Stifling gone to worse? I fret. Nick’s anger?
“And I’m so sorry about my brother’s behavior,” she finally says, turning droopy again as she did in the car. “He’s terrible, isn’t he?”
“You said he was controlling.”
She nods helplessly.
“You said he’s gotten angrier.”
She nods again. Her hands grip her mason jar.
I lean forward and ask, “How angrier? Is there any chance he could get violent with you?”
“Oh…no. His bark is worse than his bite. Always has been. He yells at Mary too; she’s scared to death of not…you know…overprotecting me in the way he wants.”
I look at her. On the phone his bark sounded pretty bad, but I’m somewhat reassured.
“Actually, I need to escape both of them.” She lets go of her mason jar; twists her fingers nervously. “They mean well…Mary definitely does…and it’s my fault I’ve allowed myself to be…like I’ve been.” Her head is downcast. “It’s horrible being treated like a child. Richard my shrink agrees; says it just reinforces the notion that I’m dependent, when deep down I’m strong.”
“You mentioned that when I visited.”
Chrissy raises her eyes to me. Laughter erupts at a near table; she seems not to hear it.
“You wouldn’t believe it,” she falters, “but I used to be much stronger before…everything. My father dying slowly, my mother not answering my letters, my marriage falling apart.” She pauses. “Then…photographers jumping out everywhere to catch me crying. It’s like the whole world was enjoying my misery…that’s why I stopped going out.” She shakes her head. “Heartache’s a killer, but you know that.”
“Oh, yes.” She has rambled. The subject of Nick still troubles me. How, subtly, can I get her back to him?
“In the car Mary said you were upset.”
“Yes, because I fought with my brother…but she’s seen us fight before. When my pills wear off, and he wants me to take more. We also fight about money, and poor Mary gets caught in the middle. I feel guilty; she suffers for me.”
She’s seen us fight before… I feel oddly further reassured; fiddle with the Band-Aid on my thumb.
The waiter is back with his notepad and pencil. We order burgers and Coke. No wine for Chrissy; she pulls at the neck of her sweater as if getting hung. “My meds, I’d fall over.”
The waiter leaves. I try to steer her back to Nick.
Instead she rambles about devoted Mary; her arrival when they were young. She was nineteen, “working like Chiara,” but years passed and she became both housekeeper and mother figure.
“Devoted to both of you,” I say, prompting. “You and Nick.”
“Yes, and it’s strange that he turned out with his…mean streak. Maybe because our mother took off, or because our father made it clear that he considered him weak.” Chrissy frowns. “Well…enough. He didn’t want me to come out, and I did. Told him to just…leave me alone, stop standing over me. If I want to go out and see people, I will.”
“What was his reaction?” I ask uncomfortably. She may be safe from any real violence from Nick, but I remember his raging Do not intrude. Do you hear me?
“Oh…he blames you for interfering,” Chrissy tries to say reassuringly, “but I told him no, nothing to do with you. I’m just a volcano who’s finally decided to explode. It’s time.”
Then her face clouds over. She seems to deflate like a balloon losing air.
“What’s awful is the tension…after an argument. Thinking of going back to see him all dour and angry…” She shudders. “That, really, is when I lose my nerve, become weak again. I have to work harder at that.”
Someone brushes against our table. Again, she seems not to notice. She’s in her own little world, but at least she’s continuing about Nick.
“…although it isn’t just me. He’s also stressed by business troubles.”
“Oh?” Right, your husband told me.
She’s distracted for moments as the Coke arrives, and she takes a sip.
Then she says, “He owes what’s left of his inheritance to creditors. Blames Peter for bad investment advice. On that point Peter is blameless; Nick’s advisors even told me so.”
“So Nick’s broke,” I saw bluntly.
“Yes.” Chrissy broods, toys with her straw.
I sip Coke, planning how to say what I’m thinking.
“You have the power.” I get her to meet my eyes. “If he acts horribly, you can tell him to leave, get out. You can even…” I falter a little, and she finishes.
“Disown him,” she says, but shakily. Her lower lip quivers. “My own brother…all I have left…yes, I could cut him out.”
“He has to realize that.”
“He does - that’s how our fights always end!” Chrissy’s emotions burst through her medication, and her eyes fill. “Again…there’s nothing new about his outburst to you; he yells like that to Mary and his lawyers and everyone else. Still, I’m so sorry about it.”
Nothing new about his outburst to you…
At last, I feel my shoulders relax.
And the food arrives, smelling of charbroiled sirloin and fries and onion rings. I realize how starved I am and dig in, onion rings first. “Oh man, this is good,” I say, chewing, then see Chrissy lean forward, watch me sadly.
“You spoke to Peter,” she says uncomfortably. “Do you think…?”
I look at her, trying to switch gears. That’s right, she wanted to talk about Peter. I’d been so focused on Nick.
“Have your feelings toward him changed?” I say vaguely, putting my burger down to fiddle with my Band-Aid. In my haste, I put it on too loosely. It’s also a bit reddened; a small amount of newly roughed up blood has soaked through.
Chrissy doesn’t notice.
“The opposite,” she says plaintively, ignoring her food. “He seems different toward me. Called me twice…about the children, true, but he seems friendlier.” She flounders, pushes her plate away. “I mean…two almost-friendly phone calls instead of curt texts? I’m just wondering if maybe…he’s decided he misses me.”
Oops.
Or maybe, I think, he’s feeling happy for some other reason….
But I’m startled. Didn’t she say, when I visited, that she definitely wants a divorce? All it took was Peter being back to friendly on the phone instead of sending curt texts – and she’s in emotional disarray?
“I don’t know…” I hedge, aware that this conversation has just done a one-eighty. My heart kicks a little. “How could I know?”
“Because he sent you to cheer me,” she says hopefully. “That has to mean he cares, right?”
“Definitely,” I say…because it’s true; he wants his children’s mother to get better.
“That’s so encouraging!” Her eyes plead and dance. Her skinny hand excitedly shoves a blond hair from her brow. “Do you think he maybe loves me again?”
Oh cripes…what can I say?
“Well…” I feel guilty, feel bad for her; remember Peter’s description of her just incredible neediness and no, I’d never go back.
I pick up a fry, plow a path through my ketchup as if in thought. “I’ve known couples who’ve split up and gotten back together,” I say carefully; then decide to be blunt. “I did notice that he’s concerned about you; worries that you’re too thin.”
“I know. He gave up on that.”
“He’d be happy to see you eat.” I take a big bite of my burger.
Chrissy’s face falls.
Obedient as a child, she pulls her plate back to her. Worriedly, she studies her burger, pulls off the top half of her roll, gingerly lifts the decapitated rest, and takes a bite. “Oh, this is good,” she says, chewing, her eyes searching mine as if for praise. I nod and smile with my mouth full. She takes another bite, chews with her brows up still seeking praise, then puts her burger down again; pushes it away on her plate.
In her passive way, she is work. I’m getti
ng antsy.
I reach for the ketchup. Turn the bottle upside down, squeeze out a nice red mound. Chrissy is rambling about Peter.
“…partly blame Nick’s hostility toward him for the breakup of my marriage. He’s always gone after Peter, resented him…whereas Peter was wonderful, really. He tried.”
I look at her.
“He’s the strongest personality Nick and I have ever known. For years he made me stronger than I was.”
Chrissy’s blue eyes search mine, pleading. “I’d give anything to have him love me again.”
I swallow, ransack for words. “The papers say he was quick to come home after” – I inhale – “that business on West Eleventh.”
“Yes.” Her face crumples. She picks up a fry and copies me; gouges it through ketchup, only angrily. “It was so good…briefly, but Nick wouldn’t have it; said Peter had no business coming back after causing me such grief. Peter was so drunk and stumbling he just wanted to lie down…and I’d taken too many pills, so we were both out of it.”
“The papers say he may have gone back to West Eleventh.”
“Ridiculous. He couldn’t walk.”
I sit straighter. “Gossip sites say your apartment has a back stairway he could have snuck down with nobody seeing.”
“Wrong, Nick would have seen. He couldn’t sleep after that; was in the kitchen the rest of the night furious and drinking, sprawled in the breakfast nook.” Chrissy gouges her mushy fry through more red paths. “That’s where Mary found him, still drunk, mad at everyone saying Peter’s intrusion cost him a night’s sleep and he couldn’t focus on business.”
I fall back against the booth wall.
Nick could have gone down that stairway.
I want to call Peter and tell him.
Chrissy puts her fry down and begins to weep, quietly and defeatedly. Her head bows, her shoulders heave.
“Hey,” I say, reaching across to her. “Hang in there, hang in there.”
She nods, uses her napkin to wipe her fingertips, her cheeks. There’s still red from the ketchup under her nails.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It just hurts so much.”
“Understood, I’ve been there.” There’s a sudden, wild tightness in my chest. Can’t call yet; can’t text, she’ll wonder. “Have you told Peter that Nick was in the kitchen the rest of that night?”
“No. We’ve only just started to speak again…oh God!” Chrissy’s eyes widen; she’s just noticed my Band-Aid. “Your thumb – what happened?”
“Stuck it on a rose thorn. I’ll live.”
“But there’s blood! On your bandage!”
“It’s soaked through. I’ll change it.”
She gives a cringing shudder. “I can’t bear the sight of blood. Can’t bear it!”
“It’s really nothing,” I soothe, moving my hand to my lap and out of her sight. “Try not to spaz. It’s part of getting stronger, right?”
“Yes, yes…oh, I’m hopeless.”
Chrissy’s gaze turns newly anxious, and moves to her bag. “I should check my phone.”
She stiffens as she looks at it; says there’s a call from Nick from twenty minutes ago.
I shake my head sympathetically.
The restaurant is a little less noisy. She covers her ear as she hits reply…
…and tells him yes, she’s still here with me. There’s an unintelligible barrage from his end, interrupted by her “soon…” and “no, not yet…” and “well, tell him not to!”
Another tense exchange and she slams her phone down, fights new tears. “I hung up on him. Rafe has already been sent back.”
I groan.
She shakes her head desperately. “I have to escape this.”
I lean to her, loathing Jakes even more. “You can.”
Chrissy’s reddened eyes glisten. “Yes…I have to get him out of the apartment. He has his own and I have Mary. Why have I allowed this?”
“Discuss it with your husband, he’ll handle it. And I’m here, anytime you want to talk.”
Sniffling, she makes a feeble attempt to smile. “Thanks, Ava…so much.”
Her phone chirps again and she answers.
“It’s Rafe,” she sighs, disconnecting. “Waiting outside.”
She pulls on her jacket, I pull on my slicker. I insist on splitting the check, and we go out to him.
43
It’s pouring when we pull up to my brownstone. The street lamp sends a misty wash of light onto the building’s stoop and façade and arched doorway. In my second floor window, a single lit lamp looks lonely. The apartments above and below are dark.
“Oh,” Chrissy says, looking out. “Pretty.”
Actually, the building looks scary to me. Foreboding with its mostly dark windows on its mostly dark street. Even Joe, on a milder night, thought the place looked creepy…but I’m busting to get in, turn on lights, call Peter.
I notice Rafe also glancing out. He’s turned on the overhead, and under the dim light I see that he’s in his late forties, with dark, kindly eyes and the build of a bodyguard. He thrusts his dark-suited arm over the back of his seat, loses interest, and starts thumbing his phone.
My hand grips the door handle as Chrissy says wistfully, “I wish I had a little place to call my own…just for me…away from even Mary telling me what to do.”
“So do it,” I say, subtly checking my phone for the time. Want to call! “Buy yourself a place. Money’s one problem you don’t have.”
Rafe glances back to me, nods imperceptibly.
Chrissy gestures feebly. “Well, you know…” She’s looking out, watching rain droplets stream down the window. “There’d be no end of opposition. They’d be frantic about me taking my pills. I sometimes forget…”
“Nonsense,” I say bluntly, trying not to sound impatient. “You can set you phone alarm to remind you. Plus you’re starting to wean from your meds, right? Slowly but surely, you can do it.”
Chrissy seems to shrink in her seat; frets that even if she had a place “for daytime,” the children would be lonelier and Nick would take over even more and how could she keep him away if she’s not there?
I glare subtly at my phone. Seconds ticking… Through gritted teeth I say, “Where Nick’s concerned, hire a lawyer or just stand firm. Having a day retreat to go to might feel close to having a job, a start to getting yourself back into the world.”
“You’re right,” Chrissy sighs, and looks back to me. “See?” she says in her little girl voice. “That’s my problem, I have to stop looking for excuses.”
I pull in a breath. The rain pounds on the roof.
She peers back out. “But since tonight I do feel braver. I’d been getting agoraphobic, overwhelmed to be out…but I defied the big bad wolf and came, didn’t I?” Again she looks back to me, wanting praise.
“You did fine, just great.” I grip my phone tighter, remembering just incredibly needy. It’s almost fifteen minutes since hearing Nick spent that night by the back stairway. He hates Peter…in that phone call, he was raging.
Chrissy’s rambling, rejoicing that she still isn’t afraid; isn’t that something?
“And I’d so love to see your place,” she says suddenly. “Can I come up for just a minute? Get the feeling….?”
“Hey, sure,” I say, almost relieved thinking I can let her wander around while I duck into the john to send Peter a fast text.
But my agreement scares her.
“On the other hand,” she vacillates, “ugh, Nick is waiting.” She looks down to her fingers that she starts twisting again. “The longer I’m away, the harder it will be to deal with him. I mean,” she flounders, “I will deal with him, just not tonight. I’m worn out. One thing at a time….”
The rain pounds the roof harder. My heart pounds in my chest. Rafe, busy in his phone, blows air out his cheeks as if he’s used to this.
Has this outing been worth it? Yes, hugely! For the intel about Nick spending that night by the stairway. I sti
ll feel ready to explode. It’s extraordinary, how the weak control the strong.
“It’s early,” I say, very slowly, as if to a difficult child. “Not yet nine. Even Cinderella didn’t have to be back till midnight.”
Rafe laughs. His broad face looks back to us. “Cinderella, ha. Go,” he tells Chrissy. “It’ll be good for you. Nobody’s gonna have a conniption if you’re out ten minutes longer.”
She shakes her head again, in the slow, exasperating way of someone who is unacquainted with time pressure.
“No, the restaurant was a big step. Maybe next time? I’ll build up to more and - oh!”
She has an idea. “I’ll tag along when Mary comes back for the children tomorrow night. Peter’s angry. He thought he’d have them till Sunday, but there’s something Mary has to take them to. A birthday party, I think. So…” She looks at me. “Would six o’clock be good? We’ll come to you first.”
“Great!” I say, too loudly. My hand is back on the door handle. Am I overreacting? Chrissy said there was nothing new about Nick’s fury, but a terrible feeling is building. If Peter’s at home it seems suddenly urgent to know if he’s turned on his alarm. Don’t even stand near the window.
Chrissy’s dithering again. “…but you’ve really put a bug in my bonnet,” she’s saying. “I’d so love to see your place now…”
She must have driven Peter crazy.
Rafe starts to kid her. She fakes offense and shushes him. There’s an easy familiarity between them that makes me think that he, like Mary, has been with the family for years.
“Watch,” he grins at me. “This happens sometimes: she wants to go someplace, we get there and she chickens out. Then as soon as we’re around the corner she wants to go back. Isn’t that right, Chrissy?”
Girl Watching You Page 19