Protectors

by Kris Nelscott

  “Thanks, Pammy!”

  She looked up. The remaining four women were almost to the front door. She hadn’t even noticed them passing her.

  She waved at the women, then grabbed her keys and followed, noting that it was getting darker outside. No one stood on the sidewalk any longer, and the streets weren’t as full of life as they had been in the afternoon.

  She exchanged pleasantries with the last of the women to go through the door, then pulled it closed and locked it, turning over the closed sign.

  She walked to the counter, dropped the keys on it, and then kept going to the locker room. She pushed open the door. It smelled damp inside, but the waves of steam were gone. The lights were still on, and some wet towels lay on the floor beneath the only bench that fit into the place.

  Both showers dripped, and water was still puddled around the drain. The water puddle looked smaller than it had before, so the drain still worked, but it was something she would have to take care of.

  Just like she would have to clean this room before she went home.

  Maybe before she rebuilt the front, she could hire someone to clean on a regular basis.

  She shut off the light and pulled that door closed, then glanced at her watch.

  9:05.

  She looked at the kitchen door like it was the enemy. No one had come for her, which, she supposed, was a good thing. At least the other women hadn’t known what Stella was going to do.

  Pammy took a deep breath, then headed to the kitchen. As she reached the door, she heard voices, and her shoulders sagged.

  They had arrived.

  She opened the door. Strawberry was on her feet, near the kitchen entrance, holding a baby in her arms. The baby had one pudgy hand wrapped around Strawberry’s right finger. Strawberry was bouncing the baby and cooing at it—at her, judging by the pink footie pajamas—and the baby was staring at her as if it had never seen anyone like her before.

  Stella stood near the kitchen table, her silver-blonde hair filled with so much hairspray it looked like a wig. She wore a denim day dress with a gigantic turquoise necklace around her neck. She probably had matching earrings, but her earlobes were bare—and red, which meant that the clip-ons she usually wore were in the matching denim purse that sat in the center of the kitchen table. Her rings, also silver and turquoise, glinted in the kitchen’s overhead light.

  Although her jewelry alone probably cost more than everything in the kitchen, the outfit was dressed down for Stella. Her husband, one of the regents of the University of California system, always insisted that she look the part of an influential man’s wife. If Stella wore blue jeans and a loose top, with no jewelry at all, her husband would notice and comment.

  He probably didn’t like this outfit much either, but it was fashionable. And practical, at least for the things Stella was doing this evening.

  There was a small woman behind Stella, but Pammy couldn’t quite see her. She had moved out of Pammy’s line of sight the moment Pammy came into the room.

  “Pamela Griffin,” Stella said, her voice as formal as it would be in a faculty party, “this is Norma, and her daughter Raquel.”

  Norma raised her hand, but didn’t move. Pammy frowned, and Stella seemed to realize that Norma was hiding behind her, so Stella moved aside.

  Norma’s face was black, green, and purple. Someone had used her as a punching bag. Her left eye was swollen shut, and the left side of her mouth had a black scab over the lips.

  Despite her annoyance, Pammy felt her heart go out to this woman.

  “Hi,” Pammy said. “Welcome.”

  Norma nodded, then looked down with her good eye.

  “We don’t have a really comfortable place to sleep, but Stella said this is just for one night, right?”

  Norma shrugged.

  “She can’t go home,” Stella said. “I’m trying to figure out a place to put her, but her husband—”

  “My husband is Luciano Paolinie,” Norma said, lisping the words.

  Stella winced. Strawberry stopped bouncing the baby and looked at Norma. Pammy caught herself before she could gasp.

  Luciano Paolinie was one of the stars of San Francisco’s growing classical music scene. His performances mixed classical music and modern rock songs, and had received some international attention.

  He was, in Bay Area circles, a Big Deal.

  Pammy’s gaze met Stella’s. Stella sighed quietly, then shrugged almost imperceptivity. Usually they agreed that they wouldn’t give Pammy or anyone here much information about the women who came through.

  “I’m sorry,” Norma said, looking at Stella. Something in Norma’s tone said she wasn’t sorry at all. She had deliberately not followed instructions. “It’s just…I keep telling Stella…it’s hopeless. He’ll find me. He’s friends with the mayor.”

  “Of San Francisco,” Stella clarified.

  “And the chief of police, and everyone else. I can’t…they don’t…no one will help, and after last night….” A tear leaked out of Norma’s good eye. “I mean, look.”

  She extended her arms for the baby, and Pammy looked at her skin. Her arms had old yellowing bruises, and so, it seemed, did her torso, partially visible through the openings under the arms of her sleeveless shirt.

  Strawberry gave the baby to Norma, who unzipped the pajama top.

  “See?” she said, pointing at the baby’s right shoulder.

  Pammy leaned forward. The beautiful soft skin had the unmistakable image of a hand that had gripped too tightly, revealed in five separate bruises—long finger marks, and a palm print on the shoulder’s top.

  “I had to get her out, but I don’t know, my parents, they—he’ll go there first. And she cried. Oh, my God, she cried.” Norma swallowed hard. “I have to get her out.”

  Stella wasn’t looking at the bruise. She was looking at Pammy.

  “Has anyone looked at this?” Pammy asked.

  “The police? No, I said—”

  “I meant a doctor,” Pammy said.

  Norma shook her head. “He’ll yell at me if I take her to a doctor. He thinks that makes us look weak.”

  “Makes him look weak,” Strawberry muttered. “The freakin’ asshole.”

  “I can’t go back,” Norma said, mistaking Pammy’s silence for disapproval. Norma waved a hand at her face. “I can’t. He did this when I got in the way. She didn’t cry when he did this, only after I managed to get her away from him. She’s only five months and she already knows to be quiet when he’s around, and I’m afraid she’s not going to…”

  Norma clearly couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. Pammy understood.

  “You can stay here,” Pammy said.

  “But just tonight, right?” Norma swung her head around quickly to look at Stella, probably for confirmation, lost her balance and nearly fell.

  Strawberry grabbed the baby while Stella held Norma in place.

  “I’m calling someone,” Pammy said. “Just hang on.”

  “No police, please,” Norma said. “Please.”

  “Not police,” Pammy said. “We need someone to look at you.”

  “I’m fine,” Norma said. “Really. It just looks worse than it is.”

  Pammy had heard that before. Her friend Linda used to say that all the time.

  Pammy knew better than to contradict a woman who had been lying about beatings for years.

  “I know you’re all right,” Pammy said.

  “You gotta be kidding me,” Strawberry said.

  “But,” Pammy talked over her on purpose. “I’m not so sure about little Raquel, given what you’ve been saying. Let’s make sure she’s okay.”

  “You can’t take her,” Norma said. “I don’t want to lose her. She needs me—”

  “I’ll have someone come here,” Pammy said. “Don’t worry. She’s trustworthy.”

  “She is,” Stella said. “She’s helped others in similar circumstances.”

  Strawberry took the baby and gen
tly pulled the pajama top over the bruise. “She’s gruff.”

  Pammy opened her mouth to contradict Strawberry.

  “But,” Strawberry continued, just the way Pammy had a moment before, “she knows her stuff really good. You can trust her.”

  Norma looked from woman to woman as if she couldn’t believe she was here. Then her knees collapsed underneath her. Stella caught her and eased her into a chair.

  “You’re safe here,” Stella said softly.

  “What if he comes here?” Norma asked.

  “He doesn’t even know this place exists,” Stella said. “No one does.”

  “Your husband—”

  “Thinks I play too much bridge,” Stella said with a smile. “You’ve even heard him complain about it.”

  Norma smiled as best she could with an injured mouth.

  “Can I ask a weird question?” Strawberry said, juggling the baby from one hip to the other. Little Raquel didn’t protest at all. Her large blue eyes remained on her mother.

  Pammy shook her head slightly. She didn’t want any more complications.

  But Stella shrugged, and Strawberry took that as an invitation.

  “I thought your husband was a musician. Don’t they protect their hands?”

  Pammy cursed silently. Stella stiffened. They tried not to talk about what had just happened, thinking it was probably best.

  But Norma didn’t seem upset by the question at all.

  “He sings,” she said. “He’s very protective of his voice. He never yells, never raises his voice. I think that’s why no one believes me. Because he’s so soft spoken, and so….”

  She couldn’t seem to finish the thought.

  “I believe you,” Stella said. “I believed before you did.”

  That almost sounded blaming. Pammy didn’t want that either. It might make Norma leave. And as much as Pammy hadn’t wanted her here before, now she didn’t want Norma to go back to a man who would hit his wife so badly that it was impossible to tell what she looked like.

  And Pammy certainly didn’t want baby Raquel to ever get near the man again.

  “I know you believed me,” Norma whispered. “I just never thought...I thought he loved Raquel. I did.”

  Strawberry looked over the baby’s head at Pammy. Strawberry had gone pale.

  “You got a call to make,” Strawberry said, sounding like the oldest, most responsible person in the room.

  Pammy nodded. She headed out of the kitchen to call Eagle.

  26

  Eagle

  The phone rang, jarring Eagle out of a sound sleep. She’d been hunched on her couch, head back, mouth with a lingering aftertaste of the tuna salad sandwich she had made herself for dinner. She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock on her stove.

  Who the hell would call at ten at night? She hadn’t left any messages. Four hospitals, six names per contact, and nothing. She had given up around 7:00 p.m. when it became clear that people who worked in Records kept pretty normal business hours.

  The phone rang again. Only one person was that persistent.

  Pammy, with another emergency at the gym. Bring the full medical bag, she said.

  Eagle didn’t tell her to be more cautious, even though she wanted to. Beginners got hurt. Women got hurt. Pammy seemed oblivious to that.

  Still, Eagle answered the summons like she always did, grabbing her large black medical bag and some extra bandages, and let herself out of the apartment.

  Halfway down the stairs she realized she hadn’t combed her hair, washed her face, or straightened her clothes. She probably looked as ruffled as she felt.

  But it didn’t matter. If someone was hurt, they wouldn’t care how she looked as long as she made them feel better.

  It didn’t take her long to get to the gym. Force of habit took her to the back door. She stepped inside, smelled something spicy—mustard?—overlaid with old coffee and the faint hint of poop, which she didn’t ever recall smelling here before.

  She closed the door behind her and locked it, wondering if maybe the smells had come in from the alley with her. But they got stronger as she walked into the kitchen proper, and then realized where the poop smell came from.

  The hippie-dippy ding-a-ling, Strawberry, leaned against the counter, a baby in her arms. The baby made Eagle stop entirely. She hadn’t thought Strawberry had a kid, but nothing should surprise her. Even the fact that Strawberry wasn’t changing the kid’s diaper.

  Pammy stood by the door, holding a plate in her hands with a half-eaten sandwich on it. She looked tired.

  Stella D’Arbus was dumping the contents of the percolator into the sink. She wore a denim dress that probably cost more than Eagle’s entire wardrobe. The belt, made of turquoise and silver, definitely cost more than Eagle had earned in her entire life.

  The woman would have irritated Eagle—had irritated Eagle, in fact—if she hadn’t managed to save at least two lives that Eagle knew about. Stella’s presence told Eagle that Pammy’s phone call hadn’t been about the gym.

  It had probably been about the woman who sat with her back to Eagle, who seemed unaware that anyone else had come into the room. She was crouched over the table, holding a glass of milk in a shaking hand.

  Eagle braced herself, glad that she hadn’t indulged in any weed for days now. She felt clear-headed, and she had a hunch she needed to be.

  “What’ve we got?” she asked Pammy.

  The mystery woman jumped and turned, and Eagle’s words faded. The mystery woman’s face was covered in bruises and contusions. Judging by the color of the bruises, they were at least twenty-four hours old. Her left eye had swollen shut. The entire left side of her face was misshapen, and not just from swelling.

  “Are you the doctor?” the woman asked, sounding desperate. She spoke out of only one side of her mouth.

  “Not quite,” Eagle said.

  “We call her the combat medic,” Stella said. “She was a nurse in Vietnam.”

  Strawberry froze ever so slightly, her gaze meeting Eagle’s. Eagle couldn’t tell if that hippie-dippy girl resented Eagle’s service, was impressed by it, or simply hadn’t realized that Eagle was here.

  “Can you look at my baby?” the woman asked.

  Eagle’s breath left her body. She hadn’t expected that at all. But she had learned a long time ago to keep her face impassive, even when the people she was trying to help surprised her.

  Eagle walked deeper into the kitchen, setting her bag on the table. She stopped beside Strawberry. The baby wasn’t crying. Her eyes were clear and very blue. They took in Eagle as if they’d never seen anything like her before.

  “What happened to her?” Eagle asked, keeping her voice mild.

  “My husband…” the woman said softly as Strawberry gently moved the collar of the baby’s footie pajamas away from the baby’s shoulder.

  Eagle stepped closer and didn’t touch. The handprint was shockingly red and purple, the kind of bruise no child should ever have. It was also swollen just a bit.

  She touched it carefully, feeling for broken bones. She didn’t find any, and the baby didn’t cry, which meant Eagle was either being very, very gentle or there were no fractures.

  Eagle almost asked if this was the only injury the baby had suffered, and then remembered seeing injuries like this on children before. Sometimes, the parent mentioned the minor injury but not the major one.

  “Let’s get her comfortable,” Eagle said. “I want to examine her—and she needs a diaper change anyway.”

  Strawberry nodded. “Where do we do this?”

  “Let’s take her to the bench in the locker room,” Pammy said. “I’ll clean it off, set down some towels, get a bag for the diaper. Do you have another?”

  She asked Stella that.

  Stella nodded. She set the percolator down and went to the back of the kitchen, removing a pink Pampers box from a paper bag. Beside the paper bag was a some kind of baby carrier. It was pink and made of thick material, and
looked a little like a combination of a basket and a baby buggy without the wheels or the handle.

  At least the kid would have somewhere to sleep tonight.

  Pammy hadn’t waited for Stella’s answer, instead leaving the room and heading to the locker room. Strawberry followed with the baby, as did Stella with the Pampers.

  Eagle waited until they had left before she turned to the woman. She pulled the other kitchen chair back and sat down beside her.

  “My baby first,” the woman said.

  “In a minute,” Eagle said. “Let them set everything up. I want to look at your face.”

  “I’m okay,” the woman said.

  “I know.” Eagle set her hands on her knees. “I want to touch the injury. Is that all right?”

  The woman shook her head. “Raquel first.”

  Raquel. What a mouthful for such a little thing.

  Eagle wasn’t going to argue with the woman. She needed the woman’s trust.

  “I’ll take care of her if you tell me what happened to her.” Eagle spoke softly. “The others don’t need to hear.”

  The woman kept her head bowed. There was dried blood in her blonde hair as well.

  “He…she was in her high chair. Just eating. Banging her spoon. You know. Baby things.” Her voice trembled. “He put his hand on her shoulders. He was looking at me. He said I had to keep her quiet, but she was so good. She stayed quiet when he touched her. She didn’t make a sound.”

  Eagle imagined her own hands gripping her knees to remain calm. But she didn’t dare move, didn’t dare show a reaction, or this woman would shut up.

  “I…I tried to make him move, and he…” she raised her hand to her face. “And that’s when she started to cry. He’d let go of her, so I grabbed her and I said if he touched me while I was holding her, then he could kill her, and he…”

  Eagle braced herself for something worse.

  “He…he left.” The woman nodded, as if confirming her own story in her mind. “He left.”

  There was a lot more to the story. The bruises said that. But Eagle wasn’t going to push.

  She hoped that the part about the baby was true.