was failure.”
“Did you try to get him to stop blaming others and take charge of his life?”
She nodded. “Lots of long sermons, but things went from bad to worse. He would jokingly say that Sealand meant more to me than he did. I started sensing anger under the jokes, so I tried as hard as I knew how to make him see how much he meant to me. We had planned a night out, but I had an unexpected business dinner to attend. He was drinking when I got home. We argued and he slapped me.”
“Is that when you left?”
“I left, but not immediately. I just sat there at first, too stunned to react, and he fell asleep. The more I thought of what had happened, the sting on my skin…” She shook her head, as if seeking to clear it of a painful memory. “I just went crazy. I looked all over the house for something to hit him with, but a stupid wrench was the heaviest thing I could find. I raised it over my head and came down as hard as I could. When he didn’t move, I thought I had killed him. I ran out and drove to my parents’ home. He had already called, so they knew he was okay. The blow just glanced the side of his head, but the only thing I saw was blood and lifelessness.”
She shivered as she recounted that last, fatal blow to her marriage.
“Then I saw the anger in my father’s eyes when I said Stan had slapped me. He calmly asked what I wanted to do. I said I wanted a divorce. He and Mom drove me back to the apartment and Mom helped me pack while Dad listened to Stan slobber on and on about how my job was coming between us and about how much he loved me. After I loaded my things into the van, Dad pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket and stuck the barrel down Stan’s throat.”
Travis swallowed hard. “Mercy!”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Mom and I were both shocked. I didn’t know Dad even owned a gun.” She chuckled. “Of course the biggest shock was on Stanford’s face. I’ll never forget that look.”
Her smile vanished. “He called every day for weeks, begging me to come home and give our marriage another try. I almost gave in several times, but I couldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened that night, what might happen if he became abusive again. The uncertainty of living in a potentially explosive situation is not my idea of control.”
“I can’t say I blame you or your father. Any man who would hit a woman deserves to have a gun shoved down his throat. I’m glad you learned to say when, where, and how much. Did your grandmother teach you any other lessons that helped you become the dynamic woman you are?”
“I wouldn’t use the word dynamic , but I did learn one lesson that has kept me on the straight and narrow. Mama Em was a vibrant woman who became miserable when Parkinson’s slowed her down. She walked slowly, usually with a cane, but she continued her daily walks. Daddy was afraid she’d fall. He told me to go with her and I always did, except on the day after my twelfth birthday. I was listening to my new stereo and let her go out alone.”
She bowed her head. “I intended to follow, but got too caught up in having fun. When darkness came and she wasn’t back, I took my little brother and walked around the block at least ten times without finding her. I can’t tell you how scared I was.”
“That she was hurt or that you’d get in trouble for letting her go out alone?”
“Both. I was afraid she was hurt and couldn’t get home or that someone had harmed her. My imagination ran wild. I remembered a shortcut through this vacant lot and dragged my brother, screaming and yelling, into an overgrown mess between two buildings. We found her, frightened but otherwise unharmed.” Her eyes moistened. “She was lucid most of the time, but the onset of senility played havoc with her mind. It saddened me to see her physically and mentally deteriorate.
“I told my dad about it right away, and that became another prelude to one of his many parables. He said
“Did you try to get him to stop blaming others and take charge of his life?”
She nodded. “Lots of long sermons, but things went from bad to worse. He would jokingly say that Sealand meant more to me than he did. I started sensing anger under the jokes, so I tried as hard as I knew how to make him see how much he meant to me. We had planned a night out, but I had an unexpected business dinner to attend. He was drinking when I got home. We argued and he slapped me.”
“Is that when you left?”
“I left, but not immediately. I just sat there at first, too stunned to react, and he fell asleep. The more I thought of what had happened, the sting on my skin…” She shook her head, as if seeking to clear it of a painful memory. “I just went crazy. I looked all over the house for something to hit him with, but a stupid wrench was the heaviest thing I could find. I raised it over my head and came down as hard as I could. When he didn’t move, I thought I had killed him. I ran out and drove to my parents’ home. He had already called, so they knew he was okay. The blow just glanced the side of his head, but the only thing I saw was blood and lifelessness.”
She shivered as she recounted that last, fatal blow to her marriage.
“Then I saw the anger in my father’s eyes when I said Stan had slapped me. He calmly asked what I wanted to do. I said I wanted a divorce. He and Mom drove me back to the apartment and Mom helped me pack while Dad listened to Stan slobber on and on about how my job was coming between us and about how much he loved me. After I loaded my things into the van, Dad pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket and stuck the barrel down Stan’s throat.”
Travis swallowed hard. “Mercy!”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. Mom and I were both shocked. I didn’t know Dad even owned a gun.” She chuckled. “Of course the biggest shock was on Stanford’s face. I’ll never forget that look.”
Her smile vanished. “He called every day for weeks, begging me to come home and give our marriage another try. I almost gave in several times, but I couldn’t stop thinking of what could have happened that night, what might happen if he became abusive again. The uncertainty of living in a potentially explosive situation is not my idea of control.”
“I can’t say I blame you or your father. Any man who would hit a woman deserves to have a gun shoved down his throat. I’m glad you learned to say when, where, and how much. Did your grandmother teach you any other lessons that helped you become the dynamic woman you are?”
“I wouldn’t use the word dynamic , but I did learn one lesson that has kept me on the straight and narrow. Mama Em was a vibrant woman who became miserable when Parkinson’s slowed her down. She walked slowly, usually with a cane, but she continued her daily walks. Daddy was afraid she’d fall. He told me to go with her and I always did, except on the day after my twelfth birthday. I was listening to my new stereo and let her go out alone.”
She bowed her head. “I intended to follow, but got too caught up in having fun. When darkness came and she wasn’t back, I took my little brother and walked around the block at least ten times without finding her. I can’t tell you how scared I was.”
“That she was hurt or that you’d get in trouble for letting her go out alone?”
“Both. I was afraid she was hurt and couldn’t get home or that someone had harmed her. My imagination ran wild. I remembered a shortcut through this vacant lot and dragged my brother, screaming and yelling, into an overgrown mess between two buildings. We found her, frightened but otherwise unharmed.” Her eyes moistened. “She was lucid most of the time, but the onset of senility played havoc with her mind. It saddened me to see her physically and mentally deteriorate.
“I told my dad about it right away, and that became another prelude to one of his many parables. He said
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