Page 75 of Little Stolen Memories

I crossed the street, entering the house and following Valerie into a sitting room. She looked at the time and went quiet, as if doing calculations in her head.

“Okay, so … he left about ten minutes ago. Takes about five minutes to get to the gym. His spin class is about an hour. You need to be quick.”

Quick didn’t allow me time to ease into my questions.

But assuming she’d heard what I’d been shouting before, she knew the nature of my visit.

What I wanted to talk about was the bruise over her left eye, but that could wait, for now.

“Do you have any reason to believe your son was being abused when he was alive?” I asked.

“When you say abused, what type of abuse are you talking about and what proof do you have?”

“The girl Jackson was dating, Aubree, she told Cora she’d seen bruises on Jackson’s shoulders and back.”

Valerie began shaking her head.

“No,” she said. “There’s no way. I don’t believe it. Ray … he, he wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Jackson.”

I’d said Aubree thought Jackson was being abused.

I hadn’t said anything about Ray being his abuser.

“Why did you mention Ray just now?” I asked.

“Umm … no reason.”

“There is a reason. What is it?”

“No, I can’t.”

“Can’t what? Can’t admit Ray abuses you, and may have also been abusing Jackson too when he was alive?”

“I was a good mother, you know. I tried to be.”

“I’m sure you were. I bet when Ray was abusive to you back then, you believed if he took all his anger out on you, he wouldn’t touch your son.”

As the tears began to flow, she clasped a hand to her mouth. “Ray … he’s not a bad man. You don’t know him.”

She’d all but admitted the abuse.

I’d just told her Jackson may have suffered the same abuse.

And yet, she still defended him.

“I don’t need to know Ray to know his type,” I said.

“It’s not what you think. It doesn’t happen often. He loves me. He just loses his temper sometimes.”

“I suppose that explains the shiner on your left eye?”

Valerie touched the bruised area. “It’s nothing.”

“Anger in any form of aggression is abuse, Valerie. It’s not love. You don’t hurt the ones you love. Physical abuse is a sign of selfishness, a sign of ownership, a sign of disrespect. I know how hard it can be to stand up for yourself. Maybe you don’t want to, or maybe you don’t because you love him. I bet it’s easier to keep telling yourself he loves you than it is to face the truth.”

She staggered backward, leaning against the wall, sobbing.

I said nothing for a few minutes, giving Valerie the chance to process what had already been said. But time was not on my side.

---