Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Oh, Roman. That must’ve been so awful for you.”
“It wasn’t easy, but I’m stronger because of it.” I chuckled as a specific memory came rushing to my mind. “There was one time I almost got the best of him. I was about sixteen, and he was bitchin’ at Mom over something stupid like she’d parked her car too close to his truck. He had her by the hair and was about to slam her head into the wall when I charged him, tackled him at his side, and slammed his ass to the ground. I’d caught him by surprise and was able to get in a few good blows before he kicked me off. I was about to lay back into him when he picked up a knife and flung the damn thing at me. Landed right in my thigh. Stunned me more than anything, but it gave Dad the advantage, and he ended up beatin’ the hell out of me. I was out of commission for several days over that one.”
“I don’t even know how to respond to that.” Tears filled the corner of her eyes as she muttered, “It’s just so unfair. I hate you had to go through that.”
“It wasn’t just me. Mom and my younger brother Madden got their fair share of it, too.”
“What about your mother? Did she ever try to leave?”
“Nope. She was determined to stick it out.” I shrugged. “She always said she’d stayed there for us. Said she couldn’t make it on her own.”
“So, there were no family or friends she could turn to?”
“Her folks died when she was in her twenties. Figured that’s one of the reasons she ended up marrying Dad. She didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“That must’ve been really hard on her.”
“Didn’t have to be.” I’d never really talked about my mother or my childhood with anyone, not even my brothers. Never really saw any reason to, but there was something about Frankie that had me opening up in ways I never had before. “She could’ve left him.”
“It’s not always that easy.”
“You left.”
“Yeah, I did, but I had my sister and my parents. And even with their help, it was still one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. It’s still scary. I worry every day that I’m not doing enough, that I’m never going to be able to give the boys what they need, and they’ll end up resenting me for it.” Her eyes met mine as she told me, “It would’ve been so much harder without my family there to support me. I don’t think I could’ve done it. Without them, I probably would’ve just stayed and hoped we’d get through it—just like your mother did.”
“I don’t believe that.” I shook my head. “You would’ve found a way.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She reached over and placed her hand on my knee. “I don’t know your mother. I don’t know what kind of person she was or if her heart was in the right place, but it’s clear to me that she did something right.”
“Not sure I’m following.”
“She taught you to be a good man.” Her words took me by surprise. I couldn’t believe how wrong she had it. I was about to argue when she said, “You stopped and helped Sean and I when we were stranded on that dark highway alone. Then, you came and helped us fix that tire, even taught Corry how to use that bubble trick. And you listened to him. Really listened. He told you things he’s never told anyone, not his friends or his counselors, and it meant a lot to him that he could share that with you. It meant a lot to me as well. I know firsthand it takes a special kind of man to reach a child like that.”
“I’m not a good man, Frankie. I’m far from it.”
“You’re wrong. There’s a great deal of good in you.”
“No, Frankie. There’s not. My father made sure of that.” My reaction to my father’s abuse changed over the years. When it first started, I was timid and scared. I would cry and plead with him to stop, but as I grew older, the fear faded and anger set in. I no longer tried to run from him. I didn’t beg or plead for his mercy. I no longer cared if I lived or died, so I just took whatever he had to dish out. “He’s the reason I’m the man I am today.”
“I think you give your father too much credit.” She withdrew her hand from my knee and looked me dead in the eye as she said, “He hasn’t made you into the man you are today. You did that all on your own.”
I suddenly felt like I was getting my own personal counseling session—something I didn’t ask for and certainly didn’t want. I didn’t try to hide my annoyance as I grumbled, “Is that right?”