Reconciliation Ch. 02: Recovery

“She’s wised up a lot. And yes, I had to check. You have a history. I think you are selling yourself a little bit short, by the way. Short of chaining her up at home, they had to agree to allow her to visit after school. The door has to be open when she stops by.” He said pointedly. “She has some serious crush going on.” He examined Reg’s face for deception. “Break it to her gently.”

++

Wes sat, champing his jaw. This was incredibly unfair! HE was the victim here. SHE had cheated on HIM! Why should he have to pay a fucking dime?

“Since he is so adept at trying to hide assets, this court rules that Mr. Moran needs to turn in his passport to the court immediately so he doesn’t have an urgent need to take a trip to some tropical islands with private banking laws. In addition, the court is ordering that a forensic accountant, paid for by the plaintiff, does a thorough analysis of his assets, income and any other special ‘arrangements’ he’s tried to make with his employer. I would urge the defendant’s counsel to depose his superiors at his place of employment to get them on record. Of course, this is part of the now ongoing court costs which will be paid by the plaintiff.” The Judge intoned.

There was a quick and hurried consultation. “Your Honor, Mr. Moran’s employment prospects would be grievously hampered by such depositions which would be prejudicial. As a freelance consultant, his contract might be dropped and that would harm his ability to pay child support…possibly irreparably.”

The judge looked at the attorney and then picked through the files set in front of him. “Your client was a full time career man at that firm until 4 days before he filled a motion to divorce his wife. Now we come to find he isn’t unemployed, but he willingly decided to go freelance to hide his income. Well, Mr. Moran, live by the contract, die by the contract. Let us not forget that so far, Mr. Moran is six months behind on his child support payments as it is, so if he loses his job, it really won’t change his children’s situation in the slightest, will it counsel? And another thing…because of the…slippery nature of your client, the court is mandating a GPS ankle bracelet be put on before he leaves the court house today.”

“Your Honor!” the lawyer implored.

“A discreet ankle bracelet. It seems your short wearing days are over for a short time until all these accounts and such are analyzed. Mr. Moran.”

“Are you ffff…kidding me? SHE cheats on me and I get treated like a criminal?” Wes leapt up and started screaming as his lawyer, appalled, tried to get him seated and shut up like a good little client should.

The judge looked at him with a jaundiced eye. “The court fully appreciates that what she may or may not have done to you was immoral. However, the law is not good in dealing with ‘he said/she said’ issues. What we CAN judge is perjury. You stated in this Financial Affidavit that you had revealed all your income and assets. You lied to the court. In addition, you were given a preliminary order to pay her child support and alimony. You didn’t. So this is a separate matter from your marital woes, Mr. Moran. You ARE a criminal. Now, counselor, I would suggest you keep control of your client or I could easily remedy keeping track of him in a much more direct fashion…”

Wes almost got into three accidents on the way home, he was so enraged. He provided his salary…well…most of it to his family. He spent time with them. He’d loved his wife. The other women were just distractions. Bonuses for being such a stand up guy to his family. They weren’t anything serious. Didn’t he deserve a separate identity? Not like her fucking around with a former boyfriend. His eyes almost bulged from his head in rage. And what thanks did he get?

Reggie. It was all his fault. He’d made his life sound so wonderful. He kept telling the stories and he’d lead him on. So…maybe he wasn’t paying as much attention at home as he should have. But the slime fuck had lead him into being distracted and then slipped behind his back to nail that whore of a wife of his!

He slammed his car door and almost ran up the steps, he was so keyed up with adrenaline.

There, wedged In the top of his peep hole was a business card.

Contracted what? Wes examineded at the card. It was heavy linen card stock with debossed printing in very shiny red ink in a Relato Serif italic font. An expensive card.

He read the card again.

He must be hallucinating. He looked closer. The period at the end of ‘Enterprises’ wasn’t in fact a period. It looked like a tiny drop of blood.

++

It was a day or so later when Kelly walked into the room, a look of concern on her face. Slowly, a small smile graced her lips as she looked at Reg with something akin to adoration.

Inwardly, Reg winced. She was dressed like a teenaged girl trying to look like a mature but hot woman. Her hair was done up and it looked like she had spent an hour making up her face.

She pressed her cheek against his and air kissed him as she gave him a very gentle hug. “Un…Reg…how could you scare me like that? What would I do if I had lost you?” her expression turned semi angry and she was using a very mature voice. “I told you to see a doctor! You have to take care of yourself!” Stress lines marred her face, lines which hadn’t been there six months ago. The little girl he watched grow up was maturing quickly and it saddened him.

“Hey Kelly.” Reg simply didn’t know what else to say.

She flounced on a chair next to his bed and slumped over bonelessly, the teenager inside finally finding an expression, holding his hand and laying her head on his mattress. “Oh Reg. I was so scared when I heard. And…” she abruptly cut off. He was in a hospital. She didn’t need to add to his woes by telling him about Rick and his threats when he was stuck in here. She stroked his fingers.

“And what?”

“And mom and dad are being real pills about me visiting.” She prevaricated.

He let go of her hand and flipped the handcuff still stuck there. “So I heard. What did we talk about in the car?”

“Which thing?”

“I told you to keep your head down and live straight.” Her mouth opened to protest, but he cut her off. “Do your parents hate you?”

“They drive me crazy!”

“Do they hate you?” He pressed.

“Mom makes it her life’s work to ruin my life!”

He gave a ghost of a smile. “Yeah, but do they hate you?”

“They…they… don’t hate me.” She admitted.

“No. They might be wrong. They might ‘ruin your life’...but they only have two short years to do it. They think they are doing the very best for you that they know how to do…Maybe they are right, maybe they are wrong. But it doesn’t matter. It’s their job.” Reg shifted gears. “You should have seen their faces when you vanished. I’ve never seen your mother and father looking so…devastated. So…you think you owe me a debt. All I did was take a few punches and kicks. They have taken care of you 16 years. I wish…I wish I had had a mother for my childhood. I think that maybe you take the 600 days left on your sentence and try to be a model ‘prisoner’.” He grinned at her. “Maybe you’ll get time off for good behavior. Then you’ll have the rest of your life to ruin it on your own…or not. If you won’t do it for them, the people you actually owe it to, do it for me.”

She held onto his hand. “Okay. I can be good for a little while. The important thing is for you to get better.” She put on her very mature face while drinking his face in.

He took her hand and slipped the knife in as quickly and as painlessly as possible to cut the nascent bond he saw her forming. The neutral tone he affected was purposefully chosen to sound slightly dismissive and to cool the relationship. “Thank you. You’re like the daughter I never had. You have to know I’d do anything for you. You’re my little Kelly. I mean it. If you need ANYTHING, you need to call your good old Uncle Reg.”

A welter of emotions crossed her face as he saw hope for something more die, and it settled on a slightly curdled smile on her face. “Of course Uncle Reg…I…thank you. You didn’t need to say that. I mean… we both belong to the Loser’s Club, right?” She grabbed his pinky in hers. “It’s kept with a blood oath.” Reg’s face paled a bit at that. “Are you okay?” she asked alarmed.

He didn't think ANYTHING about blood oaths were funny. “Fine…just…I think I need to rest now.” All things considered, he felt pretty good physically, but emotionally…He could still see she was in some emotional pain.

“Of course.” She reached over and hugged him with a desperation which caused a lump in his throat. The pain was secondary. She whispered in his ear “Thank you…thank you…thank you…I love you Uncle Reg and if I live to be 100, I will never ever forget what you did for me.”

She walked quickly to the door and the hallway beyond where she examined the signs in detail so she could find a ladies room to cry in privately.

Reg, oblivious to this, rolled over, feeling better than he had in months.

++

Curtis pulled in and closed the garage door behind him with the remote. He examined the obvious and not so obvious hiding places in the garage. He left his car and carefully unlocked the door leading inside the house. The lock was a key lock on both sides. The paper tell he put in the top of the door wasn’t moved. She might still be inside.

Entering, he smelled beer, a scent which wasn’t there when he left the place. He drew the stungun he now had to carry. Entering carefully, he saw a long wad of stretched out cohesive tape lying on the floor. Just one. The door to their utility room was open. He silently glided to the door.

Inside, her wheelchair was tipped over on the floor. He saw she had gotten one of her feet loose from where he bound her to the chair and rolled herself into the room with one foot and tipped it. She was curled up in the chair, her head bobbing furiously near her right hand. On the ground was a shattered beer bottle from the recycling bin, another one of her pet projects. He hit his forehead with a fist. He had secured the knives and tools. He hadn’t thought of this.

His coming in the door had changed the light in the room. She spat out the shard of glass she was using to cut loose her hand and looked up at him “Hi honey! How was your day?”

He looked at her wrist. Two more minutes and she would have gotten through the thick bonds of cohesive tape securing her right hand…at most. “Could have been worse.” He admitted. He hefted her chair up. “ Is there really any point in trying to keep you tied up?”

“Not really.”

“I brought you a present.”

“A present?” she said more coolly than normal. She was a bit annoyed at the situation and Curtis took her emotions very seriously when she was triggering. Then, she was what he considered slightly unreasonable but which most psychiatrists would consider dangerous enough to seriously consider bricking up doorways.

Wordlessly, he drew a knife, and sawed her hands free, while she watched him carefully. Then he handed her the knife. She held it a moment thoughtfully, her face expressionless…then she used it to saw her left leg free. He relaxed.

She carefully gathered the cut tape and handed him the knife back. He handed her her gun back. Relationships were all about trust. “So.” She said simply.

He handed her the cell phone. She peered intently at the picture displayed there. In it, a fat man and woman were walking with a reasonably cute blonde girl between them toward a car with a tween trailing behind. All of their expressions were mixtures of anger, disappointment and sorrow. “It’s her?” she asked. Honestly, Andrea didn’t need the picture. Curtis had released her. That was the only message she needed. However, she appreciated his thoroughness.

He handed her a rectangle wrapped in Sunday Comics. She ripped it open. It was a high school yearbook. “Page 45.” He said. She turned there. There, Kelly DiVecchio’s face looked back at her, a year younger and a lot more innocent. Happier than the face on the phone.

“I didn’t need this. I would have believed it if you had just told me.” She started idly flipping through the book, remembering HER high school days. She’d made some of the same mistakes…writ larger. Her eyes fell on one of the personalized scribbles from classmates.Hey Kells, Shake them pom poms. You are the best girl on the Cheer Squad. Badgers RULZ! Trent

Andrea froze. “Curtis” she said slowly, “where did you get this?”

He shrugged indifferently. “I picked it up somewhere.”

“Somewhere…you mean…her house. This is her yearbook, isn’t it?”

He shrugged again, acquiescing.

“Curtis, how did you get this?”

“I was in a bit of a hurry. I was needed at home for babysitting.” He said slightly acerbically. “Trust me, destroying that stupid garden gnome was a net benefit to the aesthetics of the world.” He shrugged again. “And I may have left a few muddy footprints around.” He admitted.

“Mud? It hasn’t rained for 4 days.” She pressed.

“They had a hose.” He intoned slowly.

She was appalled but also intrigued. “Did you steal anything else?”

“You know what I am and it’s certainly not a petty thief.” He said slightly outraged. “Taking this was a necessity.”

She fell back onto her wheelchair in mild shock. Some stranger came into their house and stole a single HIGHLY PERSONAL ITEM from their teenaged daughter’s room, leaving muddy footprints all over the house. No…it would be a single trail straight to the daughter’s room. They would be HORRIFIED! They would feel incredibly violated! They would be scared to death! They would…

…they would be paying very close attention to the safety of their daughters.

Because as a runaway, her parents would normally only be watching her. Now, they would be looking for outside threats too.

She pushed herself out of the chair, put her hands on his chest and rubbed her cheek against his. “Thank you.” She said quietly but earnestly.

“I’m not doing this for her.” he denied. “I am a busy guy. I don’t have time to babysit and keep you from getting over excited and engaging in some manifest stupidity. This was just the easy way to fix this...for me.” He hastily added.

“Of course. It was perfectly sensible and purely selfish.” She cooed, mollifying him and nuzzling him again. Such gestures were anti-ethical to his nature and required thought and effort. He didn’t do it for Kelly…he did it for her…and she loved him for it.

“So…are you happy?”

She smiled. “No. I still want those men’s guts in a puddle.” At his bristling, she quickly added, “But life doesn’t always give you what you want. So this is…adequate. Enough. She is safe. I’m…not triggering.” Relationships were all about compromise, after all. “Now let me go do some yoga to get the kinks out of my back, hit the sauna and we’ll be ready for a long, overdue bath.”

Curtis sniffed at his pits. “I just had a shower a few hours ago.” He said disingenuously.

“BATH! Both of us! And you call me stupid…”

++

Just like all good things, all bad things come to an end too, and so it was time for Reg to be released from the hospital. He was given stern warnings and lectures about the increasing risk he took for permanent brain damage he’d face with each additional concussion.

“You’re going to need to take that up with my fan club, Doc.” Reg sighed.
The mandatory wheelchair ride left him in front of Jim’s minivan. Hank and Jim were both there and while he was mobile, they felt the need to help him into his seat anyway.

For the first 20 minutes of the drive, Reg sat, his seat partly leaned back. It was when he noted the lack of buildings and trees that he started to pay attention to where they were going. Where he was going was deep in the sticks? Farmland surrounded him on all sides. “Um…guys…I still have that apartment rented. Where are we going?”

“Concussion preventative measures.” Hank said.

“Concussion? My concussion is all better.” Well, mostly it was. He was supposed to get a lot of rest and avoid a lot of mental activity.”

“Not your concussion. Our concussions.” Hank replied.

“You don’t have concussions.” Reg remonstrated.

“Exactly. Beth told us if we wanted to keep it that way, we’d better deliver you to her place from the hospital. And I need to keep working.”

“Do I get any say in this?”

“Nope. You might beat us up later, but she doesn’t fight fair at all!” Jim said mournfully. “She talked to our wives first.”

++

Wes looked back into the rear seat of his car. The presents were still there. A small portion of his brain yelled at him, stating that a few gifts didn’t make up for the almost half a year he had spent away from the kids. The more practical side reminded him it couldn’t hurt and would at least give them something to do, maybe together. Being a dad was HARD.

He checked the iPhone again mounted on the dash of his Audi. This was really in the sticks! Farm fields as far as the eye could see. His kids were living here? He wanted to yell at Beth something awful about this, but he recalled that he hadn’t left her any money.

Of course, part two of his plan, besides seeing his kids was to maybe see if he could talk her into a more equitable distribution of assets. He personally thought that Judge had it in for him. He was constantly reminded of the divorce whenever his right ankle rubbed against the divider in the car, which jostled his GPS ankle bracelet. He was still fuming over that indignity.

The three small houses clustered in the fields stood there. Hers didn’t seem quite so desolate. Wes thought as he approached. The grass in front looked pretty nice; there were a couple of new trees growing in front and…

Reg was sitting on a rocker on the lawn, his arm in a sling and some bandages on his head. Beth came out carrying two large plastic cups and sat on a rocker next to him.

Wes didn’t even slow down as he passed the place.