7. Chapter 7
S he stared at the bright white garage door, lit up in the glow of the headlights as Daddy pulled up to park in front of it.
No, she thought, sucking fitfully at her thumb. He wasn’t Daddy, he was Jeff Barnes, or Sheriff Barnes, or Jeffrey. In some sectioned part of her brain, that struck her as funny. No one as big and strong as Da—the sheriff—ought to be cursed with parents who’d name him Jeffrey.
Jeffrey, her brain echoed, calling it to her in some pseudo old woman’s mockingly high falsetto. Jeeeff-REY!
Her brain wandered down that path, playing with the idea of the sheriff she knew deigning to answer anyone who talked to him that way.
Then again, he seemed far nicer now than he had yesterday.
Not that she’d given him many reasons to be nice.
She’d been a bit of a bitch, to be honest. He’d responded by giving her a ticket, and then he’d followed her through the store so she wouldn’t rob the place— dick —and she’d stormed off—bitchy, but justified—and what did he do?
He bought her groceries. And came out in the middle of the night to save her from the snakes and scorpions.
And drove her to the doctor’s, and thank goodness she managed to convince him she didn’t need one, especially since she knew if they saw the marks on her feet, tonight would not have ended any other way than at the police station.
Or a hospital, and then the police station.
She had no idea where the nearest hospital was, not that it mattered.
The only way she could see any of this ending was with police involvement.
She might start out the victim, but once Travis was involved, that would all change.
He was practically police himself, and she was a convicted felon. No one was going to believe her.
No one.
Not even Daddy.
She sniffled. She didn’t want to think about this anymore. Curling in around herself, she retreated as deep as she could go, desperately wishing she would just stop existing so she wouldn’t have to do this anymore.
“We can get out now,” he said gently.
She clutched her ear and sucked her dirty thumb, and tried hard to pretend like she’d never heard him to start with.
He got out of the truck.
Please go inside , she prayed. But he didn’t. Walking around the truck to her side, he popped open her door and reached in to unbuckle her belt.
“I don’t wanna go inside.” It didn’t matter how hard she blinked, her eyes stung as if filling up with tears, except there were none.
She made all the same hiccuping, keening sounds that came along with bawling, but there were no tears.
He was going to think she was lying to get attention, but no matter how hard she tried, there was no stopping the sounds.
Her emotions were too close to the surface and they were stronger than she was.
She cried as if her heart were breaking. “I don’t wanna get out.”
He took her seatbelt off anyway. “We talked about this, remember?”
“I need a nap,” she sobbed, too tired to fight as he pushed the shoulder strap aside.
“I know,” he soothed, sliding his arms under her knees and around her back. He lifted her out. “Daddy’s going to put you down for a nice long one, too. But not before his babygirl gets a bath, lots of juice, and nummies for her tummy. When did you eat last, honey?”
“I no know,” she sniffled.
“You don’t know?”
She shook her head. “They took my lunch.”
She suspected it was Eli. He’d been awfully Johnny-on-the-spot about sharing his. To be honest even then she’d been so wounded and so tired, every ounce of energy she had, she’d poured into doing what she was told.
“It was a bad first day at work, wasn’t it?
” He carried her to the front porch, where it became necessary to lower her to stand on her own.
It took everything she had not to react to the agonizing throb of pain that pulsed up through her swollen feet and all the way up her legs the second she was standing on her own.
Where—oh, where—was all that blessed numbness that had eventually crept into her, making that long walk easier to bear?
There was no numbness anymore. Every muscle she had now ached terribly.
She locked her jaw and made no sound. As soon as he’d dug out his keys and opened the door, aware of how badly she stank and not wanting him to pick her up again, she hobbled inside.
She didn't know what she expected his home to look like. Something stern, severe maybe, total authoritarian. Something that said cop and 'I will fuck up your day.’ It wasn't.
The sheriff's home was clean, tidy, warm and inviting.
Everything was decorated in muted earth tones, off white area rugs softened the hard wood floors.
A semicircular sofa set curled around a ginormous TV.
The pictures on the fireplace mantle showed he might be more interested in outdoor activities over watching sports.
She hobbled over for a closer look, taking advantage of what few minutes of solitude she had to peer closer at his life.
He wasn't in many, but she knew the picture of an old woman and her daughter must have been his sister and mother, judging by the strong familial resemblance.
They looked really happy.
Of course, if her dad hadn't already thrown them out, she had really happy pictures hanging on the wall of her family home going all the way up the stairs to the second story. Her childhood had been a happy one, back before she realized parental love was such a conditional thing.
Smiles in pictures didn't mean anything.
"My mom, Kathryn," Jeff said, startling her because she hadn't heard him come inside the house and had no idea he was not standing right beside her. "My sister's name is Sarah."
She stuck her thumb in her mouth and turned away from them, only to have him pluck her thumb from her mouth and turn her hand over to see the blisters. In the bright light of his living room, it was easier to see the extent of the damage.
He winced, shaking his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Do you want teddy bear bandages?”
With all her weary heart. “Teddy bears,” she echoed obediently, hobbling along at his heel as he led her down the hall to a beige and white trimmed bathroom.
“Can you do this yourself?” he asked as she limped in past him.
She could do anything. She was amazing.
She took hold of the door and quietly closed it on him. She collapsed more than sat on the edge of the tub, momentarily rocking herself, the hurt was so bad and the relief so great. She lifted her feet off the ground, holding them up while the soles throbbed.
She didn’t know if it was better or she just wished it was better, but she ran out of strength and eventually had to put them gently flat on the ground.
It would always hurt. It would never get better.
She broke down, clutching her ear for comfort as she popped her thumb back in her mouth. She could taste the faint coppery taste of the broken blister on the second joint and with every drawing pull she felt a little smaller and that much more lost.
“I don’t hear water running,” Daddy called through the door.
She’d forgotten he was there. Twisting sideways, she looked at the faucet behind her, and for a moment just sat there, staring blankly, unable to think what to do next. She gave up without trying bare seconds before, with a soft knock, Daddy opened the door.
“Do you need help?”
She shook her head.
He studied her dubiously. “If you toss your clothes in the hall before you get in, I’ll get them washed.”
She nodded.
“Can I get you something?”
She shook her head again.
“Gatorade? Juice?”
She nodded. Her mouth was dry and swallowing didn’t help.
“Okay. In the tub, Tabitha. Throw your clothes into the hall, and then take a bath.” He studied her a moment longer, then withdrew.
The door closed again and, as she sat there staring at the plain wood, the entire exchange faded into the background of her mind.
It could have happened yesterday, for all that she could remember what he’d said.
She was too sad to try too hard. She was so exhausted.
The bathmat on the floor under her shoes looked thick and soft. Crawling down onto the floor, she laid down, curling in around herself, and tried to go to sleep.
***
He peeked back into the bathroom, hesitant to do more than lean in any further as he set a sippy cup of juice on the counter just inside the door.
He didn't hear movement from inside. All he could hear was silence.
No water drips into a tub filled with more of the same.
No movement from Little Tabitha as she washed herself clean.
Most telling of all, no dirty clothes in a heap in his hallway.
This entire situation was a sexual abuse allegation in the making, but he couldn’t stop.
Had she undressed yet? Was she just sitting on the side of the tub, sucking her thumb and staring into the void?
“Tabby?”
There was no answer.
Was she even still in there? What were the chances she could have slipped out of the house while he’d been in the kitchen?
Fuck it.
He cracked open the door, peeking in at the mirror. The shower curtain was thrown back and empty. He couldn’t see the top of her head anywhere. She was gone.
Throwing open the door, he almost whacked her in the head in his frantic need to find her. Tabby lay curled in the fetal position on the rug, her eyes closed and her mouth for once relaxed around her thumb. She’d fallen asleep.
Every Daddy bone in his body took command. Pushing open the door, he went inside and lowered himself to one knee before her. Slid his arm under her shoulders, scooping her gently into his arms.
“Don’t hurt me,” she mumbled, blinking as she came awake, so exhausted that she didn’t seem to know where she was.
“It’s okay,” he replied, setting her down to sit on the side of the tub again. “Daddy’s got you.”
She looked at him so wearily, uttering no protests as he dropped his hands to pluck the laces of her dirty shoes loose.
It was startling to see them like this. When he’d seen her yesterday, her shoes had been slightly scuffed, but clean and white.
As he cupped her heel and gently lifted her foot, to him it looked like she’d been marinating in mud puddles all day.
He got the shoe off and laid it aside to remove the other as well. Her socks were even worse, muddy from long hours spent down amongst the irrigation ditches. It wasn’t until he started to remove her socks that he noticed the blood.
“Oh baby,” he said, fighting to keep the appall from his tone. “What happened?”
Her bottom lip quivered. “I was bad,” she whispered.
She was shaking. Kneeling at her feet, he was shaking too. The swell of anger washing through him, filling up every pore and nuance of his soul as she broke down, took everything he had to swallow back.
He was going to kill his brother. He had no idea who had struck her, but she was Travis’s responsibility. This had happened under his brother’s watch.
Well, it was Jeff’s turn now.
He bent enough to see the bottom of her foot, but the blisters he’d been expecting weren’t there.
Instead, he saw bruises streaking the underside of her arch in welt lines, one of which had laid a painful line right across the soft pads of her toes.
The tender skin there had split, and the sock was now stuck to the open wounds where it must have bled and bled, over and over again the more she was forced to walk on her injuries.
Those bastards.
Gently lowering her foot, he picked up the other and removed that sock too. No cuts, but the bruising on the tender underside was worse.
“I was bad,” she moaned, her shoulders jerking as her sorrow at last broke free. “I was so bad!”
He broke too. Dropping the lid on the toilet, he sat on it, already sweeping her into his lap and into his arms. He rocked her, hugging her fiercely tight. “No, you weren’t,” he soothed.
"Yes," she sobbed and in a rush of tears and misery, the floodgates of her past opened and her entire life came pouring out in hiccups, wails and bawled apologies. All he could do was soothe her, hold her, forgive her and try to piece it all together.
It was heart wrenching.
"I didn't know the car was stolen," she sobbed. "Please don't be mad at me anymore, Daddy. I can't take it."
He was shaking every bit as hard as she was. He hugged her tighter, murmuring constant assurances in her ear. "I'm not mad anymore, baby. I promise."
"Please talk to me… please don't walk away…"
"I won't ever walk away," he vowed, kissing her forehead as he brushed back her head, holding her that much more securely as he rocked her.
"You don't love me anymore…"
"I'll never stop loving you."
"You don't love me…"
"Daddies love their baby girls and they never stop, no matter what."
"My dad did. He walked away and he won't come back. He won't answer my letters. He won't take my calls. I didn't know the car was stolen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
What was he even supposed to say to that?
"I know, sweetheart." He couldn't help but kiss the top of her head again. "I know."
She dissolved wordlessly into despairing sobs. "He hurt me, Daddy," she keened, the pain in her small voice punching straight through his gut, soul, and heart.
He held her tight, glad she couldn't see the dark fury he wasn't strong enough to keep off his face. "Who hurt you, baby? Tell Daddy. Was it Travis?"
She burrowed into his neck, then nodded. "I don't want to work on a pot farm. I don't want to go back to jail."
"You won't. Daddy's got you now," he vowed. "Daddy will keep you safe."
She hiccupped, the fury of her sobs gradually easing until, pushing away from him, Tabby sat up in his lap. She looked at the floor, her small voice as lost as the rest of her now seemed. She was hunched, huddled in around herself as she listlessly stated, "I don't have a Daddy."
After this? The hell she didn't.