This chapter concludes the story of "How Did You Know." I want to thank all of you that followed this from beginning to end and thank-you for your kind feedback. Believe me; your comments have had a profound affect on us. The us of course is the woman that inspired me to write this whole thing and I'm grateful beyond words for her encouragement to do this in the first place.
I'm driving down the road now, very aware that Becky's upset, and pretty much unaware as to why. Although I know Bethany is tied in there somewhere, I just can't make the connection. Looking closely at Becky, (who's staring out the windshield but whose body is still facing me) I can see something has absolutely devastated her. I'm going down the guilt path and doing brain scans to see if I can dredge anything up that will head me in the right direction. Zero, zilch, notta, I come up with nothing.
"Want to talk about this?" I ask.
She shakes her head no but refuses to look in my direction. I reach over and put my hand on her shoulder and she moves so fast to me I'm startled. I tense and prepare for what I think is going to be an onslaught of fists only to have her wrap her arms around me as tight as she can, and break down hysterically. I slow down, ease the truck to the side of the blacktop and stop.
My arms go around her but I remain silent, I just hold her; letting her know I'm here. She moves slightly and her arms now go around my neck, her head on my shoulder, and I squeeze her tighter, allowing her to just get rid of whatever it is she's carrying.
"Oh God Phil," she starts, sniffles a bit, and then; "oh God" again.
"This is so fucked... I mean screwed up." She takes a deep breath and goes into another hysterical fit. This woman is wounded, and I have no idea how to stop the bleeding.
"Shhh, honey, calm down, it's gonna be okay." I say.
She vigorously shakes her head no, wipes her nose with her sleeve, turns a bit, slides sideways and scoots onto my lap. Now I'm holding her full in my arms, but she seems to suddenly leave the area. Her eyes have that thousand mile stare I'd seen on her years ago, and I wonder where in her past she's ventured to. I bring my hand up to stroke her hair and kiss her forehead in reassurance. God her hair smells sweet I think, and go on holding her as tightly as I can.
Finally, after what seems like an hour, but is really only a few minutes, she looks up, kisses me on the cheek and says, "We better get going before someone drives by and sees us."
I put the truck in gear and ease back onto the road. Five minutes later we pull into the yard, I hit the remote and glide into the garage after the door opens.
"You wanna go in?" I ask.
"Don't know what else to do," she says weakly, and opens her door.
I follow Becky through the door to the kitchen and Beth's sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee half way to her lips. She pauses, sensing something amiss, but doesn't dare guess what it could be.
"He heard us talking Beth," Becky says, pointing to me with her thumb.
Bethany blanches white and sets the cup down.
"What does he know?" she asks.
"I don't know anything, except I'm afraid it concerns me and that concerns me." I answer.
"Shit!" That's it! That's all Beth says. I'm standing there like somebody's going to say something, and no one makes a sound.
I go to the cupboard, retrieve a cup, fill it, go to the table and sit down. Well, I'm good at waiting and until they talk, I guess that's all I can do. I settle in for what I think is going to be an extremely long wait and am a bit surprised when Beth swings around on her stool, slides off, picks her cup up and joins me at the table. I glance at Becky who's just coming around the counter with a cup and she goes to the other side of the table and sits down too.
Beth looks at Becky, then me, and after a bit looks at me and says.
"Beck and I got taped a month ago."
Now I have no idea what that means. They've both got tattoos, and there's the nipple rings, but taped? That one's way over my head.
"What exactly is 'taped'?" I ask.
"Christ dad, taped, video taped, ya know?"
My jaw drops, I'm afraid this isn't going to be good but I certainly don't know what to say about it. I just look at Beth, then at Becky but say nothing.
""Okay dad, here's the deal. Becky and I went out one night and were getting pretty drunk. Tom was there buying us beers and we were shooting pool with him."
"Tommy Garner? I ask, "That skinny little shit that does odd jobs around here for me?"
"The one and only," Beth says, then continues, "Well, we got pretty messed up, and finally he says we should go to his place and we figure what the hell, neither one of us is in any shape to drive, and he's looking pretty sober."
"So we go out to his place and start doing shots of Tequila, and pretty soon he's talking about us, and are we good friends, and do we trust each other whatever."
"I told him we were like sisters," Becky takes over the story, "and that we love each other dearly. Which gets him real interested, and then he wants to play truth or dare, and we agree."
"To make a long story short, Beth and I ended up naked with him; Beth and I are making love to each other and Tommy's videoing the whole thing."
I must be looking stressed at this point. This is one more thing a parent doesn't want to hear their child has done and I'm uncomfortable with the news. Then I recollect what this parent did with his child and mentally slump over that too. Becky takes my hand and squeezes it for reassurance. She is obviously connecting my dilemma.
"When it's all over," Becky continues, "we fall asleep and the next morning we wake up feeling like shit and Tommy's sitting at the kitchen table when we get up.
"I don't remember all the things he said, but basically we wanted the tape, and he wouldn't give it to us. To top it all off he slides a Polaroid across the table and guess what? It's one of the pictures of me from years ago. I'm giving a blow job to what turns out to be his old man. I'm terrified 'cause I thought I'd gotten all of them that night. Turns out his dad took a few before he stumbled out of my dad's house, and when old man Garner died, Tommy found it in his dresser."
"So what he basically says is that we either have sex with him whenever he wants to or he'll email the pictures along with stills from the video to my boss." Becky says.
"But Christ Beck, you were a kid then, the Polaroid hasn't anything to do with anything now." I say.
"But stills from the video sure do," Beth inserts. "And he's got the computer stuff to do it with."
"I snatched the picture from the table and tore it in half," Becky continues, "but he just laughs and says he's got three more hidden in the house and he could care less if one is gone."
"Look, I don't want anyone to know about what happened to me as a kid." Becky says hotly. "That's in my past and I don't want people feeling sorry for me or some shit, I want those pictures gone, destroyed, burned... something."
"What's happened since?" I ask.
"Oh, he's called a bunch of times and I went over there once, blew him, and left." Beth says. "The whole thing was disgusting; he wanted to "do me" as he put it, but when he got off he let me leave."
"So nothing else has happened?" I ask, looking at Becky.
"He's called me too, but I've always had an excuse, and most of the time he was drunk when he called, so it was easy to put him off." Becky says quietly.
"Let me think about this for a minute," I say, and get up from the table. I leave the room, go to my den, and retrieve an old friend from my desk. Then go to the bedroom, grab a western sports coat, and put it on. I'm going to pay that little shit Tommy a visit, and end this crap.
I walk back into the kitchen and both girls are startled to see me with the jacket on.
"Beth, where's my electric screwdriver?" I ask.
"I think it's on the bench in the garage... why?" she asks.
"I'll be back in about an hour," I say.
"Dad, don't do this, that little prick is crazy, you could get hurt, or worse piss him off and he'll send the pictures." Beth says.
"I think not."
I lean over, give Becky a kiss, then Bethany, walk to the door, and go to retrieve the screwdriver. Takes a minute to find it, but I do; then get into the truck, and drive away. Both girls are standing at the door going into the house as I back out of the garage, and they look scared.
It's about a five minute drive to Tommy's and I'm hoping he'll be home.
Now let me tell you about Tommy Garner. His old man had worked for me once too, but many times he wouldn't show up when he was supposed to, or worse he'd come with a snoot full and I'd have to send him home. I finally gave up even asking him if he wanted to work. When Tommy was about nineteen, he came by one afternoon and asked if I'd hire him to do odd jobs, like I had his dad. His timing was perfect as I had a lot of fence that needed mending right then, so I hired him. His work was okay, a bit slow, but I wasn't complaining. I switched to paying him for the job, not the hours, and that seemed to speed him up a triffle, so we were both happy.
Now I hired other guys and I do have a full time ranch hand that works for me. Pete lives about five miles down the road on a piece of property I acquired maybe twenty years ago or so. It's a nice arrangement, Pete's steady, his wife is a nice woman who occasionally does things in my own house since Polly died, but basically we get along just fine. Pete and Camille raised their four kids in this sparsely populated land and got all of them in or through college. They don't talk a whole lot as they seem still a bit embarrassed by their Hispanic accents, but that never bothered me, and I trust the both of them with my life.
About two years ago I came home and found a mare hung up in a fence, her broken leg hanging uselessly in front of her. Tommy had gotten her untangled from the fence, but had no idea what to do next. I handed him my pistol and told him to put her down. He walked to the horse, pulled the hammer back, but couldn't do it. Now I've been on a ranch my whole life, I've seen it all, probably done more of it, but it pissed me off right then. The mare was in terrible pain and I wasn't about to call a vet and wait another two hours while she suffered. I took the pistol, put her down, and walked back to my truck. Tommy was on all fours puckin' buckets and I left him there, went back to the ranch, got the Cat out, dug a hole, and pushed the mare into it. Tommy just stood there gawking, and neither of us said a word to the other.
About two days later, Pete and I are working in the barn and he says with his thick accent; "Mr. Towmie don't think you got a nerve in your body."
I asked him what he meant and he tells me that 'ol Tommy boy wasn't so unnerved by my shooting the horse, what undid him was that it didn't seem to bother me one bit. "You got no conscience boss," he says laughing, "And Mr. Towmie is scared shitless of you now. He thinks you got no heart." We both laughed about that, and little did I know that at some point in the future, that little bit of information was going to help me a lot. Right now as I drive to his place I'm glad he's intimidated by me, it'll work to my advantage.
Tommy's probably home I'm thinking as I drive to his place, especially at this time of year, with no field work, and his place being so small and all. But he's in the bar a lot too I know, so I glance at my watch and figure even for him it's too early to be there.
I smile as I approach the place; his truck is in the yard, which means he's home.
I pull as close to the house as I can, get out and in about six strides I'm on the porch knocking on the door.
