Nathanael was shaking with emotion, his face contorted into ugliness, his chest heaving as he fought for breath.
Shaundra wanted to go to him, but knew in her gut that this was the last thing he wanted right now. But she wished she could make contact with him somehow.Look at me. Shewilled him. He never turned her way.
“Yes, Mama. It started after Papa died. It started slow, with gifts. Small things like candy and comic books and then the bike. He used to stay over past my bedtime, playing video games with me after you had gone to bed. And then the touching began when I was around eight, followed by the threats.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nathanael looked at his mother incredulously. “What child is willing to admit to something like that, when his abuser keeps telling him that’s how you showed appreciation? He said it was our secret and that I shouldn’t tell you? He said you wouldn’t believe me. Promised to hurt you if I told anyone.”
“I’d have believed you,” Coralie whispered.
“Would you?” Nathanael answered bitterly. “You were so wracked with grief over losing Papa. You could barely make it out of bed in the morning.”
Coralie cringed, not even attempting to deny it. “Mon Dieu! I’m sorry.”
“He threatened to fire you from the factory, that we’d be homeless because you couldn’t take care of us. That once we ended up in the streets, the cops would pick us up, and we’d be separated. He threatened to hurt you! Strangle you while you slept if I said anything.That’sthe man you’re taking food over to now.That’sthe man you’re caring for! I stayed away for years because of him. I wanted to forget it ever happened. Wanted desperately to believe it never happened to me but when my wife told me she was pregnant…”
Had her pregnancy triggered memories of his abuse, and if so why? There was so much frustration and pain and shame in his voice that Shaundra felt as though her heart was filled with shards of glass. She ventured to ask, “When did it stop?”
For the first time, he turned to look at her, and his eyes were black pools of shame and anguish. She had to fight every instinct in her body that told her to look away, to spare herself the sight.
“I started sleeping with a knife after I turned eleven. And one night when he sneaked into my bedroom, I rammed it straight through his hand. In through the palm, and out through the back.” The satisfaction in his voice was immense.
Coralie stared as a memory came back to her. “He told me it was a fishing accident.”
“And I told him that the next time he touched me, or threatened you, it would be his throat.” Nathanael’s mouth tightened, a straight line of grim satisfaction drawn across his tense, pale face with a thick pencil.
And the only sound in the room was Coralie’s anguished sobs.