Page 15 of Floored (Frenched 3)
“About half an hour away.”
“Well, my studio is in St. Clair Shores. And I have a Wednesday night social dance class every week in November and December.”
“Social dance? Like with a partner?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to have a partner. There are usually extra women there.” And wouldn’t they love to see Charlie walking in the door!
“Do I get to dance with you?”
Sure, how about a hot, sweaty, naked horizontal mambo? I lifted my shoulders. “Maybe.” Bringing my cup to my lips, I took a sip, scalding my tongue. In fact, I was feeling hot all over. Better move to a safer topic. Guys liked to talk about themselves, right? And Charlie Dwyer struck me as the kind of guy whose favorite topic of discussion was Charlie Dwyer. I’ll try that. “So how long have you been a cop?”
“About seven years. You have whipped cream on your nose.”
I wiped my nose with my napkin. “Gone?”
He grinned. “I’m not telling. It’s sort of cute.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “Do you like police work?”
“Mostly. It’s not exactly what I thought I’d do, but I needed a steady job and I’d studied criminal justice for a few years at Purdue.”
“Really? Did you graduate from there?”
“No, I never finished my degree. I had some…personal issues and had to drop out.” He fiddled with the plastic lid of his cup. “Anyway, I needed work and didn’t want a desk job. Police work suits me in that way.” He didn’t elaborate on the personal issues, and I didn’t feel like I should press him, although I was crazy curious. “But I’d always thought about moving back up here. Then last year, my grandfather had some health problems, so the timing seemed right. Your family still in the area?”
“Yes. But my parents are divorced now.”
“Really?” Charlie seemed genuinely surprised. “I guess you never know what’s going on in anyone’s house, but your family always seemed really happy.”
“We were, in a way. Most of the time.” I hesitated before opening up a little more. “My dad has always been very charming and outgoing, but he’s sort of a functioning alcoholic. He was a great dad, but he was awful to my mother in private.”
Charlie’s chin jutted. “He abused her?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean, he didn’t physically abuse her, but he said…horrible things to her.” In my mind I could still hear them fighting late at night. He’d berate her for any little thing—dust on the furniture, undercooked pot roast, a bill paid late. He’d accuse her of flirting if they’d been out and make scathing remarks about her clothing, her hair, her makeup. I shuddered, pulling my hands inside my sleeve
s to warm them. “I overheard a lot of terrible stuff.”
“That must have been really hard on you,” Charlie said quietly.
“Yeah. He never did it in front of my brother or me, but we heard it from our bedrooms late at night. I used to bury my head under my pillow, but I heard every word.” I didn’t talk about this much, but I felt surprisingly comfortable telling Charlie about it. Maybe it’s because we knew each other as kids. “It was so confusing for me, because he was such a happy, loving dad by the next morning. He drove me to ballet classes, came to every performance, coached my brother’s soccer teams, kissed my mother goodbye every morning before work. It was almost like there were two different men living in the house, and I was always nervous the other one would make an appearance if I wasn’t perfect.”
“Ah. Makes sense now.” Charlie nodded slowly, as if truth were dawning on him.
“What does?”
“Why you were so obsessed with being perfect.”
“I wasn’t obsessed with being perfect!” I snapped straight up in my chair.
Confession: I was pretty much obsessed with being perfect. I kept my room spotless. I never talked back. I made straight A’s. I didn’t drink, smoke, or have sex until I was twenty-one. And I never once acknowledged that I heard the terrible things my father said to my mother.
That would have meant a Scene, and I hated Scenes worse than messes.
“All right, maybe a little obsessed,” I admitted. “But as a kid, it was my way of coping with things.” I took a breath. “I loved my dad, I still do. I don’t think he’s a bad person. But when my mother finally got the wherewithal to throw him out five years ago, I sobbed tears of joy and told her she’d made the right decision.”
Charlie tipped back his coffee. “How’s your mom now?”
“My mom? Oh, she’s fine. She found God.”
