“Don’t try to move. You have three fractured vertebrae.” The stranger went on to explained about the injury and the stabilization halo screwed into Rachel’s skull. Then left.
Mavis was still standing where Rachel could see her clearly. “He’s in jail. Held without bond—long story—but bottom line, he won’t be a free man for a very, very long time.”
She didn’t want to talk about Richard. He was part of her past. Not her now, or her future. Oh, sure there would be court dates, and everything that went with the process. Things would get ugly. But she wouldn’t waste her freedom thinking about unpleasantness.
As a means of distraction on those long, lonely days she’d spent hidden away on the farm, she explored dozens of ideas, and one of them seemed to grow legs, so what the heck.
“I want to do something for the cats at the farm.” Her voice cracked, and Mavis held a cup and a straw to her mouth.
“Just a tiny sip, and let it slide down your throat rather than trying to swallow.”
When the raspy dryness eased ever so slightly, she said, “I’ve designed a feeder for them, so I never have to think about them out there, hungry, with nobody to help them.” She knew what helpless felt like. “It won’t take much, just one of those big plastic barrels.”
“You really got attached to those critters.”
Was that all it was? An attachment? No, those tiny claws had a grip on her heart. She would miss them. “We kinda got tight… There was one ginger kitten, especially.” No point beating around the bush. “I’d love to adopt him, and I could take him to the women’s shelters for visits when I’m not working. I just need to find a place to live first.”
“Working?”
“I’m going to apply to get back into training. Finish my paramedic ticket.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
“I was trying to concentrate on the future so I could let go of the past. And I want to help other people the way you helped me.” Wow, those hours with the therapist were paying off. She was actually articulating her thoughts instead of internalizing them.
Did that mean it was over and she was ready to get on with her life? Could it really be this easy to leave all the ugliness behind?
Of course not. There would be hard days. Lots of them. But she was on her way to healing and that was the important part. She was no longer stuck. Unable to move forward or back. And she’d deal with the ugly stuff when it surfaced, or crossed her path, or whatever.
“About a place to live,” said Mavis. “The farm needs a live-in caretaker. You interested?”
Rachel tried to choke back an undignified squeal and turned it into a garbled scream, and Mavis’s eyes widened. She shot out a hand and laid it over Rachel’s blanket-covered feet.
“What’s wrong?”
Rachel’s smile came easily, and it felt damn good. She had a future. A place. Goals. And a self.
“Wrong, Mavis?” She laughed. “For the first time in years? ... Absolutely nothing.”
# # #
Jay Cee
By Leland Dirks
When Jesus came for me, he was wearing Wranglers and a Stetson.
I’d been out late the night before. Maybe had a couple drinks. Maybe a couple more. Maybe a few too many.
Morning came too fast, and I closed my eyes tight against the day, the day when Bobby would come home. Bobby. Such a nice name, a little southern, kinda innocent. All the things that Bobby wasn’t.
The bed jiggled. Oh Lord, tell me I didn’t bring someone home. I heard the rattle of a belt buckle. I did. I did bring someone home. I opened one eye. The sun punished me for that.
“Jesus Christ, what time is it?”
“Just after nine. And actually, I’d appreciate it if you called me Jesse. A little less loaded, religiously speaking.”
I had no idea what he was saying. It was a miracle I could hear him above the pounding drums in my head.
“Did we, uh...?”
“No. You were entirely too drunk for that. Otherwise, we might have. I don’t take advantage of the impaired. I just needed a place to sleep.”
I opened my other eye. In three dimensions, the man who was zipping up his Wranglers was a sight even a hangover couldn’t obscure. Tall. Short blond hair. Dimples, Lord, those dimples. And a cleft chin. I won’t even mention his cowboy butt. It was just about enough to make me wish I’d been drinking club soda instead of Jack Daniels the night before.
“I don’t suppose you know how to make coffee?”
He grinned and picked up his cowboy hat and headed to the kitchen. Like I said, I’m not going to go on about how he filled out those Wranglers, or how lucky those pockets were to be so close to something so perfect.
I stretched. Through the gauzy curtains of my bedroom, the sky appeared to be the same color as his eyes.
He shouted, “Cream? Sugar?”
I yelled, “Black.”
And a minute later, he carried a mug of steaming-hot wake-up juice into the room and sat down on the bed as he handed it to me.
“Jesse. Thank you. Now, much as I hate to say it, you need to be moving along. My boyfriend is due home in just about an hour.”
“Kinda like the song, huh? Whatcha gonna do with a cowboy?”
“Kinda.”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny? Believe me, you don’t want to meet Bobby. He’s a mean son of a bitch.”
“He the one who gave you those bruises?”
I pulled the sheets up, too late, but I could pretend he didn’t see them. Maybe pretend they weren’t there.
“Maybe.”
“It’s none of my business, but I’ll tell you one thing. A man who hurts someone he says he loves is lying, one way or the other.”
I didn’t say anything. I looked down at the sheet, the white sheet I’d need to get in the laundry before Bobby got home, because Bobby was like a bloodhound, and he’d scent a strange man had been in his bed, even if nothing had happened.
“I’ll go. But I think you might need someone. Someone to sort of watch over you. Kinda like a guardian angel. You keep your eyes open, and I’ll see what I can arrange.”
He got up from the bed, and then he walked out the door. My eyes didn’t leave the W’s on those pockets. I heard the front door open and close. I finished my coffee, and then I got up to make the house perfect for Bobby.
Now, Bobby and me go way back. High school. He was the football superstar. Everybody wanted to be around Bobby. He was a looker. Just the right combination of attitude, muscle, and trouble.
I knew I never stood a chance with him, but I could dream. I had a lot of dreams back then. Small towns will do that to you. Settling down, house with a white picket fence, a dog, and pretty sunsets over a big swimming pool in the backyard.
Dreams that I knew would never come true. Because someone like Bobby didn’t even know I existed, wasn’t even worthy of a sneer.
And then, one day, I found a scrawled note in my locker. “Meet me at my car after football practice.” And it was signed “B.” My heart was beating so fast I thought I’d die right there. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Maybe it was a prank. But no one laughed. Somehow, I found the courage to do it. I walked right up to that car, that jet-black Shelby Mustang that cost more than all the other cars in the school parking lot put together, and I knocked on the driver’s window.
He rolled it down, looked around to make sure there was no one to see us, and then he asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. I nodded. He told me to get in, and we left in a cloud of burning rubber. Fifteen minutes later, we were on a country road and he pulled over. I knew what he wanted. He didn’t say a word. Just told me what to do with his eyes. And I did it; I did what he wanted.
It wasn’t at all like I imagined it would be, not like any of the dreams I’d had. He didn’t want to talk while we did it, and told me to shut up when I told him it hurt.
When he was done, he looked at me, and I
was wrong. I was worthy of a sneer.
“You don’t know how lucky you are, how many want to have a piece of me like you just had. We’re gonna do this again. Wednesday. Same deal. Meet me at my car. And don’t you tell anyone about this. Not one person.”
And I didn’t. We fell into a pattern. Mondays and Wednesdays. And I revised my dreams.
He explained to me that he couldn’t take me to any of the dances. His parents wouldn’t approve. He couldn’t be seen with me in public because he needed his reputation to be perfect, so he could get into the right college, with a scholarship.
I bought it all. Stuck with him. Convinced myself he’d change when he got that scholarship. That it’d be different in another town. Two years. I could wait that long.
And then came the accident. The cops said he was drinking. He said the brakes went bad. He broke both his legs and his throwing arm in multiple places.
It broke more than bones, though. It broke his spirit. He was no longer the golden boy. The scars on his face made even the nurses look away. But I stuck with him. I was at the hospital every day. Helped him take his first steps again.
When he was done with rehab, we got an apartment together. And when the pain got to be too much for him, he’d drink. And when he drank, he got ugly.
And that’s where the bruises Jesse saw came from.
After the first couple of months, Bobby wasn’t home much. Construction jobs took him out of town, and between you and me, that was okay. He didn’t want me to work, and that wasn’t okay with me. At least at first. After a couple of years, I got used to it, and then I realized there wasn’t any way for me to get a job. No experience. And how do you explain that you spent the last few years at home? Alone. Reading romance novels.
It sounds silly, but those damned books kept me believing that maybe there was still hope. Maybe Bobby would change. Maybe he’d be an upright cowboy one day. Maybe he’d find a suit of armor that fit him. Maybe he’d be a swashbuckling pirate who could love. Maybe my prince would come.
About a week after I met Jesse, another kind of hope arrived at my front door. The apartment buzzer buzzed, but no one answered when I pushed listen. I pulled my robe tight, and I ran down the stairs. No one at the front door to the building. Pranksters. And then I saw it. A white box, with a red ribbon tied around it. I pushed the door open and brought the box into the lobby. A tag on the ribbon, in fancy handwriting, had only two words: Your guardian.
Just then, the box jiggled. I pulled the ribbon off, and a pink nose pushed the cover up. A bundle of black and white fur followed, and the next thing I knew, I was being kissed by a puppy, a puppy with the bluest eyes.
Of course, I couldn’t keep him. Bobby would throw a fit. But oh, for those brief moments, the smell of puppy breath gave me back my childhood. I heard the sweetness return to my voice as I cooed with him, making all the baby talk noises I might have made with a child if things were different.
In a careless moment, I named him. Jay Cee, for the guy I knew gave him to me, the guy who wanted to be known as Jesse. I could call him Jay for short.
Mama warned me about that. She said if you name something, you’re responsible for it, but it was too late.
I carried him and the box up to the apartment, and gave him firm instructions to stay on the kitchen’s linoleum floor. I had to be realistic. I had to find a shelter to take him to.
The tears came quickly. In a few seconds, I was sobbing. I’d given up everything for Bobby, and now I was giving up one more thing. I finally got control of myself and grabbed the phone book. Shelters, animal.
And then the second miracle of the day happened. The phone rang. Bobby. Had to go out of town unexpectedly. A job. Big pay. Home next week. Maybe two weeks. Stay out of trouble.
As I hung up, I heard something I hadn’t heard in a long time. The sound of my own laughter. Jay heard it, too, and ignored the orders about staying off the carpet and covered me in kisses again.
I knew I was a fool, but I knew I was going to do it anyway. I was going to keep the puppy for this week. I deserved that much. The puppy deserved that much. I’d take him to the shelter before Bobby got home. He’d never know.
I threw on some clothes, grabbed Jay, and we went to the park. I don’t know how they do it, but puppies change the way you see the world. It’s like the colors are brighter, the grass is softer, and even bugs are beautiful.
Jay was mystified by the pond in the park. He walked very slowly up to it, stuck one paw in, and pulled it back like it was acid. Then he tried again, and then he drank the dirty water. I caught him before he could try swimming, and before he saw the ducks. That didn’t keep him from telling them what he thought of them, though.
On the way home, I stopped at the little pet store I’d walked by a million times, never allowing myself to go in, knowing I’d fall in love with some four-legged critter. Now, I carried Jay in with pride.
“A new puppy? A Border Collie, maybe?” The shop owner was an old man with wrinkles in his smile.
“I don’t know. He was left on my doorstep.”
“We’ll get you set up. Let’s see, collar, leash, puppy food.”
“I’ll pass on the leash. I can only keep him a few days, then he’s off to the shelter.”
“It’s a shame. Border Collies are smart dogs. Good companions. Need a lot of exercise.”
“Yeah, well, we live in an apartment. Not sure how that would work out.”
He put all the essentials on the counter, including a leash. But he didn’t touch the cash register.
“How much do I owe you?”
“On the house. He reminds me of a dog I used to have. Oh, and here’s a list of vets in the area, and a list of the shelters in town.”
Maybe puppies bring out the best in people. Maybe he felt sorry for me. I thanked him, and with one arm full of puppy, and the other holding a heavy bag, I headed home.
Mr. Bailey, the building superintendent, was coming out the door just as I got there. I never even considered whether having a dog was allowed in our lease. He held the door for me, and then patted Jay on the head.
“Good doggie,” he said and went on his way. And I guess that was the third miracle of the day.
I must have used up my quota of miracles. While I planned rice and chicken for dinner, Jay decided that Bobby’s favorite baseball cap was tastier. The trouble a puppy can get into during a five-minute shower.
I didn’t intend to let Jay sleep with me. If he had an accident in bed, I wasn’t sure I could get the smell out. So I barricaded him in the kitchen, with bowls full of water and food, and I went to my bedroom. It just about broke my heart to hear him cry, all lonely, but not loud. Exactly the way I cried. He finally got quiet, and I finally got to sleep.
When morning came, the bed jiggled. I opened my eyes, sober this time, and looked into two blue canine eyes. I had no idea how he managed to get out of the kitchen or up onto the bed. I held him a second, and then I threw on my robe and took him outside. He did his business, I picked up after him, and we went back inside.
And so one day led into another, the world seen through new eyes. People stopped me to tell me what a handsome boy he was. I found an old tennis ball and he learned to fetch, at least a little. I got up earlier. Saw a few sunrises. And we cuddled.
Bobby hated cuddling. Honestly, we didn’t touch much at all. My biggest job with Bobby, my most important one, was to keep him calm. As long as he was calm and happy, he didn’t drink, and as long as he didn’t drink, nobody got hurt. I kept the house spotless, and his clothes were always clean. I knew all his favorite meals and made them. I never talked back. I learned to smile on command because he didn’t like it when I didn’t smile.
The phone rang on Wednesday night. Bobby. A very drunk Bobby.
“Just callin’ to make sure you’re keepin’ your nose clean,” he said. “I’ll be home on Friday.”
And then he hung up.
Jay growled at the phone when I put it down.
We went to bed early that night. And I dreamed. I dreamed of running in a meadow with a grownup Jay at my side. There were sheep in the distance in rainbow colors, and he wanted to play with them. We ran faster and faster and the wildflowers became a blur and their own sort of rainbow. When we caught up to the sheep, we saw that they weren’t rainbow-colored at all; the colors were from bruises and blood, and Jay barked and I looked at what he was barking at, and there was Bobby, with his sneering face and a gun pointed at Jay.
I woke up sweating, and Jay licked my face.
“I’m sorry, boy. I’d never let him hurt you. Friday, we’ll get you into a shelter, safe from that asshole.”
He snuggled into my arms but I did not sleep.
And so it was Thursday. I decided to make this a special day for Jay. We went for a walk, an all-day walk. We wandered through parks, and he chased his tail, and he ignored the tennis ball I threw for him. We stopped and had burgers, one for each of us. By late afternoon, we were both tired, and headed toward home.
We stopped at the pet store. The owner scratched Jay behind the ears.
“You’ve decided to keep him, then?”
I shook my head. “Tomorrow he goes to the shelter.”
“A shame, but I’m sure you have his best interests at heart.”
We picked out a toy. A teddy bear with a squeaker. I insisted on paying this time. I could see tears in the owner’s eyes, and we had to leave or I’d start crying, too.
That night we watched a movie. A dog movie. Jay was fascinated by the barking, but soon fell asleep in my arms. We slept on the couch that night.
I can’t talk about Friday morning. I can’t talk about walking into the shelter. I can’t talk about how I felt when I’d filled out all the paperwork, or the judgement I saw in people’s eyes. I can’t talk about how empty I felt when he left my arms and when I turned to walk away and I heard him whimper. And why did I find myself in this situation? Why couldn’t I keep him? Because I was a coward. I couldn’t face Bobby’s wrath. What kind of a person was I to destroy Jay’s life and to refuse to live my own? Less than a coward.
Betrayed: Powerful Stories of Kick-Ass Crime Survivors Page 19