Over the Fence (33 page)

She hesitated, and I frowned. “What?”

She drew in a shuttering breath. “I don’t want to talk to them or have anything to do with them.”

“Good. Why am I sensing there’s something you’re not telling me?”

She met my gaze. “I know you think I shouldn’t care—but I do. I help pay the costs of my dad’s care facility. The government only pays for a ward bed. I cover the difference to a semi-private room.”

I stared in amazement. Even after all they had done, all the pain they had caused her, Kourtney was helping to pay for her father’s care. It shouldn’t surprise me, given her generous nature. And she was right. I wanted to tell her she shouldn’t care, but that was what Kourtney did. She cared. She always would care.

“Does Andy contribute?”

“No.”

Of course not—that lazy prick.

“You want me to just ignore this, Kourtney? Is that what you’re asking me to do?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“What if we were to speak with the officer who came and talked to you when we were there, at the police station? Maybe she could suggest the best plan of action. Would you listen to her?”

“Yes.”

I sighed in resignation. I wiped away the tears on her cheeks and kissed her gently. “Can you get me the file so I have the email address, please?”

As she went inside, I opened up the message board and scanned the inbox, my eyes narrowing as I read his obviously drunken, vile messages. My anger built again at the nasty words and names he called her. I wanted to go find him and teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget. I knew if Kourtney had read this it would have devastated her. She had done nothing to deserve this sort of hateful treatment. I snorted at the last one: he informed her neither he nor his father ever wanted to see her again. Well, hallelujah. I noticed he never said a word about not wanting her continued financial support, though—the fucking selfish bastard. In my opinion it wasn’t a loss for Kourtney at all. Good riddance. My fingers itched to start typing, to write back and tell him exactly what I thought of him, and his father, but I knew it would only incite him further and I didn’t want to give him any reason to come around. Instead I copied it all, and opened an email to send to Joanne.

Kourtney came out and handed me the file, sitting in silence as she watched me send the email, then work to delete the username. I created a new account for her, stopping only to ask her what name she would like to use.

She smiled tremulously at me. “Chefgirl.”

“Yeah?” I smiled back fondly, wanting her to know I wasn’t angry with her. I was angry with the situation,
never her.

“Yeah. I like it when you call me that.”

After a few more key stokes, I pushed the laptop her way. “Password.”

When she was done, I added both myself and Annie into her contacts. “You can add anyone else later,” I informed her; showing her how to do it.

She nodded. “They were mostly people at work anyway.”

“Okay. Done.”

“Did you read the messages?”

“I scanned them,” I answered, wanting to be honest. “I think he was drunk . . . or he’s a very bad speller, which I suppose shouldn’t surprise me. It’s obvious; you got the brains of the family.”

“Were they awful?” she whispered.

I clasped her hands in mine. “Yeah, they were disgusting . . . and bullshit. The ramblings of a drunken asshole, who is so jealous and spiteful, he needs to lash out at someone to make himself and his miserable life seem worthwhile.”

“
Jealous
? You think he is jealous of me?”

“Kourtney—think about it. Compare your lives.”

“I don’t understand.”

I squeezed her hands. “Your brother still lives in his father’s house. Alone. His business is owned not by himself, but your father.” At her quizzical look, I shrugged. “I checked, okay? He owns nothing. His take-home-pay is based on the garage’s earnings, which at times I’m sure isn’t much, knowing how lazy he is. He contributes nothing to your father’s care and has no real life of his own.” I snorted derisively. “He drives a truck most seventeen year olds would be embarrassed to be seen in. He has no one significant in his life. He acts like an overgrown, middle-aged frat boy. He’s going nowhere—fast.”

I cupped her cheek. “Then there’s you—his sister, who he claimed would never amount to anything. Ms. PhD: who owns her own home, has a successful career, is well-respected by her peers.” I took in a deep breath. “And is in a committed relationship with someone”—I swallowed hard, stumbling over my words—“who adores her.”

She stared at me.

“So, yeah. He is jealous, and spiteful. Because you did it all against the odds—you did it all on your own.”

“I . . . I never thought of it that way.”

“Because you don’t see yourself clearly. You’re so amazing, Chefgirl. And, someday, I’m going to get you to see that fact.”

Grabbing her, I held tight. I shut my eyes as I thought about what made me pause while talking to her.

It had hit me like a Mack truck. I didn’t only adore her.
I loved her
.

I was one hundred percent in love with her. I wanted to tell her. Yet, unlike her, I hadn’t been open and told her about my past. Something she deserved to know.

I knew I had to talk to Grant, I needed his advice.

Saturday morning, I made the drive and met Grant at our usual place—a long drive for me, a shorter one for him. It always gave me lots of time to think, and today I had been thinking hard.

Grant stared at me in dismay. “You haven’t told her? Why Nathan? You’ve always been upfront about your past.”

“I know.”

“Why not this time?”

I searched for the right words. “I didn’t expect to fall in love.”

“It’s not something that announces itself with a card.” Grant pointed out dryly.

“I’m terrified that when she knows my past, she’ll walk away. I don’t think I could handle losing her,” I admitted. “I never felt as if I had as much to lose as I do now.”

“From the little you’ve told me, I don’t think she’s capable of such rejection.”

I stared at him as his words sunk in. He was right. Kourtney had a huge capacity for forgiveness and love. Unlike my family, she didn’t judge people harshly. She wouldn’t turn her back on me.

Would she?

I thought of my life before I met her. Empty days, endless hours spent alone, too afraid to get close to someone, to open myself up to hurt again.

Until she moved next door. Without even trying, she broke down every defense I had with her quiet, caring ways. She brought out the man I should be. The one I wanted to be—for her.

“Tell me about her,” Grant encouraged, startling me from my thoughts.

I sighed and started to talk. For an hour I spoke, telling him about Kourtney. About her childhood—the neglect and abuse, and how much it had scarred her. I told him about her cowardly, weak father and her asshole, bully of a brother. How vulnerable and broken she was, yet despite it all, so incredibly giving and sweet. He chuckled as I told him about our conversations over the fence; how she fed and teased me. I smiled as I told him how brave and strong she was and what she’d survived. And, finally, I told him how she made me realize I had to start living again, and in order to do so, I needed her with me.

We were quiet for a few minutes as he digested everything I had told him. Our waitress came and removed our cups, which had long grown cold and replaced them with fresh ones, which we both sipped, as he thought things through.

“Her father is a selfish bastard,” he stated in an angry voice. “I wish he could be brought up on some sort of charges.”

“He is, but short of trying to get Nurse Ratchet on his floor, there isn’t much we can do about him.” I chuckled without humor.

“Maybe I should ask a few friends to check out her brother a little closer, you know, make sure his taxes are filed, all his business licenses are in place?” he mused. “Send in an inspector to make sure things are on the up-and-up?”

“I’d like that,” I admitted. “I’d love to mess up his life. Make him suffer. I want so bad to make him pay for what he did to her.” I sighed and shook my head. “But Kourtney would
hate
it. She would say it was something they would think to do. Make someone miserable only because you can—even though he continues to do it to her.”

“What?”

I told him about the messages and my frustration with her first instinct to read them. Of finding out she contributed to her father’s care, despite everything. I shrugged in confusion. “I don’t understand it.”

“From what you’ve told me about her, I’m not really surprised. She seems to have a huge capacity for forgiveness.”

“She does. For everyone around her except herself.”

“So this friend she knew from school—she’s willing to help?”

“She’s going to talk to him. Unofficially. But Kourtney agreed to move forward to the next step if she feels it’s necessary.”

Grant nodded. “He’s a bully, and bullies tend to stop if someone scarier than them shows up. Maybe a visit from the police will do that. I hope she takes a partner.”

I smirked. “She plans to drop by the garage during business hours in her uniform, with her partner, who she mentioned was a huge man. I hope it works. I want him out of her life.”

“You need to be patient.”

“I’m trying, Grant.”

“Nathan,” he began quietly. “Do you know that abused children, even adults, often protect the person abusing them?”

“I’ve heard that, yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, no idea.”

He smiled sadly. “It’s all they know. They don’t know love doesn’t have to hurt.”

I leaned forward. “But she has me now. I want to show her it shouldn’t.”

“And you will. But, Nathan, she’s had you for a few weeks, less than that even. She’s had
them
all her life. It’s going to take time. It’s all
she’s
known.”

I sat back as his words sunk in. He was right. She’d only known pain and rejection for twenty-seven years and it was something she almost expected. I couldn’t expect her to be healed instantly because I was in her life.

“I won’t give up on her. Somehow I’ll help her see she is more than the nothing they told her she was.”

“Good. I’m glad you convinced her to talk to someone, and think about an order. Perhaps if this officer goes and talks to him, it might scare the shit out of him, and he’ll leave her alone. If not, I might have to pay him a visit myself.” He arched his eyebrow, and I grinned. This was the Grant I had gotten to know; protective and caring of the people he knew. I could only imagine Andy’s face if Grant showed up to “visit” with him.

“You’re right about one thing: he is a bully. If he knows he can’t push her around anymore and he’s being watched, he’ll move on. He was probably drunk and made a stupid decision, but he won’t appreciate the fact he was given a huge break from the one person who shouldn’t give him anything.” He shook his head as he looked at me. “Like you, I’d prefer to see him in trouble with the law, but it’s her decision. Frankly, not reading the messages and letting you delete the account was a big step for her.”

“I know.”

“You think she is pretty amazing, don’t you?”

I smiled. “She amazes me every day. She’s the best person I’ve ever met. She didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

“And you love her.”

I nodded. “More than anything.” My hands flexed on the table. “I want a life with her.”

He was quiet, for a minute.

“Can I ask a . . . personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Is she . . . ?”

My eyes narrowed. “Is she what?”

“Heavy?”

I frowned. “Heavy? No.” I thought about how to describe her. “She’s . . . short.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“If she was Claire’s height, Grant, she’d be a freaking supermodel. But she isn’t. She’s . . .” I exhaled as I searched for the right word. Somehow the words lush or voluptuous were too personal to say to him.

Grant whistled lowly. “Oh, fuck. She’s a dish, isn’t she?”

I frowned, confused. “A dish?”

He nodded and traced his hands in the air suggestively, as if he was stroking full curves. “All you need is a spoon and you’re set. Short, curvy, sexy.”

“Yeah, Grant. She’s a dish. Although, a spoon wouldn’t be what I would use.” I winked at him.

He threw back his head laughing. “Didn’t know you had that in you, Nathan.”

I laughed with him. “She brings out a lot of things I didn’t know were there.”

“A smart, sexy, dishy woman. Those are rare qualities.”

“I have the rarest. She is completely . . . I can’t even begin . . . S
he astonishes me
.” I leaned forward, my voice earnest. “I have to tell her. I have to be honest.”

He turned serious again, staring at me. “Yes, you do. And you have to be prepared for her anger when you tell her. Give her whatever room she needs to come to terms with your story.”

“Okay.”

“I hope it works out for you. I want to meet this amazing girl of yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, once you’ve told her and you’re ready, I’d like to meet her. Bring her up to visit Claire and me.” He paused. “If she wants to meet us.”