Tempting Daddy by Ava Sinclair
Chapter Eighteen
Carmen
My father isn’t expecting me at his office, but I’m on my way and don’t know what to expect when I face him. Everything is coming to a head, and I know Father Dominic is right. My mother will not leave my father as things stand now. We have a moral imperative to hold him responsible. Fear is his cudgel; he’s used it to keep my mother silent. Now he’s using it to keep me silent.
“This stops today,” Father Dominic told me as we sat in the office. “I don’t know how much longer I’ll be parish priest, but until I officially take off this collar, I have a responsibility to protect anyone who is in danger. Your mother is in danger.”
It’s a little past lunch time when we arrive at my father’s furniture business.
“Are you okay?” Father Dominic looks over at me as he pulls into a parking space on the side of the building.
I don’t know how to answer his question. This is the second time he’s helped me stand up to the man who raised me. The first time I saw my father as a tyrant. Now I see him as a monster. The first time I was gripped by fear, and that was just over church business. This time I feel steadier, stronger. Father Dominic has told me that no matter what happens, I don’t have to go home tonight if I don’t want to. I don’t have to be afraid anymore. I don’t know how this is going to turn out, but I believe him. I have faith.
We go in through the big double doors. The showroom is huge with groupings of furniture arranged to give buyers an enticing idea of how it would look in their homes. Two salesmen are on the floor talking to customers. I take a deep breath as we move past a long row of recliners. Above us, vivid images are displayed on huge flat screen televisions that my father recently added to his inventory. My father’s business is incredibly successful, yet he harangues my mother for what she spends at the grocery store and rarely gives her money to buy anything for herself. A wave of guilt washes through me. How did I miss all the signs of abuse?
‘Authorized Personnel Only’ reads a sign on the door in the back of the showroom. I’m about to walk through with Father Dominic when I stop.
“Wait,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I need to do this alone.” I force myself to smile. “Take care of me afterwards?”
“You know I will,” he says. “And if you need anything, just call for me.”
My decision to face my father on my own comes as a surprise even to me. I’ve moved from fear to anger as I’ve relived the past few days. My father’s office is to the left. I open the door.
Mindy’s desk sits empty, and I breathe a sigh of relief. She must still be at lunch, so at least I won’t have to run the gauntlet of her interference. There’s always a chance my father is out, but if he is, I’ll just sit in his office and wait. But when I open the door, I see that he’s here, and he’s not alone. Mindy is leaning over his desk, her low-cut blouse displaying her ample cleavage. My father is smiling up at her. His hand is on hers. As soon as they see me, he pulls his hand away and she steps back, glaring.
“Carmen,” he says, his face reddening. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” I say.
“How did you get here?” His eyes narrow. “Your mother?”
“No. I caught a ride. I wanted to talk to you.” I look at Mindy. “Alone.”
Mindy crosses her arms, her glare intensifying. “Your father and I work closely together. There’s nothing you have to say to him you can’t say in front of me.” She looks down at my father. “Besides, didn’t you tell me she was coming to apologize?” She looks back at me. “I hope that’s why you’re here.”
I ignore her completely. “She can stay if she wants to hear us discuss mother and why you won’t let her leave.”
My father stands up. “This isn’t the time or the place,” he growls. “We’ll talk at home.”
“No.” I walk to his desk. “We’ll talk here. Now.”
I’ve never seen my father look so angry. His meaty hands are curled into fists and I wonder why I’m not afraid.
“Out, Mindy,” he says.
“Stephen…”
“Out. This won’t take long.”
Mindy protrudes her bottom lip in a pout and stomps out. As soon as she shuts the door, my father walks from behind the desk. I know he’s expecting me to backpedal, but I don’t. I stand my ground.
“Are you going to hit me, too?” I ask.
His red face grows redder. “I shouldn’t have let you go to work at that church. I thought it was a good idea, but it turns out to be one of the worst decisions I’ve made. It’s that damn priest, isn’t it? He put you up to this?”
“If you’re asking me if Father Dominic gave me courage to do the right thing, yes. He’s a good man. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“You little bitch.” He spits the last word. “Are you fucking him?”
“Why?” I ask. “Are you fucking Mindy?”
The bravery is welling up within me. My father’s chest is heaving with rage. He’s not used to me taking a stand.
“Your mother will never go to the police,” he says. “You know she won’t. So, you can make all the accusations you want. Laura knows better than to defy me.”
“Why?” I ask. “Is that the only way you can feel like a man? By controlling women?”
I can see the fury in his eyes and realize at that moment that there’s something more to this situation, something more to his raw hatred of me, and that it’s somehow linked to my mother. I’m deliberately needling him and with each passing moment he grows more agitated. The room feels heavy with pressure, like a dam about to burst.
“Whore,” he says. “All whores.”
“I guess that makes you a whoremaster, Dad,” I say sarcastically.
“Don’t call me that,” he says.
“What? Whoremaster?”
“No. Dad.” He clenches and unclenches his fist. “Don’t call me Dad. I’ve hated that word every time it came out of your mouth. You’re not my child, Carmen. You never were.”
For a moment, I think he’s just being hurtful, then the sinking feeling hits. This isn’t just a barb. I feel myself falter and an ugly smile comes over his face.
“That’s right,” he says. “Your whore mother was already knocked up when I met her. Boyfriend took off. Her folks would have disowned her. She was desperate, working in the café where I used to go for lunch when we lived in Bridgeport. I was lonely without my wife. Needed somebody who could cook and clean and give me children. I asked her to dinner. She was so pretty. So… fresh…”
I feel my stomach churn at the way he says the word. His eyes narrow.
“At least I thought she was. We dated a month and got married. When she said she was pregnant, I was so proud. Finally, I’d have sons–a houseful of children like I wanted. But then you were born earlier than expected.” He shakes his head. “And as soon as I saw you, I knew you weren’t mine. But what the hell was I going to do? Let the world know I’d been had?”
“Why didn’t you just divorce her?” I find my voice.
“And lose half of what I’ve accumulated over the years?” he asks. “She’s easy enough to keep in line. And I don’t believe in divorce.”
“But you believe in abuse? In punishing your wife for the rest of her life? For hating a child for not being yours?”
“It’s her fault I hate you,” he says. “I could have accepted you if she’d given me other kids. But she didn’t. All these years it’s just been you, a stranger’s kid staring at me across the breakfast table, following me around, trying to get my attention. And not one damn kid of my own.”
“And that’s what you hate, isn’t it?” I ask. “The truth. Your first wife couldn’t give you kids. My mother couldn’t. The truth is, you’re to blame. You can’t get a woman pregnant.”
This is what pushes him over the edge. He grabs me by the neck, his thick hand strong around my throat. I panic, my airway too constricted for me to yell. My arm flails out, catching a desk lamp that falls to the floor. I’m aware of movement, of the door opening, of a woman screaming and yelling. Mindy was just outside the door. She must have been listening. Then someone else comes in. It’s Father Dominic. He grabs my father—or the man I always thought was my father—breaking his hold on me.
I collapse to the floor in the commotion and look up to see Father Dominic raise his fist. He’s a split second from giving this abusive bastard exactly what he deserves, and in that moment, I find my breath to cry out.
“Don’t!”
My plea stops him. Everything seems suspended in time. The man who raised me, cowering under the raised fist of a priest. Mindy, ashen faced, standing by the door.
Father Dominic lets my father go and steps back. Surprisingly, Mindy is the first to speak. She walks over to my father.
“You don’t believe in divorce, huh? Well, that’s news to me. Two years, Stephen. That’s how long you’ve been promising me. Two years.”
Her disdain makes sense now. I look at my father. He can’t meet my eyes.
“This ends today,” Father Dominic says, pointing at his face. My father shoots him a resentful gaze but has nothing to say until we’re almost out the door. “I’m glad you’re not mine,” he says.
I stop and look back. “That may be the first thing you said that I agree with.”
