No Way Out - Fern Michaels Page 0,2

could see Jackson one weekend day each week. Had Mitchel not tried to punch her in the face, which had resulted in his fist going through the wall, or had he not trashed the kitchen, perhaps things would have gone differently for him. But the police report told of bruises on her arms and a hole in the Sheetrock. She shivered at the memory of that particular night and recalled the days preceding it. In retrospect, what had happened was inevitable.

Things with Colleen and Mitchel had been escalating, along with his drinking. With each argument, she thought he would strike her, but she had always managed to defuse the situation by agreeing with him or taking the blame for something she didn’t do, something he imagined she had done. It was when he grabbed her by the throat and pushed her up against the wall that she knew the end was in sight. But she didn’t want it to be the end of her. Just the end of their marriage. She couldn’t count the number of times she cried herself to sleep, waiting for him to stumble home. She had tried to shelter Jackson from Mitchel’s hostility, but Jackson was a smart kid. He knew when his dad was acting mean.

At first, Jackson thought his dad was mad at him. But then he overheard his father screaming at his mom, using some awfully bad words. Jackson had pulled the pillow over his head to muffle the shouting. The next morning, Jackson noticed that his mom’s eyes were really puffy and her nose really red. He knew she had been crying, but she smiled anyway and made breakfast.

Jackson was fiddling with his cereal. “Mom?”

“Yes, honey.”

“What were you and Dad fighting about last night?” He looked up sheepishly.

“Oh, just grown-up stuff. You know. Mommy and Daddy stuff.” Colleen was trying to smooth over Jackson’s fears.

“But I heard Daddy call you some very bad names.”

Colleen put her coffee cup down on the table and pulled up a chair. “Daddy and I are trying to work out some problems. You know, like the ones they give you in school?”

“Like a puzzle?”

“Sort of. But I don’t want you to worry about any of it, OK?” She took his chin in her hand.

Jackson grimaced. “Well . . . OK. But it scared me.”

She gave him a big hug. “I don’t want you to ever be afraid because of us.” She looked him straight in the eye. She knew that if Mitchel ever tried to do anything to her son, she would kill him. Literally.

“No, I mean I’m scared you and Daddy will break up. Like Judy’s mom and dad.” Jackson started to sniffle.

“Sweetie, we’ll figure it out. Now, let’s get ready to go to school, OK?”

He hopped off his chair and got his jacket and backpack. “Ready when you are!” He dashed out the front door. He wanted to be out of the house before his father got out of bed. His dad was often in a nasty mood in the morning, especially if he and his mom had been fighting, which seemed like almost every night. And Jackson especially didn’t like the way his father smelled in the morning. It was a stinky beer odor, and his face was scratchy from not shaving for days at a time. Jackson wondered why things had changed. And when. He was deep in thought when his father came roaring out the front door.

“Hey! Jackson!” Mitchel shouted as he stood on the front porch in a stained T-shirt and boxer shorts. “Don’t you want to say good morning to your old man?”

Jackson looked around to see if there was anyone watching. This was the first time his father had put on such an embarrassing display outside the house.

“I said, ‘Say good morning!’ ” Mitchel’s eyes were wide with fury. Jackson didn’t know what to do and was frozen in place. A minute later, Colleen was out on the front porch.

“Mitchel, please get back in the house,” she said in a very mild-mannered voice.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Spittle was coming out of his mouth.

“Mitchel, please. You’re making a scene.”

“Making a scene?” His voice got louder.

Colleen knew there was no way she was going to convince Mitchel to go back into the house, so she pushed past him, grabbed Jackson’s hand, and hurried down the street.

“Yeah! Go ahead! Run, you stupid wretch!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. “And Jackson, you spoiled little creep . . .