judging.”

“Sometimes I think looking back is all about judging. What we could have done differently. What we should have done differently.”

“Except…” Glancing down at her, their eyes met, “we have to make allowances for the age we were back then. The conditioning we were put through.”

“And when we were older and still allowed the status quo to remain? Then what?” The bitterness in her voice was audible. She bit her lip “I stopped it – finally. I should have done it earlier.”

“And how old were you when you stopped it?”

It took a long time for her to answer, and then with a sigh, she said, “Fifteen.”

His shocked gasp made her look at him sharply, searching for the judgment she expected to see. And there was none. Still she felt she had to explain more, to justify herself. Her actions. “No, I wasn’t very old, but I was old enough. And if I’d done something about it earlier, then someone else wouldn’t have gotten so very badly hurt.”

“You were a child. Before and during. The conditioning you were put through didn’t give you the tools to handle resistance, to defend yourself or to stand up for someone else. We’re usually so broken by the time we get there it takes a major turning point in our lives to make us change. In your case, maybe for this other person.”

She gave him a hooded look. “More book learning?”

“No, life learning.” And this time, it was him that turned away.

Something to think about. She sagged onto the railing and studied his averted face. “Life’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

That surprised a laugh out of him. “Isn’t it though? Or maybe I should say, life used to be a bitch. Now it’s much better.”

“True.” A young couple walked past them, holding hands and lost inside the joy of their young love. Jealousy rose up at the sight of them, and yet at the same time she wasn’t sure she’d ever want to be so naive. She’d never been that innocent. Not like they were. And once you crossed a certain point, there was no going back. “Do you ever look at the people around us and wonder what we missed?” she asked.

“Yes.” He studied the same couple as they passed by, murmuring with their heads close to together. “I’d like to look at it as what we still have waiting for us to experience.”

“So not a missed opportunity, but rather in the future as something to look forward to?” The concept of not having missed anything wasn’t something Paris had considered. But it was a much nicer way to look at the issue. “I can get on board with that.”

The implication of what he’d said dawned on her. Her lips parted to ask him, then she realized how deeply personal a question it was. She closed her mouth.

“Go ahead and ask,” he said simply. “I may or may not answer.”

“That’s fair enough. It’s just what you said, the way you said it, while that couple walked by…”

“And…” His voice tightened just enough to let her know he sensed where she was going.

“Nothing.” Losing the courage to go there, she shrugged and stood up. “Shall we keep walking?”

“Sure.” They headed down the walkway in the opposite direction the couple had gone. Kinda like the way their lives had gone in the opposite direction.

“You were going to ask about the relationships in my life.”

Startled, she glanced at him quickly then seeing his intent gaze, she switched to watching one sailboat trying to come back to shore, and a shiver crawled up her spine. Struggling but winning the war. Prophetic in many ways. “I guess I was. Just trying to figure out how trust works after there is none.”

“It doesn’t. That’s why you have to start from scratch and build new trust in different things. When you’ve been hurt, then you try to avoid being hurt again. When you’ve been broken, you avoid anything that will take you down that path a second time.”

Once again his words hit home. “So true. But that doesn’t allow much room for trust.”

“So you have to trust that people will be people. What you’re really asking me is have I come to the point of trusting other people to not hurt me.”

She winced. “It always comes back to being hurt.”

“Sure. That’s the big lesson in life – to go on even though we’ve been hurt. So trust in little bits. Trust your coworkers to treat you nicely. Trust your boss to be fair. Trust babies to be natural. Natural at that age is to be innocent, but they learn manipulation at a young age.”

“They do at that.” Paris smiled, thinking about the babies at work. “I love that about children. But when they hurt someone, they also feel bad.”

“In most cases.”

“But from there to becoming adults, people change. And that can be a different story.”

“That is their issue. Remember, it’s always about you and your issues.”

“I want a family,” she burst out. “Children.”

Then went silent.

*

The vehemence in
her voice startled him. “Surely that’s not a bad thing?”

She bowed her head.

“I think that would be a dream many women would have,” he offered gently, wondering where this was going.

“Sure they do.” With a shrug of her shoulders, her tone bitter, she added, “But I’m not most women.”

That’s for sure, but he understood. “Maybe adopt if you don’t feel the conventional way would work for you?”

“I’m considering it,” she said slowly. “I’ve seen many single moms come through my ward. Most aren’t in good shape either emotionally or financially. A few are strong and planned this journey to walk alone, but most aren’t as they’ve come from recent breakups or relationships where they couldn’t even remember the father.”

“Not everything in life is so sad,” he said.

“No,” she whispered. “The babies are awesome. They are born so innocent and open to what life has to offer.”

“Do you deal with a lower income level demographic that you see so many upsetting scenarios?”

“Not especially, and money doesn’t protect you from breakups.” Staring down at her hands, she sighed. “There is no guarantee that your relationship or your spouse will survive your children making it to adulthood. Few people go into a relationship expecting to become a single parent. Often they come with the disintegration of their own dreams, a major shift in their reality. Their circumstances.” She raised her gaze. “And sometimes I envy them, regardless.”

“Can’t you have children?” Immediately he winced, wishing he held his tongue when her face paled to the whitest cloud in the sky and those huge eyes swelled with tears.

As she shook her head, he hated himself for not having read the signs. Hell, in her case, he hadn’t been able to read any signs. Something about her blurred his usual logic and calm deference. He’d been lost on that highway like an idiot. “I’m so sorry.”

Purposefully taking a breath, she nodded, sniffled, and then shrugged. “It’s not news for me, I’ve known for a long time.”

Moodily, he stared out over the water, recognizing that the storm clouds now looked to be ready to dump its load of rain on Vancouver. “So often it’s that way, isn’t it? When we really want something, we see others not giving value to what we want so badly.”

“That’s when my job is difficult. Although it’s also joyful and rewarding, it’s painful,” she admitted. “I’ve thought of changing jobs so I’m not around the babies all the time, but it’s hard. I do love them and as I’m never going to be able to have one, at least this way I can be close to them.”

“What about a surrogate? Although I guess that’s not a guaranteed path of success either. Adoption is likely the best route. From another country maybe?”

Again he spoke off the top of his head, without his usual internal edit. He glanced at her, wondering if adoption was even an option. For many women, it wouldn’t be.

“I’ve been looking into it,” she said, “but that whole single motherhood thing is a problem again. Not an impossibility, but definitely a challenge.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

She turned to stare at him, her gaze flat, shuttered. “That’s partly why I’m here. Anything that allows me to gain acceptance of this aspect of my life is always a benefit, but no, that’s not the biggest thing.” This time she winced and went quiet.

Really quiet.

Watching her, as her gaze remained fixated at her feet, he had no idea how to broach the silence. So far she’d been very open with him, and if he could just keep her talking, they’d have an easier time of it this week. But she wasn’t giving him much in the way of openings.

Then again, neither had he told her about his life either.

“I was married once.” Shit. Where had that come from? He hadn’t planned on that, but the words just slipped out.

“Good for you,” she said in a noncommittal voice, as if it didn’t mean anything. And he guessed in the current world of relationships where a person was often married two or three times in their lifetime, maybe it didn’t.

But for him, it had been major.

“It lasted six months.”

She gasped and turned towards him. “What? Why?”

Angry with himself mentioning it, he shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. He’d done it now.

“I thought I could handle it. She thought she could handle it.”

“And…?”

It was his turn to look down at his feet and he paused before replying. “We were both wrong.”

And then she had to do it. She asked, “Handle what?”

I
t was major
that he’d even brought up something so personal, and now she was dying with curiosity. That she’d spoken so openly said much about this conversation. Normally she’d never have said a word, but he was part of the week and somehow that made a difference. Besides, he obviously had problems himself.

Maybe he’d share them or maybe not, but he’d come a long ways already this morning. But oh Lord. Married for only six months?

“How long had you known each other?” Shit, she shouldn’t have asked. It was none of her business. Seriously none of her business. Yet he’d brought it up and she was relieved to not be the one under scrutiny for a change.

“Months. But she was in therapy and hadn’t progressed as far as I thought she had.”

For some reason, that tone of his made her back go up. “And you?” she asked. “Had you progressed as far as you thought?”

His shoulders slumped, and for a long time she thought he wouldn’t answer. “Obviously not. I couldn’t persuade her to stay with me.”

“Ouch,” she murmured. “Well, at least you made it to the altar.” Walking back to the hotel, her words surprised her and her cheeks flushed. “I never made it to bed.”

She felt his startled response. Heard his strangled exclamation and ignored his question, “Really?”

He raced to keep up to her. “Why not?”

“For the same reason I can’t have kids and the same reason I can’t get past all the other lovely issues in my life.”

There was a strong silence that almost made her smile. Hell, her honesty was making her smile. Normally she would never have let it all out. Maybe because she was at the workshop – and she wouldn’t see Weaver again. That was what this whole week was all about, wasn’t it?

She frowned. “How come I haven’t seen you around Jenna’s evening classes? Normally these workshops are full of her students.”

“I haven’t been to her evening sessions lately.”

“Did she help you?”