"We didn't mean to. Last week, something weird happened with the satellite dish and all ESPN stations disappeared." Damien gestured to the television. "This was the only thing that was clear. We were about to turn it off, but then Adam said, I bet that girl wins the private date. Before I could even think about it, I took the bet."
"You guys should be ashamed of yourselves," Mom said. "Et tu, Dillon?"
"Sorry, Billie, but I'm winning. Thanks to these guys, I'm a few bets away from paying off my Abercrombie credit card."
"That's your excuse?" Marley asked.
"What can I say? I'm an addict," he explained.
"To gambling?"
"No … skinny jeans," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That's enough." Mom held the remote toward the flat screen to turn it off.
I held out my hand to stop her. "I want to watch."
"Why torture yourself, Billie?"
"I'm curious, Mom."
"That's not a good idea," Stevie said.
"Actually, it might be," Dillon said.
"We are really sorry, Billie," Adam said. "We never intended for it to get this far."
I waved my hand away, not exactly accepting the apology but not denying it either.
"What does ‘poem' mean?" I asked, pointing to the column on the whiteboard that had checkmarks for yes or no.
Adam chuckled. "Sometimes he reads these ridiculous poems to the girls. We bet if he's going to recite one. They are godawful."
"Wait, I think he's about to do one now," Rick said. "You have to see this, Billie. I can't believe this girls fall for it … like, every time."
We all turned our attention to the screen. Preston held the redhead's hand, his face surprisingly expressionless. Holy shit, did he get Botox? "You mean so much to me. I wrote this for you, Saffron."
Her name was Saffron? Then I remembered I came from a family of strange names too. I was named for a rock star. She was named for a spice. Who was I to judge?
"This should be good," Dillon said, scooting a bit on the recliner and patting the space next to him. I took the seat.
Preston took a long sip of wine and cleared his throat before starting. "Two hearts, breathing in circles, to a rhythm and rhyme our minds can't even comprehend. Into the night, tucked under the stars that shine above us, making promises-"
"As delicious as the wine," I finished.
Stevie clapped her hand to her mouth so hard, I thought she might have hurt herself.
"I wrote that poem. He's plagiarizing my work."
The swallows accompanied by the bobbing Adam's apples in the room held their own comical rhythm and rhyme.
"Best. Poem. Ever," Adam said, breaking the awkward silence.
"I love that poem," Rick added.
"Amazing," Dillon continued.
"You're very talented," Damien added.
The situation was way too ridiculous to call for anger. Besides, these boys were clearly already suffering under their wives' scrutiny. My rage meter was running on empty anyway. I giggled, which turned into a laugh, which became a symphony of laughs as everyone added their voices. The tension broke, and we spent the rest of the night joking and making fun of Preston's attempts to be suave.
I realized that the girls on the show were not the single brain celled harlots I'd expected. Many were doctors, lawyers, community organizers, or business owners. And just like me, they were trying to open a door to the possibility of something wonderful and coming up short.
"Why would they go on a show like this?" Stevie asked the question we were all thinking.
"Simple. They're looking for love," I answered. In the end, I found myself sympathizing with them because Preston wasn't worth their affections. Just like he wasn't worth mine.
I watched more than the television that night. I stole glances at my family. Marley started sweeping up the popcorn. Rick stopped her, taking the broom and insisting he take care of it. Afterward she sat on his lap, even though there were available seats in the room. He rubbed her belly, and kissed her shoulder with a tenderness that spoke volumes about their relationship without uttering a single word.
Adam made more popcorn and threw it in Stevie's mouth with such accuracy that I knew they did this all the time. She laughed at a joke he told her. He whispered in her ear and her blush confirmed he'd said a few sweet, naughty things.
George woke up and Damien brought him downstairs wrapped in an afghan. The boy sat on his father's lap, sucking his thumb while Mom signed a song to him-her way of sharing music with him. The way Damien looked at her while she was looking at George made my heart melt.
This was love. It surrounded me. It was what I wanted. I needed to avoid any diversions and Evan Wright was definitely a dangerous detour. He wasn't Mr. Right.
In fact, he was all kinds of wrong.
Chapter Nine
That night, tucked into bed, I heard a different scream than usual from Rick and Marley's room. It was so loud it penetrated the walls and the fear in it pierced right through me. What followed was a serious of loud thumps.
"Get the fuck off me," she cried, the shrieks echoing through the house.
My body broke out into a cold sweat. My hands shook as I threw off the covers.
In any normal circumstance, I'd think my sister was being attacked, but I knew that wasn't the case here.
Rick wasn't capable of that.
Marley was having a night terror. Stevie, Marley and I were as close as any sisters could be, but we had different fathers. Marley's dad had been a castration-worthy pedophile and she'd suffered years of silent trauma because of it. My hands curled into fists, my rage meter on full again, wanting to kill the man, except he was already dead.
She hadn't had a terror in years. We had no idea where she went during those times, except that it was obvious she was still trying to fight him off her. I rushed toward her bedroom but stopped myself before I slammed into the door.
"You fucking bastard, don't touch me! I'm going to kill you."
I couldn't go in there. This wasn't like when we were kids. Her husband was with her.
I took a step back and leaned my forehead against the door.
"It's all right, baby. I'm here and I won't let anyone ever hurt you again. I promise." His voice was calm and soothing.
The words were perfect, but they were more for him than her. When Marley was in this state, she couldn't hear anything. In the horrible mornings that followed one of these events, she couldn't remember a thing, but the look of guilt on her face when she'd see Mom's black eye or the scratch on my face was heartbreaking. It had gotten to a point that we wouldn't even tell her, choosing to cover our bruises to save her from those feelings.
I timidly knocked on the door. "Rick, do you need my help?"
"We're okay, Billie. Thanks."
I didn't leave, though. I sat in the dark hallway in the fetal position, keeping vigil on my sister. Maybe I was intruding in some way, but we shared the same blood and her burdens were mine to bear. I needed to be present for her in some way, even if it was just through my pitiful prayers.
It went on for twenty-two excruciating minutes.
During that time, she'd called Rick a molester, a rapist, a sick man and a dozen other twisted descriptors and just the opposite of who he was.
And yet he continued to whisper sweet, soothing words to her. I imagined he held her hands to keep her from clawing at him and … herself.
Only when she was fully exhausted did she stop fighting and start crying, the sounds of her pent-up anguish circulating in the air around me.
Oh, sister, I love you so much. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it away. Trade your pain. I'd take it all. I'd make it mine if it meant you didn't have to suffer.
I had no doubt Rick was thinking the same things. That was when he sang to her. I mouthed the words along with him, wiping away the annoying tears that stung my eyes. Rick wasn't the best singer, but that didn't matter. The song he chose was our song. Our family anthem. But it was also Marley's song in every way.
Three Little Birds by Bob Marley.
* * * *
Rick acted chipper in the morning, as if the previous night hadn't occurred. Of course, Marley didn't remember, and thank goodness, he didn't have any noticeable marks on him.
"I made breakfast," he announced when Marley and I came down the steps.
"What a good husband I have," Marley said.
"I think I'm going to come home tonight and not stay over until Wednesday," he said, holding out a chair for her.