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Facing The Past Chapter 2 free porn video
"You still can't skip a rock, can you?" Chris called as he walked to the pond. It was a bright day with a stiff breeze carrying the scent of pine trees and fresh earth. It was a smell he missed, he admitted to himself.
Pete turned around, saw him, and flipped him the finger. "Up yours, Kincaid. I don't need to skip rocks any more." He stood, took aim, and whipped the rock across the pond. It was nearly to the other side before it landed in the water with a faint plit.
"True enough," Chris agreed. He scanned the ground, found a flat rock and paused, waiting for the right moment to throw. When it came, the rock skipped over the water nearly as far as Pete's had flown.
"Not bad," Pete said, crossing his arms. "Not bad. You've still got it. When do you get time to skip rocks in the big, bad city?"
Chris laughed. "I don't. Guess you don't forget how." He gave Pete a once over and punched his shoulder lightly. "Good to see you, man."
"You, too," said Pete. "Oh, hell, Kincaid, it's been three years." He stepped over and wrapped Chris in a bear hug and heartily slapped his back.
"Jesus." Chris rolled his shoulders. "What did you do? Inject steroids? Your arms were never that strong."
Pete let out a strong laugh. "Amazing what training will do, isn't it?"
"I meant to say congratulations," Chris told him as they stared out over the water. "I got your message about being called up to the majors. That's excellent, Pete. I keep meaning to get to a game, but I can never find a schedule."
"Tell me when you can travel," said Pete, "or when you'll be in the city. I can set you up with tickets." He grinned happily. "It's a cool perk."
"I'll bet," Chris agreed. "So, when did you get into town?"
"Just before the fireworks," Pete said. "You know, at the Fordham place."
Chris nodded. "Yeah, Mom told me about it. Well, told what she knew, which r wasn't much."
Pete shook his head. "I can't believe those two bastards aren't dead or in jail after all this time. Shakes your faith in the system, seriously."
"I saw Annabeth," Chris told him. Pete raised an eyebrow. "Yesterday," he continued, "after I got in. Went for a walk and there she was, staring at the house. I blinked and I swear, she was eighteen again."
"Still have a thing for her, huh?" Pete observed. He'd known Chris had fallen for pretty Annabeth Dileo at first sight. Pete had liked her as well, although when she disappeared that one night after high school, he'd held a bit of a grudge for Chris's sake.
"I think I might," Chris said. "I think I might."
"How was she?" Pete asked. Then he shook his head. "I can't help it. Whenever I think about her, I can only remember that day senior year when she came in with two black eyes and a soft cast on her foot." His brown eyes flashed. "I wanted so bad to go thrash her brother."
"Me, too," Chris said. That was one of the nights that Annabeth had stayed at his place. When his Mom had seen her as Chris walked her home from school, Lorna had all but carried Annabeth inside. "My mom was spitting mad. Wanted to press charges and everything. I don't know why Annabeth stopped her."
"She was always odd about that," Pete said. "I mean, don't you think most people would have done something? File charges, get a lawyer, something?"
Chris shrugged. "She didn't think it would help. I'm not sure she was wrong."
Pete snorted. "Yeah, old man Cabbani was the sheriff, then. Not much different from her father, was he? Had no problem getting drunk with him, that's for damn sure." He shook his head in disgust.
"Come on, Yarrow," said Chris. "Let's go say hi to my mom, then I'll say hi to your folks. Mom'd skin me alive if she thought I didn't make the rounds."
"Deal," said Pete, and they started walking back to town. "So, you never did say how Annabeth was."
"She looked good," Chris told him. "It's ... God, it's amazing to see her with no bruises or anything. She's beautiful."
"Why'd she come back?" asked Pete. "I didn't think she ever would."
"She said he'd heard her grandmother was ill and came back to see if it was true."
"Miss Eve?" asked Pete. "Hell, I figured that lady would outlive God."
"She still might," said Chris. "If I can find Annabeth again, I'll ask her."
x-x-x-x
"Annabeth."
She jerked up from her book at the sound of her name and was stunned to see her mother standing in front of her. Karen Dileo looked half again her age; watery eyes swam in a gaunt face, and her graying hair hung limply over slumped shoulders.
"Karen," Annabeth said, sitting back and placing her hands on her lap. Her mother's mouth pursed.
"I'm your mother, Annabeth," she said. "Don't be disrespectful." Karen's eyes darted around the café as though she wasn't sure she should be there.
"You stopped being my mother the first time you let him hit me," Annabeth said in an icy voice. "If you've come to apologize, sit down. If not, go away."
"A man has a right to keep his family in line." Annabeth rolled her eyes, having heard that justification too many times to count. "Children need discipline."
"You keep telling yourself that if it helps you sleep at night," Annabeth said.
Karen humphed, then straightened as best she could. "I heard you were back." Annabeth regarded her silently. "Your father and brother are in jail," Karen continued, taken slightly back by her daughter's demeanor. "We need to post bail."
"Forget it," Annabeth said before her mother could ask her for the money. "I wouldn't throw them a glass of water if they were in a burning building, which—oh yes, they've done that. Ethan's a drunk and Trent's a sociopath; everyone's safer if they're in jail."
"You're an ungrateful girl," her mother said, clutching her tattered purse. Her shoulders hunched even more, as though she was waiting for someone to attack her.
"I'm an independent woman," Annabeth corrected. "I heard Miss Eve was ill and asking for me. Is it true?"
"Yes." Karen shuffled her feet.
"What does she want?"
"You'll have to ask her." Karen scowled. "She wouldn't tell me."
"I'm not going in that house," Annabeth stated. "She can come to me, or I'll meet her somewhere, or see her if she's in the hospital."
"She's ill," Karen said in a feeble protest. Years of her husband's abuse had conditioned her to huddle at any sign of opposition. Annabeth's calm refusal had nearly the same effect as a raised fist. "You have to see her."
"No, I don't," Annabeth said. "I don't have to do anything I don't want to."
"We gave you food and shelter," Karen said, almost panicked. "You owe us for that."
"I owe you nothing." Annabeth's voice was cold. "If Ethan wanted a punching bag, he should have bought one. It's pathetic that you let him use me as one."
"You were always troublesome," her mother said, fingers clutching reflexively at her threadbare bag. "If you had just done as you were told..."
"Don't," said Annabeth, her eyes flashing, "don't you dare. If I'd done as I was told, I'd be dead by now. Or raped by my own brother. My brother," she repeated, and Karen flinched. "Your son," Annabeth pressed, "would have raped me and probably killed me. And you were too weak to care."
"It's a wife's duty to stay with her husband." Karen paused, and then said, "It was those Kincaids that turned you, I know it. That woman and her son. No father around. She wanted you for herself, wanted you for her son."
"Don't you talk about the Kincaids!" Annabeth's voice was a whip and Karen took an involuntary step back. "They treated me better than anyone ever did. "Chris's father died in the Middle East, he was a hero. I'd rather a dead father that I could respect than the living one I have."
Annabeth stood, her heart racing. She had to get out, find some space. It was hard to breathe.
"Miss Eve wants to see you," Karen said again, but with no force.
"Then she can damn well find me," said Annabeth. "I can't be done too soon with the lot of you."
x-x-x-x
"Annabeth." This time her name was said with warmth and love. She let Lorna pull her into a soft, maternal embrace, and fought to hold back tears. "Let me look at you." Lorna stepped back and put her hands on Annabeth's shoulders, studying her face before pulling her in for another hug. "Oh, my. You look fine," said Lorna, "just fine."
"Thanks, Lorna," said Annabeth. "It's so ... so good to see you."
"Come, come inside," said Lorna. She gestured to the kitchen. "I just made an apple pie, I know it's your favorite." Annabeth smiled. Somehow, Chris had found out she loved apple pie and had told his mother. After that, there was always some for her at the Kincaid residence.
"Chris told you I was here," Annabeth guessed.
"He's out now," Lorna said, "visiting the Yarrows. But yes, yes, he did. I was so hoping you'd come over. I don't know how long you're staying, but you're welcome to stay here. Chris said you're at a hotel."
Annabeth sat in one of the old, comfy wooden chairs around the kitchen table. She had loved the homey feel of this house, such a contrast to the gloomy, impersonal Fordham house. Her parents had never done anything to fix it up. Ethan railed about the cost of anything, so even used furniture was rarely purchased, and walls had never been painted. The Kincaid home, however, had been filled with a sense of family and love. Annabeth had seen it as precious, like a museum piece; something she could touch but never have.
"Yes, I'm at the hotel, but I'm fine," she assured Lorna. "I can't ... I can't stay in town."
Lorna nodded. "That's all right, then. You just know you can come here whenever." Lorna never pressed Annabeth on anything, unless she felt it was life or death, and Annabeth had always appreciated it.
"It's wonderful pie." Annabeth savored the flaky crust and cinnamon sauce. "No one makes it like you do." A glass of milk quietly appeared next to the plate, and she smiled to herself.
"You have another piece," Lorna said in a tone that brooked no opposition. "You're too thin."
Annabeth laughed. "Lorna, compared to a lot of women in the city, I'm positively overweight." With one sniff, Lorna conveyed her disdain for the entire fashion industry as well as societal dictates on a woman's size. Annabeth wondered if anyone else could do that as she took another bite of the pie.
"What do you know about Miss Eve?" Annabeth asked.
Lorna sat down and cut herself a slice of the pie. "Not much more than anyone else, I suppose," she said. "Heard she was ill, but then we've heard that a lot over the years and she just keeps on going. Is she why you came back?"
Annabeth nodded. "She sent word she wanted to see me. I don't know why, and I won't go in that house to find out." Lorna silently thanked God for the younger woman's words. When Annabeth had still lived there, she had often feared the girl would never come out. "So, if she won't come to me, I'll head back."
"Good for you," said Lorna.
"I saw my mother today," Annabeth told her. "She looked ... I don't know. Weak. Pathetic. I had no sympathy for her, no empathy." She looked at Lorna. "Does that make me a bad person, do you think? To have no feelings for my mother?"
Lorna reached over and took her hand. "It makes you human. If your mother had done anything to help you, you'd have feelings. I think it's only natural to feel the way you do, when the person who should have protected you didn't."
"Thank you," said Annabeth. "You know, if it weren't for you and Chris, I think I might be dead by now."
"Don't say such a thing," Lorna admonished gently. "You were strong then, and you are now."
"You two were always there," Annabeth continued. "I'm not sure I've ever told you—either of you—how grateful I was. Still am. Thank you."
A few tears fell as Lorna went to hug Annabeth. "Oh, now look, you've made me smear my makeup," said Lorna.
Annabeth couldn't stop a few tears of her own. How different, she wondered, would her life have been if she'd had a mother like Lorna? She had lost a husband, but had worked hard and raised a wonderful son. She had strength that Annabeth admired more than she could say, and had always tried to emulate. Lorna had been her role model when she found herself in new situations and had to figure out what to do.
"Hey, my two favorite people." Both women broke apart when they heard Chris come in. "I hope you saved me some pie."
Lorna wiped at her eyes and gave her son a playful smack on the arm. "You're lucky I didn't hide it in the garage. You would have eaten the whole thing." She took another plate from the kitchen cabinet and brought it to the table. "Now, you have some and visit with Annabeth. I'm going to go see Cassie." With that Lorna took a purse and jacket and hurried outside.
Chris cut himself a slice of pie and looked at Annabeth. "Not too subtle, is she?"
Annabeth had to laugh. "No, I suppose not. But that's okay." She looked at the door that was slowly closing. "She's wonderful, she really is."
"I always thought so," said Chris.
"You don't know how many times I wished I had a mother like her," Annabeth said, her eyes darting to him and away again. It was difficult to say such things to anyone, but it was easier with him.
"I ... I can only imagine, Nabby." The silence was awkward for a moment until he asked her what she had been doing since he had last seen her. "Mom kept me up to date with your letters, but I'd like to hear you tell me." She had usually included a note for him, but no more. Chris had wondered why.
"I went to college," she said, "graduated early. I was a pre-law major, if you can believe it." She smiled shyly.
"I knew you could do anything," Chris said with easy confidence. "You were smarter than anyone in the class. Pete and I had bets to see if you'd be the CEO of Microsoft or President first." He winked at her.
"Guess neither of you could collect," she observed with a laugh.
Chris shrugged. "It's not over. We didn't put a time limit on it."
Annabeth rolled her eyes. "Great, no pressure there." But she smiled and he was happy to see the humor in her eyes. "It'll have to be Microsoft, if you want the money sooner," she said. "I'm not old enough to run for President."
"Go to Congress," Chris suggested, "change the age limit." They stared at each other and then both had a fit of laughter at the absurdity of it.
"Chris, I'm very sorry," she said after their laughs had subsided. Annabeth blinked; she had surprised herself by saying it.
"For what?" he asked curiously.
"The way I left," she said, looking down at her hands. "I was going to come see you again, I really was. But then I got home and..." she swallowed, still not wanting to tell him what had happened. " ... and I couldn't take it anymore, so I packed and left. It wasn't even daylight. I walked for ages and finally a man and his wife gave me a ride up the highway for a bit." Tears threatened but her voice was steady. "I was going to call, or write, or something. I know it wasn't fair of me to leave like that. I just had to ... after I got home..." She stopped. Even after twelve years, she couldn't tell him.
Chris watched her, trying to gauge her mood. He had been upset, of course, when he had realized that she'd left; but he'd never been angry. He had always wondered what might have occurred when she got back, although he refused to allow himself to dwell on it. Over and over he had told himself that she had arrived safely, with no one the wiser, and simply decided it was time to leave.
From the look on her face, he could tell that wasn't true. He decided not to press her for details; she didn't seem ready. Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "It's all right, Nabby," he said quietly. "I'm not angry, I never was. I was upset, because I wanted to see you again, but I think I understood as best I could at the time."
"You, ah, you said you had something for me." She gave him a small smile. "I often wondered what it was. Sometimes, when I was lonely, I'd think of the different things it could have been."
"I still have it," he said. She stared at his blue eyes, remembering all the times she had wondered if she would see them again. They were like the sky as they focused on her. "Would you like it?" She could only nod. He squeezed her hand and left to go retrieve it.
Annabeth tried to settle herself while he was gone. She wiped at her eyes with a tissue and took several deep breaths. It was wonderful to be around him, but difficult at the same time. At eighteen, she had thought she loved him. A few years later, she had dismissed—or tried to—those feelings as a young girl's crush. Now she knew they'd been real.
"Here." Chris took her hand and laid a small box in it. Curious, she put it on the table and opened it. Her breath caught in her throat as she lifted the little oval medallion on its chain.
"It's ... it's a Saint Christopher medal," she said in a near whisper.
Chris sat down again and looked slightly embarrassed. Annabeth almost laughed. "I got it for you before graduation. I could never figure out when to give it to you," he said. "I don't even know if you're religious, but I just thought ... he's the patron saint of travelers, and it's my name, too." He fidgeted, slightly uncomfortable and unsure of her reaction. He took a deep breath. "I just thought that way you'd know someone was watching out for you the way I did. The way I wanted to."
Annabeth was lost for words. She stared at the medallion for a while, then closed her hand over it and held it to her heart. Once again tears built up. "I'm sorry," she said and tried to laugh. "I'm just a faucet ever since I got back here." She lifted her bright green eyes to his. "Thank you so much. I wish I'd stayed to get it."
The tears started falling again and suddenly Chris's arms were around her. She buried her head against his chest.
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