Irises
by softydog88
Chapter Four
"Call 911"
December 29, 1995
She was powerful, not because she wasn't scared, but because she went on so strongly, despite the fear —Atticus
Marilyn was suffering through another sleepless night. She felt sick to her stomach―not from an illness, but because she dreaded her father coming home. He had been on an exceptionally long binge this time; for weeks she had watched her mother taking empty vodka bottles to the recycling bin before the sun rose, when she thought Marilyn was still asleep. The booze had pushed her father into a state of continual anger and the arguments now happened so often it was as though one simply flowed into the next. The fact that they were all about money only made things worse. Marilyn hadn't told her mother about that encounter on the street, but after a month of essentially hiding in her room while her father slept off the booze, she decided she had to. She made her way into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Sandra was in the living room watching TV. Marilyn made a cup of hot cocoa and took a seat at the table where Sandra joined her a minute later.
"Having trouble sleeping?" Sandra asked.
Marilyn ignored the question. "Why is he always so angry, mom?"
Sandra had spent hours thinking about how to tell Marilyn the truth, and the one thing she had concluded was to carefully admit nothing more than necessary to put Marilyn's mind at ease.
"I think it's mostly frustration. Your father made a good living on Wall Street, but he was stuck in middle management. We had everything we needed and when you were born, we dreamed about sending you to Dalton and Columbia. Then he got his chance, and became an executive, and suddenly everything was in reach. Now he can't find a job and I had to go to work. We're making do as best we can, but his pride is hurt. And it's not because I have to work, either. It's just that it must be killing him to face rejection day after day. He's got all that experience, and the few jobs openings there are go to young kids right out of college."
"Why was he fired?"
"Honestly, I don't know. He told me that some young hotshot with connections was handed his job. I don't know if that's the whole story, though."
"But he hasn't been looking for a job, has he?"
"What makes you say that? Where do you think he goes every day, all day long?"
"I'm not stupid, mom. I hear the two of you argue. I can't understand a word he says, he's so drunk. And even if I didn't figure it out from that, I hear you yelling at him, telling him to be responsible and take care of his family."
There was a long pause. Sandra's lips were parched; she licked them and sighed.
"Mom?" Marilyn pleaded. "Quit stalling."
"Yes," Sandra finally said, "I yell at him, because it's my job to protect you. I'm sorry that you have to hear it, but it's his job to take care of you, too. Your father needs to be reminded of that."
"What about his job to love me?"
Sandra sighed. "That's not really a job, sweetie. It comes with the territory, and it's the most natural thing in the world. We gave you life; we can't help but love you. So please, don't worry. I'm making enough at my job to pay the rent and feed us. And I might get to be a sales associate soon, and at Bloomingdale's, that means commission money. Quite a lot, if I manage to move some merchandise." She tried to conceal her doubt with a weak smile, but Marilyn wasn't convinced.
"Where does he get the money to drink, mom? Do you give it to him?"
Another pause. Marilyn's impatience was evident; she was tapping her foot and she arched her left eyebrow.
"I do," Sandra admitted. "I'd rather that he take money from me than steal it out of desperation."
"Steal it?" Marilyn cried, and she burst out crying. She put her arm on the table and buried her face in the crook of her elbow. "I saw him on the street," she said. "He was drunk and he was...begging."
"What?" Sandra gasped. "When was that?"
"A few weeks ago. I was with Jason after the movie and I was scared and so embarrassed."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sandra shouted, but Marilyn shook her head without looking up. She cried from embarrassment, from frustration and from rage.
Then they heard the sound of a garbage can being knocked over and Marilyn hurried to her room and shut the door.
"How did it happen, Castle?" Beckett asked after they had gone to bed. "I'm dying to know. Unless it's too personal, of course."
"Not at all," Castle replied. "It was during one of Meredith's weird periods where she claimed to have rediscovered her maternal instincts. Even though Alexis had been living with me for four years, Meredith still sued to get custody. I wasn't surprised, but I was really disappointed. Meredith was constantly trying to undermine my relationship with Alexis, and this time she had gone too far."
"And how did Alexis react to that?"
"She took a very dispassionate approach, mature, focused, 'just the facts, mom.' I was so proud. Maybe a little too proud. Meredith took note and I'm certain that was behind her sudden request for more alimony. And Alexis handled our court date exceptionally."
"She did? How?"
"First of all, she wasn't intimidated or nervous at all. She told the judge that she understood that Meredith wanted Alexis to live with her and what that meant. And then she said 'and I want to stay with Daddy because he does a better job of loving me than Mommy does. He tells me he loves me, all the time. Mommy never says that. And he makes my breakfast and takes me to school and tucks me in at night.' I was on top of the world."
"That must have unnerved Meredith."
"I expected her to be crushed, but truth be told, she seemed more relieved than anything else. The judge picked up on it too, I think; he didn't waste any time dismissing her suit. Alexis actually clapped, right there in court."
"Have you ever wondered what would have happened if Meredith had won custody?"
"I try not to. I'm just happy that it worked out, you know? Later, when we were getting ready to go our separate ways again, Alexis said to Meredith 'no hard feelings, Mommy. I just think that Daddy and I are a better fit.' Then she shook Meredith's hand and we left."
"That's incredible," Beckett said. "I've always known Alexis was mature, but I didn't realize that she was that mature. Not at 7 years old, anyway."
"She was certainly more mature than Meredith. But I was surprised when as we were walking away, she turned around, ran back to Meredith, hugged her and said "I still love you, mommy. I always will." And that was the first time I saw Meredith act like a mother since Alexis was a baby. She was a terrible wife and still is a terrible mother, but I've never regretted marrying her." He shook his head and added "well, let's just say that without her I wouldn't have Alexis, so whatever penance I had to endure while we were married was worth it."
"OK, but surely there have been some moments when you and Alexis weren't getting along. No relationship is that perfect."
"I can really only think of one. Alexis was pretty mad at me for not taking her with me on a book signing tour. She was eleven, and she thought that I could just yank her out of school for three weeks and hit the road with her in tow. She refused to see me off, and she didn't talk to me the first week, even though I called her every day, but I wore her down. And I brought her back a copy of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with a personal note to her by J.K. Rowling, so by then, all was forgiven."
Beckett rolled over and kissed him goodnight.
Marilyn pressed her ear against the door. She heard her father barrel into the house and his voice, loud and threatening despite being too slurred to be understood, seemed to be coming from all around her. A chair scraped loudly against the floor and she grew afraid that something dreadful was about to happen. She cracked open the door and peered into the kitchen. Sandra's back was against the wall. She held out the chair like a lion tamer, backing away carefully and said "Eric, this has to stop!"
He took a few menacing steps forward, his mouth hanging open but no words emerging from it. Sandra bolted for the table, trying desperately to keep it between herself and Eric. He pulled a bottle of booze out of his jacket pocket, took a swig, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and swigged again. Sandra kept moving around the table as Eric resumed the pursuit. She grabbed the cup of hot chocolate that Marilyn had made and flipped her wrist, hitting Eric in the face. He didn't react; he just stood there, his pupils dark like small black marbles, the whites of his eyes covered with lightning bolts of red. Finally, he put his hands under the lip of the tabletop and yanked, flinging the table onto its side. Sandra tried to run past him, but he reached out and grabbed her. He held her by the shoulders and shook her like a doll, causing her glasses to fly off her face.
"Whadda you know what it's like out there?" he said, his language skills leaving with his sobriety. "You gotta job." He exhaled alcohol breath in her face and she winced in disgust. She wanted to hit him, scratch him, poke out his eyes, but her arms were pinned to her side.
"Marilyn is afraid of you," she managed to say. "She knows that you're nothing but a filthy drunk."
He squinted in confusion. "Afraid o' me? No she ain't. I can prove it."
He shoved Sandra away as hard as he could and she bounced off the wall, leaving behind a few spots of blood. He staggered toward the hallway. Sandra ignored the pain and beat him there. She stood with her arms out defiantly, blood dripping from her nose, daring him to try to get past her.
For a moment, he was too stunned to act. He wiped his face with his palm and in the same motion let go with a furious backhand, catching Sandra in the jaw. She dropped to the ground and Eric stood over her and raised his leg to kick her.
Marilyn let out a wail. Eric heard her and looked up. Sandra scooted a few feet, opened a nearby cabinet and grabbed a roll of quarters. Grasping it tightly, she punched as hard as she could, straight up. Eric fell and cupped his hands between his legs in pain. He sat up and caught Sandra's ankle as she tried to stand, pulling her down with so much force that she bounced off the floor. He grabbed her wrist and forced her hand open. He took the roll of quarters, then opened the cabinet so hard that the door came off. He tossed it aside and grabbed a goldfish bowl filled with loose coins and a few rolls of pennies. Then he stood up, glared at Sandra and spat at her before he made his way out of the apartment.
Marilyn ran to her mother. "Are you all right?" she cried. Sandra rubbed her hand across her jaw a few times.
"Call 911. When the police get here, I'm taking us to a hotel. I have to keep you safe."
Then she hugged Marilyn and kept hugging her until they both fell asleep, and the phone call was never made.