Under the Oak Tree

By Teresa D. Patterson

Jimmy Baxter has a shameful family secret. His father has a drinking problem that’s getting out of hand. He tries to ignore his dysfunctional home life, but finds it impossible to do when his mother keeps ending up with unexplained bruises and broken bones. It all ends in an explosive confrontation that lands both father and son in the hospital. A son must confess in order to save his mother, but does he have the heart to betray his father?
Jessica Pritchard is too embarrassed to invite any friends over because of her alcoholic mother. Since the death of her husband, Michele Pritchard has buried her grief and pain at the bottom of a bottle. Jessica is left to take care of her younger sibling and handle all the responsibilities her mom can’t cope with. One night, Michele is attacked while leaving the bar, and she’s too drunk to fend off the culprit. Will the excessive drinking leave her two daughters motherless?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa D. Patterson
• Release date: May 31, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310262340

Teresa D. Patterson

Teresa D. Patterson came onto the literary scene with her debut novel, Project Queen, which was published by a small independent publishing company. It wasn't long before she realized having complete control over the creation and distribution of her books suited her better, compelling her to publish her own future works.Her first independent published novel was Ex-boyfriend. She went on to write several novels in multiple genres, which includes contemporary fiction, erotica, inspirational fiction, juvenile fiction, romance, and urban lit. She has written twenty-eight novels and co-authored one.

Book preview

Under the Oak Tree

Copyright 2014 by Teresa D. Patterson

Published by Edit Again Publications at Smashwords

Chapter One

Hey, Dad, I see you as a big old oak tree, standing out in an open pasture. It's the kind of tree that provides lots of shade and comfort, especially when it gets really hot. I can sense its strength and know that it's going to be there for me. Sometimes when things get really rough, I just want to sit under the tree and enjoy the shade that it provides and the security that I feel."

Jimmy could remember saying those words to his father after they returned home from a fishing trip. Rays of bright sunlight bounced off the top of Stanley’s hair, showing sprigs of gray, as he bent over the fish, scraping away the scales with the blunt edge of a knife. Jimmy had felt so much love swell inside his chest, so he'd said the first thing that popped into his head.

His dad had looked up and smiled. An oak tree, huh?

Presently, his dad didn't even resemble the man he knew as his father. Stanley Baxter was asleep in a chair. He wore a stained, white tee shirt with several tears in the cotton fabric. Unshaven and disheveled, Stanley snored loudly, oblivious to the TV playing a Three’s Company rerun. Smashed beer cans tossed carelessly at a full garbage can in a corner littered the floor of the living room.

Jim crossed the room, turned off the set and picked up the discarded cans. When he glanced at his sorry excuse of a father his lips turned up in the corner. He narrowed his eyes, shook his head then grabbed the overflowing garbage can and went out the back door to empty it into the dumpster.

He couldn't remember when it all had started…the drinking binges… since it happened so gradually. His dad had changed. One day he had been Dad, the next day, he’d become a drunk.

He realized he’d been standing still in one place, snapped out of the trance and went back inside. He returned the empty garbage can to its place then stood gazing at the phone attached to the wall. He slowly lifted the phone’s receiver. He swallowed thickly as he held the receiver pressed tightly against his ear. He felt a slight tremble in his hand as his palm began to sweat. He swallowed again, glanced at his dad who hadn’t stirred from his alcohol-induced sleep then dialed the memorized number.

Thank you for calling St. Anthony’s Hospital, a cheerful voice greeted. How may I direct your call?

Hello? he squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. Hello? This time his voice was strong and steady. I'd like to speak to Martha Baxter. She’s in room 608.

Thank you. Please hold while I transfer your call.

Jazz music floated over the line as he waited for the call to connect. Even the soothing tones of the musical selection playing couldn’t calm his fragile nerves.

Hello? His heart twisted as soon as he heard his mother’s voice.

Hi, Mom. It’s me, Jimmy. How are you? he asked.

I’m much better, she said. I even managed to eat something and that’s really an accomplishment because you know how awful hospital food tastes, she half-joked, forcing a cheerfulness into her voice that Jimmy knew she didn’t feel. After an impregnated pause, she asked, How is Stanley?

Jimmy sucked air through his teeth when she inquired about his father. He closed his eyes and counted to ten before responding. ''He's asleep right now."

Oh, that’s too bad, she said, clearly disappointed. I really wanted to talk to him. If he—

Mom, he interrupted. I don't think he even remembers what happened.'' Jim bit one corner of his bottom lip as the hand not holding the phone clenched and unclenched. Why didn't you tell them about what he did?"

Silence greeted him from the other end. He knew Martha was crying when she didn’t respond. Finally, her low sobs reached his ear.

''Mom, please don’t cry, he said softly. Please. I’m sorry for saying anything. Just get better and come home. OK? I love you." He hung up quickly before she had time to say anything further.

Jimmy replaced the receiver and leaned his forehead against the wall next to the mounted phone. Closing his eyes, he felt the moisture of unshed tears, and he blinked them away. He inhaled deeply then let out a shaky breath before opening his eyes.

Martha? Stanley called. Jim’s back stiffened when he heard him stagger into the kitchen. Stanley stopped abruptly when he saw Jimmy leaning against the wall. Where's Martha? he asked.

Turning, Jim stared into Stanley’s bloodshot eyes. ''Mom's in the hospital. Can't you remember? he asked. You did it again, Dad."

''Did what again? Stanley blinked rapidly as he stared at his son’s blurred face. ''What did I do?

You beat her. Just like last time, but much worse, he spat. Don’t you remember?

''No, I couldn’t have done that, Stanley denied. I can't remember doing that. No.'' He slumped into the nearest chair. He had a bewildered, confused expression on his face as he struggled to remember. He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair and sighed loudly. ''Is she alright?'' he finally asked.

His voice laced with sarcasm, Jimmy said, She'll be fine as soon as her ribs mend. I'm sure her face will be back to normal in no time. You broke her arm, too, he added.

Stanley’s eyes widened. No. I couldn't do that to her. He was in denial again. I love her.

You did it, Jimmy insisted. You were drunk, and you couldn’t control your rage.

When Jimmy’s words sank in, Stanley placed his hands over his face and bawled like a baby.

Jim felt no sympathy. The more his dad cried, the angrier he got.

''Why are you crying? Mom is the one who should be shedding tears, he snapped. She doesn’t deserve to be beat because you can’t handle your liquor. You need to quit drinking," Jim shouted.

His dad glanced up at him as the tears trailed down his cheeks. ''I’ll stop, Jimmy. I promise. I don't want to hurt anyone ever again." He broke down again, crying so hard he could win an Emmy Award for his performance.

Whatever, Jimmy muttered. I’ll believe it when I see it. Ignoring his father’s sobs, he headed for his room.

***

True to his word, Stanley stopped drinking. When Jimmy came home after school the next day, he stopped short and stared around, mouth agape. The oak coffee table gleamed and magazines were arranged neatly in the magazine rack next to the armchair. Several vacuum lines showed in the carpet.

Dad?

Jimmy, is that you? his dad called out cheerfully. I’m in here.

Jimmy followed his dad’s voice into the kitchen. Stanley wore a white apron tied around his waist as he leaned over the stove stirring something in a sauce pan. After checking a pot on another eye, Stanley turned from the stove to face Jimmy.

"Supper is almost ready. I hope you’re hungry because I’m making chicken Parmesan.

Wow. What’s the occasion? Jim didn’t allow himself to feel excited about the change he saw in his father. Sure, he was sober for the moment, but Jim knew it wouldn't last. Maybe he’d be normal for a few weeks