Deep Down (Lockhart Brothers #1) (17 page)

The end of my shift was just a few minutes away and I was cleaning behind the front counter when Larry Waters, the Lovely Police Chief, approached and waved me over.

“You want a carryout order, Chief?” I asked, pulling out my order pad.

“No.” He glanced from side to side before continuing. “I’m here to say I’m real sorry about what happened with Sergeant Marsh. I talked to several witnesses and he’s been suspended pending a review of his employment by the Police Commission.”

“He might get fired?” I shook my head. “If he doesn’t come in here anymore, that’s enough for me. I don’t expect him to get in trouble at work.”

“Is it true that he’s touched you inappropriately?”

I looked off to the side and sighed. “Inappropriate means different things to different people.”

“In any way that was unwanted by you. That would be inappropriate.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s the only one. It kind of goes with the territory of being a waitress.”

“It sure as hell doesn’t have to. If this happens with any customer—anyone at all—you tell him no, and if it happens again, you call me.”

I nodded silently.

“Police officers have to conform to a higher standard, Ivy,” he continued. “We’re in a position of trust. Would it be okay for me to interview you down at the station about how Sergeant Marsh has touched you and any unwelcome comments he’s made?”

“I don’t know. I try to keep a very low profile, and the last thing I need is a police officer mad at me.”

“You let me worry about that. This behavior is often a pattern. You might be protecting another woman from unwanted advances or something even worse.”

Tears welled in my eyes as the past pushed its way into my consciousness. Should I have turned my father in for what he did to me? Keeping it a secret had seemed like the only way I could survive it. In a lot of ways, it still did. I’d reinvented myself in Lovely. Here, I was a single mom who worked and kept to herself. That was who I wanted to be. I couldn’t become a woman whose child was her half-brother. And more importantly, Noah didn’t deserve the stigma the truth would bring. He was completely innocent. I’d protect him from anything.

Though I couldn’t tell anyone what my father had done, I could be honest about Tom. And it was hard to refuse the chief, who was looking at me earnestly.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath and wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I’ll come in and talk to you.”

We agreed on a day and time and the chief handed me a slip of paper with the appointment written on it. I went back to work, but my emotions were still running high.

It wasn’t Tom Marsh I was upset about, but my father. He’d put me in an impossible position. Turn him in and tell the world my son was the product of an incestuous sexual assault, or keep it secret and let him get away with it.

My hands shook as I washed dishes at the end of my shift. I’d asked to get off the floor because I couldn’t bear talking to customers right now.

Picking up Noah and spending time with him should have relaxed me. But looking into his big innocent eyes made me more resentful toward my father than ever. My son wouldn’t have a daddy to play ball with him. He’d miss out on so much. Then there was the added worry of health problems because he was technically inbred. My beautiful son being labeled with something so ugly was brutally unfair. Noah deserved everything good.

I didn’t call April back, because I was so upset I was liable to blurt out the whole truth to her. She suspected I’d been sexually assaulted and had encouraged me to get counseling shortly after I arrived in Lovely. I’d spoken to someone for a couple months, never telling the complete truth. It had helped some, but the demons were never far away.

I hugged Noah close until he fell asleep, but I was too emotional to sleep myself. I crept out of bed and sat down on the couch with an empty notebook and pen.

Dear Brad,

I’ll never call you Dad again. As a father you are dead to me. I figured I was dead to you, too, until I received your letter.

You want to meet your grandson? You have no grandson. You have no daughter. You have no one and nothing, and you’re too arrogant to realize it’s your own fault.

What you did to me was unimaginable. You took away my belief in the goodness of people. You took away my ability to trust. Your own sexual gratification meant more to you than the daughter who was still grieving her mother’s death.

Drunk or not, what you did was wrong. And the horror I couldn’t imagine back then is all too familiar now. I relive what you did in nightmares that leave me shaking and crying.

My letter was not an attempt to get back in touch with you. I only wanted the medical information the doctor needs about my son.

Why can’t you bring yourself to say it? You raped me. My son will never have a father because the sick, twisted truth is that if he had one, it would be you.

You disgust me. I hate you. I wish there was a way for me to hurt you as much as you hurt me. I believe there’s a special place in hell for you. It’s reserved for men worse than those who rape their daughters. This place is for men who do it and aren’t even sorry.

Rot there.

Ivy

My notebook was filled with crossed out words and rewrites, so I penned a final draft and re-read it. I tore it out, folded it and put it in an envelope.

My hand shook as I took it to work the next morning. I was so afraid of what he would say.

But it wasn’t my father I was worried about—he’d never see this letter. It was Walter. I left the envelope next to his breakfast spot.

He wanted me to write about something that mattered and I had. Whether he liked it or not, I felt stronger for having written it. I’d finally put into words the feelings that had been buried in me for so long.

FOR THE THIRD DAY
in a row, I was waiting in the seat next to Walter’s when he arrived for breakfast at seven forty-five.

“Morning, Mr. Grieves,” I said.

He grunted with disapproval. “If you think you can annoy me into changing my mind, think again.”

Ivy approached and poured coffee into his mug.

“Good morning, Walter.” She pulled out her order pad. “I see you’ve got company again.”

“Yes, much to my dismay. It’s bad when a man can’t even have his breakfast in peace.” The words were grumpy, but there was a twinkle in his eyes.

Ivy tried to hide a smile. “Well, what can I get you?”

He rattled off his usual order and Ivy caught my eye before she walked away.

“She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I said to Walter. “It’s not the beauty you see in magazines or on TV. It’s something very rare. I can tell when I say something that makes her happy because her eyes just shine.”

Walter ignored me, scanning the pages of the newspaper, but I continued.

“You know, as crazy as this sounds, I think I’m in love with her.”

He pretended to ignore me, but I saw his eyes widen. Walter was listening, alright.

“I know right when it happened, too,” I said. “I remember feeling like my chest just wasn’t big enough for my heart in that moment. I saw her at Jimmy’s Italian Place with her son. The looks on their faces . . . it was pure, unconditional love. I could feel her devotion to him. She has a good heart, and that’s where her beauty comes from.”

“Well, you’re a real poet,” he muttered.

I shrugged. “It’s the truth. I’ll be sitting here at seven forty-five for as many days as it takes to convince you. She’s worth it.”

He mumbled something, but I missed it. I was too busy watching Ivy making coffee. It was a simple task, but her long, graceful fingers made it captivating. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and I imagined myself releasing it to let it fall around her shoulders, and then burying my face in it.

I’d been adamant about not falling for a woman in Lovely when I moved back. But I’d had no say in the matter. Ivy had grabbed my attention at Gene’s Diner, mesmerized me at a barn dance and stolen my heart at Jimmy’s Italian Place.

It was love, Lovely style. Now I just needed her to feel the same way about me.

BY THE END OF
my shift, my back ached. The new waitress had decided to quit by not showing up this morning, and we’d all had to pull extra weight. And my extra weight had been literal. I’d rotated supplies in the walk-in cooler so the new deliveries were placed in the back allowing us to use stuff in the order it had come in. The job was usually done by Gene or Shawn, but Gene hadn’t been able to get out from behind the grill all day, and Shawn had been bussing tables nonstop, so I’d stayed an hour after my shift to get it done.

When I finally walked outside the winter air felt good. I took in a deep breath and blew it out, a visible cloud appearing in front of my mouth.

“Ivy,” a male voice said.

I jumped with surprise as I turned.

“Walter.” I laughed lightly. “You scared me.”

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you when you’re not working,” he said. “Can we take a short walk?”

I looked him over as I nodded. He wore a dark newsboy hat and a matching wool trench coat, his hands stuffed in the pockets. I found him a little intimidating. Right now, he seemed a lot more like a famous author than my grouchy customer.

“I read your letter,” he said, looking straight ahead as we walked down one side of the downtown square. “May I ask if it was fact or fiction?”

I zipped up my sweatshirt to ward off the cold. “Fact.”

A few moments of silence passed before Walter spoke.

“I’d first like to say how sorry I am for what happened to you.”

I stared at the cars moving in the distance, unable to look at Walter.

“I didn’t write it because I wanted your sympathy.”

Walter chuckled beside me. “I realize that. Do you ever think about the fact that every person has his own story? Like that fellow over there.” He nodded toward a man on the other side of the square who was walking briskly, his head bowed. “He could be fighting some inner battle we’ll never know about.”

“That’s true.”

“My wife left me after our daughter died,” he said. “I didn’t know how to cope. I started drinking. When she needed me most, I wasn’t there. It’s something I’ll always have to carry with me.”