Clark stepped away, his hands in the air. "What the hell’s wrong with you? Why are you being this way?"
"Why do you think?" Brook's breathing was erratic, and she worked to calm herself. "You insensitive jerk."
"Maybe I have been a jerk, but I love you, Brook." Clark grabbed his drink and downed it in a gulp, then slammed the glass on the table harder than necessary. "We're both a little unsteady around each other right now. It's been a long time. I won't push myself on you. But can't you give me even a bit of a break here? Act like I'm your husband and that you haven't seen me in months. Can't you do that, Brook?"
The toast popped up and Brook busied herself spreading it with butter. Suddenly she threw the knife onto the counter top, butter splattering the surface. She turned in anger to Clark. “You want me to act like you’re my husband? Tell me how, Clark. How do I act like the wife of a man who set me up to be raped by three filthy pigs while he sat around waiting for a payoff?"
“Brook!”
“No, you don’t speak now. I speak.” She took several deep breaths before allowing herself to continue.
“Let’s just cut to the chase, Clark. Our marriage is over. It ended the instant I learned of your involvement with those monsters.” Brook stared with decisiveness at Clark for a moment. “Yes! That’s right, it’s over. I want a divorce. I don’t love you anymore. In fact, I despise you.”
“Brook, no! You can’t possibly mean that. I just got you back; I can’t lose you again.” Clark fell to his knees and reached towards Brook.
“Just…don't. Don't do this to me, or to yourself. It’s over. In hindsight, it was over before I even got home.”
“When did we get to this point, Brook?” Clark stared at the floor. “When did we start slipping away from each other. Was it when you lost the baby? We can still get a baby, honey. We can adopt.” He looked hopefully into her eyes.
“It’s too late, Clark. Much too late. Oh lord, this is so hard.” Brook ran a hand over her face. "There’s something you need to know. Something I thought maybe I could get past if there was still anything left between us. But there isn’t. There is nothing left of this marriage.” She looked directly into Clark’s eyes and said the words she knew would cut him to the quick. True words. But hurtful, too. "Clark... I'm in love with another man.”
Clark’s face reddened and he climbed unsteadily to his feet. “Another man? Who the hell is he?”
Brook said nothing, but Clark read it in her eyes. “It’s that hillbilly on the mountain, isn’t it? You actually fell for some hick from the sticks? What a laugh.” He stood straight and spoke forcefully to Brook. “But it doesn’t matter! I won’t allow it. I love you. You can’t leave me. You can’t love another man. You're mine. You belong to me.”
Brook shook her head, picked up the discarded knife, and finished buttering her toast. She carried her breakfast from the room; the sounds of his pleading followed her through the long hallway and up the staircase.
“It’s just gratitude you feel for him!” he called after her. “It’s not love! You love me, and you know it. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to pay me back for your pain. Okay, consider me paid back. Now you can forget him and remember how much I mean to you. How good we are together.”
Brook slammed the guest room door on his words and sat on the edge of the bed to eat. She was surprised at how detached she felt from her husband and her surroundings.
Chapter 57
"It's all over the fucking news!" Pete chewed his nails and watched Jase with an intent gaze.
Jase took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew out a thin stream of smoke, his eyes glued to the television. Images of Clark confronting the media with Brook's weary face in the background were on nearly every channel. He swore under his breath, reached for his cell phone, and tapped the screen. He reached a voice-mail and anger seized him. "D'Macio, you bastard. Answer your fucking phone. We've got a problem. A big problem. You better call me back, dude." Jase threw the phone away from him. It landed in an overstuffed armchair, unharmed. Taking a deep breath, he retrieved it and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans. His moves were tight, jerky. "You know what I think? I think D'Macio's cleared out. I think the son-of-a-bitch bailed on us."
Gina whispered to Pete in a too-loud aside, “I told you Jase was bad news.”
“Shut your skank up, Pete, or I’ll shut her up. Bitch shouldn’t be her anyway. She’s nothing but trouble."
Pete managed to quiet his girlfriend as he continued to watch the TV screen. Before long, Gina stood, grabbed her purse, and announced to the room in general that she was going shopping
Benny sat forward on the sofa of Jase's studio apartment, his usual cocky attitude replaced with nervous tension. "Ah, shit! Shit, shit, shit. Our asses are going to prison. All of us." He rocked forward and back, nerves firing like a hot-wired car.
"No, we're not. Bitch won't testify. She’d never want it to get out what we did to her." Jase stepped in front of Benny, blocking his view of the TV.
Benny rolled his eyes. "Dude! You're on crack! You think she won't get up on that stand and spill her guts? She can't fucking wait to nail us, you especially."
"Yeah? Well, dead people don't testify." Jase marched over to the kitchenette and tossed his cigarette in the sink.
Chapter 58
On the second day of Brook’s return, Clark followed her around as she took suitcases from the closet and packed her things. The argument continued until she wanted to scream.
“I know what I did was wrong,” Clark said. “But you did wrong, too. You’re not little Miss Perfect, you know.” His eyes shone with unshed tears. “You're breaking my heart, here! I'm trying to be reasonable but you're just determined to destroy our marriage. I don't understand it. I don’t see why we can’t just forgive each other and go on like before."
"I'm not asking your forgiveness, Clark." Brook squeezed her hands into fists until her knuckles whitened, fighting the urge to strike out.
"If I’m willing to forgive you, why can’t you forgive me? I’ve learned my lesson. My god, have I ever learned my lesson!”
“What exactly do you want me to forgive you for? Being raped by the men you sent? Being rescued by the kindest man I’ve ever met? No, Clark, I doubt if I’ll ever be able to forgive you. But, if I do, it’ll be because I don’t want to carry the bitterness around in my heart any longer, and not because you deserve it. Face it, Clark. Our marriage is a joke. It’s over.” Brook shook from barely contained rage and heartache.
Clark eyes flashed anger.
“I’m not sure even now you can grasp the horror I went through. Open your ears and listen to me. I was raped, Clark! Again and again. And I was beaten. I was almost killed! They were getting me ready to take me out and kill me. I’m not guessing. They told me so! Then I managed to get away. I fell down a ravine and got lost in the forest. I only had a shirt on, no shoes, nothing. I went through hell! How many times am I going to have to explain all this to you? You’re not an ignorant man. You understand English. And to top it off, it was all because of you! If it weren’t for pure luck and the kindness of Lance, I’d be dead right now.”
Clark slammed his hand onto the dresser. “Lance! You know, you keep bringing him up. All this time I was worrying my ass off about you, and you were up there in a cozy little love nest banging a complete stranger. What about that, Brook?”
Brook rounded on Clark, fire burning in her eyes. “Shut up! You make it sound filthy and vulgar and cheap. I won’t stand for it! It wasn’t like that at all. The man saved my life, Clark. He not only kept me from dying, he gave me new reasons to be glad I’m alive. You could never understand it no matter what I say. There's no point in discussing it. I’m through!”
Brook’s face was flushed. She refused to allow Clark to reduce her love for Lance to a base animal act. He was trying to shame her and she resented it. “Besides, there is no way you can equate what you did with what I did, hard as you might try
, Clark. There’s just no way.”
The phone rang and Clark pressed the speaker button "What?"
"Erin Glass from CNW, Mr. Parrish. We'd like to ask you and your wife some questions."
Clark disconnected from the call and unplugged the phone from the wall. Downstairs the extension immediately began ringing. “Great, they’ve found our home number. Ain’t life grand!”
Brook carried her suitcases downstairs and placed them near the garage door. She then entered the den and began sorting through paperwork, photos, and mementos, paying special attention to the scrapbooks and journals from her youth. These she slipped into a portfolio to take along when she left.
The phone rang endlessly, but she let the calls go through to the answering machine. She didn't know where Clark was, just that he was somewhere inside the house. Probably drinking.
Brook intended to be thorough. She would take everything that meant anything at all to her. She would come back only once, for the things she’d invariably forget, or that were too large to take with her now.
She reminded herself she should probably call a lawyer, which made her recall her cell phone. Digging it from her battered purse, she found the charger and plugged it in. After all these months, she knew she would find it loaded with desperate voicemail and texts from her family, and she was right. A message flashed on the screen that her inbox was full and that she needed to delete some information before being able to use the feature. She wasn’t strong enough to hear those heartbreaking calls just yet, so ignored them for now. They would have to wait for another time. She left the phone charging where it sat on the desk.
After she finished in the den, Brook carried a small box out and set it near the garage entry beside her suitcases. She took an empty box from the closet and began a cursory walk through the first floor, picking up small mementos and leaving others. Clark leaned forlornly against the fireplace, a drink in his hand, and a glazed look in his eye. He watched her move purposefully as she dismantled their life together. "You know, the media is camped out at the gates. They'll swoop down on you if you try to leave."
Brook shrugged. "I won't be done until late anyway. I still have a lot of stuff to sort through."
Clark snorted a laugh. "They'll wait."
She turned her back on him.
Working doggedly, Brook was surprised to end up with relatively little she wished to keep from their marriage. Clark drank steadily throughout the day. He always held his liquor well, but it had to be taking a toll on him.
She stopped to fix a late lunch. As it was cooking, she opened the window to the warm, fresh afternoon breeze. A thought occurred to her and she stepped into the front room. "Where's Rachel? Did you give her the day off?"
"I let her go a long time ago," Clark said. "I've been fending for myself since you've been gone." He allowed a sorrowful tone to creep into his voice.
Brook frowned, but refused to let his self-pity get to her. "Clark, why don't you eat something? I'm fixing some lunch now."
"You serious? We're just going to sit down and have a meal like nothing's wrong? Like you’re little Miss Homemaker cooking for the husband she adores? Fuck that!” He poured another drink. Some of the amber liquid sloshed over the side of the glass onto the bar. It was the only clue he was intoxicated.
"Well, we need to eat." Brook wiped her hand on a kitchen towel as she stood in the doorway. "And we need to talk."
A hopeful look crossed his face. "About us?"
"About the divorce. There are things we need to settle. I want this to go smoothly."
“Whoa, now. You don’t really intend to go through with that, do you? You'd better just take a little time to cool off; wait until you've had a chance to get your head straight. You need me, Brook. Even if you won’t admit it. For one thing, how will you support yourself?”
“How will you handle prison, Clark?” Her voice was firm.
“You wouldn’t!” he gasped. “You’re my wife. I’ve told you how sorry I am. And like I told you, you were never, ever supposed to be hurt. You wouldn’t really send me to prison, would you?”
“It depends on how much grief you give me over this divorce. You definitely deserve prison, and that might still be an option. I’m still mulling it around in my mind. Trying to decide if you were as innocent as you make yourself out to be. But as for the divorce, well, I want that over with as soon as possible.”
“Well, since you're threatening me now, I guess there's nothing I can do about it. You've got me backed into a corner. Over the proverbial barrel. You’ll probably take everything I’ve worked so hard for. All gone. Just like that.” His voice dripped with bitterness. “I never pegged you for a gold-digger; but I never figured you’d spread your legs for some stranger either. Hell, I guess it was more than just one, wasn't it? How many were there, Brook? Remind me again, exactly how many men did you do?"
Every word was a blow to Brook. Outrage, anger, and hurt rose in her like bile. She gripped the towel in her hands and tried to speak around the painful lump in her throat. "You bastard. I never realized until this moment how cruel you are."
"I'm cruel? You're the one who wants the divorce, not me."
"Clark, I can't think of anything I want more at this moment than to never be associated with you again." Brook gritted her teeth. "You’re an asshole! Fix your own damn food."
She marched into the kitchen and dumped the food into the sink, where it continued to sizzle for a while, before cooling off and forming a hard glob.
"Brook." Clark stepped inside the doorway, his face contorted with remorse. "I didn't mean any of that. You know I didn't mean it. Listen, why don't you just get away for a few days? Go see your folks; take some time to think it all over? If you still want a divorce after that, I won't fight it. I'll give you whatever you want. But I’m sure you’ll see reason and want to stay with me. Stay where you belong."
"I don't need to think it over. I want out. And since I know it’s not me you’re so worried about, I’ll put your mind at ease. You don’t need to worry about your precious net worth. I only need enough money to get by on until I get a job. Trust me; I don’t want anything of yours. I don’t want any of the money you made by stealing from innocent people,” Brook said. “All I want is to be free of you. That’s it. If you want to keep your freedom; then give me mine. Otherwise, you will lose it all. Everything.”
Chapter 59
“Let’s get you out of this pen for a while,” Lance said to Gilbert, who watched him with hopeful eyes from the other side of the fence. She bounded out, kicked her rear feet high in the air, and tried to romp with her owner. But Lance was preoccupied and Gilbert gave up. She waddled toward the house, looking around as she went.
“She’s not here.”
The words meant nothing to the goat and she wandered around the cabin peering in the windows. Soon she was back at Lance’s side.
“I don’t know if you miss her,” he said as he patted the goat on the neck, “but I sure do. I feel like half of me has been ripped away. You’ll have to be patient with me, girl. It might take me awhile to get back my stride.”
Gilbert nuzzled his pocket, looking for a treat, but Lance didn’t notice as he stared up at the sky above Mt. Hazel.
“I can’t believe I let her go, Gilbert.” He closed his eyes for a long moment. “Just drove her to town and let her walk into that Sherriff’s office. I didn’t even wait for her, just turned Old Reliable around and came home. I must have been out of my mind.”
Lance looked down into Gilbert’s uncomprehending gaze. “Why am I telling you? You’re a goat.”
Lance took a deep breath and turned to his chores with heaviness in his soul while Gilbert followed him, hoping for a treat.
Shortly after lunch, there was a knock at the cabin door.
Brooklyn. She came back. Lance's heart raced as he reached for the knob.
A hiker stood on the porch, squinting at Lance. Lance's spirits dropped. “Can I help you?” he
asked.
“You wouldn’t by chance be Sullivan Proctor, would you?” the man asked.
“I would not,” Lance stated firmly, stepping outside.
The man gave Lance a knowing look. "Hmm."
“Who would you be?” Lance asked, suspiciously.
“My name is Danny Norton. My dad owned all this land at one time.”
“At one time?” Lance felt a chill run up his back. “Who owns it now?”
“Well, my dad left his estate in trust to us, his children, but he also left instructions to allow one Sullivan Proctor unrestricted use of this cabin and the surrounding twenty acres. He took a liking to the man and he knew none of us wanted the old shack.” He stopped and looked around. “Although, it doesn’t look like much of a shack anymore.”
Lance stood, mouth open in surprise.
“May I ask who you are?” Danny's eyebrows rose in question.
“My name is Lance Matthew. I’m…a friend of Sullivan’s. And you’re right; he has made a lot of improvements to the old place.”
The two stood in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the cabin. Finally, Danny turned and hefted a backpack from where he had set it on a stump. “Well, anyway, you might want to let Sullivan know about his legal right to use the land and cabin. Our lawyers are searching for him and hope to see him soon.” The man passed over a business card, tipped his ball cap in Lance’s direction, winked, and wandered on down the trail.
Lance was stunned. The land was his; well, his to use freely at any rate. The same with the cabin. He could install electric power; he could lay a trail to the road; he could openly live his life here. I can offer Brooklyn a real home.
Moving quickly, before he could change his mind, Lance set out enough food and water to keep the animals fed for a few days, put things away, and locked up the outside sheds. He hurried through a shower, pulled on clean clothes, and loaded his backpack.
Lance made a quick stop at the Haylieville Library, logged onto the web, and pulled up a search engine. He typed in Clark Parrish, Denver, Colorado and waited while information filled the screen. One entry had not only Clark, but also Brook’s name and Lance clicked it. He selected the screen with a map to their address and printed it out. He logged off the computer, grabbed the sheet from the printer, and quickly turned Old Reliable towards the highway.