Author's note: Happy Thanksgiving to all of you in the USA. Here's a Thanksgiving treat for you. Fanfiction hasn't been sending out emails for the past two chapters, so if you haven't read them yet, go back and read them first. Otherwise, this might not make sense.
Chapter 18:Christian's POV
Thursday, November 24
"Damn, Mia, even the brussel sprouts are delicious, and I usually hate brussel sprouts," Elliot said. He was talking with his mouth full again, animal that he is.
Mia smiled at our brother appreciatively. "Thanks. It's because of the olive oil that I brought back with me from France. I just really love the herb infusion in this particular olive oil."
"How did you cook them like this?" Ana asked. "They're perfectly crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. It's absolute perfection."
Mia answered after chewing her own bite of the brussel sprouts. At least one of my siblings had manners. "Thanks, Ana. The trick is the cast iron skillet. That, and not skimping on the oil. The olive oil needs to be really hot before adding the veggies. I caramelized the onions in the olive oil first, and then added the brussel sprouts. I cooked them on the stovetop for about five minutes, and then added fresh rosemary for flavor and the orange bell pepper mostly for color. Then, I put it in the oven for another twenty minutes." Mia was obviously proud of her accomplishment. She took real joy in the skill of cooking, and I was happy to see it.
"This is the best damn turkey I've ever eaten," Ray Steele commented. He'd been commenting on the excellent food throughout the meal, starting with the appetizers. And the man was looking healthier than I'd ever seen him. I was so happy that he was here with us today, and so was my Ana, clearly.
"I know, right," Elliot agreed. "That smoke house in the back yard? My idea. I just didn't realize at the time how well it would work for Thanksgiving turkey."
"Great job, Meems," I told her. "I agree, the turkey is delicious, and smoking it was a great idea. And the sweet potatoes are amazing, too. Did you learn how to cook all of this in Paris?"
Mia turned her smile on me. "I'm sure my training made a difference," she admitted. "But none of this food is French. I wanted to do traditional American Thanksgiving, with my own twist. The dessert is the most French thing we have, and even it is fusion food. I made tarts. There are some lemon ones, very French, but I also made pumpkin, maple pecan, and apple cinnamon ones. I thought the variety would be nice, and those flavors all seemed the most seasonal. Oh, and I also made some chocolate ones, mainly for you, Lelliot."
"Mmm... chocolate tarts," Elliot replied with a mouth full of sweet potatoes.
"My favorite thing by far is this cornbread stuffing," Dad said. "Did you use Grandma Grey's recipe?" He was referring not to our grandma, but to his. Our great-grandma Grey had been from Tupelo, Mississippi, and had moved to Michigan only after marrying our great-grandfather, whom she'd met in the Army when she'd been stationed to his battalion as a nurse. Grandma Grey had several family recipes that she had handed down to her children and grandchildren, including not only the cornbread dressing that Mia had made today, but also my favorite mac-n-cheese that Mom had made when we were growing up.
"Of course," Mia replied. "Thanksgiving isn't Thanksgiving without Grandma Grey's cornbread stuffing."
As we all enjoyed the food, I noticed how quiet Mom was being. Her eyes were following the conversation, and she was smiling at the comments we were making, but she wasn't joining in, which was unlike her. I was concerned, because I knew she was still thinking about my big revelation, and I knew she felt responsible for what her former best friend had done to me. I didn't know how to make her stop blaming herself. It wasn't a conversation to have right now, anyway. Certainly not with Ana's dad sitting across from us.
Mia's tarts were just as delicious as the rest of the food, and I was thoroughly impressed with my sister's culinary skills. And she had made all of this happen after arriving back in Seattle just a few hours ago. Impressive. A thought occurred to me, and I decided to act on it.
"Mia, how much longer do you have before you finish culinary school?" I asked her. I knew she had to be almost finished by now.
"Less than a month," she replied. "I have a week here, and then I go back for exams. I'll be back home for good by Christmas."
Excellent news. "And do you have any job prospects?" I pressed.
"Christian, let the girl get back home first," Dad admonished me, clearly thinking I was pushing her too hard. He didn't know why I was asking though.
Mia didn't seem to feel pressured, as Dad assumed she would, by my questions. "I have some ideas," she told me. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about them. Not right now, but maybe later today, if you're going to be around."
"We'll be around," I assured her.
After lunch, we all congregated downstairs in the media room, where Dad and Elliot were eager to watch football. I wasn't as excited as they were to watch the Detroit Lions beat the Minnesota Vikings, nor was Ray Steele, who'd expressed an interest in watching the Cowboys and Redskins, but Ray was a good sport. Dad's favorite team was the Lions, being a Detroit native. It had always been an issue for me, but I don't think Dad had ever realized the real reason why I had always avoided watching Lions games with him and Elliot. As usual, he was soon so engrossed in the game that the house could have been burning down and he wouldn't have noticed.
Ana and Mia were the first to excuse themselves, as Mia wanted to show Ana some of her paintings from Paris. Mia was an avid art collector, and Ana was interested in seeing Mia's latest acquisitions, as well as several she'd had a few years now. Mom had already disappeared somewhere, probably cleaning up after lunch, even though she had staff to do that.
I could see that Ray wasn't really getting into the game like Dad and Elliot were, and frankly neither was I, but for undoubtedly different reasons than Ray. Basically, I hated all things Detroit. Actually, I wasn't really that interested in football at all unless the Seahawks were playing, which they weren't today. And I knew that Ray was a Cowboys fan; that was one of the topics of discussion we'd had on the plane ride to Sweden two months ago. I recalled that Ray's maternal grandparents had been from Ardmore, Oklahoma, and he'd grown up watching the Cowboys with his mom and grandpa. His grandpa had even taken him to a couple of games in Dallas when he was growing up.
"Hey, Ray," I got his attention. "Want to go upstairs to the family room and turn on the Cowboys game?"
That certainly got his attention. "Well... if you're sure it wouldn't be rude," he replied hesitantly. But his eyes gave him away, the way they lit up.
A few minutes later, we were relaxed in the recliners watching Ray's favorite team go neck to neck with the Redskins. They gave them a run for their money, and watching Ana's dad get into it was entertaining. Even more entertaining than watching my own dad watching Detroit, but that was probably because it was Detroit.
Besides, I was happy to have this time to get to know Ana's dad better. I wanted to form a bond with him, because I knew how important he was to Ana. And I was truly enjoying this time... that is, until he turned to me during a commercial break.
"So... I've been wanting to ask you something, son," he said so nonchalantly that I didn't even think about putting up my guard, which had been down most of the day.
"What's that, Ray?" I asked.
"How long do you intend on waiting before you make an honest woman out of my little girl?" he asked me.
I'm sure I must have looked like a fish out of water. I sure as shit didn't know how to respond to that.
Ray must have seen my distress, but he only cracked up. The asshole was laughing at me. I almost got offended, but his words settled me down.
"Hey, relax, son. Let an old man be impatient, OK? I know you kids aren't ready to tie the knot yet. I just... I'd like to be here to walk her down the aisle, you know? I've had a lot to reflect on over the past few months."
"Ray, if it were completely up to me, I'd marry her today. But Ana... well, she can't be rushed. She wants to... take things slowly. She's not even sure about moving in with me yet."
"You asked her to move in with you?" he asked. Shit, was he angry? Should I have asked his permission or something first?
"Umm, yeah, I did. And she told me she'd think about it."
He nodded. And then, he smiled. Thank fuck, he wasn't mad. "That's a step in the right direction. And after what happened the other night, I think she'll be... more easily persuaded. I'll talk to her about it, too."
"Umm... thanks, Ray." I wasn't sure what else to say. He approved of her moving in with me? Hot damn.
The game came back on then, so we were silent again until the next commercial break. I'd assumed the conversation was finished, but no, Ray wasn't done. In fact, he jumped back into the conversation as if we hadn't just had a long break from it.
"Anybody who sees the two of you together knows where this is headed. And I want to tell you this today because I... you know, I'm not promised tomorrow. And you need to hear this."
He had my undivided attention. "I'm listening," I assured him.
"When the time comes... You don't need to come to me, to ask my permission or any bullshit like that. My Annie is a grown-assed woman, and I've raised her to respect herself. Don't disrespect her by asking me something that only she needs to be the one to answer. And you sure as hell don't need to talk to her excuse for a mother. Just worry about Annie herself. She's the one you want to marry, not me, and not the bitch who gave birth to her. But know this, Christian. You have my blessing. Not that you need it, but you have it."
He'd just left me speechless again. And I, Christian Grey, am never speechless. But I'd imagined Ray as this traditional dad who would certainly want to be asked for Ana's hand. He was blowing that theory clear out of the water.
And then, he had the nerve to laugh at me again. "You should see yourself," he laughed. "Don't feel too much like the powerful business mogul right now, do you?"
Was he teasing me? I knew him well enough that I knew he wasn't trying to offend me. By God, yes, he was teasing me. And... I liked it. Holy shit!
I laughed, too, finally finding words. "Actually, no, I don't. Not at all. Umm... thanks, Ray."
He nodded, and still smirking at me, continued. "And know this, Christian. If you hurt her, I will kill you. Now, the game's back on, so be quiet."
"I love her, Ray," I had to say. "I will never hurt her."
"Good to know," he muttered, his attention clearly back on the game.
I must admit, I didn't watch much of the game after that. My mind was reeling, thinking about Ana and how to propose to her. And when? Would Christmas be too soon? New Year's? Should I take her to New York for the New Year and propose to her there? Maybe on top of the Empire State Building? That would be romantic, right? I thought I remembered seeing something like that in a movie I'd watched with Mia a few years ago. But it would also be cold as shit in New York at that time of year. Maybe I should take her to Hawaii instead. I'd been thinking about purchasing a vacation home there. Maybe Ana could help with picking out a home for us. Yes, Hawaii was a much better idea.
"There's something else I want to tell you, son," Ray was saying. Oh, a commercial break again. I hadn't even realized it.
I looked over at him and responded, hoping he couldn't see my hesitation. This was the most real conversation we'd ever had, even more so than that airplane conversation when he'd forced me to explain exactly why I was paying for his treatment in Sweden.
"This is important. I've been wanting to say this to you for a while now. Here it is. If I die tomorrow, I will have no regrets. None. And you shouldn't either. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here right now, at least not like this, watching this game pain-free. I'd probably be in a wheelchair by now, at the very least. Instead, I'm jogging a mile everyday. Just a mile, granted, but I'm fucking jogging, instead of in a wheelchair. And I have you, and you alone, to thank for that."
"Umm... Ray... I..." Again, he'd taken the wind out of my sails. What did I say to that? "It was because of Ana, you know. I love her, Ray, and she loves you very much. It was killing her to see you suffer."
"I know that," he said. "Now be quiet and listen. You know the risks of this medication I'm on. My risk for a heart attack is pretty damn high now. The longer I'm on the medication, the greater the risk will be, but if I don't take the medication, the ALS will return. You know what my choice is. But listen to me, Christian, if I die in my sleep tonight, I have no regrets. This medication, this treatment, was the right decision. I am going to enjoy my life for as long as I have. Don't ever feel like you did the wrong thing. You didn't. I'm damn grateful for you and your billions right now. Just... don't be an asshole to my Annie. That's all I ask."
"I won't, Ray. And... I'm glad I could help."
He nodded, apparently satisfied with our conversation. I hoped he'd said all he needed to, because I wasn't sure how much more of this heavy shit I could take.
Thankfully, Ana and Mia joined us a couple of minutes later. "Hi, Dad! Here you guys are! Are the Cowboys winning?"
"Damn straight, they are," Ray answered.
Ana plopped down in my lap, and we shared the recliner as we finished watching the game. I think Mia watched me and Ana more than she watched the game, but every time I glanced at her, she looked away. But I could see from her expression that she was happy. She could see what was happening between Ana and me, and she was happy for us.
After the game, and our celebratory toast (the Cowboys won), Mia asked me if we could have that conversation that she'd alluded to at the dinner table. Ana told me to go, so she could hang out with her dad for a while. So I followed Mia up to her bedroom.
Mia plopped down on her bed and motioned for me to sit in the window seat across from her.
"OK, before I tell you my idea, I have to ask... Are you OK, Christian? I mean, you seem happy. Really happy, actually. I mean, happier than I've ever seen you. But... well, it's a lot to process. She molested you. And none of us knew it. Mom's still walking around like a zombie. And Dad's... well, he's being Dad. Asking me all kinds of questions to make sure something like that never happened to me. As if it's not bad enough that Mom asked me that, but coming from Dad is even worse. It didn't, by the way. I mean, nothing bad like that ever happened to me. Aunt Elena was always nice to me. But anyway, I digress. Are you as happy as you seem, Christian? Really?"
"I'm really happy, Mia," I assured her. "The only thing bothering me right now is that Mom and Dad are blaming themselves. This wasn't their fault. I was really fucking good at hiding it. So was she. She manipulated all of us."
"I was shocked," Mia admitted. "Aunt Elena, of all people. She was always so prim and proper. To think, she was doing... that. It seemed so... unlike her. But I guess none of us actually knew her."
"Anyway... there's something I want to ask you," I said, impatient to change the subject.
"OK, there's something I want to ask you, too, but you go first," she responded.
"I have a business proposal that I want to run past you," I told her.
"A business proposal? Christian, I'm 21. And I only just turned 21 a couple of months ago. And I'm not... you."
"It's just an idea, Mia. Hear me out, OK?" I insisted. I knew I had a way of making things sound overwhelming, but I believed that she'd be completely capable of doing what I was about to ask her to do.
"OK, I'm listening," she replied.
"You know I purchased a restaurant here in Seattle a few months ago, right?" I began. "The Mile High Club. I was impressed, first of all, by the location. I liked the ambiance. The food wasn't bad, either, but mainly, I wanted to venture into owning a nice restaurant where I could take business partners."
"You're offering me a job there, aren't you?" Mia guessed.
"Not just a job, Mia," I revealed. "I want you to run the place. I want to make you the new manager."
"New manager?" Mia seemed uncertain, just as I knew she would. She's never believed in her own abilities. "Christian, I'm not qualified to manage a restaurant of that caliber. I'm a chef. I belong in the kitchen."
"Mia, the Mile High needs... I don't know, a face-lift or something. Have you been there?"
"Once, over a year ago, before you bought it," she answered.
"And? What did you think?" I asked.
"I liked the view. I don't remember anything about the food," she admitted.
"The food is OK, but not award winning. I'd like it to be, and I think you can make it be. But the Mile High needs more than just improved food. Mia, the tablecloths they used this week were orange floral. Ugly as hell. And they served us the same damn food two days in a row."
"They served you left-overs?" she asked incredulously.
"No, not left-overs, just the same buffet. Exactly the same options."
"Did you not choose the items yourself for the buffet?" she asked.
"I don't have time for that shit," I told her. "That's why I pay them, to make decisions like that. But I expect better quality than what we got this week."
"Have you talked with the current manager about your expectations?" she asked.
"Not yet, but I will. But I don't expect much from that conversation. I think the Mile High is in need of some big changes, including new management. That's where you come in. It needs you. You're more than just a good cook, Mia. You have great design taste too."
"Orange floral?" she repeated my words from earlier.
I nodded. "And the furnishings look dated. I'm not sure they've been updated in this century."
"Wow," she said. I could see she was thinking over my proposition, really considering it. It was time for me to add the extra incentive that I knew would win her over.
"I'd really like you to be part of the decision-making process. And eventually... Mia, I'd like to gift it to you."
Her jaw dropped open. "Christian, you want to GIVE me the Mile High Club?"
"Once I've helped you insure it's success, yes, that's exactly what I want to do," I answered.
She looked confused. "OK, but... wow! I'm not sure where to even start. You want me to run the place now, even though I don't know what I'm doing, and then you want to make sure it's successful before you give it to me. Sounds a little like you're setting us both up for defeat."
"Not at all," I insisted. "I'll help you, Mia, you know that. I'll put whatever staff you need in place. But you get to make these decisions. If you want to hire somebody else to manage the place while you work in the kitchen, you can do that."
"Really?" she asked. "That sounds... good. Can we keep it quiet that you want to... make me the owner? At least, at first?"
"Of course," I assured her.
She bit the inside of her cheek, one of her tells that she was thinking deeply about something. Finally, she asked, "How much decision-making power are you giving me?"
"Carte blanc, Mia," I assured her.
"So... you'd be OK with me changing the name of the place?" she asked hesitantly.
That question surprised me. "You want to change the name?"
"Umm... yeah. The Mile High Club? It doesn't sound anything like an upscale restaurant. First of all, why call it a club when there's no membership? And more importantly, with the mental picture that it gives people of having sex on airplanes, I'm surprised you don't have to station guards to keep people from regularly going at it in the restrooms."
I chuckled. Mia was so damn funny sometimes. "I actually liked the name. It was one of the reasons I bought the place. But if you want to change it, I'm OK with that. Do you have ideas for names?"
She looked pensive. "If we're going to specialize in French cuisine, which I'd prefer to do, we should give it a French name. But something that fits Seattle. But something with our name in it would be cool too. Everything you own has your name in it. Why should your restaurant be any different?"
"Your restaurant, Mia," I reminded her. "At least, it will be."
"Well, as luck would have it, we have the same last name. See how that works out?" Mia replied.
I didn't want to remind her that someday she'd get married and change her last name. I didn't want to think about her getting married someday. But Mia apparently read my face, as she has always been pretty fucking good at doing.
"Even when I get married someday, I'm not going to change my name. I'm Mia Grey. I'll always be Mia Grey."
I smiled, happier than a pig in shit that she wanted to keep our family name. "So you want to have Grey in the name of the restaurant?"
"We could play with it a little, since it's a color too. The color of the cloudy sky in Seattle. Good for a restaurant in the sky."
"Ciel Gris," I suggested. Grey Sky in French.
"Ciel de Grey," Mia amended. "We should keep Grey, instead of Gris. Grey's Sky, in English. Sky of Grey."
"I like it, Mia," I told her. "Ciel de Grey. We'll need to revamp the place, give it a facelift. A French theme throughout. A new menu."
"Can I commission my artist friend in Paris to do a few pieces for us?" she asked.
"Of course," I answered. "I told you, Mia, carte blanc. You're in charge. All I ask is that you keep me in the loop."
"You don't understand, Christian, I don't want to be in charge. I'm not ready for that. But... I think I can be, someday. Thank you for believing in me, but I'd really like it if I can start out small. I really like the idea of working in the kitchen, as a nobody, at least at first. Kind of like Undercover Boss."
"What's that?" I asked. I figured she must be referring to a TV show or something.
She snorted. "I forget that you never watch TV except when I make you. It's a TV show where the boss pretends to be somebody else so they can see how the employees act when they're not around."
"Well, yeah, then, I guess that's what you're going to be doing," I agreed with her.
"This is perfect, Chrissy. Wow! I love you!" It had been a while since Mia called me her childhood nickname for me. I liked hearing it almost as much as I liked hearing her say she loved me.
I laughed. "I love you, too, Meems."
"This is like, so much bigger than my idea was. So much better." She sounded excited now. "As long as you're going to be there to help me with this, I think I can do it."
"I know you can do it," I said confidently. "And yes, I will be there every step of the way. But... just out of curiosity, what was your idea?"
"I wanted to ask you to loan me the capital I need to start a small cafe. I could wait until I'm 25 and get access to my trust fund, but I didn't want to wait. But now... this is so much better, Christian. A small cafe isn't really my dream, but it sounded like a reasonable goal. A good place to start, you know? But I don't need that now, not if I'm going to do this instead."
"The sky is the limit, Meems," I told her.
"The Sky of Grey," she said happily, and then added, "I'm definitely going to need help with the business side of things. I truly don't know what I'm doing there. I can take charge with the menu, I'm confident about that. But there's so much more to running a successful restaurant than just the food. If I'd gone with my plan, I was going to hire a business manager, and I'll probably still need to do that."
"I'll help you with that," I promised her. "By the time you return from France, we'll have it all in place."
"Ciel de Grey!" she exclaimed happily. Shit, now she was giddy. I felt that warmth in my heart that I'd been feeling all day. Happiness. It felt fucking good.
A minute later, I left Mia in her room, where she wanted to call her friend Lilly, and I went downstairs to check on Ana. I found her and Ray, both napping in the same recliners where I'd left them. There was no question that Ana needed the rest, so I left her alone and went in search of my mom. She'd been so quiet during our family Thanksgiving dinner, and then she'd disappeared immediately after that. Frankly, I was worried about her.
I searched all through the house, and she was nowhere to be found. Dad and Elliot were still watching TV downstairs in the media room, but they hadn't seen Mom. I'd fully expected to find her in the music room, playing the piano, but it was empty. Finally, I decided to check outside. And that's where I found her, sitting on the deck staring out at the Sound. It was a bit cold out, so I took a blanket from the back of the sofa in the family room after I checked on Ana again.
"Hi, Mom," I greeted her as I wrapped the blanket over her shoulders. She'd clearly been crying. Shit! I'd caused her this pain. This was all my fault. She was beating herself up over something she'd had no control over.
"Christian," Mom said. "How are you, son?"
"I'm... happy, Mom. Really and truly happy. But I'd be happier if you weren't out here moping around. Let it go, Mom."
Mom gazed out at the sound again, and then she sighed. She looked back at me and said, "You're happy. You really are. I can see that. It's all I've ever wanted for you, and now, you're happy." Her voice cracked, and she sobbed as she got out the rest of her words, "I can't tell you... how happy... that makes me."
"If you're happy, why are you crying, Mom?" I asked. I wasn't confused as much as I just didn't believe her.
"I brought that woman into our home, Christian. I told her things... very private things... about you. I trusted her with your weaknesses, and she used them against me. Against you. She preyed on your trauma, and I helped her do it. You suffered so much, and all I ever wanted to do was heal you, but I didn't. I only made it worse. So much worse! And I knew all the signs, but I didn't see them. My own son, and I didn't see!"
"Mom... you've got to stop this," I insisted. "I'm OK now. More than OK. Please, stop beating yourself up."
"You don't understand, Christian," she argued. "Primum non nocere. First, do no harm. When I took that oath, I meant every word, with every cell of my being. But I've violated everything I believed in. The very reason I became a pediatrician. I wanted to heal, not harm. But I've harmed you, my own beloved son. I'm so sorry, Christian."
I put my arms around her, closer than I had ever let her get to me, and I told her earnestly, "Mom... I forgive you. I love you. I don't hold anything against you. Don't you get it? You're my angel. You saved me. I'll never hold anything that happened against you, and neither should you. Please, Mom, don't do this to yourself. It wasn't your fault."
"Oh, my baby boy," Mom muttered. And then she was weeping. I pulled her tighter in my arms, and her head was touching my chest. At first, I began to panic, but I thought about Ana and how she was able to touch me. This was my mom. And she needed this. I could do this. I pushed the panic away and held my mom while she wept in my arms.
I'm not sure how much time passed, but I waited for her because I thought she needed to get it all out now. Finally, she raised up her head and looked at me. She seemed to realize all of a sudden that she was touching me.
"Oh, Christian, I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?" She stepped back so she wasn't touching me any longer.
I smiled comfortingly, I hoped. "I'm fine, Mom. Are you OK?"
She shook her head. "There's nothing OK about this. But don't worry, son. I'll be fine."
A thought occurred to me. "Mom... I'm going to see John Flynn tomorrow."
"Yes, I know," she responded. "You told me. You and Ana are going to see him together."
"That's right. Would it be OK with you for me to ask him to see you too? Maybe we could do a family session or something. Would you like that?"
She nodded as her eyes filled with tears again. "Yes, I think that's a wonderful idea, son. In fact, I've already made an appointment with a therapist for next Tuesday, but a family session would be very welcome."
"I'll schedule it then," I promised. "What's your work schedule for next week?"
She looked uncomfortable, like she didn't want to answer my question.
"Mom?" I asked. "What is it?"
She sighed. "I suppose I can't keep it a secret. I've resigned from my position at Seattle General. Dr. Manning rejected my resignation, so I guess I'm taking a leave of absence instead. At any rate... I'm not working next week. Or the week after that. Or the rest of the year."
"Mom... don't you think that decision was a bit... drastic?" I asked.
She explained bitterly, "Christian, I broke my hippocratic oath. I did harm. Not just to you either. Do you realize that I invited Elena to be a part of Coping Together? She volunteered with at-risk youth. I introduced them to her, for Christ's sake. And am I really to believe that you were the only one that she did... that... to? No, I'm not that gullible."
Barney's words echoed in my head. "You weren't the only one." Shit! Mom was probably right that Elena had abused the kids from Coping Together. I made a mental note to check with Barney to find out.
"Mom... do you have names?" I asked. Maybe it wasn't too late for those parents to press charges, to send her ass to prison where it belonged.
"Christian, I can't tell you that. But I've got to find a way to make this right."
"Let me help you, Mom," I implored.
Just then, we heard the sliding door close behind us. "What the hell are the two of you doing sitting out here in the cold?" Dad asked, sounding concerned.
"Talking," I answered. "I'm trying to convince Mom that she shouldn't keep blaming herself for what happened to me. I hope you aren't still doing that too, Dad."
Dad sat down next to us and looked me in the eye as he responded, "Christian." He paused, framing his words just right. "Someday, you'll become a parent, and then you'll understand. It's a parent's responsibility to protect their children, and when you find out that you failed to do the one thing that matters most as a parent, there's no way possible that you can't look back and see everything you did wrong. Yes, your mother blames herself for trusting that evil woman. I trusted her, too. And I blame myself for being a workaholic instead of a more present figure in your life during your most formative years. We were both wrong, your mother and I. And no amount of pleading on your part is going to stop us from blaming ourselves."
I sighed, because I got it. But I wasn't satisfied. "I hate, absolutely HATE, that the two of you see me now as a victim. Can you not see how happy I am now?"
"There's no shame in being a victim," Mom said sadly.
"No, I get it," Dad added quickly. "You want to move on, son. You need to move on. And so do we, Grace. It happened. We were shit parents. But look at our son now. Not only is he a successful businessman who employs thousands of people around the world, and a self-made billionaire, but he is happily in love with a beautiful and sweet young woman who clearly loves him just as much. And as much as I feel the need to beat myself up for failing to be the father he needed, I think I'd take more satisfaction in making sure the bitch who hurt our son pays for it." He glanced over at Mom and added, "And I don't mean by physical violence."
Mom chuckled humorlessly. "I promised, Cary."
Dad turned back to me and said, "I've spent a great deal of time over the past couple of days researching this. As for what she did to you, we can't make a criminal case because of the statute of limitations."
"Yeah, I know, Dad," I told him. I'd already researched all this shit.
Dad continued, "There's a stronger possibility of building a civil case, but my gut tells me you wouldn't want that."
"No, absolutely not," I replied emphatically. "Can you imagine the kind of publicity that would come from that?"
"Yes, I can. But if you don't do it, she gets away with it," he responded.
"Not necessarily," I said. "There were others. I heard it first from my IT guy, Barney, and just now from Mom. It might not be too late to build a criminal case with them."
Dad nodded. "Yeah, I've been exploring that angle as well. But your mom refuses to tell me who they are."
Mom made some kind of sound of exasperation. "Haven't I done enough damage already? I've got to maintain some semblance of protecting these kids, even if I did set them up to be molested by a pedophile! If I tell you who they are, you're going to go to their parents, and when this all comes out, the kids are going to be re-victimized."
While Mom was speaking, I was thinking back to my dealings with Elena over the past few years. She'd had the same submissive for several years; I couldn't remember how far back I'd first heard her mention him. I'd assumed he was an adult, but I'd never asked his age. What was his name? And was he one of the Coping Together kids?
As I continued to rack my brain, Dad responded to Mom, "Grace, you aren't thinking clearly about this. I understand where your mind is, sweetheart, but you need to see the big picture here. If we don't talk to these boys' parents, then they're not going to get the help they need. We HAVE to tell them. And if that means opening a criminal case... we can leave that decision up to them, but you can bet your sweet ass I'm going to push for it. And Grace, if telling them about our responsibility in all this means that we need to be held accountable for the role we played in introducing that woman into their lives, we will. We will settle with them before they even think of civil action against us. Don't you worry about that, sweetheart."
"Isaac," I remembered. "Elena mentioned his name several times over the past couple of years. I assumed he was an adult, but now, I don't know. And I never knew his last name, but Barney can find out. Knowing Barney, he already knows."
"Isaac Woods," Mom revealed. "He's Mia's age."
"Do you recall when she first started mentioning his name?" Dad asked me.
"No," I answered. "But even if I did, it wouldn't prove anything. Elena isn't stupid. She's many things, but stupid isn't one of them. She wouldn't have mentioned the name of her submissive if he were still underage, not even to me. She probably didn't reveal his name until he was over 18. I have no idea if she had something going with him earlier than that."
Mom was sobbing again as she said, "She did. God in heaven, she did. I knew it already, but you just confirmed it. God damn it!"
"What do you mean, Grace?" Dad asked.
Mom sat back, wiped her eyes, and began her story. "Karen Woods first came to Coping Together the same year that Christian went to Harvard. She had two kids, Isaac and Addison. Addy was ten at the time, and Isaac was fourteen, almost fifteen. Karen's husband Mark was a truck driver who was rarely home, and when he was, he was verbally and physically abusive to all three of them. He wasn't only an alcoholic, but he also used recreational drugs whenever he was home long enough, and that just made him meaner. Anyway, Karen divorced him a year after we met, and he's been out of the picture since then. At first, Karen came to Coping Together for support, but later she became one of our volunteers. I consider her a good friend now. God, this is going to kill her."
"So... you introduced Isaac to Elena?" Dad pressed. His tone was not accusatory but information gathering. Nevertheless, Mom looked guilty.
She nodded, teary-eyed. "He was so much like Christian had been at that age. Angry. Fighting all the time. Getting suspended from school. I thought..." She stopped and sighed, wiping her eyes. "I truly believed that Elena had helped Christian through hard labor. Tough love. Bullshit. And when the same behavior change happened with Isaac, I was more convinced that Elena's methods were... effective." Her voice cracked again, so that she barely got out the last word."
"Mom," I said, as I reached out and rubbed her shoulder. "In a strange way, it WAS effective. I DID stop fighting. I DID start getting good grades. I got into Harvard."
Mom wiped her eyes again as she revealed, "So did Isaac. He didn't end up going there because of the expense. But he got accepted. He's a student at UCLA now; he got better scholarships there. Karen's so proud of him, and rightfully so. He's going to graduate summa cum laude, if he keeps up in his final year as he has the first three years."
Dad turned to me and took my arm to get my attention. "Christian, I want you to understand something, son. That woman did NOT help you. Yes, you stopped fighting and got better grades, but you did that YOURSELF. That woman isolated you from us. She made you believe that we'd reject you if you told us the truth. Am I right?"
I nodded. I didn't really need to say anything to confirm his words. We all already knew the truth. Now, we knew. We all three sat there in silence for a few moments, just processing this heavy as fuck conversation.
"Matthew McKelvey," Mom said, out of the blue.
"That's the other boy you mentioned?" Dad confirmed.
Mom nodded. "His single mother is a recovering addict. No known father, at least not reported. He either died, or they divorced long ago, because Matt has his last name. Anyway, Matt's in the system. He's been in several different foster homes over the past couple of years. I... I introduced him to Elena over a year ago."
"How old his he?" Dad asked.
Mom shook her head sadly, no doubt beating herself up again. "We just celebrated his 16th birthday two weeks ago," she answered. "He has a little brother, just a year younger. Nolan. They've been in foster care together, always placed together. I pray to God she hasn't gotten her claws into both of them."
"Same thing, Grace?" Dad asked, rather urgently. "Odd jobs for her, followed by a behavior change?"
Mom nodded. "Except... there have been a couple of occasions when Matt had bruises, when he claimed to have been in a fight. It could have been Elena."
"Where is he now?" Dad asked. "Still in foster care or back at home?"
"His mom has custody of him. She's been clean for a few months now, doing really well. Charity Schneider is her name. They live in Rainier Beach, near Kubota Garden."
"There's something I need to tell you both," I said, once again recalling Barney Sullivan's words. "I've got video footage. I haven't seen any of it, but my... my staff have. I'm not sure if these boys are on it, but I expect they will be."
Dad's eyebrows raised, a rare occasion for Dad to show surprise. "Are you saying... you've got cameras in her house?"
I nodded. "In her dungeon, to be specific. And before you say anything, yes, I know, Dad. I know it's illegal."
"That wasn't what I was going to say," Dad objected.
"Dungeon," Mom repeated. "Good God!"
I ignored Mom and asked Dad, "But it is... so it can't be used in court, right?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Depends." Dad always gave a perfect lawyer answer. It got on my fucking nerves sometimes.
"Depends on what?" I pressed him.
"A few things," he answered cryptically. "How it ends up in the hands of the police. How... evident... it is that it was taken without her knowledge."
Now I was the one who was surprised. "Are you suggesting...? You want to use it to frame her?"
"Possession of child porn is a felony," he answered simply. "She didn't just possess it. She created it. At least, that's what the court will believe. And if we can frame it to look like she intended to distribute it, that will be another offense. When the prosecutor sees it, if it shows what..." His voice cracked, but he kept going. "What I expect it will show. What she did to all of you. They're going to want to send her away for life. The more charges we bring against her, the better."
I nodded. "I don't want to be implicated in any way," I warned Dad. "It can't be tied to me. Not by any means."
Dad put his hand on my shoulder and vowed solemnly, "Christian, I will never fail you to protect you again. If it is the last thing I do, I will protect you."
"I want her dead," Mom muttered.
"Grace!" Dad objected.
"I mean it, Cary. Prison is too good for her. She doesn't deserve to breathe the same breath that these children breathe. There are some people that this world would be better off without them in it, and she's one of them."
My mind immediately went back to two months ago, when I'd said those very same words to Ana, referring to myself. I'd wanted to end my life because I believed that the world would be better off without me in it.
I marveled at how much my life had changed in just a few weeks. I no longer saw myself as a monster that the world needed to be rid of. No, my self perception had made a complete 180 in just the past few weeks. And I realized, although I could unquestionably credit Ana with my change of view, along with the intensive mental health therapy that I'd undergone and was still undergoing, it wasn't Ana alone or therapy alone that made a difference for me. No, it was a combination of factors, including the two people sitting here on a cold November day, staring out at the Puget Sound with me.
Here were two people who loved me dearly, who were beating themselves up for their perceived failures as parents. And inside the house, I had two siblings who would lay down their own lives for me. And I'd do the same for them. This was my family, and I loved them dearly. And I needed to be sure that they knew it.
"Mom, Dad... I need to tell you something. I love you both, so very much. You're not failures, neither of you. You took me in when I was an abandoned little boy. You gave me food and shelter and a safe home. You loved me. You gave me a life worth living, and I'm so very thankful for both of you."
Well, that set them both off, and the next minute we were all three crying like babies. And then, I did something I didn't think I'd ever be able to do. I shared a group hug with both of my parents. I wish I could say it felt good, but that would be a lie. But the pain I felt in my chest was more because of the pain I knew they were feeling than because of my touch phobia, and that realization... that felt fucking good.