Two Mothers, Two Sons - Who's The Victim? Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen


An unplowed driveway leads to Bethany Roth’s lake house. Perched on a hill, the cottage fronts a dense patch of woods coated in snow and, further down, a pond. The house is brown and weathered; the paint of its shutters flaking off like dry skin. Its single redeeming quality, an attractive wraparound porch, is patched with slush and ice.

Serena slams her door shut and takes a deep breath. Doug does the same, beside his own car. She had agreed to join him with the concession that they drive up separately. Coming to Millbury to meet Mrs. Roth was in Joshua’s best interest. Her disgust with Doug, the less volatile of a greater issue, will need to simmer on the back burner until the woman’s troubled son is handled properly.

A peach sun sits at the base of layered, dark clouds where the sky meets the water, electrifying the view. At the bottom of the stairs, she and Doug lock eyes.

“Will you and Daddy be friends again?”

“Remember what we talked about, Doug. Say whatever you need to if it’ll protect Josh.”

“You know how you and Tyler will always be friends but sometimes you don’t’ see eye-to-eye…”

“Definitely. I do love you, Serena.”

“We’ll only be gone for a few days. Grampy can’t wait to take you to the Go Cart park.”

“Are you afraid of this man?” She studies her husband. The lobes of his ears are pink.

“No.” The statement sounds convicted. “Our son is going to die an old man… and he’s going to be happy.”

“I do love the way you’re thinking.”

We barter lies for truths as parents, she thinks. And pray for fair trades.

“Let’s make things right,” Doug says. He reaches for her hand, squeezes it.

They climb the porch steps to a paneled glass door. Doug knocks hard. Rapid-fire footsteps resound inside and Steven’s mother swings open the door. Her grayish brown hair falls in loose tendrils down her back and the skin surrounding her mouth, wrinkled and leathery, reflects the telltale signs of a smoking addiction. Her eyes, golden as a fresh nicotine stain, betray as much. But despite the toll age and poor habits she had taken, Serena could still see, in another life, Bethany Roth turning heads.

“Thank you for coming.”

She waves them in and he is there in an instant, wearing khakis, a lavender cashmere sweater, and a ski hat; thinner and more deranged than she had imagined.

“Mr. and Mrs. Davis… have a seat.” He motions to the couch with his gun. The navy and plaid cushions reek of stale cigarette smoke.

Serena speaks first. “Mr. Roth, my husband and I want to thank you for meeting with us.” She swivels her wedding ring. “We’d like to have both our needs met.”

He rubs his forehead with a free hand, laughs fiendishly. “Is that right?” Without taking his eyes off of her, he cranes his head to this mother. “Mommy… how about you enlighten this charming couple on how well my needs have been met.”

Bethany Roth tightens the sash of her sweater, accentuating a barely there waist. She flicks on an antique lamp and takes a shaky sip from her coffee mug. “He wants you to know that… that I didn’t protect him the way I should have.” She looks her son in the eye. “Mark… Serena and Doug deserve to meet Steven. Can you please switch over? You’re safe. These people came here to get a better understanding of you.”

His eyes dart about the room like a frightened squirrel. He clutches his pistol tighter. “Bethany… tell them what I told you.”

She raises her hand calmly. “Settle down, Mark. I will.”

Doug crosses a leg over his knee. Serena folds and unfolds her hands.
Bethany’s eyes wander and settle, first, on Doug… “My deceased husband… abused my son,” and next, on Serena. “Physically. Emotionally… It wasn’t easy.” She moves toward a small wooden shelf at the far wall of the room and removes a framed picture. “This is the two of them.” She hands Doug the photo. Little and big Steven are brandishing twin fishes in the center of a dock overlooking a lake. “You wouldn’t know it by those smiles, how dysfunctional our home was. A picture doesn’t tell a thousand words—”

“It lies,” Mark fills them in.

Serena studies the photo, faces Mark. “I’m sorry that you were abused.”
Mark’s voice grows desperate, more childish, his gestures erratic. “Tell them more, Bethany.”

“Do you mind?” She pulls a cigarette from her sweater pocket.

“Go right ahead,” Doug says.

She draws the filter to her mouth and lights up. Her lips pucker as the tip of the cigarette crackles softly… Inhale. Exhale. Her voice, frosted in smoke, is raspy. “Steven’s father wore him down terribly, forcing him to live a life through his own broken dreams as a competitive skier.” She flicks an ash into her mug. “But that’s only the beginning.”

“That’s only the beginning,” Mark mimics.

“The stories are endless,” Bethany continues, “but the worst was during the winter of ‘84. Steven was ten at the time. They had been skiing at Wildcat Mountain, NH, until dark. After everyone had left,” she slides a glance at his pistol, “my husband abandoned my son.”

She coughs for a moment too long, and then paints her guests a picture.
***
“Daddy… Please don’t leave me here! I promise to try harder. I promise to keep my skis closer together!”

They had veered off of the trail and into the woods, in order to practice what it’s like to “Brave the elements.” A small stream ran like a blocked artery through the snow and trees. The temperature was about fifteen degrees and a hypothermic wind blew in.

“Daddy!” He used his poles to find a feasible path to ski through. In the quiet of the woods, fear exploded in his chest. He clutched it. It seemed as though his heartbeat was loud enough for coyotes to hear. His father was nowhere to be found.

If only he had listened. If only his skis hadn’t been so far apart. If only he had concentrated harder. If only he had used his arms properly. His rhythm was off. If only he had won the stupid race.

Hours passed. He shivered and cried and fought to find a way out, but the branches held him back with their frozen, spindly claws. He took off a ski and slammed it against a tree trunk, scratched it up good. It bruised terribly, but did not break. The moon cast a pale glow over the woods.

With fingers like cold rubber, he removed his wet clothes, recalling what his father had told him to do to avoid hypothermia, but it didn’t work. He stumbled and fell and finally made a pact with himself and God to die out there in the woods. The greatest danger to a person suffering from hypothermia is falling asleep. The greatest danger to me is not falling asleep, he thought.

Lying down, he closed his eyes when footsteps closed in on him. His father’s arms, with a blanket, embraced him.

“Lesson learned, Son?”
***
Steven lifts his chin and sniffles as though fighting to hold back tears; Serena’s own fall shamelessly down her cheeks. Bethany’s fingers shake. Doug clears his throat.

“Steven… You shouldn’t have been abandoned,” she whispers. “Your father was a sick man. But you can beat him.”

His head remains posed at an awkward angle, his pistol cocked. “Beat him?”

“She’s right,” Doug adds, “We can repeat the wrongs of what we lived or we can remedy them.”

“Now you sound like my shrink, doesn’t he, Mom?”

“They’re absolutely right, Mark,” Bethany says.

“Steven!” Mark admonishes and apparently the switch has been made.

She rubs her face. “Steven. Thank God! I was just saying… Doug is correct.”

“You…” He waves the gun at Bethany, “you left me with him! Left me to die! My skin was as cold as a corpse! You carried me once! How can you call yourself a mother!”

Bethany weeps into her hands. He moves closer to her, the gun still raised.

“Did you even care to look for me? Did you ever once stick up for me?”
He begins to sob.

His mother kneels on the floor, at the foot of her child.

Serena rises. “Steven… Your mother is walking through fire for you right now! Maybe she failed to protect you in the past, but she’s here for you today…” This man committed a major felony, she reminds herself. “Free yourself and forgive her.”

“I was so frightened back then,” Bethany cries. “You have no idea, Steven.” She faces her son. “I’m guilty of not protecting you. I’m guilty of your sins today! But I’m asking for you to put the gun down and forgive me. Forgive me or shoot me, Steven. I’ll love you either way.”

“I was left all alone for hours in the darkness, Mother! Twenty-five fucking years later… I’m still there.” His expression softens as he turns to Serena. “I thought I was saving Joshua because he looked like me… even when I drove away I knew it was wrong but Mark had already taken over… then when you came into the hospital, I was trying to tell you, but you threatened me—”

“Wait a minute…” his mother rises. “I didn’t know you were threatened, Steven.”

Doug stands. “Mrs. Roth. You and my wife have something in common: both of you will do anything and everything you can to protect your sons.”

Bethany’s eyes narrow. “Your son is going to be fine, Mr. Davis.” She points at Steven, “It’s mine who needs protection now.”

“But if we promise not to turn you in,” Serena says, “how can we trust that you won’t repeat the pattern, Steven? How can we be sure that you will turn yourself around?”

Steven rubs the neck of the pistol then pushes it into his back pocket.
“You can be sure, Mrs. Davis, because you’re going to help me flee the country.” He touches his mother’s chin with his thumb. “I forgive you, Mother.”