He smirked.
She rounded to the passenger side back seat, pulled out the two heavy cardboard boxes Derrick had already pre-addressed, and heaved them into Mike’s open arms. The bottles clacked together inside.
“Thanks for doing that,” she said, forcing her voice to be sunny. “And thanks for getting Paisley. I’ll see you later tonight?”
He didn’t say goodbye, he just kissed her hard on the mouth. But as she drove away, she watched him in the rearview mirror as he looked at the tire marks on the curb with his arms crossed over his chest.
***
Back at the salon, Amy chatted her way through a cut and color, and two back-to-back trims. The steady work kept her hands busy, while her mind returned to Carolyn’s call, and then to Mike’s reluctance to let her leave, and the things he’d done earlier to her body.
There was not an ounce of shame in her, and not one single regret, apart from not buying more sexy panties. That man wanted her, and when he touched her, she didn’t feel inadequate or inexperienced. She felt like liquid flames.
He made her wonder if she’d been that way all along and just hadn’t seen it.
Whatever the case, she wanted more of him. More Mike. And not just his touch. She wanted to hang out with him, laugh with him, listen to him read stories to the girls and ask what they’d learned that day. She wanted all of him, and that put her on very dangerous ground. The more she gave him, the more power he held over her. Even if he didn’t use it to hurt, he could, and that was enough to make her cautious.
Her entire afternoon had gone long, and by the time she pulled into the parking lot at the Y, she was already five minutes late for Mike’s self-defense class. She’d been coming as often as she could since Anna had first dragged her here months ago, and now not only was she physically stronger and faster than she’d ever been, she was calmer, too, because she knew that if someone attacked her she had a fighting chance of getting away.
She hurried inside, slip-ons squeaking over the scuffed white linoleum as she passed the front desk. The last couple weeks had been busy with pre-Thanksgiving vacation cut ‘n’ colors, but even though she’d missed class, she’d practiced the moves on her own and was anxious to show him what she could do. When she reached the room where Mike had already begun, she paused. Through the window in the door she could see him from the back. The sleeveless shirt he wore showcased the hard muscles of his upper arms, but he didn’t wear it for that reason. It was easier to move around in, and lightweight, for when he wore the protective gear and called the participants up to practice their defensive maneuvers. She couldn’t see the edges of his tattoo in that shirt, but now that she knew it was there, she found her eyes straining to see some sign of it through the fabric.
There were nine women in class today, most of whom she recognized, but three of them who looked new. Two about college age. One was older, in her forties, and staring at the floor. Amy could guess why, and her heart went out to her. She was just about to go inside when Mike called up Sandy, an accountant in her mid-thirties, who’d been attacked leaving the bank one afternoon. He pulled her into a headlock, and Sandy demonstrated, in slow motion, the correct way to break free from the hold. Standing outside, Amy felt a sudden tightness in her muscles, a clenching in her fists and jaw. She thought of Val and her husband. Of Danny. Of men who lost control, or just plain liked to hurt women.
Sandy heeled Mike in the knee and he tightened his hold on her neck. She grabbed at his forearm and Amy twitched. They were running drills, she knew this. But now that Mike had touched her so gently, she couldn’t imagine him even pretending to be another way.
She didn’t want to be here tonight. Even if they’d done this for months now, it felt different. They felt different. Something bone-deep had changed between them, and would never be the same again.
She couldn’t even open the door.
Checking her cell phone, she found the power in the battery had almost died—she’d forgotten to plug it in last night when they’d been fooling around in the basement. She was going to text Mike and tell him she’d meet him back at the house later, but instead returned to the front desk, and scribbled him a quick note. With that, she returned to her car, and drove a couple miles down the road, to a place she’d come to know well over the past couple years.
Haven House Resource Center was painted on the window in white letters, and as she pulled into an open spot out front, she felt a familiar sense of hope just being nearby. She’d never used their services when things had been bad with Danny, but she should have. In her mind, any woman who walked through those doors in need had her upmost respect. Asking for help was hard as hell.
Stacking the crates from the back seat in her arms, she backed through the front door, the tinkling of a bell ringing overhead.
“Hey there,” called Janice, long silver hair spiraling over her narrow shoulders. The woman was tireless. She ran the Haven House shelter—an actual house at an undisclosed location—where women could disappear to in a crisis. Amy didn’t know when she found the time; she was always here when Amy dropped off bags of clothes, or extra supplies from the salon.
“Hi,” said Amy, brightening immediately.
“She comes bearing gifts!” called Janice, cuing a scuffle of feet from the back room.
“I brought hair products from the salon I work at,” she said as Janice motioned for her to set the boxes on the desk. “The expiration date says next week, but they’re still good. I use them myself for much longer.”
“I didn’t know shampoo expired.” Janice chuckled.
“I guess everything does at some point,” said Amy.
“Amy?”
Val Connolly emerged from the hallway, her bright hair tucked back behind her ears. She was wearing a loose plaid shirt and jean capris, and though the white of her right eye was still a little red, and her makeup was still a little too thick to be anything but cover-up, she looked a hundred times better since they’d last met.
“You two pals?” asked Janice.
“She’s my hairdresser,” said Val. “What are you doing here?”
“Just dropping off some extra stuff from the salon.” Amy was glad Val was still here. It was good to see her.
As Val walked to the box and sorted through the contents, Amy thought of the woman who’d wept in the back parking lot of the salon. She remembered how Marcos had leaned forward in his chair, brows furrowed while Val had told him about her husband finding a getaway bag of his own money in her closet, and how she’d been waiting for just the right time to disappear.
I guess I was too late, Val had said.
She didn’t look too late now. She may still have walked with a jerk to her step, and her gaze didn’t meet Amy’s for more than a few seconds at a time, but she wasn’t pretending anymore, and that made her stronger than Amy had ever seen.
“Oh my god, is that the jasmine conditioner you use?” Val had opened one of the bottles and inhaled.
“It is.” Amy was beaming. “How are you?”
Val set down the bottle. “I’m all right today. Keeping busy. I’m staying...well, it’s probably obvious.” She glanced to Janice. “This is part of my ‘Fresh Air’ plan. I guess staying indoors for days on end isn’t healthy.” She shrugged.
Amy didn’t blame her. “How’s Kelly?”
“She’s pissed at me, of course. What else is new?” Val hesitated. “I thought it was better she cut ties with her boyfriend for a while. Just until we find a new place. She likens it to me ripping her beating heart out of her chest.”
“Ah, seventeen,” said Amy.
“Seventeen,” agreed Val.
Their conversation stalled, and even though there were things Amy wanted to ask, she held back. Val had a lot on her plate right now, and Amy didn’t want to contribute to it. Still, a powerful connection existed between them now. They didn’t have to hash out the details to recognize that bond.
Her focus turned to Janice, who was absently rub
bing her temples and looking concerned.
“Is this all right?” asked Amy, motioning to the box. “I’m getting together a bag of my daughter’s clothes, too, if that’s more what you need.”
“It’s fine,” Janice said. “I’m just not sure where to put it all.”
Amy was confused. This had never been an issue before.
“The shelter’s closing,” said Val.
“What? Why?”
“We’re losing the house after New Year’s,” Janice said, referring to the shelter—the actual Haven House, not just the drop-off center. Her nose scrunched, as if she was trying to hold back tears. “We live on donations, and they’re just not coming in this year.”
“But...” Amy crossed her arms, thinking of Val and her daughter. Thinking of how she and Paisley could have been in a place like Haven House. It seemed cosmically unfair. “Where will everyone go?”
Janice sighed. “It’s a temporary setup. Most of the tenants don’t stay more than a week or two anyway, so we’ll continue to stay open through the holidays. Then, who knows. Until we can find another place, there’s always the shelters downtown.”
That wasn’t an even trade. Amy knew, because she’d once looked into it, not knowing about Haven House. Women bunked together in large rooms, separated from their children in some cases. Men were right down the hall. They were notoriously dirty and unsafe. Haven House’s shelter was clean. It was a home. That was the first thing that Amy had learned about it.
“What about the women who can’t find somewhere so quickly?” The women who didn’t have jobs, or couldn’t afford apartments, or simply weren’t ready to face the world again.
“Some of the girls will move in together,” said Janice. “Some will probably go back.”
To their abusers. Amy looked to Val.
“I’ll think of something,” said her redheaded friend.
Amy was only mildly relieved.
“I’m sorry.”
“You and me both, sister,” said Janice.
“Is there anything I can do?” asked Amy.
“You got a couple hundred thousand dollars to buy a new house?”
Amy choked. “Not on me.”
“Too bad,” she said. “Me neither.”
Chapter Twenty
With a heavy heart she drove back to Mike’s. She’d stayed at the Haven House donation center longer than she’d intended, talking to Janice about her failed efforts with the congressmen, grants that had dried up, and decreased lobbying efforts statewide. She told Amy that Haven House had once offered community outreach—groups and education program in the schools—but that now they barely had the volunteer staff to keep the house itself maintained. They didn’t even have a dishwasher, and the oven didn’t work above 375 degrees. Even if they had the funds to keep it open, they didn’t have the money to maintain it.
The unfairness of the situation was quickly moving toward unacceptable in Amy’s mind.
As she’d left, Val had met her in the parking lot and given her a hug.
“Thanks again,” she’d said. She’d given Amy a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “That’s my new cell number. In case you ever need anything.”
Amy had taken it, though she couldn’t imagine asking for Val to return the favor.
“I think I’m going to cut my hair,” Val had said, backpedaling into the building. “Shoulder-length. Maybe even shorter. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”
Amy smiled, but felt a deep sadness as she wished her client—her friend—good luck. It was, without a doubt in Amy’s mind, the last time they would see each other.
As she pulled in the driveway beside Iris’s modest beige Honda she felt fortunate, but ached for the families who didn’t have a safe place to land.
It was late, but she thought she might just be able to tuck the girls in and say goodnight. She jogged up the front steps, and was just about to fit the key in the lock when the door pulled inward. Iris stood in the threshold wearing a church dress the dark, rich color of eggplants, her smooth black hair shining with the oil Amy had brought home for her last week. Frozen on her face was a look somewhere between panic and relief.
“Thank goodness.” She stepped out before Amy could step in, and pulled her into a cushioned hug.
“What happened?” asked Amy immediately.
Her stomach hardened as she glanced over Iris’s shoulder up the stairs, as if Paisley would be standing there with her arm in a cast or her head in a bandage or something.
“He called you about a hundred times.” Iris pulled back, holding Amy’s shoulder. “What good’s a cell phone if it’s not on?” Now she was scolding.
Amy reached in her purse, and found that the battery had indeed died.
“Shit,” she hissed.
“Watch that mouth,” said Iris.
“Mike called?” Amy inferred. “Why? Are the girls all right?”
“The girls are fine.” Iris stepped aside to reveal Chloe on the floor of the living room, surrounded by coloring books and fat markers. “Paisley’s in the back with the birds.”
“Then where’s Mike?” Amy felt gravity descending on her, growing heavier by the millisecond. Was he hurt? Had something happened to him? She wanted to shake the words from the woman before her. “He had another midterm tonight,” she remembered, but felt no sense of relief. Mike wouldn’t have called just to say he was in school.
“He’s likely missed it,” said Iris. “He’s out looking for you. He said you didn’t show at his class.”
Amy’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t have to do that. I left him a note.”
“Well, I told him I saw strangers at your apartment earlier and it got him all worked up.”
Amy went cold. “Strangers? What strangers?”
“Witnesses, most likely,” said Iris, and Amy’s scowl relaxed incrementally. “Two men. Said they wanted to talk to you about the Word. I said whatever word they had to tell you could go through me, but apparently I don’t look very trustworthy.” She snorted.
“Thanks,” Amy said uncertainly. It was probably nothing, but a dark feeling had descended over her, and she couldn’t shake it.
Iris’s cell phone rang from its place in her fist. It was large and a little outdated, but she refused to use the new one Mike had bought her. She flipped it open, taking a step back.
“She’s here. Yes, she’s okay.” There was a pause, in which a light throb started at the base of Amy’s neck. She closed the front door behind her. “Do you want to speak to her?”
Amy held her hand out, but Iris didn’t offer the phone.
“I’ll tell her,” said Iris. She gave a small, sympathetic smile. “He’s on his way home. I’ll be going now.”
Mike didn’t want to talk to her.
“I wrote him a note,” Amy said again.
Iris took a deep breath, and searched Amy’s face, as if trying to read a foreign language.
“You’re a good girl,” she said. “Be careful with my boy.”
Amy wasn’t sure what this was supposed to mean. She implied that Mike was somehow fragile, but he always seemed so grounded and confident. Apart from earlier today, when he hadn’t wanted her to leave, she’d never seen him even mildly upset.
Iris had turned, and grabbed her bag from the couch. “The girls ate pork chops and stuffing for dinner. Well, Chloe at the chops, Paisley ate the stuffing.”
Amy half smiled. Iris always cooked them the best food.
“Paisley got a time out for fibbing. She’s not happy with me at the moment.”
Amy wondered if that was why she was outside; she might still be upset about it.
“What’d she lie about?” asked Amy, remembering earlier, when Paisley had told Chloe in the car that her daddy took her to the park all the time.
“Mr. Jenkins, of course,” said Iris. Chloe’s teddy bear seemed to be their only source of contention. “Paisley had him hidden away under her bed, and tried to blame it on Chloe. It was
harmless, but she shouldn’t be making things up.”
“No, of course not.” Amy crossed her arms over her chest, reminded of another time Paisley had used beneath her bed as a hiding place. “Have you noticed her lying more lately?”
“Not any more than any other child,” said Iris. “Why?”
Amy shrugged. “No reason. It’s probably just a phase.”
Iris slung her bag over her shoulder. She was taller than Amy by several inches, and patted her on the shoulder. “In my experience, children lie most often because they want to see who’s listening.”
Amy was listening, so what was Paisley trying to tell her?
She reached into her purse for her wallet.
“How many times are we going to go through this?” asked Iris, one brow hiked. The family resemblance was obvious when she did this; she had a strong, steady kind of beauty, and wisdom that settled on every feature.
“Please let me give you something,” said Amy. Ever since Paisley and Amy had started staying with Mike, Iris had refused to take money for babysitting. As much as Amy appreciated the gesture, she hated feeling like she was taking advantage of Iris’s kindness.
Mike’s mother took a deep breath, the kind that made her shoulders rise and settle back down, and then took Amy’s hands.
“You know why I went home?” she asked.
“So you didn’t have to wake up at 5:30AM on Saturday mornings and watch cartoons?” tried Amy.
“No,” said Iris, squeezing Amy’s hands. “Because families, like flowers, need space to grow.”
“But you are family,” argued Amy.
“Which is why I’m not taking your money.”
Like her son, she had a knack for having the last word. With that, she kissed her granddaughter, and strode out the door.
Amy headed out back, and found Paisley sitting on the edge of the deck, staring at a tree in the yard.
“Shh!” said Paisley, one finger on her mouth. Amy tip-toed over and sat beside her on the step.
“Why are we shh-ing?” she whispered. She couldn’t help but put her arm around Paisley’s shoulders, and was rewarded with a cuddle.
More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4) Page 18