Authors: Erin Cawood
“What, like Dada?” she asked. I nodded as she spun back to the high chair. “Caitlyn say Da-da.”
“Ma ma ma ma ma ma.”
“No, Dada.”
“Ma ma ma ma ma.”
This went on for a few minutes while I plated up the dinner. Cal had come in from work about thirty minutes before. After reading another letter from school, he threatened to stop Caleb from playing soccer if he didn’t get better grades and start doing his homework. He’d retreated to the study. His belly must have been rumbling or his ears burning, because he wandered into the kitchen and told Georgia to go wash her hands.
“Dada,” Caitlyn said as clear as the summer sky.
He froze. He looked at Caitlyn and then turned to me. “Can’t you do something about that? She’s giving me a headache.” The front door slammed and the windows rattled in his wake.
Well, what did he expect me to do about her, exactly?
How I managed to control my anger all night and not take it out on the kids, I’ll never know but I’d had enough. It wasn’t Caitlyn’s fault we had problems, and Cal couldn’t treat her that way. She was a baby, for heaven’s sake! So I waited for him to return from wherever it was he went when he was angry and sat patiently on the bed.
I knew what would happen if I pushed the issue too much, or if he was already so inclined but I was ready for it. I’d accepted this was where my marriage was at the moment. Cal was angry at me for misleading him. For saying I wouldn’t have Caitlyn and then not doing anything about it. When he moved on, this would stop and we’d be okay. If I went the right way about this, maybe he’d move on from it tonight. So I plucked up the courage to confront him… and that’s when he told me he didn’t want her.
"W-w-what do you mean?" I thought when she arrived he'd go all gooey like he had with the others. He’d said he wanted more children. "You said—" I flopped hopelessly on to our bed. I couldn't ever seem to get things straight anymore. He couldn’t possibly mean we had to give her away? We’d already had a conversation like this, and he knew where I stood on this matter. She was a baby. Our baby! “But—”
"You forced her on me by not doing what I asked you to do." I looked at him as he stepped closer. "How would you like to be forced into something you don't want, Faith?"
He was even closer now. I craned my neck to look at him as he lowered his head toward me. His nearness forced me back against the mattress. I knew what he was doing. He’d done it a thousand times before. But he usually had a look in his eyes, one of pleasure, one of complete and utter joy, and it wasn’t there now. My breath shortened. "Cal?"
One hand placed firmly at side of my head, the other by my waist as he hovered above me. "How would it feel to live with it for the rest of your life, Fay?"
My pulsed throbbed just below his hand. This wasn't happening. He wasn’t going to do this. "You don't have to..." In our entire seventeen years of marriage, he'd never once had to force me to have sex.
"Oh, but I do, Faith." My entire body went rigid as his hand crawled inside my blouse and around the white lace beneath. It was then I knew he was determined to do it because he added, "And maybe you'll think twice about defying me again."
You know, I should have left then but wasn’t the very definition of leaving him in some way defying him? There was no way on this planet was I ever upsetting Cal again. Not after that. It was the worst and most emotionally painful experience of my life, up to that point. This man, the man I loved, the man I pledged to spend the rest of my life with had... well, he’d...
No, no he didn’t.
He wanted sex when I didn’t. I didn’t say no. I said he didn’t have to force it. I’d have given it to him anyway. What was the difference?
The difference was in that one and only time we had sex in the seven months since Caitlyn was born we got pregnant. I immediately made an appointment to see the doctor about terminating the pregnancy. We weren't going through this again. When I told Cal about the baby and the plans I’d already made he looked heartbroken. It was as though I’d destroyed his world.
"What?"
"I said cancel the appointment, Fay."
"Y-you want m-m-me to k-k-keep the baby?"
"It is a life you and I have created." He smiled at me. He was in an uncharacteristic mood. All bright and chirpy and even more so since I'd broken the news. "Of course I want to keep our baby."
Well, I didn't! A permanent reminder of the day he... but there was no way was I defying Cal and putting myself at risk of the same punishment. So the doctor's appointment was cancelled, and Zoe came.
I love her, D and every time I remember how she was conceived, I remember even at his most evil, Cal managed to make something so pure and good and innocent. She has my hair, my eyes. He calls her Daddy’s little fireball and she always carries this teddy bear he bought for her. But to me she’s... well, she’s my silver lining.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fall 1997
I know I shouldn't have. I know I was taking a huge risk in going behind Cal's back, but I started having the pill injection every three months. I was terrified he’d find out and what he’d do, but I wanted no more “accidents” to happen with this man. It wouldn’t be fair to any additional children.
Of course, when my periods stopped he thought I was going through “the change”, even though I hadn't even hit forty. My mood swings were added to the list of things to his displeasure and my reduced sex drive didn't stop him from getting it when he wanted it. Without the “it's that time of the month” excuse, there wasn't an excuse to say no. Not that it made any difference even when I did. By the time Georgia left for college, I thought Cal had done all there was he could do. I tried, really tried, not to do anything to upset him.
The little ones, they always wore matching pretty little dresses, with cute white lace topped socks. Their little black leather shoes shone so bright he could see his face when he looked down. They were always immaculately clean, their soft baby curls always in perfect braids or tidy bunches. They looked the way little girls were supposed to look and were never anything like you, Caleb, or Georgia, because that was what Cal wanted.
But he was always angry, so very, very angry. It was as though I could never do anything right. One day it was a mistake, when I rectified it, even that was wrong, and the next time he insisted we talk in the bedroom. I used to get butterflies when he said those four words. By this point it was always moths eating my insides, because it was not a case of
if;
it was only a matter of
when
.
It didn’t seem to matter anymore, however hard I tried. I just seemed to make the problem worse. Even if I did everything as he said, he told me I needed to try harder. But he loved me. I knew he loved me. He said he loved me. He showed me how much he loved me with all the gifts and flowers he bought. And there were times when I saw him, the man that he was, the man I married nineteen years ago; the man who didn’t like to do this to me.
Oh, and he wasn’t like this before Caitlyn, when he pleaded with me not to have her. When he’d told me he couldn’t handle the pain this time. So this was my fault. I’d forced him into a child he didn’t want. I’d forced him to face the pain he wasn’t ready for. I knew how hard this was for him and I knew he had a temper. This was my fault, so I’d deal with all of it. I’d stand by his side until he made it through, and we were strong enough to survive because he still loved me.
But I'll never forget the day the glass shattered as it hit the stainless steel sink. Every muscle in my body tensed. All of my focus was kept on slicing the carrots exactly the way he liked them but the sixth sense, Cal-sense, sprang into action.
Oh God! I was next.
"What's wrong with you?" he snapped.
"Nothing," I squeaked. When had I become this woman? When did I become so frightened of my husband, I prepared each and every carrot slice exactly five millimeters thick? At what point in our marriage had I stopped thinking about me, my happiness, or us and our happiness? How long had it been about Cal and keeping Cal happy? Because didn't keeping Cal happy avoid days like this?
"Don't lie to me, Faith!"
I flinched, out of my mind, and the paring knife clattered against the chopping board. I dreaded the next few words from his mouth. The insistence we go into our bedroom.
"You're frightened of me?"
I shook my head because I was too scared to speak the truth.
"Don't be ridiculous." He laughed out loud.
"You're... n-n-not sup-supposed to be amused by it, Cal."
“Look at me. Why?"
What? Was he kidding me? I never knew one mood from the next and he changed in the blink of an eye. I spent my life perpetually walking on hot coals. I was so nervous around him I found it impossible to keep eye contact anymore. But of course, I’d never say any of that to him, because I’d be in the bedroom with him so fast my feet wouldn’t touch the ground, and I’d never know what he’d do when we got there. It depended whether he was in the mood for sex or for violence. It was often both.
"Look at me.”
My eyes went back to his.
“Why are you frightened of me?"
Again, what was with the ridiculous question? Hadn’t he seen what he’d done to me? I lived on the edge of a knife blade waiting to slice me. Of course I couldn’t tell him that. So I stated the obvious. "Y-y-you're... you're in a... a foul m-m-mood...t-t-today."
"For God's sake, Fay, I'm not going to hurt you."
My eyes snapped back to his. Those words hung between us for what seemed like a lifetime. I wanted to believe him so much, because those beautiful owl-like eyes were making that promise. The back of his fingers trailed the length of my cheek and he smiled. You know, if he’d have kissed me right then, I think he’d have washed all the pain and hurt away. I’d have forgiven him for everything in the single moment.
But Caleb came into the kitchen and broke whatever spell he'd cast. Caleb shared his good news. He'd decided he wanted to go into psychiatry, like you and Georgia. He had his pre-med applications, found a volunteer job, and was going to do his homework.
"Fantastic!" Cal cheered, and wrapped his arm around his son's shoulder. "Now, let me give you the same advice I gave to Darryl and your sister..."
#
Caleb amazed us both. Once he knew what he wanted, there was no stopping him. His grades shot up from average at the end of his sophomore year to making the honor roll in senior class. But he'd come home from his volunteer work quiet and subdued. It worried me. He wouldn't tell me where it was. He was coaching kids’ soccer, and tutoring Math, English, and Science. On the few occasions I did get him to open up, Cal would always walk in and Caleb closed right back up again. McKenzie men didn’t talk about their feelings!
By Halloween of his senior year, I was concerned enough about Caleb to ask him to stop volunteering and find something else, something that didn't play on his emotions so much. We were walking the streets, trick-or-treating with Cate and Zoe.
Cal was away, opening the newest practice in the only city in the state that didn't have a McKenzie Medical Center. He hadn’t wanted me walking the street with the girls alone wearing my annual cat costume. It was a Lycra cat suit, pair of pointed ears, and a feather boa for a tail. I’d worn the same costume for twenty years, except when pregnant, and it had never bothered him before. He’d asked Caleb to accompany us before he left.
He'd confessed the reason he'd picked this place was because he followed a girl he had a crush on there. "Please, Caleb,” I said. “Whatever this job is, it's too hard on you, and it’s a really important time for your studies. Is this girl really worth it?"
"Mom, I can't. They rely on me."
"They don't need you, Caleb. They are plenty of other people who can coach soccer and tutor math at these places."
"No, Mom." He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Not at this one." He looked at me. "Sure, at the homeless shelter, or the pet sanctuary, but no one ever thinks about these people. We have this 'don't ask don't tell' culture in our society, and it really has to change, because no one ever helps the ones who need it the most."
"And who are ‘they’, Caleb?"
"Victims of abuse."
The words tumbled around my head. My son. Helping victims of abuse. Putting their needs before his own. "Oh Caleb, I'm so proud of you." I hugged him. "But I really wish you would talk to me. Get some of the awfulness out of your mind. It will help."
He'd tell me these horrific stories. Harrowing tales the best novelist couldn't make up, and with a seventeen-year-old’s enthusiasm and imagination. The best horror movies couldn't create pictures like Caleb. These stories were like fairytales with violent villains who controlled the heroine’s every minute. They cast powerful illusions of love by showering gifts and affection, while they drained away the heroine’s self-esteem, her self-confidence. Why would they stay with a man like that?
Of course, I identified the similarities in my relationship to theirs, but their lives were so different, so far removed, so much worse than mine. I was nothing like them. Cal was nothing like them. My husband was a good man. He really did love me. He would change.
Caleb came home one day before Christmas. He was never going back to the shelter. Everything he'd done there was pointless anyway. "She went back, Mom." He meant the girl he once had a crush on, but they were now just good friends. "She went back to that hell-hole, and now she's dead."
"Oh, Caleb." He towered over me, but I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him anyway. My poor little man, to lose a friend so young, and in such tragic circumstances. I'd always assumed she was a volunteer, not a victim. "Why'd she go home?"
"The counselor called it denial, Mom," he whispered. "She said if Suzette wasn't ready to face the fact her dad would always treat her that way, then she wouldn't stay away from the threat he posed." He looked at me. "I don't understand. She was doing so well. Why now?"