Chapter 3 - The Quiet Aftermath
The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky over Clarksville in bruised shades of purple and orange. Inside our small, rented suburban home, the silence felt heavier than the heat of the afternoon.
I sat on the edge of Sophie's bed, gently brushing out the dried beer from her fine brown hair. She had finally stopped crying, exhausted from the emotional roller coaster of the barbecue. Her little drawing of the brown horse under a rainbow lay on her nightstand, slightly crumpled where Linda had rudely tossed it onto the kitchen counter before we left.
"Mommy?" Sophie whispered, her big brown eyes looking up at me. "Will Uncle Derek get in trouble?"
I kissed her forehead, smoothing her bangs. "He's going to learn that people can't treat you that way, sweetie. I promise."
"Daddy is sad," she added softly.
"Daddy is just tired," I replied, though my heart ached knowing the truth was far more complicated.
Leaving Sophie's room, I walked down the narrow hallway into the living room. Matthew was sitting on the couch in the dark, an ice pack pressed against his swollen lower lip. The television was off. The only illumination came from the streetlamp outside, casting long, melancholy shadows across the floorboards.
I walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of ice water, and brought it out to him. I sat down on the coffee table facing him, resting my elbows on my knees.
"You need to talk to me, Matthew," I said quietly.
He pulled the ice pack away for a second, wincing as he moved his jaw. "What is there to talk about, Rebecca? You heard my mother. If I go back to the shop tomorrow and Derek has a broken wrist, I'm out. He'll tell Ma I helped you, or that I instigated it. She'll strip me of my shares in the business. Everything my dad built... gone."
"Your father built that shop for *both* of his sons," I pointed out, keeping my tone level. "Not just for Derek to lord over you like a feudal lord while Linda turns a blind eye."
"You don't understand how it works here," Matthew sighed, rubbing his temples with his free hand. "Derek handles the books. He’s the one who talks to the commercial accounts. Without him, the shop stalls. Ma knows that, so she lets him get away with murder. Literally."
"He poured beer on our eight-year-old daughter's head, Matthew. He punched you in the face. And your mother laughed." Every time I said it aloud, the incredulous fury bubbled back up inside my chest. "And you're sitting here worrying about commercial accounts?"
"I'm worried about our livelihood!" Matthew snapped, his voice flashing with sudden, defensive anger. He dropped the ice pack onto the cushion. "It's easy for you to talk about honor and fighting back, Rebecca! You're in the Army! You have a paycheck guaranteed by Uncle Sam, a pension coming, structure! I don't have that! Hayes Auto is all I have!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, but I didn't flinch. In my line of work, panic and anger were liabilities. I took a slow, measured breath.
"You think I take my paycheck for granted?" I asked softly, leaning forward. "You think I don't know what it's like to build something from nothing? Matthew, I earned every stripe on my uniform. I didn't get where I am by letting bullies walk over me or my family."
Matthew slumped back against the couch, burying his face in his hands. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind a pathetic, hollow defeat.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into his palms. "I shouldn't have yelled. I'm just... I'm so tired, Becca. Every single day at that shop is a nightmare. Derek treats me like a hired hand, and Ma watches from the office like she's a queen watching court jesters. I thought... I thought if we went to the barbecue, if we played along, things might get better."
"They won't get better by playing along," I said firmly, reaching out to place my hand over his. His knuckles were bruised and scraped. "Abusers don't stop because you're nice to them. They only stop when they realize the cost of their behavior is too high."
"What are we going to do?" he asked, looking up at me with helpless eyes. "If I go to work tomorrow, Derek is going to humiliate me. If I don't go, Ma fires me."
"You are going to go to work tomorrow," I said, a cold, calculated plan beginning to form in the back of my mind.
Matthew stared at me in disbelief. "Are you crazy? After what happened today? Derek's wrist is probably sprained or fractured! He's going to be out for blood!"
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"Exactly," I said, a slight edge of a smile touching the corner of my lips. "Let him be out for blood. Let him make the first move. But you aren't going in alone, Matthew. I'm going with you."
***
