Christmas in Bethel

Chapter Twenty-Two

I’ve already shared enough about myself for him to write a book. I’m anxiously waiting for the chance to thumb through his pages.

Beth Stilton’s Diary

Marc’s lasagna was good, if not particularly authentic—he used cheddar cheese—but I’m hardly a connoisseur. I still considered store-bought frozen pizza a treat. What I loved most about dinner is that his brother had cooked for us, which just added to my eagerness to meet him.

After dinner Lee gave me a tour of the main floor. I loved the indoor pool and was looking forward to using it.

“I can swim in the morning?”

“You can swim whenever you want. There’s a robe and pool slippers in your closet.”

“This is more luxurious than the Mark.”

“It’s more private, at least.”

The kitchen looked like something out of a magazine. Like the rest of the house, the room was white, except for the stove, which was stainless steel with a cobalt-blue front that matched the stove hood. The counters and backsplash were slabs of bluish-gray marble, and the fixtures were nickel-plated.

“I might even cook in a kitchen like this.”

“There’s the fridge and pantry. Help yourself to whatever you like. I’m going grocery shopping tomorrow, so if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

We walked out of the kitchen back out into the dining room. “That’s the nickel tour,” he said.

“Are you going to show me the upstairs?”

“No. That’s Marc’s inner sanctum. Like I said, he likes his privacy.”

“Noted. I’ll stay on ground level.” I sighed with pleasure. “I just can’t believe how beautiful it is here. It’s like we’re alone on a desert island.”

“That’s a pleasant fiction,” he said.

“Speaking of fiction, how’s your book doing? Don’t we find out tomorrow about the list?”

“There you go, breaking the spell.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s doing well. My publicist called me last night. The media requests are stacking up, and my publisher is trying to get me to extend my tour into Canada.”

Just hearing that made my stomach hurt. Not with anxiety, but sadness. I didn’t want to be away from him. Still, I tried to sound happy for him.

“Canada’s nice.”

“Canada is nice. But not when I could be here with you.”

I loved that he said that.

He took my hand. “Let’s go watch the sunset.”

We walked out one of the back doors about fifty yards across the grass to where two navy-blue Adirondack chairs were facing the ocean.

“Marc bought these chairs. They’re called Adirondack, after the mountains in New York. Adirondack is a Mohawk word that literally means ‘they who eat trees.’?”

“How do you know these things? You would totally crush it on Jeopardy!”

He grinned. “I do a lot of research. It’s my job to look for interesting things.”

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know where you were born. And I’m still a little hazy about what you do for work.”

“Work,” I said. “Talk about breaking the spell. You know I’m AWOL. I didn’t check in online at work today. It’s your fault.”

“Would you like me to write you a note?”

“I’ll be okay. I’m that one employee without a life who always covers for everyone else, so they owe me.”

“Tell me more about what you do,” he said.

“I work in fraud analysis. I keep people from getting ripped off by cybercrooks.”

“That’s surprising.”

“What did you think I did?”

“I thought you might be a massage therapist. Or a cybercrook.”

“Thanks.”

“How did you get into that line of work?”

“I was good at math.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. People who come from abusive backgrounds gravitate toward things they can predict and control, ergo, mathematics.”

“I was just trying to make money. After I divorced my husband, I went to school to become a bookkeeper. One of my instructors told me that I could make more in the field of fraud analysis. I ended up getting a bachelor’s degree in forensic accounting.”

“Beth Stilton, Cyber Detective. Taking the bad guys offline.”

I laughed. “At least I’ve got job security. That’s one thing about fraud, you know it’s never going away.”

“What kind of things does a cyber sleuth look for?”

“There’s a whole gamut. Friendly fraud, clickjacking, write-off schemes, triangulation, return fraud, proxy piercing.”

“I have no idea what any of that is. But I guess you’re good with a computer.”

“I spend more time with a screen than I do with humans.”

“I think everyone does these days.” He looked out into the horizon. “Tell me about your childhood.”

“That was an interesting segue. I told you at coffee.”

“You gave me the flap copy version.”

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end. Then stop.”

“Okay, Lewis Carroll. I was born in Sellersville, Pennsylvania, which means nothing since my mother was basically a nomad and we were only there a few months. My mother just moved from town to town. After she got pregnant with me, she tried to settle down, but that didn’t work out. So she moved again. With one exception, I don’t remember ever living in the same place more than a couple months.”

“Why was she so nomadic?”

“I think she was either chasing men or running from them. I’m sure alcohol played a part. She was a heavy drinker even before she dropped out of high school.”

“What were her parents like?”

“Surprisingly normal and kind. During one stretch, I stayed with them for almost a year. Those were the happiest days of my childhood.”

“Those were your salad days,” Lee said. “The halcyon years.”

“Are you writing my story?”

“Maybe. Go on.”

“My grandmother used to say to me, ‘I’m sorry about your mother. We raised her the best we knew. We don’t know what happened to her.’?” I exhaled slowly. “I think that sometimes the wiring is just off in people’s head.”

“I would agree with that,” Lee said.

“Nomad aside, she was mean as a snapping turtle, and her drinking just exacerbated that. I don’t remember a time in my life when she didn’t beat me. But the neglect was even worse. I was only six when I became the adult at home. I’d make her dinner, then clean up after. Most of the time she was passed out on the couch. When she wasn’t, she was hungover or mean.

“Then she married Stan. It didn’t seem possible, but things got worse. He was a drinker too. But he had other vices. He sexually abused me at least once a week from the time I was seven until I was fourteen. When I told my mother what he was doing, she hit me. Then Stan did too.

“He told me that if I ever told anyone again, he would skin me alive. To make his point, he brought home a rabbit he shot, and he made me hold it while he cut its skin off in front of me. He said that was exactly what he was going to do to me if I ever told anyone about us.”

I could see anger grow in Lee’s eyes.

“When I was twelve, I realized that the name Stan was just one letter away from Satan. I told myself that they must be related.

“A few years later, when I started middle school, I had to shower with the other girls at gym. One of the gym teachers noticed the bruising around my thighs and went to the school counselor. They brought me in and interrogated me until I finally told them what Stan was doing. They called the police and he was arrested.

“I had to testify against him in court. It was the most terrifying experience of my life. He started making these gestures in court like he was sharpening a knife.

“Unfortunately for Stan, the judge, the DA, and most of the jury saw him do it and the DA explained his threat about the rabbit. At that point I think the jury would have lynched him if they could. He spent seven years in prison.”

“Have you seen him since?”

“Once. I saw him about a year after I got out of the military. We were coming out of a Walmart and I was with my new husband. We were in the parking lot and I pointed him out. My husband went after him. He took him to the side of the building, beat him up, and threw him in a dumpster.”

“At least your husband was protecting you.”

“I thought so at the time. The truth was, he was a bully and he relished the chance to beat up someone and come out a hero.”

“Where’s your mother today? Is she still alive?”

“I don’t know. I cut off communicating with her years ago.”

“And your biological father?”

“Same as my mother. He means nothing to me. I don’t know if he’s alive and I don’t care.” I looked at him. “Have you heard enough?”

“That’s enough history for tonight.”

The sun was setting to the west, and we both just silently looked out at the water.

“Some of the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets in the world are right here,” he said.

“I read that the best place on the Cape to watch the sunrise is Lighthouse Beach in Chatham. What do you think?”

“I think the best place to watch a sunrise is with someone you love.”

I turned and looked at him. “You’re such a romantic.”

“That’s what they pay me for.”

“I can’t afford you.”

He smiled. “We’ll work something out.”