Chapter 45

While Calleigh slept peacefully in her room, I woke, slipped into my pink fluffy bathrobe and slippers, and headed into the kitchen to make Brad some breakfast before he headed off to work. This isn’t my norm, but maybe my measly attempt will show him I care, I thought, shuffling through the utility drawer under our oven. Pulling out a small frying pan, I set it on the stove. Perfect size for eggs. Heating the stove, I fetched some butter from the fridge and greased the pan, cracking three eggs onto the nonstick surface. Oil sizzled and popped along the yolk’s runny edge.

“Hey there, Hot Stuff!” Brad flirted, breezing into the kitchen. “Are those for me?” He sidled up behind me, kissing the back of my neck. His intimate touch felt detached and dishonest.

“If you want them to be,” I answered, preparing myself for his familiar negativity. I’ll pretend they’re mine if you act offended, though, I mentally decided.

“That would be lovely,” he approved.

I released a breath, not realizing I had been holding it.

“Think I could get some OJ with that?” he implored, moving to the end of the counter and pulling out a stool.

“I think there’s some in the fridge,” I answered, scraping the bottom of the pan and flipping the eggs. “Glasses are in the cupboard above the sink.”

“Oh, I thought you could bring it to me, like a dutiful wife,” he winked, chuckling with a sanctimonious air.

“I’m guessing you don’t want burnt eggs,” I countered, adding a smile.

“You’re a woman. Multitasking is what you do. Bring it to me along with the eggs,” he instructed. “I can wait.” He sat on the stool, adjusting the tie around his neck. Turning my face away from him, I bit my tongue and released another slow breath.

“Well, you seem awfully chipper this morning,” I observed, flipping the eggs again. “Your back feeling better?”

“Oh, yeah. Feels great,” he bragged, rolling his shoulders in a swag dance move.

I chuckled. “So, what are you taking? I’ve never seen ibuprofen work so well.”

He tilted his head. “I told you already. Something the doc prescribed. You should try some. Maybe it’d loosen you up a bit.” He unleashed a cocky laugh.

I pretended not to hear his insult. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I’m concerned about what you’re putting in your body. Some of that stuff can be addicting and have serious side effects. How much do you really know about what you’ve been prescribed?”

“It’s not your body, and you’re not qualified to judge me, so keep your opinions to yourself,” he snapped. “I know enough, so stop bitchin’ at me.”

I refrained from speaking. Typical response. I share reasonable concern, and I get sass and a sour attitude in return. Removing the pan from the burner, I switched off the heat and dumped the eggs onto a plate, placing the dish in front of Brad. Digging deep in my heart, I searched for kindness. “Would you like some toast with that?”

“Don’t you mean charred cardboard?” He baited the moment. I blinked back my surprise. “Yeah, don’t bother. I obviously didn’t marry you for your cooking abilities, but thanks anyway,” he added.

Heat crept up my neck, and I swallowed hard, forcing down the emotional pain. I may not be a gourmet chef, but I know how to cook a decent meal, and I don’t go around burning your food. Why the nasty insinuations? I crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge, retrieving the few remaining ounces of orange juice. Setting the jug in front of Brad, I handed him a cup. “Here. I’ll let you pour it yourself, so I don’t mess it up.” I verified the knob on the stove faced the off position then exited the room.

A few days later, everyday life with Brad became dangerously volatile.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Some people have monsters in their dreams that they run from. Mine stood in front of me, even larger in life—bulky, flesh and blood, trembling from head to toe, seething in anger, boiling with rage. His arms violently shook by his sides, ending in two tightly fisted hands. They would deliver a painful blow at any given moment—I just knew it—all because I had fed Calleigh leftover pizza for breakfast. How is that a bad thing? The pantry is bare. It’s the only thing available in the house until we do a grocery run, I thought to myself. I couldn’t let her go hungry.

Wadded into a fetal position at the kitchen table only a few feet away, Calleigh shielded her eyes with both hands, protecting herself from the perceived danger. Peeking through her tiny fingers, horror widened her eyes as guilt and shame shrouded her face. You’re right. Daddies aren’t supposed to hurt mommies, I thought, glancing over at her terrified face. If I make it out of this alive, you will never grow up believing this kind of behavior is OK, I promised. In that moment, my heart made the decision to fight, if not for me, for her.

As Brad’s hand reached out to grab me, I sucked in a deep breath, stepping back into the wall, waiting to feel pain. The fury in his eyes flared. Anger oozed from his venomous sigh, causing the hairs on the back of my arms to prickle. I had never seen him so mad—so out of control. My mind whirled with thoughts of survival: Don’t make this worse. Tell him whatever he wants to hear, even if you feel like you’re lying. He’s not concerned about the truth right now. Play into his fantasy world. You must protect Calleigh at all costs. I struggled to focus, realizing Brad dwarfed me in size. Lord, please help me, I begged in my mind. I need Your strength. I’m too small to conquer this giant on my own. If You don’t intervene, he’s gonna bash my head into the wall. Please don’t let him hurt me!

“You are the poorest excuse for a human being I have ever seen!” Brad yelled into my ear. Spewing a plethora of expletives, he postured over me, inching uncomfortably close, his face growing redder and redder. “I don’t know why I ever married you. You don’t know how to be a wife, and you definitely don’t know how to be a mother. Feeding her pizza for breakfast, Hope? Really? What were you thinking?” His hot breath plastered my skin, causing me to withdraw into myself. “Do you know how unhealthy that is? It’s no wonder she’s always sick when you feed her crap like this for breakfast!”

Turning my head to avoid his closeness, spit sprayed the side of my cheek. “I’m doing the best I can.” I cowered near the wall, nearly choking on the emotion welling up in my throat. “It’s kind of hard to cook without food. You haven’t allowed me to use the car in weeks, so I haven’t been able to get to the store. The pantry is empty. What would you have me do?” Whininess in my voice made me sound pathetic as I begged for understanding. “I can’t feed her something we don’t have.”

“And whose fault is that?” he bellowed, his body continuing to tremble. “I bet the next thing you’re going to try telling me is that this is my fault, too.” He hit the wall next to my left ear with his fist, making me jump at the sound. A whimper peeped out of Calleigh from across the room. I’m sure she’s fine. Brad’s focus is on me, not her, I tried controlling my fear.

Overwhelmed with anxiety, I fought to find the right words. “I’m not blaming anyone. I’m telling you why things are the way they are. I need money to buy groceries, but you haven’t transferred any into our joint account. How am I supposed to buy food without it?” The more I tried to reason with Brad, the more irate he became.

“I don’t care if you have to go pimp yourself out on Orange Blossom Trail. You need to get off your lazy ass and find yourself a job!” he exploded. “Stop expecting me to pay for everything! God gave you a brain. Use it!”

“I have a job. I’m raising our daughter,” I defended myself. “Finding work outside of home doesn’t make sense right now. I wouldn’t make more than minimum wage, at most, meaning whatever I earned would go straight toward paying a babysitter. There wouldn’t be any money left over for helping with bills. I’ve done the math.” I inched to my right, but Brad blocked my movement with his body. “We didn’t have a child so somebody else could raise her,” I stared up at him. “You and I both knew there would be sacrifices with starting a family, so please stop making me out to be the bad guy. Staying home with Calleigh was a joint decision—yours and mine.”

Depraved indifference hardened Brad’s glare, his chiseled jawline jutting forward. A death grip of fingers encircled my biceps, pinching my skin and drawing me to him. “Do you think I actually care about your distorted perception of life? You can’t possibly think I’m impressed with your little smear campaign against me! This family needs more money, so start being an adult and FIND. A. JOB!”

Calleigh screamed as a loud thud resounded from my back hitting the wall. “Daddy, don’t hurt her! Please, don’t hurt Mommy!” she begged.

Caught between his hate for me and the innocence in Calleigh’s voice, Brad pushed me harder against the wall to control my escape. He finally exhaled. “You’re not worth the air I breathe,” he hissed in my ear, shoving off my shoulders. Storming from the kitchen and into the garage, the laundry door slammed in his wake, rattling the pictures on the living room walls. He didn’t even give Calleigh a sideways glance.

As my knees gave way, I slumped into a kneeling position on the kitchen floor, cradling the deep bruises on each of my arms, ones I knew no one would ever see or understand.

Calleigh hopped down from her chair and scurried across the tile floor into my embrace. “I was so scared!” she declared, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I didn’t want Daddy to hurt you. He scared me!” She squeezed tightly against her fear.

“I was scared, too,” I admitted, trying not to choke inside her hold.

Pulling out of my hug, Calleigh stared into my eyes and studied my face. “Why is Daddy always mad? He liked our pizza last night. He said it was the best pizza he’d ever had. What’s wrong with it this morning?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but don’t go thinking for one second that yelling at someone and scaring them with your words or actions is OK. It’s not—not even for mommies and daddies. Understand?” I looked her in the eyes.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I will be kind like Queen Esther—like in the Bible story you read to me last night. Queen Esther was afraid, too, but she prayed to Jesus, and the king didn’t get mad at her. Remember?” Her eyes lit up with child-like faith.

“I remember.” I blotted at a tear forming in the corner of my eye.

Calleigh touched my cheek, her words soft and tender. “Maybe, if we pray for Daddy, he won’t be angry any more.”

Tears began to run aimlessly down my face. “It definitely wouldn’t hurt.” Wrapping her in another hug, I kissed her cheek. “Would you like to pray right now?”

A positive smile replaced her fear. “Uh huh. May I say it?”

“Thank you. That would be nice,” I replied. “Jesus loves hearing from you. Remember, it’s just like talking to your best friend. He wants to know what’s on your heart. You can trust Him.”

“I know, Mommy.” We both bowed our heads and closed our eyes, and Calleigh began to pray. “Dear Jesus, I don’t know why Daddy is so mad right now. I try being a good girl so he will be happy, but it’s not working. Thank you for keeping Mommy safe today. She doesn’t like Daddy being mad, either. Please help Daddy to forgive Mommy. She didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Maybe he just needs a hug. Will you give him one for me, please? I’d give him one, but he’s not here right now. Thank you. Amen.” I swallowed my emotions. Opening her eyes, Calleigh gazed into mine. “Mommy, why are you crying?” She wiped a tear from my cheek then rubbed it across her pant leg.

“Because you remind me there’s still good in this world,” I answered. More tears streamed down my face, and I swiped at them with the back of my hand. “Whatever you do, don’t ever let go of Jesus! OK?”

Calleigh squeezed my neck, even tighter this time. “I won’t, Mommy. I promise.”