Tara Quinn - Husband by Choice

“No, he didn’t. He went through counseling, and once he saw what he’d been, he was truly sorry. He met with his group every week, long after he’d completed the program, just to make sure he never slipped back. He said that since he hadn’t seen the abusiveness in himself to begin with—you know the lies they tell you, they sometimes believe them, too—he wasn’t going to take a chance on having that happen again. He really did love me....”

Renee’s eyes filled with tears. And Jenna was at a loss. Hearing about an abuser who was also one’s true love wasn’t...something she’d ever been privy to before. Or even considered.

“But...you’re here....”

“Gary died last year, just after Christmas. Our son, Brian, who’d gone through a divorce shortly before his father was hurt, had moved home to help me take care of Gary these last few years. He... It was hard for him, to see his father so helpless....”

Uh-oh. Jenna’s heart lurched.

“...the counseling, he was all for it at first. I mean, he’d known the back of his father’s hand a few dozen times himself. But later...he said the weekly meetings, they turned his dad into a wuss....”

Wanting to stop what was coming so Renee wouldn’t have to relive something she shouldn’t have had to endure the first time, Jenna held herself back with effort.

Renee wouldn’t be talking to her if she didn’t need to do so. And sometimes, worse than having to tell your story when you didn’t want to, was having someone tell you to stop when you did. “Brian’s ex-wife, at the time of the divorce, had claimed that he was too much like his father. Brian said she was crazy, that she was just trying to make his life miserable, to make him pay, because he couldn’t put up with her lying anymore. He’d caught her with another man. We believed him at the time. I knew my son. He’s the assistant pastor of our church....”

Renee stopped and her chin trembled. So did her lips. But her eyes didn’t waver as she looked at Jenna and continued, as softly as before, “The first time he raised a hand to me, I died a bit inside.”

A mother shouldn’t ever have to face such an atrocity. No woman should ever have to face abuse period, most particularly from a trusted loved one, but from your own child? From the human that you grew and bore and raised with unconditional love? Your own flesh and blood?

In the moment, Jenna felt incredibly lucky.

“You’re here because Brian’s been abusing you?”

“That’s right. It’s been... I’ve been here for six weeks, and really, I should be ready to go, but....”

“Are they pressuring you to move on?” Most places had to. With money constraints and regulations that didn’t allow them to house residents long-term; shelters could only do so much.

“No! They don’t do that here. Not unless you aren’t trying to help yourself. But even then, they help find alternate housing. The Stand isn’t funded principally with government money. There’s some, but it’s primarily funded by investments and private donations and a lot of the work is done by volunteers, so they aren’t as tied to generic regulations as most places.”

“So you can stay until you’re ready to go....”

She nodded. “I just... He’s still a pastor at the church where he grew up. At the church where his father and I grew up. I’m just... I...” She glanced at Jenna’s computer screen.

“I was standing behind you for a bit before I called attention to myself. I... You were shaking and seemed upset, but you were engrossed and I... The article you were reading... I...”

Understanding dawned. She’d been reading about the abuser who used religion to keep his victim under his control. “You want to help your son.”

With tears in her eyes, Renee nodded.

“You realize you can’t help him if he’s not willing to help himself.”

“Are you telling yourself the same thing?”

“I’m... My situation is different.” She couldn’t let the other woman assume...she couldn’t be responsible for setting an erroneous example. She was willing to die in this quest. She couldn’t be responsible for another woman doing so. “I’m not trying to help anyone else.” The words finally came to her. “I’m trying to help myself by gaining an understanding of...the other side.”

Renee studied her for a long minute. And then, standing, she nodded.

“Please.” Jenna reached out to her and was surprised when Renee took hold of her hand. “I’ll... We can study together, if you like. We can learn together. I just...promise me one thing....”

“What’s that?”

“That you won’t put yourself in a position that will allow your son to hurt you again.”

“I can promise you that I won’t have false hopes where he, or my ability to help him, is concerned. But he’s my only child, Jenna. I can’t promise never to be alone with him again.”

It wasn’t what she’d asked. But she understood that it was all the other woman could give.

And that made it enough.

For now.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHANTEL HAD TO leave on Saturday. She was on shift that evening. Max didn’t want her to go. While she was there, working with him, he felt as though he was actively on the way to finding his wife. He was actually doing something to bring her back home to him.

He’d continue his online searching—people were more open on social networks. They showed their true colors. And as Chantel had said, abusers with ego problems could be drawn by a social network’s platform to brag about oneself.

Cops, she’d warned, were less likely to use online social networks, however, because they were so aware of their traceability.

She’d promised to continue investigating from her end, though she was treading carefully until she found out how the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department viewed Steve Smith—as one of their own that they would protect, or as one who’d betrayed them all by making a mockery of the badge.

From what she’d been able to determine so far, it was the former.

“What about that list of contacts I gave you?” he asked her while Caleb sat on the living room floor engrossed in a kids’ show on TV. He and Meri didn’t let the television babysit Caleb. But Meri had walked out on them and now he had to make do the best he could.

Ashamed of the thought he moved a little closer to the front door, while still keeping his young son in sight.

“Dead ends.”

Chantel was doing what she could. So was he.

And so, he was certain, was Meri.

It would all work out. They were going to be fine.

“I’ll stay on this, Max,” she told him. “Between the two of us we’ve spoken with anyone she had contact with recently. I’ll continue making calls.”

“Thank you.” But... “Something made her run.”

“I agree. I’m just not convinced it was the dangerous threat you assume it was. She might just be a runner, Max.” Chantel’s voice was soft. “You married a woman with serious issues. They aren’t her fault. I’m not saying they are. Based on the little bit we’ve been able to put together this weekend— her aloneness in the world, her marriage to an allegedly abusive detective from LVMPD, a man who is now a private investigator and has hunted her down on four different occasions—she couldn’t help but have issues. Some women, when they start to feel emotionally pressured, or to feel as if they’re going to fail, run. It’s their way of avoiding the pain of disappointing those they love.”

He wanted to push her out the door and close it behind her. Permanently. “You’re saying they’re motivated by their fear of retribution to get out before they disappoint,” he guessed, because the rational part of him knew there was some truth to her statement.