Page 13 of Saved By the Sergeant

“Oh, darn it, “Geneva says as she gets up from the table. “I forgot the orange juice.”

“Sweetheart, sit and enjoy this amazing meal you made while it’s hot. We don’t need orange juice. We can have it tomorrow.” As I hear the words come out of my mouth, there’s an odd feeling in my stomach and a tiny voice in the back of my head, praying the storm doesn’t end.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before she blurts, “Donny Mason is going to kill me.”

My blood runs cold. “Who’s Donny Mason, sweetheart?”

Her pretty face goes pale. “We used to date,” she says and takes a deep breath. “He’s a cop.”

My blood pumps hard. “Why would he want to kill you?”

“I don’t even know where to start…”

“Take your time, sweetheart.” I reach across the table, and gently rest my hand on top of hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are filled with such pain and anguish that I want to annihilate this Donny Mason character. My heart pounds faster.

“When we started dating, he was so sweet and thoughtful. I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d finally met a nice guy.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “But I was wrong. And when I realized what kind of man he really was… it was too late.”

Her voice is so soft that I have to lean in to hear every word.

“I was trapped with no way out.” She stands up, turns around, and lifts the back of her sweater. “He has a bad temper and doesn’t like to hear the word no.”

I blink, as I try to unscramble my brain as I stare at a thick, jagged two-foot scar that curves from her left shoulder downto the top of her right buttock. It has ugly raised edges that are uneven, with tiny fissures that shoot out all over her skin.

“He did that to you?” I whisper.

“I fell through a glass coffee table.” She sits, keeping her eyes cast down. “Well, I didn’t fall. I was pushed.”

“I am so sorry that happened to you,” I no longer want to annihilate Donny. I want to torture him within an inch of his miserable fucking life. “What did he call you, sweetheart?”

She looks at me, confused. “What?”

“What did he call you?”

“Geneva,” her bottom lip quivers. “He always called me Geneva. Nothing else.”

“All right,” I say as I rub my hand over my jaw. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll call you Gennie from now on.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ve never been called Gennie.” Her lips slightly curl at the edges. “I like it.”

“Perfect,” I declare. “To me, you’ll be sweetheart, Gennie, or whatever cutsie name I can think of. But I will never call you what he called you.” I sit back in the chair, tormented by what else he may have done to her. “We’re not all bad, Gennie. There are a lot of us who are good, honest, kind… and gentle.” I breathe out.

“I know.” she tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “I met you.”

I have to restrain myself from launching across the table and crushing her to my chest.

“Did he pay for what he did to you?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “He’s a cop. Nobody would believe me over him.”

“I know some fine cops who would believe you, sweetheart.” And when this storm is over, I’m going to take her to them. “When you went to the hospital to get stitches, didn’t the staff ask how you were injured?”

“After it happened, he kept me in his apartment for two weeks. “

Bile burns the back of my throat. I don’t want to ask the next question, but I must know. “Then who sewed that up for you?”

“He did,” she whispers, cradling her face in her hand, “and he stapled me.”

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