A Shattered Wife by Diana Salyers Page B

jerky movement, Bill flipped
the wheelchair over. He landed with a sickening thud, face down on the shiny
linoleum floor.
    William’s hand was on the door when he heard the crash.
    "Oh, my God! Bill, are you hurt?" Martha wailed as
she rushed to his side, tugging uselessly at one arm that she could barely
lift.
    "No, dammit! Get your hands off me!" Bill slapped
her roughly away. Using the table leg he pulled himself to an awkward sitting
position. His shirt was soaked with sweat and he gasped for breath.
    "Here, Dad…" William righted the wheelchair, which
looked like a wounded mechanical bull, and reached for his father. He had never
seen Bill make a clumsy move in his life, much less fall down. The accident had
aged his father many more years than indicated by his face and body, and
William was afraid.
    Suddenly, his slender arm was trapped in Bill’s strong
fingers and the tender inside of his wrist exposed. From nowhere, a small but
dangerously sharp knife reflected the overhead light.
    William was momentarily paralyzed.
    Martha gathered her apron into a knot, nervously smoothed it
and then repeated the process again as she knelt beside the two men.
    Holding the knife skillfully, Bill pressed the point against
the skin on his son’s wrist. "I said keep your hands off me," he
hissed.
    "Bill we were only trying…" Martha’s voice was
only a trembling whisper.
    "I know what you were doing, but I don’t need you or
your pussy son’s help." While Bill talked, his angry gaze stayed on
William’s face. He exerted almost imperceptible pressure and the knife pierced
the skin. A narrow, red ribbon of blood eased down William’s wrist to gather on
his shirt sleeve.
    William exhaled slowly, his incredulous gaze moving from his
father’s face to his wrist. The knife was not painful but his father’s grip was
cutting off the circulation to his hand. "You don’t have to use that on
me, Dad. If you don’t want any help…"
    "Not only do I not WANT your help, I don’t NEED your
help," Bill laughed, not quite as loud as before; their faces were only
inches apart.
    Some instinct told William to keep his father talking.
    "Would you really use it on me?"
    Bill nodded slowly and his hand remained steady. "You’re
damn right." The glittering gunslinger eyes burned feverishly.
    "Bill?" Martha croaked.
    "Have you always hated me?"
    "Not until I realized you were going to be nothing but
a pansy bookworm."
    "I can’t help what I am," William said slowly, his
voice shaking.
    Martha began to cry softly.
    "When I took you hunting, you couldn’t kill a deer.
When you got older you went off to college. When you graduated, you couldn’t
live here with us." Bill was perspiring heavily. His chest and back were
soaked.
    "You always told me that a man stands up for what he
believes in. There is nothing for me here. I had to go my own way."
    As they talked, William felt the fear draining from him. He
looked squarely at his father. Man to man. "I was right. There is nothing
for me here." The way to handle a bully was to face him down. William had
lots of practice with bullies. His father would understand that.
    "Look at you. You won’t even fight now. You’re a
coward; a mealy-mouth coward!" Bill shouted savagely. More droplets of
sweat formed on his nose and upper lip, but he held the knife steady.
    William’s legs were cramping because of his crouched
position, but he did not move. He glared back at the old man for the first time
in his life. "I made a life for myself. You’re just jealous because I
don’t need YOU anymore."
    "You have two good legs. Don’t try to rationalize and
talk down to me. I hate you! I wish you were stuck in that chair!" Bill’s
voice rose higher in pitch and volume. It filled the whole house and caused
Martha to shink back.
    "Bill!" She shrieked. There had been tension
between the two men before but never had it escalated to this dangerous level.
    "Take a good look at your son, Martha. He’s too scared
to