Divided Hearts Page 11

  She knew how Joyce had come across to both Matthew and his father. Harsh, unyielding, and sharp. They didn’t realize she was a woman defending her daughter.

  “Mom tried to love him, she really did,” Cory continued when Matthew said nothing. “But when I was two, Zeke became unpredictable in his behaviors. She never knew if he would approve or disapprove of decisions she made or things she did. One day he would tear a strip off her for spending too much on groceries, the next because she was being cheap. He would yell and throw things around and then, in a breath, would stop and apologize.” She stopped, wondering if Matthew truly understood the tension that permeated the house, living with someone like Zeke. The constant uncertainty. How could she translate that into words?

  Still Matthew said nothing, his silence encouraging her to continue.

  “One example of the real Zeke was how he treated me on my birthdays,” she said, looking away. “I was five the first time I remember him yelling at my mother for buying me a present. It wasn’t much, just a little stuffed bear. He was going on how he wanted to be involved, and how was he supposed to be a father to me if she was always taking over? So, when I was six, he took me shopping. I was allowed to pick out a doll. I was so excited. I found just the doll I wanted. Porcelain, with curly hair. But it was too expensive, he said, so I picked out another one. Same deal. Finally, I found one that suited him, and I carried it to the front, happy as a clam. Then, when we got to the cashier, he pulled out his wallet. ‘My goodness, no money. Sorry, honey, we’ll have to do this another day.’ Cory looked Matthew straight in the eye. “The day he promised never came. The next birthday we went through exactly the same scenario. I would get empty boxes at Christmas. ‘Full of hugs,’ he would say. He’d give me a check that would bounce. One of many, I might add. He’d ask me to write up a birthday list, and then sit down and itemize how much each would cost. As he crossed everything out. He was a strange man, with a warped sense of humor. I stopped trusting him when I was nine.”

  The silence between them was absolute. Cory took a few bites of her supper, forcing them down.

  “And later on...” Matthew encouraged.

  Cory swallowed and took a drink of water. “Lots of other promises to take me places and to do things that never materialized. Always, under the surface, was this control thing. He was always ragging on my mother, calling her lazy. He would call my mother horrible names and tell her how useless she was, and then she started getting sick. As I got older, I defended her, then I became the butt of his anger. He was his usual charismatic self in public, but at home, it was another story. At home, my mother was a useless drudge, and I became someone else’s kid, a waste of his money.” She stopped, feeling again the helpless fury that overcame her when Zeke would start in on her mother, when he would make her feel unimportant. A burden. Useless.

  “So your mother divorced him,” Matthew prompted.

  “Our home life was a steady round of fights and anger and intense pain for my mother who was told by the doctor that she was a hypochondriac. I was the one who urged my mother to leave, but she said she had made vows and promises. Zeke, however, didn’t seem to think he needed to keep his promises.”

  “Did you think he was unfaithful?”

  Cory shrugged. “Doesn’t matter anymore. He didn’t treat us well. I don’t imagine he would have been different with anyone else.”

  “What made your mother decide to leave?”

  Cory toyed with her fork, her appetite gone as memory after memory surfaced. “He started hitting me,” she said, laying down her fork and sitting back in her chair, her arms folded over her stomach.

  “I recall that,” Matthew returned. “It was in the file as an allegation.”

  “It was never an allegation.” Cory’s fingers dug into her arms, remembering the questioning from social workers and psychologists and the unbelief that followed her statements. “It was true,” she snapped. “We couldn’t prove that he had been physically abusive. I was never hurt that badly. My mother took me to the doctor to get some proof, but the doctor didn’t believe me or my mother. After all, that same doctor thought she was a hypochondriac. She tried to talk to other doctors, but she couldn’t get in with them.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come across like I was questioning you, Cory.” Matthew sat forward, his hand resting on the table between them as if he were trying to reach out to her. “I’m just stating what was in the file. Trying to find my way through this.”

  Cory drew a slow, steady breath, trying to find equilibrium. “Do you know how many years I’ve said what I just told you, how many times I’ve prayed for someone who would believe me, who would say that I was right?”

  She looked up at him and was undone by the sorrow on his face. For a moment she clung to her anger, but found it hard, looking at Matthew’s expression.

  “It wasn’t really me that he wanted, you see,” Cory continued, unable to stop the flow of words now. “It was the idea that my mom had me during the week. That she had control for five days. He wanted control of the weekends. But sometimes he wasn’t around when I got there. The times he was gone, I went home. Then he would find out and accuse my mother of encouraging me to run away, of not allowing him to have his rights....” Cory faltered.

  “That’s where my father and I came in,” Matthew finished for her.

  “Yes. I guess our lawyer wasn’t as convincing as you both were, because my mother always lost. I ended up having to go see Zeke every weekend and listening to him going on and on about my mother, and, sometimes...” she stopped there, fighting down the anger that could overtake her whenever she thought of Zeke. The fear that could disable her and then make her furious that this man had such a hold over her.

  “Sometimes he would hit you?”

  She nodded.

  “But you said nothing.”

  “No one believed me all the other times, I didn’t think anyone would then.” She fought down the anger, reminding herself that Zeke was gone. He was out of her life.

  “And no one believed your mother,” Matthew put in.

  “I know she didn’t always come across as kind and sympathetic. Life taught her to be hard.” She stopped again, wishing she could explain. “However, we still ended up with lawyers’ bills. It took us up until a few months ago to pay them off.” She glanced up at him, aware of what she was saying and the position she had put him in.

  Matthew drew his hand back, frowning down at his plate. He fiddled with his meat, cut a piece, then looked up at her again. “You and your mother moved around a lot. Why was that?”

  Cory felt the beginning of a headache, wishing this was over. Suddenly it didn’t seem as important to her as it once had.

  “It doesn’t matter, Matthew,” she said, taking a sip of water.

  “Yes, it does,” he said, glancing up. “I know something of your side of the story—but only from Zeke’s perspective. I want to hear yours.”

  “Why? Why now? Why not then?”

  Matthew fiddled with his fork, frowning as if considering his answer. “I guess I’m examining other things in my life. Other situations. Wondering what I’m doing and have done. Which decisions were right, which were wrong and done for the wrong reasons.”

  “You want to assuage past guilt, starting with me?” She couldn’t put her finger on why that bothered her.

  “No. Not at all. I want to find out more about you.” He held her gaze, his own sincere, and she wavered, her old feelings for him shifting into the moment.

  “You aren’t going to leave this alone. Are you?”

  He shook his head. and for a moment Cory caught a hint of yearning in his eyes— confusion. Was he really sincere? Would it really matter?

  But a years-long desire to let him know her side of the story pushed aside her resistance.

  “Did you have to move because you had to get away from Zeke?”

  “When I was eighteen, I moved away to go to school. I thought we were done with Ze
ke because I no longer had to see him, but when I came back for Christmas break, I could see she was getting sicker. I found out that Zeke was coming around all the time, full of promises to change. At first my mother believed him despite my warnings. When he stepped up the intimidation and moved to threats, like he always did before, she called me. I came home and saw how frail she really she was. So I told her we were moving.

  “And that started a vicious cycle of Zeke chasing us down and intimidating us, and us moving to get away from him. Each time, I’d have to find another job and explain to each new employer why I never worked more than six months at any given job. When I first saw you in the restaurant, I thought Zeke had found us again.” She felt suddenly weary. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  Matthew pushed his plate away and sat back, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes hard. “Can we get out of here?” he asked, his tone brusque. “Can you stand my company a little longer? I need to go for a walk. Unless you want to finish your meal?”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “Please,” he said, standing as he pulled out his wallet. “You of all people have the least to apologize for.”

  Chapter Nine

  “There’s a path that leads toward the river park,” Cory said. “The same river that runs through Sweet Creek. We could walk there if you want.”

  Matthew only nodded as he held open the heavy front door of the restaurant for Cory, waiting as she stepped past him.

  A heavy silence hung between them as they walked from the parking lot and toward the river. Matthew wondered how to respond. He had pushed and prodded her to this point. She had told him what her life with Zeke Smith was like. He heard the utter sincerity in her voice, the suppressed enmity.

  So how was he supposed to balance what she told him with his own experiences with the charming Zeke Smith? Was he such a fool? How could he, Matthew McKnight, who prided himself on his integrity and innate knowledge of human beings, have been so fooled?

  He glanced sidelong at Cory who walked alongside him, seemingly relaxed. He thought about what she had lived with, what she had told him.

  Part of it was a result of what he and his father had done.

  He wanted to believe her. Had to, if he wanted to pursue the feelings that seemed to change every time he saw her. But, did he need to make that choice? Did it matter anymore? Zeke was dead.

  For better or worse, he knew every moment he spent with her, his feelings for her only intensified. He didn’t know why, couldn’t explain it even to himself. He just knew that even though she confused and frustrated him, when he was away from her, he felt lost. As if a center was gone from his life.

  The path was wide and graveled, following the narrow river that wound through the valley. The warmth of the day was still trapped between the trees.

  “There’s supposed to be some decent fishing on this river,” Cory said.

  “I’ve never gone fishing.” He didn’t mean to make that sound so pathetic, but in his ears it seemed like yet one more slam on his life.

  She only nodded, and they were silent once again.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore, this distance between them. He didn’t know what he could say to bridge the gap, to make up for all that had happened in her life.

  Give me the right words, Lord, show me what to do, he prayed. He had never felt unsure around a woman before, but he did around this one.

  “Cory...” his voice trailed off as he laid his hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

  She stopped and turned to him, her hands clasped together, the half-light of the moon casting mysterious shadows on her face.

  “You’re cold,” he said, sliding his hand down her arm, feeling her chilled flesh under his hand.

  “Not too bad.”

  “I’m sorry for what you had to deal with,” he said. He held her hand in his, struggling for the right words. “I want to fix all that has been wrong in your life, all the things I did, all the pain I caused.” He laughed shortly, as if recognizing the enormity of what he was asking. “Cory, I don’t know how else to say this except say I am so very sorry for what happened and for not believing you. I’m asking you to please forgive me.”

  She had stopped her subtle resistance and now stood quietly in front of him. He heard the slow intake of her breath, as if she sought control.

  The moment drew out, extended and tense. Matthew wanted to urge the words from her, anything to show she acknowledged what he had just said. He realized in that moment that her next words would change everything for him, would change everything between them.

  So he waited.

  Finally, she looked up at him, and he was undone by the silvery line of tears down her cheeks.

  “Oh, no,” he whispered. “Please, don’t cry.” He reached up, tracing her tears, drying them. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Cory pressed her hands against her cheeks and then he felt it: a gentle leaning toward him, a delicate acquiescence.

  He slipped his arms around her, held her slender body close, and pressed her head against his shoulder. He felt a fierce desire to protect her, to try to make right what was wrong.

  “Please tell me you forgive me,” he whispered against her ear, her hair tangling against his mouth. “Please.”

  She lifted her head then, looking up at him, her eyes shimmering with the remnants of her tears.

  “I’ve spent so much time disliking you,” she said in a choked voice. “I’ve spent so much time fighting you, you have me all confused.”

  Matthew rested his forehead against hers. “I wish I could make things up to you,” he said. “I wish I could fix what has been broken.”

  He felt her gentle sigh, and then her arms moved from between them, crept around him. Her hands pressed lightly against his back.

  Her artless response triggered something in him. Without stopping to analyze, to think, he found her mouth in a gentle kiss. Their lips met, and slowly their kiss became more intense, their arms held each other tighter.

  Cory pulled away, turning her head to lay it against his shoulder again. “I feel so mixed up,” she whispered, clinging to him. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Then don’t think,” he urged, running his hand up and down her back, as if coaxing her to listen. “Just let what happens, happen.”

  He felt her sigh, rejoiced in the pressure of her hands on his back, her arms around him, wishing time would stop, right here, right now.

  Finally, she drew back and pulled her hands away to press them against his chest. He murmured his protest, but allowed her to step back.

  “I should go,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering once. “I have to work tomorrow.”

  Matthew acknowledged her words with a light nod. He had to work tomorrow, too, but it was the last thing on his mind right now.

  “What happens now, Cory?”

  “It’s not fair to ask that of me.” She tilted her head to one side, examining him. “This is unfamiliar territory.”

  He laughed shortly. “Is for me, too, Cory. I guess I was just hoping you would tell me what you want from me. What I’m allowed to give you.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and blinked once. “How about some space?”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. It was a cruel echo of the same words he had used with Tricia when he broke up with her. Space. A euphemism for “leave me alone.”

  “How much do you need?” He tried to keep the edgy frustration from his voice, tried to realize what she had just done. All he could think of was the disquiet that coiled inside him at her words. He was afraid of losing her. Now, after they had shared their first embrace, their first kiss. The kiss he had wanted to give her the night he saw her walking through a crowd of overdressed young girls, her stark simplicity and her pride shining.

  “I don’t know if I can shift gears this quick, Matthew.” She hugged herself tighter and turned away.

  He coul
dn’t stop himself and slipped his arm across her shoulder, drawing her alongside him. “I don’t want you to be confused,” he said. “I just want what’s best for you.”

  Thankfully she allowed his embrace as they walked back the way they had come. She kept her arms close to herself this time.

  When they came to the parking lot, she withdrew. In silence, he walked her to her car, then waited as she unlocked it, remembering the ball practice when he said he wanted to find out who she was—when he had so casually asked her out.

  He hadn’t figured on what had happened to him tonight. The complete rearranging of his perceptions of Cory and, harder yet, of himself.

  Just before she stepped into the car, Matthew held the door, forestalling her.

  “Cory,” he began, uncertain of what he wanted to say, only that he didn’t want her to leave without some kind of affirmation of what she felt for him. “I want to tell you, thanks.”

  “For what?” She stood between the door and the car, one hand on the steering wheel as if ready to jump inside.

  “For trusting me with your story.” He bit his lip, struggling to find the right words to say. The words that would put a smile on her face, would make her say that she cared for him. That he meant something to her. That she forgave him.

  She smiled then, but it held a trace of sadness and regret. “Thanks for believing me,” she replied.

  “I wish...I wish it could have been different. From the start.”

  Cory blinked and her smile faded as she understood what he meant. Averting her eyes, she slipped into the car and tugged on the door. Matthew closed it for her, his one hand resting on it, leaning over as he watched her start the car. He touched the window, as if trying to reach out to her.

  Then she looked back over her shoulder and backed the car away.