Damage Done (6 page)

Rachel’s father had given him his blessing, and he promised
to make her happy and keep her safe. Her mother nodded approvingly as Rachel
sat stunned, Kenneth on one knee in a restaurant full of people clapping and
cheering, "Say yes!"

So she said yes.

And then her mother planned the biggest, most lavish
wedding she could imagine, the ceremony and reception Savannah had been robbed
of in her own two marriages. Rachel went along, in a fog and haze of
anti-depressants and Valium, certain then that she'd been doing the right
thing, doing what was expected of her, convinced it would make her happy one
day. But it hadn't.

There were some good times though. She’d wanted to have a
baby and he'd wanted to have sex, and she had a hole to fill and he'd wanted an
easy-bake life. So when she finally got pregnant after four years of trying,
they'd both been thrilled over Hunter. Rachel swore she’d never forget the
first baby she carried, but having Hunter helped fill the void over time, and
then Lauren came and the pain of loss become more and more tolerable.

Going to work everyday helped Rachel learn to appreciate Kenneth
as a husband. Reading stories from women who were stuck in relationships they
didn't know how to leave, their husbands and boyfriends punched them, screamed
at them, threatened to kill their children if they left, and then she’d go home
to her own husband - she was lucky to have him. He wasn’t perfect, but Kenneth
never yelled, never told her what to do. He'd never called her a stupid bitch,
never slapped or shoved her. And he loved their children in a way her father
had never loved her. He spent hours wrestling and playing imaginary games
Rachel never had the creativity or the patience to endure. He showered Hunter
and Lauren with hugs and kisses, and it had helped Rachel learn to show them
affection, too, something she'd never had from her own parents.

And because of that, she'd excused the lack of passion, and
his refusal to help around the house. She told herself to be grateful when so
many women spent their nights hiding in bedrooms, hoping not to have to defend
themselves or their children from violence or name calling.

It wasn’t enough though. The older she got, and the greater
the distance grew between them, the clearer she’d started to see things. She'd
worked so hard to empower other women to see their potential, encouraging them
to make their own destinies and fight for their own happiness, but Jake was
right, she'd never done it for herself.

She was trying now, she’d been trying harder to stand up to
Kenneth, to tell him what she wanted. What she expected from him. The longer he
slept in the guest bedroom, the easier it had become, but the ice on his
shoulder was a heavy price to pay.

She sipped her coffee, watching the antique clock on the
wall tick away at the hours before her family would come alive, then went
upstairs to wake the kids and drag them down for breakfast. As soon as they
were settled with some cereal and cartoons, the doorbell rang.

Anyone they knew would have come around to the kitchen door
on the side of the house. She was still in her robe, and she stopped to check
her reflection in the large mirror in the foyer. The dark figure in the stained
glass window was barely visible, the sky still a rainbow of black and red when
she opened the door hesitatingly. She was surprised to see the constable's
uniform.

"Hey Rachel," Henry Lowe said, no smile to soften
the blow, "I hope I didn't wake you. I didn't want to come to the kitchen
in case you weren't decent."

"No Henry, we’re up, is everything okay?"

"Sure, sure. But I need to talk to Kenneth, is he
home?"

"He's in the shower."

Silence.

"Wanna come inside and wait?" she asked, pulling
the door wide enough for him to come in, "I've got coffee."

"Umm - sure. I'll have some coffee. Thanks,
Rachel."

"This is weird, Henry, are you sure everything's
okay?" She shut the door behind him and led him towards the kitchen.

"I'd rather wait until Kenneth is out and then we can
talk about it. Where are the kids?" he asked, looking around.

"They're eating breakfast in the den, watching
cartoons."

"Can we shut the door so we can have some privacy?"

She pulled the heavy swinging door closed, turned back with
shaking hands and quietly demanded, "What's the matter?"

"It's just some legal documents, Rachel, I have no
idea what’s inside."

Maybe it was from what happened Friday, they heard
Micheal’s mother was threatening lawsuits, but it had only been two days,
surely not enough time for her to have filed suit.

She pulled a coffee mug from the cabinet and filled it from
the pot. Henry sat in silence while she gathered the sugar and pulled the cream
out of the fridge.

"Sorry Henry. I didn't mean to be ugly to you."

"It's alright. I'm sorry I came over so early."

"How are your kids?"

"They're good, getting big."

"I'll get Kenneth," she said, setting Henry's
coffee on the table and heading down the hall.

She knocked gingerly at the bedroom door and called softly,
"Kenneth?"

When he didn't answer, she walked in and heard the shower
running in the bathroom.

"Kenneth?"

She pushed the door open. The exhaust fan ran loudly,
they'd needed to replace it ages ago. He was still visible through the steamed
shower glass, leaning against the side where the water ran hot against his
skin.

His eyes were closed, he hadn't seen her.

Kenneth was always in excellent shape, but she hadn't seen
him naked in so long, it took her by surprise. He was leaning back, his broad
shoulders pressed against the glass, his legs spread wide and his face to the
ceiling as he stroked his dick. She thought to turn and walk out silently, but
stood mesmerized instead. She'd never seen him like that. 

His pace quickened, his breathing picked up and his mouth
fell open, he reached forward and leaned against the wall with his free hand,
his head hanging to the floor as he gave his cock half a dozen long slow
strokes, milking it from the base to tip until he came, a deep grunt polishing
off the pornographic scene.

He looked up, catching his breath, and jumped at the sight
of her.

"Jesus Rachel!" he yelled, "You scared the
shit out of me!"

"I'm sorry!" she offered, collecting herself
quickly, pretending she hadn't seen anything, "Henry Lowe is here, I think
he's serving you with legal documents. I'm going to get dressed."

She practically ran out, racing up to her room to get away
from him, unsure who was more humiliated.

She was alarmed at her arousal. And annoyed that he would
rather jerk off than fuck her.

Why, after twelve years of marriage, why was everything
still so strained between them? No matter how attractive she thought he was,
they'd never meshed well in the bedroom. They had plenty of sex, and it hadn’t
been horrible, but she was too insecure, too frigid, and she'd never felt
comfortable trying new things when he'd asked.

Still, she was hurt that he hadn't tried harder. It wasn't
just her, he'd held back, too. 

***

Kenneth sat at the table in his uniform, shuffling through
the paperwork.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

"Not really."

Henry sat drinking his coffee, as if he had nothing better
to do than sit around her kitchen soaking up the drama. His observations would
probably make their way to the nail salon before she made it to her office.

She poured herself some more coffee and considered how best
to have this conversation without giving Henry ammunition to run and share with
his wife.

"Anything I can do, Kenneth?"

"No, I've got to get to the station. We'll talk
later."

"Sure. I'm going to get the kids ready," she said
as she started walking out, then she turned back, "Hey, can you please
drop them off this morning? I want to get some stuff done around here before I
go into the office."

He'd have rather eaten a dead cat if the look he gave her
were any indication, but he agreed and went back to the paperwork on the table.

"See you later, Henry," she said before turning
to leave, "You're welcome to take a travel mug!"

Maybe he’d take the hint and get the hell out of her house.

She rushed the kids out the door as Kenneth waited
impatiently by the jeep, the legal documents tucked safely under his arm.

Dammit.

She'd hoped he would leave them and give her a chance to
look them over. It would take her a week to get him to open up and share what
was going on.

***

Rachel
waited, her breathing slow and deliberate, as his long fingers pulled her
blouse open, and she tensed when a finger brushed against her collarbone. She’d
never exposed herself like this to anyone, and she closed her eyes,
apprehensive, afraid he wouldn’t be attracted to her anymore, that he’d finally
see her flaws and stop loving her.

"You are so perfect, Rachel," he whispered,
giving her the courage to look into his face.

He smiled then in that wicked and beautiful way he had,
urging her to trust him.

"Don't blush," he laughed, "I'm serious, you
are so fucking beautiful. Your skin, your nipples. You're perfect."

"Dylan-"

"You belong in a museum," he said, nuzzling the
soft skin behind her ear, "Or on the cover of Playboy."

She laughed, his fingers traced the skin down towards her
navel, she dug her nails into the sheets, surprised by the heat growing between
her legs.

I love you.

"Wake up."

His teeth sank into her painfully then, his fingers moved
up to her neck, digging into her flesh until she couldn't breathe, and her
hands flew to her throat, desperate to pry him off of her.

"I hate you," she choked.

"Wake up, Mommy. I don't feel good."

She lay in bed with Hunter until he fell back asleep, still
running a fever, then walked down to the kitchen to start the coffee.

She took her usual seat in the corner where she could see
everything going on. She never could have her back to a room, it made her
nervous not to see what was going on around her. The mess in the kitchen had
grown, Rachel wondered how she'd never noticed all of the clutter.

Kenneth walked in and went straight to the coffee.

He was already dressed and appeared to be in a hurry,
either late for work or eager to get away from her. No telling how long he'd
been awake. The old Victorian was designed to give people plenty of privacy in
different parts of the house, and the spare room where he’d been sleeping
downstairs was far enough away for him to come and go without Rachel noticing.

He was mostly a stranger to her now. He reached into the
cabinet and grabbed a coffee mug. She waited for him to acknowledge her.  It
was Wednesday already, she still hadn’t worked up the courage to ask him about
the paperwork he’d been served Monday morning.

For all she knew, it was something to do with the accident
on Friday. He told her at home after the game that they’d performed a serious
procedure on the field because Michael wasn’t getting air to his lungs. He’d
had to cut a hole in his neck and insert a straw-like tool to make room for air
to get through, but he hadn’t said a word about it to her since then. Rachel
was sure he’d performed the procedure flawlessly, but the ambulance that was
normally on site had been running late, and Kenneth didn't have the tools he
needed until they arrived. Something about a ventilator.

He was probably too upset to want to talk about it. Sarah
had texted her the night before, she’d heard Michael went too long without
oxygen, he was still non-responsive. When Rachel told Kenneth, he’d said, “I’m
sorry to hear that,” and walked to his room. And now here he was again this
morning, stone silent.

"Kenneth, can I do anything for you?" she asked.

"No, I'm fine, thank you," he said, stirring
sugar into his coffee and then toying with the spoon.

She tried to think of something to say to him, anything to
show him she was concerned and wanted to help. Their phone had rung nonstop the
last four days, nosy friends and nosy people who weren’t friends calling to
check on him, most called to dig for gossip or to tell them they’d heard
Michael's mother was threatening to sue.

Texas is ripe with attorneys suing or defending hospitals,
doctors, nurses and any other health care provider. It wouldn’t have surprised
anyone if Michael's mother found one willing to take on the Harrison Township
Independent School District or a lowly local paramedic who’d tried to help
while he was off-duty.

"I called Jerry Houseman yesterday,” she said, “He
said not to worry, he’ll represent you if they file a civil suit."

Jerry was a long-time friend and colleague of her
stepfather’s, well respected throughout the state for putting down attorneys
who made big bucks chasing ambulances. “Some assholes will look for any reason
to sue,” he’d said on the phone.

"That's great, Rachel,” Kenneth said, “Tell him I
appreciate it."

He was still toying with that damn sugar spoon.

"Kenneth, please talk to me,” she begged.

He sighed and shoved the spoon back into the sugar bowl,
turning to look at her, he leaned against the counter and tucked one arm under
the other smugly as he lifted the coffee mug to his mouth. Her stomach knotted
while she waited for him to say something, anything. He had to know this
affected her, too.

"Rachel, you haven't wanted to talk to me for a year
unless it was to complain that the kids don't listen, or your mother won't
leave you alone or Jake's boyfriend isn't good enough for him. I've been
waiting for you to
really
talk to me for months, and now that I'm being
threatened with a lawsuit because a kid is brain dead, now you want to talk to
me?"