When It's Right(72)
“He usually has a beer or two in the evening. Since you’ve been here, he hasn’t. I think he cares enough about you to respect that you might have a problem with him drinking.”
She wrinkled up the side of her mouth. “Well, I don’t know what to think. He should have a beer if he wants one. It isn’t the same. I know he’s not the same as my dad.”
“He’s being considerate.”
“Seems to me that man has been too considerate and it’s holding him back from being himself. I don’t like that. The thing I like most about being with him is that I feel like I can be myself. If he can’t do the same around me, then we have a problem.”
“Sometimes you really surprise me. That was a very wise observation. You’ll work it out when he gets back.”
Gillian didn’t know why it made her angry. It just did. She wanted him to stop holding back, thinking that’s what she wanted. Her past made her different from other women. He didn’t treat her like a woman he wanted, he treated her like someone he had to protect, even from himself. She didn’t want just the parts of him he thought she wanted to see and experience; she wanted the whole man. She liked his manners and thoughtfulness, but not if it kept him from being himself. No, that would never do. Eventually, he’d resent her, when trying to be something that he wasn’t wore on him.
“Oh, we’ll work it out all right,” she said to herself and walked up the stairs to see Justin.
Gillian found Justin lying on his bed. He loved the quilt Blake’s mother made for him. Navy blue with a red fire truck on the top, with a yellow star on the door and a yellow ladder on the back. Legs bent at the knees, he swung his feet and pounded them down on the bed one at a time as he turned pages in his book, looking at the pictures.
“Justin, we need to talk.”
“I didn’t mean to get you into trouble with the police.” His eyes glassed over, and his bottom lip trembled.
She rubbed her hand over his soft hair. “I’m not in trouble, honey. I owe you an apology. I punished you, and you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I overreacted. You can watch TV tonight, and I’ll take you down to see Honey.”
“Really?” He bounced onto his knees on the bed.
She could leave things alone, and he’d be happy with his privileges back, but she owed him an explanation.
“It must be confusing why your teacher wouldn’t let you talk about why you think I’m your hero.”
“You are my hero. You stopped him from hurting me. He can’t hurt you anymore either. He was going to kill you. He said so. The police said you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I didn’t. I protected myself. I protected you. I didn’t have a choice.” Their father took the choice out of her hands when he pulled the gun on her.
Justin’s steady gaze met hers. “I wanted him to die. I didn’t want him to hurt you ever again.”
“Oh, honey. I can understand that, but it isn’t right to want someone to die. He needed help. He was not himself when he took drugs and drank all the time.”
“Taking drugs is bad,” Justin confirmed.
Proud of him for remembering that lesson, she hoped it held through his teenage years, when he’d be at risk for starting a habit that could ruin his life, like it had ruined both their parents’. She worried about that and would remain diligent about reinforcing the lesson over the years.
“Miss Crane was concerned today because talking about how our dad died might scare the other kids. They don’t know what it’s like to live with someone like him. They didn’t understand that he was trying to hurt us. Miss Crane didn’t know what happened in San Francisco, and she wanted to make sure you were safe.”
The pictures he’d drawn told Gillian that he still had a lot stored up inside him.
“Are you still scared? Do you think about it a lot?”
“Not really. Not anymore. I like it here with the horses and Blake.”
“Is there something about what happened with Dad that you don’t understand, or that you want to ask me about?”
“No. I’m glad he’s gone, and we live here now. It’s better.”
“I like it here, too.” So, he wasn’t harboring anything inside him that should concern her. He’d drawn the pictures of what happened and wanted everyone to know that she’d helped him. Sometimes it was that simple. She hoped it was that simple in this case.
“Okay. I think it would be a good idea if you didn’t tell the other kids or anyone about what happened anymore. You can always talk to me or Grandma and Grandpa, but other people might not understand what happened. Okay?”