Slap, slap, slap, slap.
I’ve spent my life being closed off, holding on tightly to my secrets. I buried my emotions, keeping everyone at a safe distance. I never opened up before meeting André.
Today, I’m so happy, I feel as though I could share my story with the whole world.
A little brown dog runs toward me, barking all the way. Usually this annoys me, but not today. I don’t speed up or try to avoid him.
“Good dog!” I yell cheerfully.
This stops him in his tracks. I laugh out loud at the confusion on his cute doggy face.
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
I place my hand on my face, feeling my scars. It was after this injury I hit rock bottom. Reaching out to André was the best decision I ever made. Of all of the points of view in the world, André has one of the best. He’s known many who’ve lived through childhoods like my own.
I was my own worst enemy.
André freed me from guilt. I’ll always be grateful to him for everything he's done, but introducing me to Renata? That is a debt I can never repay.
Renata has expanded my world.
I’m learning how to trust, how to be open and bare my soul. André was the first, and now Renata. They both understand my fears. They understand me.
Once I thought asking for help showed weakness. I admired independence and self-sufficiency. To my mind, a man showing weakness was the worst possible sin.
Now, I see it as a strength.
It could only have happened with people I trust. Who would've thought exposing my secrets would set me free? How could I know speaking of my darkest shame would create such soul soaring elation?
My view of the world is changing so fast I can hardly keep up with it.
Renata chases away the darkness that surrounds me. I admire her so much. I can hardly believe the shitty childhood she endured.
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
Last night Renata told me I’m the third person to whom she’s divulged her story. André, of course, was the first. Her good friend, Diana, the woman she rents her apartment from, was the second.
I’m honored she confided in me.
It broke my heart to see her shaking and crying after her nightmare. Usually the mere thought of touching someone makes me queasy, yet wrapping my arms around her felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Renata was a battered child and her father was a monster. On her twelfth birthday, Renata’s father beat her mother and her baby brother to death, right in front of her eyes.
What a birthday gift.
Renata’s mom was severely depressed, so Renata held the mother role for her little brother. Irrationally, she blames herself for his death. Just like me, a sense of guilt has rested heavily upon her shoulders from an early age.
Abuse destroys reason, replacing it with senseless guilt and shame.
“Hey,” a fellow jogger says while coming toward me. Drenched by the pouring rain, he passes me on the footpath, giving me a wave. I can barely see him.
“Mornin,’” I say, grinning and waving back. What kind of nut case goes out on a day like today? I’m not the only crazy one it seems.
When you're on the outside looking in, it's easy to see how ridiculous it is for Renata to feel responsible for the horrors of her past. She was a victim. How could she be accountable for her abusive, murdering father? Yet, she still blamed herself.
I did exactly the same thing.
After the murders, Renata was placed in a family in which the foster-father was a pedophile. What the hell kind of world allows shit like this to happen to kids? Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire! Renata seemed to have skipped the frying pan altogether and just burned, and burned and then burned some more!
When her foster brother died—that was her breaking point. She was committed into a psychiatric hospital immediately after that.
Yet, like the legendary phoenix, she rose from those ashes.
Renata used to have nightmares regularly. Now, she only has them once or twice a year. She thinks that last night's dream was brought about because of being a caregiver with Briley—another baby boy, so much like her lost brother, Timmy.
A crash of thunder rolls off in the distance.
Dark and gloomy, the sky is as black as pre-dawn. Yet, the colors look more vibrant than ever before. Somehow, there's so much light surrounding me. With the mood I’m in, all I see is a perfect day.
For a moment, my mind returns to the conversation we had early this morning, when I woke her from her nightmare. Renata cried, but I’d wept too. I cried for her lost childhood, for her grief and her loneliness.
I’ve never cried in front of another person in my entire life. After years of holding everything in, allowing full vent to my emotions was liberating. Shoulders and chest shaking, hot tears streaming down my cheeks, it had been cathartic to let go.
Renata accepts me. Now, I can accept myself.
I close my eyes for a moment as I run, feeling her hands on my face again, her fingers wiping away my tears away.
“Are you crying for me?” she asked, wonder shining in her expression.
“Yes. For you, for me and for every child who suffers in the world.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“My father taught me only pussies cry. I haven’t shed a single tear since I was a boy. Even then, I was ashamed of myself and I only cried in secret. I’ve never cried in front of anyone before, but—”
“But what?”
“But I don’t need to hide from you. You won’t think me less of a man. It feels safe and right to cry with you.”
Being ashamed of who I am trapped me.
Being able to be myself has set me free.
And to think this seemingly fearless woman has always considered herself a mouse! How ironic. I’ve always seen myself as someone full of hate—a dangerous, perverted monster.
The monster and the mouse.
Who would've thought the two of us would be so compatible?
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
Normal, everyday things others take for granted are a challenge for Renata. She has to work up the courage just to go outside, to look people in the face and to talk to strangers.
I don’t see her flaws.
All I’m aware of is her caring good nature and her humor. All I see is the quiet, capable side of her. Vulnerable, yet resilient, I find her presence soothing. Renata’s healing me… she’s saving me.
Renata’s my hero.
She reminds me of the monarch butterfly. Incredibly strong, yet delicate, the amazing creature flies 5000 miles on its yearly migration. Like the butterfly, Renata has overcome challenges that would destroy most people.
How did she do it?
Was it a choice? A kind of to hell with you or a fuck you decision? Was Renata determined to succeed as a way not to let her asshole father win?
As I skirt around a parked car, a thought strikes me. Could it be that Renata is so caring, understanding and positive—not in spite of—but because of her terrible past?
That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, they say, but does it teach us to be kinder and more understanding too?
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
Tremendous heat and pressure can create diamonds from common coal. Perhaps surviving intense adversity develops a person, improving them in all the important ways.
I laugh then, as I think of André.
To my mind, André has countless super-human qualities. If adversity advances people, making them kinder and more understanding—then his childhood must have been really bad!
I wonder what his story is?
Renata and I both have to thank André. He set us both on the road to recovery. It seems to me, his presence in this world is just about all the proof needed to decide God exists.
Renata is one of the nicest people I’ve ever known, and she had a terrible past. What does that make me?
Grateful, for a start.
I’m s
o glad to be alive!
Compared to Renata’s history, my childhood issues don’t seem nearly as bad. I never went hungry. No one beat me or killed anyone in my family. I always had a roof over my head.
Renata fills me with hope. She’s going to help me. Together, we’ll work through all of my shit. I plan to tell her everything.
Except I suspect my brother killed our father.
Except for how I earned these scars…
My feet stumble as I trip over flat, open road. A voice in the back of my mind reminds me of the things I still can’t tell.
Never mind, I’ll be open about everything else.
I’m breathing hard now. I’ve never done my morning run so quickly. I should slow down because I’m almost home, yet I don’t want to. I’m on such a high.
Slap, slap, slap, slap.
As I round the corner to my house, I see police cars.
What the fuck? What’s going on?
I actually speed up rather than slow down—now I’m running the four-minute mile.
Is Renata OK? Did something happen to the baby?
But then I remember.
Someone killed my father.
But why would the police suspect me?
Chapter 28.
“Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul.”
— William Ernest Henley
~~~
Grant Wilkinson
Dripping wet, I run up to the front door of my house and am immediately stopped by three uniformed policemen. Men are talking, rain is falling on the roof and loudly running down gutters, and I can hear my cellphone ringing from where I left it on the kitchen counter.
“What happened?” I ask, winded from my mad sprint. I grab the towel I left near the door and wipe my face. “What’s going on?
If the police want to question me about my dad's murder, I assume only one police car would be needed here. Yet, there are four police cars parked outside of my house. Something must have happened and it's got to be bad.
“Grant Wilkinson?” a uniformed cop asks.
“Yes?”
“You are under arrest for the murder of Chester Wilkinson,” the police officer says, while taking a pair of handcuffs from his belt. “You have the right to remain silent—”
“Stop,” I raise my hand and interrupt him in a no-nonsense tone. My voice isn’t too loud and it isn’t too soft. It’s low and confident—the voice of command.
Open-mouthed, every single person I see stops what they’re doing and stares at me.
I’m a sniper—I don’t buckle under pressure. For years, I practiced controlling adrenaline spikes, breathing and heart rate. Such cool detachment comes effortlessly to me. I’d already cut my own heart out when I was a child, so I know how to shut down emotions.
Consequently, I’m the perfect ‘go to’ guy in an emergency. I think fast on my feet, take charge and am able to make rational, quick decisions. I can easily deal with any immediate crisis head on.
It’s after a crisis that I fall apart.
“Where is Renata?” I ask in a dangerously calm voice that barely hides the steel beneath.
I walk further inside the house. When I see her, I freeze and I almost lose it. My dear, sweet Renata! Please be OK!
This gripping emotional response rocks me. Every protective instinct I have flares to life.
A policeman puts his hand on me, as if to halt my forward movement. It would take an army of men to stop me. Even then I don’t think they could.
I shake off the man’s restraining hand and go to her.
Eyes lowered, body trembling, Renata sits on the floor in a dark corner, appearing strangely small and frail. Arms wrapped tightly around her legs, knees pulled against her chest, she’s all curled up into a ball. She looks like a frightened child—nothing like the brave, confident woman I know.
Last night, Renata told me about these panic attacks, and how she’s experienced in managing them. This looks like a bad one.
Mitten stands before her, aggressively on guard. He looks huge because every hair on his head and body stands on end. Teeth bared, hissing and growling, Mitten won't let anyone get near Renata.
Bless you, you wonderful cat.
Regret fills me, irretrievably sinking my mood as if it was tied to a ball and chain then thrown into deep water. I should have been here. I should have protected her from this.
I squat down on my heels in front of her. “Renata?” I murmur quietly. “Renata, it’s me, Grant. Can you hear me?”
I see her chest rising and falling. She's breathing fast and is as white as a ghost. Christ! She’s in a terrible state. However, she nods in response to my question, eyes still aimed down at the floor.
“What can I do to help you?” I ask.
“Nothing. I’ll be OK… I’ll be OK,” she manages to get out. “The police—” Her sentence stops, she gasps with fear.
“Darlin,' I'm going to have to go with them soon. I don’t know what they want, but everything will be all right,” I say. I tremble with rage at what I’ve put her through, but I keep my voice soft and low.
I can’t leave Renata alone like this. Briley's here and in the state she’s in, she can't even take care of herself, much less a baby. I need a woman to stay with her, but who can I call? Who can I trust?
I can think of only one person.
My eyes search the room until I locate the guy I figure is in charge. He's standing nearby, supervising everything. He has short, dark brown hair, a large Roman nose and is about my height. He looks fit, except for having a bit of a paunch.
This guy stands out because of the suit he’s wearing and the calm expression on his face. It’s a kind of weathered, ‘I’ve seen it all’ look, as if he's not fazed by much.
I stride up to him and ask, “Are you in charge here?”
“Yes,” he says.
“What is your name?”
“I’m Detective Bronowski.”
“Fine. Listen, Detective Bronowski,” I say, gesturing toward Renata. “That woman is my babysitter.”
His eyes widen and his voice is surprised. “Babysitter?”
“Yes. Briley must still be asleep in the nursery upstairs—I hope your officers don’t wake him. I’ve temporarily accepted the care of my brother’s six-month-old son. I don’t know anything about babies, so I hired a nanny. Her name is Renata Koreman. The poor woman arrived here yesterday afternoon to help me take care of him.”
Bronowski stares at me, but I can see him absorbing this information. I don’t want him to think Renata and I are dating.
I don’t want Renata involved in my father’s investigation at all.
I nod my head. “Clearly, she was not expecting or prepared for something like…” I throw my hands in the air, “like whatever this is. I’m worried about her and I can’t leave her and the baby alone. I need to call someone and arrange for them to stay with her until she recovers. May I make that call?”
“Go ahead,” he says. “I’ll listen in and then I’ll take custody of that phone when you’re done.”
“Fine, thanks.” I grab a pen and paper, pick up my phone from the kitchen counter and dial my sister, Betty Jo.
“What do you want?” she barks irritably. Caller ID has obviously displayed my number. Her love for me shows in the way she answers the phone.
“I need a favor,” I say, praying she won't hang up before I get what I need from her.
“Go fuck yourself!”
“I just want Sally Ann’s phone number,” I say calmly.
The line goes quiet—I knew that would shut her up. Betty Jo rattles off the number without needing to look it up. They went to school together and have remained friends.
Sally Ann Berdeaux is sweet and innocent, the perfect Southern Belle. My sister is a mean, belligerent shrew. Talk about day and night. I ask myself for the thousandth time, what do those two women see in each other?
“Thank you,” I say, but my sister has already ended the call.
I immediately call Sally Ann, who answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Sally Ann,” I say, and I hear the tone in my voice change to something gentle and polite. “It’s Grant here. How are you?”
I’m three years older than she is. I like her, I always have, but Sally Ann has had a crush on me for years. My mother is forever trying to set us up, but I’m not the man for her. I hate to use her like this, yet I can think of no one else I can turn to. Sweet as she is, I know Sally Ann will be glad to help.
“Grant?” she asks, surprise evident in her voice.
“Yes.”
“Oh, it’s lovely to hear from you,” she says. “I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
“Well, I'll get to that in a moment. How’s your brother?”
“Danny’s doing well, thank you for asking.”
Sally Ann and her twin brother are close, but he has mental health issues. I’m not sure if he’s schizophrenic, bipolar or depressed. I do know he attempted suicide and was committed to a psychiatric hospital during their sophomore year of high school.
“I’m sorry to call like this…” I begin… but time is at a premium, so I come out with it. “You see, I really need to ask you for a favor—a big one.”
I carefully explain the rather desperate situation I find myself in. I tell her as quickly as possible about the police, Briley and Renata.
“I’m sure it’s all a mistake!” Sally tells me loyally. “You’ll be released in no time. You’ve served our country, you’re a hero! I can’t imagine what they think you’ve done.”
I meet the detective’s eyes and reply, “Neither can I.”
As expected, Sally Ann is perfectly happy to drop everything and come to our rescue. Genuinely kind, she's just the right person to stay with Renata.
“I’ll leave a house key under the doormat, all right?” I ask her.
“Your friend won’t mind if I just come right in?”
“Not at all,” I say, and I hope it’s true. There is no way I’ll make Renata get up and answer a knock on that front door again any time in the near future. Not with what happened this morning. “Anyway, I’ll tell her you’re coming.”