Page 100 of The Guest Cottage
“I’m sorry,” she whispered softly. “I hadn’t thought of it from that perspective.”
Cort needed her to understand. “I won’t overstep, babe. You’ve got my promise on that. I don’t throw first punches, I don’t escalate situations. But when they start, you can bet your sweet ass I’ll finish them.”
Her eyes grew wider with each word he spoke. In a deliberate and obvious bid to lighten the mood, she said, “I’m glad you think my ass is sweet.”
He went along with that, cupping her lush behind in both hands and saying, “It’s the truth.”
Growing somber again, she nestled down against him. “It tortures me, thinking of what you went through as a kid.”
“No, don’t do that.”
Of course, she didn’t listen. “I can’t imagine how you must feel about it.”
Cort sighed, but here with Marlow, in the quiet evening, naked in bed together . . . talking about it didn’t seem as brutal as usual. “I used to hide in my closet and cover my ears. That’s what Mom taught me to do, always while promising that we’d get away soon. Only I knew she didn’t have anywhere to go. No family to help her, and she wasn’t allowed friends. Then one day I was brushing my teeth, looking at myself in the mirror, when he got home and started on her again. Just like that, I knew I couldn’t take it anymore.”
The kiss she pressed to his chest, right over his heart, encouraged him to keep going.
“I knew if I went down that road, it was going to be bad. He’d knocked me around before, but Mom would always step in. Even knowing she’d take a beating. She always protected me as much as she could.”
“How old were you?”
“That last time? Twelve. A big twelve, tall but scrawny . . .” He could recall that ordeal as if it was yesterday, all the emotions, fear and pain, desperation and horror, and ultimately, pride. “I did what I could, used what weapons I could find, like a bottle, a book, even a lamp.” Normally, remembering would be awful, and talking about it impossible. It was Marlow who made all the difference. “I hurt him. I know that, because he staggered, and God, he cursed up a storm. I think he planned to kill me, or at least hurt me as much as he could.”
She squeezed closer, and without her saying a word, he knew she was crying again. Amazing Marlow, the woman who only cried for others, never for herself.
“I caught him in the head with the lamp, and that did some damage. He started out drunk, but then he was disoriented, too.” The scene spread out in his mind, a bright, gruesome visual. “He was bleeding everywhere before he fell. Mom kept sobbing.” That had been the worst part. Her terror. Her uncertainty about what to do. “To this day, I can’t bear to hear a woman sobbing. It rips me apart.”
“I swear to never sob,” she said tearfully.
That vow prompted a small smile. Cort tipped up her face. “I swear to never give you reason to sob.” Using both thumbs, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. “But if you ever need to, for any reason at all, I’ll hold you. I’ll fix what I can for you, and otherwise just be there for you.”
Her lips trembled. “Thank you.”
“Do you know, you’re always thanking everyone?”
She dipped her chin in a small nod. “Because I appreciate all the wonderful people in my life, and Cort? You’re the one I appreciate the most.”
That vow sounded mighty sweet to him. He hoped she felt the same after the Wednesday meeting, because he was betting everything on it.
Smoothing her hand over his chest, she asked, “You and your mother got away then?”
“No. There were a few more beatings while she tried to save enough so we could. The thing is, I realized I preferred getting beaten to cowering. I felt a hell of a lot better facing my dad than standing back and being a victim or letting my mother face him alone. It wouldn’t be the same for everyone, I know that, but I learned that facing my problems head-on rather than trying to hide from them allowed me to like myself more.” Casually, as he spoke, he trailed his fingers through her hair, detangling it, smoothing it. Just enjoying touching her. “It wasn’t long before we were able to leave. Mom worried about everything, though. Would we have enough food, enough heat in the winter. Men. Strangers.” Those had been trying times. “We both worked.”
“At twelve?”
“You’d be surprised how much a motivated kid can do. Mom did housekeeping at a little roach-infested motel, and the owner paid me to get the trash from the public areas, to sweep the entrances, and keep the lot cleared. Every time he handed me an extra five bucks, it felt like a step forward. Occasionally, someone would order pizza and give me a slice.” He smiled, remembering how much he’d loved food back then. Like many boys his age, he’d been a bottomless pit. “Overall, it was tough, but sometimes an adventure. I learned a lot about myself.”
“You learned you wanted to be a Marine?”
“Real life heroes, that’s what they were to me. Then I signed on, and man, if you think I loved it all, you’d be wrong.” He didn’t say it, but becoming a Marine had carved him, taking him from a block of cement and turning him into steel. “I loved what it did to me, how it taught me so much. I enlisted with a lot of rage. I used to dream about finding my dad and taking him apart. Literally. That image in my mind was what got me through. Well, that and my mom. I’d always thought she was soft and frail, because Dad hurt her so easily and there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.” Remembering that shamed him. “Now I realize she was the toughest woman I’ve ever known.”
“She had to be. And she had to have a huge heart, too. I think she must have loved you the way Pixie loves Andy.”
“Strongest thing in the world,” he agreed. “A mother’s love.”
Marlow smiled sadly. “A dad’s love is the same. I’m so sorry you never got to feel that.”
Cort didn’t mind saying, “Herman is close. I have massive respect for him. Gratitude, too. He represents the best parts of this town. Hardworking, honest, open, and caring about others.”
