Protege(88)
Collette’s breathing shifted as her eyes followed Jason’s gaze. He looked to his mother, who also looked disappointed. “You heard your father.”
He swallowed and slowly walked to the kitchen, pulling a chair out from the table and turning it. His father came to her and held out the ribbon. “You were a part of this.”
She didn’t answer because he didn’t form it as a question. Placing the ball and ribbon on the table, he removed his belt. “Pants down.”
She lost sight of Jason’s face as he climbed onto the chair, his arms braced on the tall back and his chest against the rungs. She glanced away as he lowered his pants, but her gaze returned to him, hidden by her downcast lashes. His bottom, pale and small, showed under his shirt as his arms rested on the back of the chair.
“This will teach you . . . ”
The belt swung out and cracked over Jason’s bottom in a succession of strikes that had Jason’s body flinching and Collette’s shoulders knotting. “We. Do Not. Steal,” his father snapped, striking his son between each word. “You will fix that man’s fence and apologize to him first thing in the morning. And then you will spend the next week helping him for three hours a day to make up for what you stole.”
Her bottom ached without being touched and she feared she was next, her feet slowly backing her closer to the wall. When it was over, Jason’s motions were jagged and his face was wet with tears.
His father turned to her and said, “Pack your things. Thieves are not welcome in this house.”
Her heart shattered as his words hit her harder than any strike a belt could deliver. “Please, sir, I can help fix the fence. I’ll work too.” She grabbed his arm, terrified that the first home she’d had for more than a month since losing her parents was about to disappear.
His arm yanked away as if her touch disgusted him.
She cried. “Please! You can spank me too. I did it, but I’m sorry. Don’t make me go. Please!”
He walked away and Jason didn’t look at her as he went to his room. She stared at the chair, no longer seeing it as a place of punishment, but a tool of forgiveness. “Please,” she whimpered, rubbing her eyes. “Don’t make me go.”
The missus came to her side. “Come along, Collette, I’ll help you pack.”
She gazed up at the woman, her chin trembling. “I’m sorry. Please let me stay.” She’d climb up on that chair and take twice the strikes Jason had if it made them rethink their decision.
Why did he get to stay and she was thrown away? The truth hit her like stones pelting her battered heart. Because they loved him enough to punish him and forgive his misdeed, but they didn’t love her. She wasn’t worth their effort or forgiveness.
“Collette.” The sharp tone of Jude’s voice cut through her mind, and she focused. He held her face, a look of dark concern tightening his expression. “Say something.”
There were strange sounds behind her, things she didn’t want to hear. “I want to go home.”
His obvious relief at hearing her voice was replaced with determination. He nodded and took her hand. “We’ll leave now.”
They walked through the house quickly, Jude doing something with his phone as he held her hand tight, not letting go until he was slipping her into the front seat of his car.
The ride home was silent. Her mind was occupied with images she’d forgotten, places she’d once hoped to call home, but only made up glimpses of her past, moments so long ago she’d repressed the details.
She couldn’t even remember Jason’s last name or the way their faces truly looked. She could only recall minor details: the shape of the braided rug in the hall, the smell of the cherry trees, the way his father removed his belt, and that chair she was never asked to take punishment on.
It was the second or third foster home she’d had after losing her parents, one she’d thought might be permanent. She’d spent half the school year with that family and even had her own room, but none of it was hers. She never belonged to them and they were never planning on adopting her. At twelve years old, she had yet to understand the life of a foster child came without stability and very little genuine affection.
When they reached the house, Jude walked her inside and sat her at the kitchen table. It was strange seeing him help himself in the kitchen, but he efficiently located whatever he was looking for and soon placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her.
He doused it with some sort of liquor, only a splash, and then, as if thinking it over, added a dash more. “Drink that slowly and then we’ll talk. Careful. It’s hot.”
The trembling of her hands slowly faded as she sipped the tea. Her nerves were raw and jagged as she wondered where all these memories were coming from.
Jude sat across from her, stress wearing on his usually serene face. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it tousled. When she put down the nearly empty cup, he said, “Collette, I need you to talk to me and I need you to be honest.”
She frowned, his words implying she’d been dishonest recently. “I’m always truthful with you, Jude.”
He glanced at the table and licked his lips. “What happened back there?”
Her brow tightened. “I . . . I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after he took off his belt.” She blinked, unsure if that was the honest-to-God truth as pieces of what they’d witnessed slowly came back to her—as though she were seeing them for the first time. Her mind had been somewhere else.