Hard to Resist - By Kara Lennox Page 0,27
with a pair of dull scissors. They sat in the back of the classroom, never opening their mouth, hoping no one would notice them. Do you remember those kids?”
Ethan shrugged. “Sure. Every class has one, it seems.”
“Well, I was one of those kids.” She paused to let that sink in. “And did you ever have a toy drive at school, so the poor kids could have a toy under the tree? Or collect clothing for a poor family? Again, that was me.
“My mother never had a job in her life. She counted on men to take care of her. Sometimes they beat her up, and sometimes they beat me up—though I learned pretty quick how to stay under their radar.”
She could see Ethan getting more and more agitated by her story, until he finally exploded. “Why didn’t someone help you? Help her?”
“People did try. I got taken away from her twice. But she always cleaned up her act enough to get me back. I’m not sure why she bothered. I never saw the slightest indication she cared anything for me. Maybe she just wanted the welfare checks.”
“What about your father?”
Kat shrugged with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. These memories still had the power to make her cry, if she didn’t guard herself. “Never knew him. Never even knew his name. There’s no father listed on my birth certificate. Anyway, the church ladies used to show up at our apartment every few months with a garbage bag of clothes and some canned goods and macaroni. Every stick of furniture we owned was somebody else’s castoff. I was seventeen the first time I actually went into a store to buy new clothes.”
“Oh, Kat.”
“The last thing I want is for you to feel sorry for me. I’m only telling you this so you’ll understand. Being forced to accept charity made me feel weak. Stupid. Not normal. And I swore, over and over, that when I was grown up I wouldn’t ever, ever take anyone else’s old stuff again. I would buy things new, or I wouldn’t have them at all.”
Of course, being married to Chuck, she’d accepted charity of an entirely different kind, but she hadn’t seen it that way at the time. Chuck saw her at a bus stop on a rainy day and offered her a ride home, and she’d accepted. When he found out her situation—that her mother had just died, and no one was taking care of her—he’d taken her on as his special cause. He’d fed her, clothed her and found her a job. A year later, he’d married her. Then he’d put her through college, helping care for Samantha at night so she could attend classes or study. He’d wanted her to become a teacher.
But he hadn’t really wanted her to become independent. She was his project, and he enjoyed being the savior and nurturer far more than he would ever admit.
When she got her master’s degree and started working, pulling in her own salary and wanting a say in family decisions, Chuck had been devastated. He still expected her to be his teenage bride, looking up to him for everything.
They’d tried to make it work for another year, but there was no saving it. When they split, she made another vow. Not only would she always buy things new, she wouldn’t depend on anyone for anything—because there was always a price. Chuck thought he could earn Kat’s love by giving, giving, giving. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t love him, not the way a wife should love her husband. She was grateful, and at seventeen she hadn’t known the difference between gratitude and love.
She still wasn’t sure she could tell the difference.
“Did that help you understand?” she asked. “At all?”
“I think so. You…don’t like secondhand stuff?” he ventured.
She sighed, exasperated. “No, Ethan. I don’t like being seen as a charity case. I’m not the poor girl anymore. And when I saw that you and your buddies had donated all that stuff, everything I felt as a little girl came rushing back to me. That’s what I want you to understand. I had a knee-jerk reaction, and I apologize for that.”
“Do you really want me to move all the stuff out?”
“No.” She had to laugh at herself. “Samantha likes her new bed, though she was quick to remind me it’s not the canopy bed I promised. And it was nice to sit at a real table. So, no, ripping up the apartment and hauling