Key To My Heart (Love Conquers All) (2 page)

Reliving that gut wrenching afternoon exhausted Ava. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Wiping tears from her face with the palm of her hand, she placed unsteady feet on the floor.

After stripping off the damp nightgown, she padded over to the bureau on the other side of the room. Opening the third drawer, she pulled out a yellow nightshirt and covered her nude body. Before closing the drawer, her hand blindly searched in the dark for her most precious possessions.

Taking slow, measured steps, her hand trembled as she hit the light switch on the wall. Holding on to her possessions with one hand, Ava used the other to shield her eyes for the few seconds it took them to adjust to the blinding light.

Moving back over to the bed, Ava slowly sat on the edge. Ever so carefully, she opened the first Ziploc bag, removing its content. Ava brought the tiny undershirt to her nose. If she inhaled deeply, real deeply, she could still smell the scent of her precious baby. Holding the soft fabric to her face, she said a prayer for the woman who had showed her some mercy.

“Please, Ms. Peretti, I’m begging you not to tell anyone I’ve done this. You understand I could lose my job?”

Ava numbly nodded her head. The hurt she was feeling was so deep her tongue had become paralyzed. This was all too much for her to take in. How could he do this to me?

The middle-aged nurse hesitated, looking over her shoulder and double checking that the door was firmly closed. Bringing her hand from behind her back, Ava noticed the two small, clear, plastic Ziploc bags she held. Coming closer, the nurse kept her voice soft and gentle. “I just felt so bad for you. After your baby was cleaned up and dressed, I went back to the nursery and took off her undershirt.”

Gingerly sitting next to Ava on the hospital bed, she continued. “And I clipped a lock of her hair for you.” Sadly smiling at Ava, the kind, older woman placed the baggies in Ava’s trembling hands. “Your baby has a beautiful head of thick, dark hair.”

The kind woman didn’t mean any harm, but hearing her refer to the infant as “your baby” further crushed Ava’s heart and spirit. She just wanted to die. The sob she released sounded like that of a wounded animal caught in a steel trap. Nothing could compare to this hurt, not even Langston’s betrayal.

Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Ava tenderly folded the tiny undershirt before laying it on her lap. Ever so carefully, she opened the other clear bag and removed the lock of hair, gently twirling the delicate strands between her fingers.

As she made the only connection she had with her daughter, Ava’s chest tightened to the point where breathing was almost difficult. She wanted her baby back. She had an innate feeling that her baby needed her.

Seven-year-old Zoe Warrington ran excitedly through the foyer of the immaculate Georgetown townhouse. The white sheet of paper she held in her tiny hand waved in the air like a flag on a warm, breezy day. She had to find her daddy. She had to tell him that she’d gotten another 100 percent on her spelling test.

Zoe giggled as she ran. Mrs. Garrett, her second grade teacher, had put a shiny gold star on the top of her paper. You only got one of those when you spelled all the words correctly. Her daddy had promised her that if she got another good grade on her spelling test, they’d go out for ice cream. Zoe had studied really hard because she loved going out with her daddy. He was so silly. He always made her laugh.

The navy blue Mary Jane shoes she wore skidded on the highly polished hardwood floor as she came to an abrupt stop. The small child’s body almost collided into the looming, imposing figure that stood before her.

All merriment left the child’s countenance as she stared, frightened and wide eyed, at the angry face glaring at her.

“Hello, Grandmother,” Zoe whispered, hoping she hadn’t made the elderly woman angry
again
.

Beatrice Warrington’s angry glare remained fixed on the child. She couldn’t stand the sight of her. Nothing of this child resembled a Warrington. Even her coloring had been tainted by that half-breed mother of hers. Every time Beatrice looked at Zoe, she could only see the tramp who had tried to ruin her family. If she had her way, the little bastard would have been in Connecticut with the couple who had wanted her.

“Why are you running in the house like a wild animal?” Beatrice angrily snapped.

A confused look marred Zoe’s innocent features as she gazed at her grandmother. The only time she ran in the house was when she was looking for her daddy because she had something really important to tell him, like now. She wanted to tell this to her grandmother, but when she went to open her mouth, fear paralyzed her vocal cords.

“Answer me, you little dunce!” the older woman shrieked, moving in on the defenseless child.

Dropping her head, two fat crocodile tears fell from her huge, dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”

Why doesn’t Grandmother like me?
Zoe wondered as she held her head low, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

All her friends at school had grandmothers that took them to see the
Nutcracker
at Christmastime, and to the zoo in the spring. Their grandmothers enjoyed teaching them how to bake cookies and put frosting on cakes. But all Zoe’s grandmother did was yell and spank her when her daddy wasn’t around. Nothing she did made Grandmother happy.

Zoe let out a yelp when Beatrice reached out and roughly yanked her by the shoulder. “You’re always sorry. Just like that mo—”

“Mother,” the deep baritone voice rumbled in a threatening tone. Langston’s jaw clenched as he pierced his mother with a steely glare. “Zoe, come here,” he commanded in a gentle tone as he held out his hand.

Once she was near the safety of her father, Zoe flung her arms around his waist, sobbing. “I’m sorry, Daddy, for running in the house.”

Langston held the trembling child close as he tenderly stroked the top of her head. “It’s all right, Love Bug.”

Disengaging from the embrace, he kneeled down so that he was eye level with Zoe. Taking a white handkerchief from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he lovingly dried his little girl’s tears. When another large tear rolled down her cinnamon check, he shot his mother a harsh glare.

Her response was a haughty lift of her chin as she rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath.

Picking up Zoe, he held her close again, soothingly rubbing her back. “Stop crying, Love Bug,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But…Grand…mother—”

Langston stopped Zoe’s stuttering by placing a large finger against her tiny trembling lips. “What did Daddy say?” he asked.

Zoe’s eyes nervously averted to Beatrice’s rigid form before looking into her father’s warm, dark eyes. “You said I didn’t do anything wrong,” she softly whispered, afraid her grandmother might hear.

Playfully tweaking her nose, Langston confirmed, “That’s right. Now give me a big hug.”

Zoe smiled through red, puffy eyes. She loved her daddy. He was always so nice to her. Every day when she came home from school he was in his home office waiting for her. And in the evenings usually just the two of them had dinner together, although sometimes Mr. Charles joined them. After dinner her daddy would help her with her homework, and then they’d pick out her clothes for school before she brushed her teeth and took her bath. When her bath was done he’d read her a bedtime story. And sometimes he would let her read to him.

Wrapping tiny arms around Langston’s neck, the paper in her hand crumbled as she squeezed him tightly.

Hearing the crumbling paper, he asked, “What’s that? A little mouse up your sleeve?”

Letting go of his neck, Zoe giggled. “You’re so silly, Daddy. It’s not a mouse. It’s my spelling test. I got a gold star.” Zoe beamed, any indication of her sobbing from just moments before instantly disappearing from her face.

Langston struggled to keep his anger in check. His smile was tight and didn’t quite reach his eyes when he smiled at his daughter. Zoe had been running to show him how well she had done on her test. Yesterday morning he had quizzed her as his driver and butler, Charles, dropped her off at school, and then dropped him at his downtown office. His mother had yelled at his daughter, who had only wanted to share her excitement with him. The thought of how she treated Zoe made his blood boil.

“Love Bug, you did a wonderful job,” Langston said after giving her a kiss on the nose. He then set her down on the floor. “Go upstairs, Zoe, and change your clothes. Tonight we’re going out to celebrate.”

“To Friendly’s, Daddy?”

“Wherever you want to go, Love Bug.”

“OK, Daddy. I’m going to my room now to get ready.” The child squealed in delight, skipping out of the room.

Beatrice watched in disgust as Zoe skipped off.
A little cunning wench. Just like her whorish mother.

The second Langston was certain Zoe was out of earshot, he angrily addressed his mother.

“Didn’t I tell you never to put your hands on my child?” Langston’s tone came out razor sharp. Last year when Zoe was six, he became aware that Beatrice had begun to beat Zoe. The beatings always occurred while he was away on overnight business trips and Zoe was left in Beatrice’s care.

Langston finally learned of the abuse when Zoe’s headmaster contacted him. Zoe had arrived to school upset and crying, and when her teacher went to touch her arm and comfort her, Zoe yelled out in pain. Concerned, the teacher ushered Zoe down the hall to the nurse’s office. After the adults were able to coax Zoe out of her sweater to inspect the source of her discomfort, both the nurse and the teacher gasped in horror. The small child had bruising on her arms, shoulders, and back that was clearly the result of being hit multiple times with a belt.

After hearing of his daughter’s abuse, Langston abruptly ended his business meeting and was on a flight back to his home in Georgetown as soon as possible. Although his mother was very strict with Zoe and didn’t seem to have much patience with her, Langston never believed she would physically harm her own grandchild. When the headmaster assured him that he would not report the incident to the authorities because of the family’s status in the community, Langston, for the second time in his life, cursed the fact that he was a Warrington.

That night when he arrived at the home of his parents and witnessed the evidence of the abuse, something inside him snapped. It had taken his elderly father’s tearful, slurred pleadings to calm him down as he threatened to press charges against his mother for abusing his daughter. The elder Warrington was already fragile, and with each passing day withering away. Pressing charges would have surely sent him to the grave that night instead of four weeks later.

Now Beatrice let out an indignant huff, remembering Langston’s warning last year. She wasn’t going to hit the little brat, just give her a good shaking. The child was spoiled rotten, rotten to the core. A good shaking wouldn’t kill her. That son of hers had no idea how to raise a child. He let her get away with too much.

“Langston, you spoil that child something awful. She has no business running through this house like she’s in the projects somewhere. But I suppose the little
thing
can’t help it. Look who bred her,” Beatrice hissed, eyes slit so severely they were nearly closed.

Shaking his head, Langston put his hands in his trouser pockets as he studied his wingtip shoes. Every chance his mother got she made acrid references hurled at Ava. From the moment she laid eyes on Ava, she despised her. Whenever Langston brought her around, the older woman had no qualms letting the younger woman know she wasn’t welcomed.

Beatrice was a master at degrading people. Her insults were calculating and subtle in nature. She’d compliment Ava, telling her the dress and shoes she wore were beautiful, but when Beatrice’s husband and son would leave the room, she’d taunt, “I guess dating my son
allows
you such luxuries.”

Beatrice would never come right out and tell Ava to her face that she believed she was sleeping with her son to get nice things. Surely someone from South Philly couldn’t afford them. The woman was beyond ignorant. She had no idea that the area of South Philly where Ava parents owned their home was prime real estate that had more than tripled in value from when they purchased it in the mid 1970s. The fact that the Peretti family came to the States and started a thriving construction company in the 1930s was of no importance to the snobbish woman. Nor did it occur to her that Ava’s father sent Ava a handsome monthly allowance to buy whatever she wished. The last thing she needed was for Langston or any man to buy her things.

When Ava would confront Langston about his mother’s behavior, he’d accuse her of being overly sensitive. He’d make excuses on Beatrice’s behalf, explaining away her offenses.

For more than two years Ava endured his mother’s blatant meanness. Complaining only added to the strain of Ava and Langston’s relationship. Often they’d end up arguing because of something Beatrice said or did to Ava. Because she loved Langston, Ava would bite her tongue and ignore the woman.

Finally having had enough of Beatrice’s mess, one day Ava heatedly demanded, “What did I ever do to you for you to hate me so much?”