The Battered Heiress Blues by Laurie Van Dermark Read Free Book Online Page A

before it gently slid away. I couldn’t bear to be alone. Grabbing his hand, I tucked it under my breast. I wouldn’t let go.
    “I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere. Sleep. I’m here. You’re safe.” He leaned down and kissed the side of my face- his body coupled to my every curve. I closed my eyes. I was safe. I could feel my mind go blank as I drifted off
    Thunder broke my sleep and I awoke to find my slip drenched in sweat. I couldn’t recall my dreams, but I doubt that they differed from reality. Henry’s hand was heavy on my chest. I turned my head ever so slightly to determine if he was asleep. Thankfully, he was. I wanted to get up and find a dry set of clothes, but I didn’t want to disturb him. Instead, I lay there, in wet clothes, counting the evolutions of the ceiling fan that hung above the bed.
    After a period of time passed, anxiety set in. I peeled his hand off my breast and slid it down to his side, waiting to see if he would move. He simply made a noise and turned over, giving me the escape I needed. I was almost free.
    Quietly, I opened the door that led out onto the upper veranda. The night sky was a mix of thunder, lightning, and a fine mist of rain. A lightning strike lit the yard and my eyes were once again drawn to the chapel.
    The scared feelings that gave me cement shoes before now gave me wings. I yearned to be with Connor. I darted past the bed and down the stairs to the front door, stumbling over a death lily and knocking a book from the foyer table to the floor. I waited, crouched down, listening for footsteps from above. The house remained quiet except for the low rumblings of thunder. I fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on, but nothing happened.
    Setting out across the soggy lawn, I sprinted toward the cemetery, as the rain began falling more heavily. I paused, scanning the sacred space for his headstone. The heavy gate slammed shut behind me. Mountains of floral arrangements covered his grave. Descending to my knees, the lighting illuminated his name: Connor Truman Spencer, beloved son, June 15, 2008 . Meticulously clearing the flowers, I drove my hands into the dirt, clutching the earth that held him down below. The soil ran down my arms and onto my slip.
    All I could do was lay on top of him in a move of protection from the elements. The cold rain pelted my back, but my mind was occupied, playing images of times I would never know: first words; first steps; first day of school; and his first game. In that moment, I was privy to all of them. I was happy. The comfort was quickly replaced by rage. Rising to my knees, I screamed out in anguish to a God that had deserted me.
    “How dare you take him from me? He was mine. You had no right. Where were you? Why didn’t you help us? I hate you. Do you hear me? I hate you.” My anger was cathartic- it felt good. I threw floral arrangements and rocks at the statue of Christ as I yelled my blasphemies. With one last scream, I fell back to my knees on the loose soil.
    I suddenly became keenly aware that I wasn’t alone. A hand lightly touched my shoulder. I must have awoken Henry.
    Looking back, I found a strange man staring at me. The rain was beating against his hooded jacket, partially obscuring my view of his face. I should have been afraid, but I wasn’t. I cared little about what happened to me.
    “Are you okay, Mam? I heard you screaming.”
    “Jewels. Jewels…” Sounds of yelling demanded my attention from the direction of the house. I turned myself toward the gate and then back to the stranger, but he was gone. I looked around the cemetery, but he had disappeared.
    The gate slammed shut and Henry was beside me, pulling me to my feet. Grasping my arms, he gave me the once over to determine if I was injured. He pulled me tightly to his chest, smothering my breath.
    “You could have been killed out here. What are you doing?”
    “I’m angry.” I held him crying. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry. I’m angry