by Bart Hopkins
“People from high school tracked me down. Local groups asked me to join. And then it hit me. Your profile, in a way, is you. It’s your Internet personality. I started thinking that if all these people could find me, well … you could too.”
She paused for a moment and sipped her tea again. Rose processed the information, but she couldn’t speak.
“So I left you a trail of crumbs. I started posting pictures of everything, and sometimes I found myself writing the descriptions as if I were talking to you. That sounds crazy, but it was sort of like therapy. I didn’t want everyone on the Internet seeing pictures of Chelsea and Ryan; they were for you. I just wanted you to see those pictures. I had to make it all public so you could find it.”
Rose’s head was spinning. The images she’d studied. Memorized. They floated through her mind, and it struck her just how meticulously they were organized. Wedding photos. College graduation. Pretty much every “first” in the kids’ lives was chronicled in detail in her daughter’s Facebook albums.
All for her?
She started crying. The tears came slowly at first, but quickly gained both momentum and volume as she let twenty years of sadness pour out of her tear ducts and into her tea.
“I’m so sorry,” she blubbered. “I’m so sorry.” She was blinded and confused by emotions she had never allowed herself to experience, much less reveal to someone else.
“What kind of mom does that? What kind of mom…” she started, but couldn’t finish. Her body shook violently from the sobs.
Mary Beth watched her mother split apart in front of her. All the walls came crumbling down, and Humpty Dumpty had his great fall. She was swimming in a river of everything that had been bottled up those many years. Swimming?
Drowning.
Whatever resistance remained inside of Mary Beth evaporated, and she rushed around the island and grabbed her mother. All of the Mary Beths—from the deserted fifteen-year-old girl of the past to the twice-over mother in her thirties—hugged their mother. Every Mary Beth, of every age, gripped her mother tightly and swore they wouldn’t let her leave, ever again.
“Shhh. It’s okay … I love you, Mom.”
<<>>
Much too soon, it was time to go.
Chelsea and Ryan hugged Rose good-bye first. Quick hugs that were carefree and untroubled. The kids accepted her without question, a trait reserved for family. Maybe one day they would learn her true identity, but until that time came, she would be happy. Rose already loved them more than life itself.
Tom came next with a knowing twinkle in his eye.
“Looks like it worked out,” he said when he hugged her. “We are sure glad that you came, Rose.” Her eyes moistened in a Pavlovian response and she nodded.
“It sure did, Tom.” She thought back to him approaching her in that Mexican restaurant, so sure and helpful, and she smiled broadly. “I do believe you are our guardian angel! I didn’t know they made any men like you on this planet.”
“Well, they don’t,” he laughed. “Seriously Rose, thank you for coming back to us,” he told her, then stepped back and pushed a hand through Ryan’s unruly hair. “Okay, kids. Lets give Mom and Rose a few minutes and get some icy pops.” They ran from the foyer with squeals of excitement for the frozen, flavored water that they would soon be ingesting.
Rose and Mary Beth, mother and daughter, walked outside together and shut the front door, which only muffled the sound of the kids laughing. They stood together, quietly, listening to Chelsea, Ryan, and Tom singing in the kitchen. Finally, they looked at each other, eyes met eyes—two faces with the same features—and they smiled and hugged.
“So glad you’re finally here.”
“Sorry it took me so long!”
“Better late than never,” Mary Beth replied. Rose struggled, but failed to prevent the emotional sprinkler system from going off. Again. She wondered if she had been wrong all these years about emotions and regrets. She might have found her daughter sooner if she had just allowed herself to truly feel.
The sound of a dog barking caught Mary Beth’s attention, and she put a hand to her forehead to block the sun as she looked down the street. Abruptly, she started laughing. When she saw Rose looking at her curiously, she laughed even harder, and soon was in tears, too.
“What’s so funny?” Rose asked.
“Oh God … I was just thinking about … about you parked down there next to Mr. Mitchell’s house. He must not have seen you, Mom. He’s really old—and paranoid—he would have called the police.”
“That would have been no bueno,” Rose answered with a smile. She called me mom, she thought to herself.
They hugged one more time, and then Mary Beth gave Rose the old one-two as she backed out of the driveway.
“Bye, Mom. Love you,” she had called, and Rose was never closer to heaven.
Rose tried to reply, but she couldn’t, so she just waved, backed the Taurus down the driveway, and set her GPS for Austin.
Chapter 28
Rose, Paul, and Jennifer
Jennifer woke up and groaned at the sunlight coming in through her bedroom window. She doubted it had ever been brighter. Might even be some type of solar event going on, she thought. Solar flares or some shit. She tugged her tablet off the nightstand, powered it up, and opened Facebook. There were a dozen notifications and messages. One of them was from Rose, and she clicked on it first.
Are you going to yoga or aerobics today?
I don’t know, she wrote back, her hand involuntarily going to her lip.
Come on, I need a friend there with me … someone who’ll keep me motivated.
Jennifer sighed and thought about it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to go out in public. Not yet. It was still too soon. She glanced down and saw the “…” that indicated Rose was typing, so she waited.
I have some really great news I’d like to talk about—it’ll be fun.
There was a winking emoticon at the end of the sentence and Jennifer almost smiled, wondering how Rose had learned that new trick.
Okay. I might be a little late, but I’ll be there, she typed.
Super! See you there.
Jennifer stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror beside her bed. She’d picked it up, along with the bedroom set, on a shopping trip with Claire the year before. They’d discovered a vendor who made all of his own furniture. It was pale white, new, but with an antique look that Jennifer described as a muted elegance. She’d fallen in love with it; it made her happy every time she looked at it. Well, almost every time…
The past few days she’d hardly noticed it.
She studied herself in the mirror. The bruises on her arms were fading, and she could wear long sleeves to cover them. It would look a little stupid—being the middle of the summer—but it was only for a couple of hours.
The black eye and busted lip were a different story.
Thankfully, like the fingerprint bruises on her arms, they were also fading, but there wasn’t a shirt that could cover her entire face. She doubted even her ski gear would cover it up completely.
She’d always said a little makeup could conceal anything. Some creative artistry was her only option. It wouldn’t be perfect, but she figured it would be passable with a good excuse. She had been enrolled in kickboxing for a while … she could probably say that she’d taken an unlucky hit while sparring with a friend.
A cop probably wouldn’t buy it, but it’ll have to do, she figured.
<<>>
“Hi, Rose!” Jennifer whispered as she fell in next to Rose in the yoga group.
“Saved you a spot,” Rose replied and smiled. They were at the very back of the room, and still working through some of the early positions, so Jennifer guessed she hadn’t missed more than five minutes or so.
“Thanks,” Jennifer said and winked. She kept her profile to Rose as much as she could. As luck would have it, it was the unmarked side of her face. It wouldn’t save her indefinitely from Rose’s w
atchful eye; however, it would give her a few minutes to get used to being in front of people.
They worked through easier moves and then moved on to some of the easier intermediate poses that focused on strengthening the legs. Jennifer enjoyed the calming effect as they pushed through the Mountain, the Awkward Chair, and the Half Moon poses. She was just feeling nice and relaxed when the instructor called for a break.
The women milled about, some talking while they rehydrated from water bottles of seemingly endless variation and design. Small, large, different color lids, handles, no handles. Company logos. She doubted any scientist could accurately determine how many would end up in landfills. A few of the girls that worked out with weights, or used supplements, clack-clack-clacked their clacker bottles to mix up protein or creatine or weight loss powders.
Normally Jennifer was at ease at yoga … in the zone. It calmed. Soothed. She might leave feeling exhausted, but in a good way.
Cleansed to the bone.
Today, however, she couldn’t prevent the anxiety that burgeoned in her chest and burned like acid. She dreaded being seen in public like that, and could only hope the makeup camouflaged the damage. Her first test was Rose, who promptly turned to look at her after the last pose.
Fail. It took her all of three- or four-tenths of a second to notice. Her eyebrows darted up and she leaned in to ask about it.
“What happened?” Right to the point.
“Oh. This?” She waved a hand at her face and tried on a carefree smile, but it looked more like a grimace. “I got it while I was kickboxing. Nothing really. This kind of stuff happens.”
Rose’s face in one word: skeptical. She eyeballed Jennifer intently. Watched her inability to maintain eye contact. Remembered the marks on Jennifer’s cheeks from the previous week.
“Are you sure your boots didn’t fall on you again?”
It caught Jennifer off guard and she didn’t answer. She noticed they were alone in the room.
Rose took Jennifer by the arm, and what should have been an affectionate display between friends ended with Jennifer wincing. Rose pushed up her friend’s sleeve and saw the fingerprint bruises. Jennifer didn’t respond—only looked away—and Rose gently pulled her sleeve back down.
A ripple moved across Rose’s face, the emotions going from care to anger to steely resolve. She looked around. Leaned in discreetly and said to her friend.
“Get rid of that son of a bitch. Today. Now.”
“Rose…” she started to object.
“Listen to me very closely, Jennifer. I have been through this. I know every emotion you are going through. You’re afraid. Maybe you even believe the excuses he’s giving you, that somehow this is a result of his love for you. But it isn’t. Not even a little bit.”
“He says it won’t happen again,” she tried to rebut, but it came out like a whimper.
“That’s what they all say!” Rose raised her voice and looked around, but they were still alone. Wouldn’t be for long. “Let’s get out of here and talk about this. Let me help you.”
Jennifer allowed Rose to lead her to the exit.
“Where are you parked?” Rose asked.
“The rooftop parking.”
“Okay. Why don’t you follow me to my place so we can talk about getting you out of this situation.”
Jennifer decided she would follow Rose’s advice. It was the sensible thing. Better safe than sorry and all of that. Besides, she knew that Rose’s concern for her was genuine.
Then she thought about Paul and imagined his reaction in her mind. She changed her mind.
“I can’t Rose.”
“Jennifer…”
“Rose, I can’t do that to him.”
“Do what, stand up for yourself?”
“Leave Paul! It wasn’t all his fault, you know … he just got really upset because he found me talking to this other guy at the bar. I was drunk … it wasn’t right.”
“And so you talk to a guy and Paul gets to hit you?” Rose waved her hands, pleading. “Every girl in your situation says that same Jennifer and it’s bullshit! Don’t be like the rest of us, afraid to leave, believing every time that it’s going to be the last time. Or that it’s out of love because that’s not love…” She put her hands on Jennifer’s shoulders and looked hard into her face, “It isn’t.”
The Austin heat was unforgiving. Sweat dripped down Jennifer’s body, her long sleeves adding to the already stifling afternoon in the blacktop parking lot. A car backfired and she could taste the exhaust in the air. The smell reminded her of her dad and his motorcycles. He’d had three Harleys that he worshipped in his blue collar, monkey-wrench way.
“I’ve gotta give him another chance. I … I’m sorry.”
Rose sighed. One of the most glorious, yet tragic, things about being human was that, sometimes, you just had to learn things for yourself. Call it a flaw, call it a blessing, call it life. If everyone learned from everyone else’s mistakes, the world would be perfect.
She knew it herself, in a very personal way.
“All right,” she replied, exhausted. She felt old. “Damn it, all right. But maybe you can promise me one thing, girl. If anything happens, anything at all, you call me. Anytime. I’ll come running.”
“Okay, Rose.”
Jennifer gave her a quick hug, turned, and ran up the stairs.
<<>>
“Are you okay, babe?”
They were in Paul’s Mercedes again, speeding toward his house. Only that week she’d noticed that he couldn’t ever just drive like a normal person in his new, precious car. He was always speeding, up and down—it made her anxious.
Anytime they were at a stoplight, he glowered at people next to them, then stepped on it when the light turned green. She had almost laughed the first time he did it, thinking it was a joke. She was glad she hadn’t. Especially after seeing the look in his eyes … the laughter had died pretty quickly.
“Yeah. Of course.” She tried to smile, but it was forced.
He put his hand on her lap. Patted her leg.
“I really am sorry, you know,” he told her. She couldn’t see his eyes through the sunglasses he wore, but he sounded sincere. She smiled a little more easily.
“Okay.”
Back at his apartment, Paul prepared a shrimp and pasta dish with fresh Parmesan cheese, and she found herself really getting into it, hungry for the first time in days. The conversation was light and he catered to her needs, and she thought, hmm, I think he’s telling the truth … he’s not going to do it again. The Dry Fino Sherry took the last of the edge off.
Life was normal again.
She gave a contented sigh when she finished eating and reached a hand across the table and put it atop his. Smiled. Said, “That was delicious.”
“Thanks,” he replied and winked. He put his other hand over hers and traced his fingers around the top of her hand. “I’ll clean up … and then maybe we can just relax and watch a movie. What do you think?”
“That sounds perfect,” she said.
Surfing through Paul’s cable channels a few minutes later, Jennifer couldn’t find anything appealing; she figured they could pick something out from the pay-per-view channels when he finished the dishes. She could hear him singing Warrant over the sound of running water in the other room.
She stopped at a local news channel while she grabbed her phone and checked Facebook for messages. There was one waiting for her from Rose.
I know what you’re going through … just please let me know if you need anything. That was it, simple and to the point. She sighed, pushed Rose out of her mind, and looked up at the large, flat-screen television mounted on the wall.
They were doing a human-interest story about a boy named Jack Leonard who’d won some regional swimming competitions at the end of the school year. Cute kid, she thought, trying to place the name. She figured he must be in a different district or she would have heard about him. Apparently he’d overcome some pretty serious c
hallenges just a year before.
The headline of the next story went up in the subject bar across the bottom of the screen: Brutal Beating Victim Still In Coma.
“Earlier today, police released the name, and photograph, of the man found beaten inside his home just days ago. His name is Barry Webster. Comatose, and in critical condition, doctors are doubtful he’ll pull through.”
Jennifer froze as a picture of her old college classmate, Barry Webster, popped up on the screen, along with the details of the assault. She had just seen him the other night…
He was attacked the following day.
Or the same morning, really; it was after midnight when they saw him.
She felt a cold sweat break out all over her body. She turned the volume down and glanced around to make sure she was still alone; the sound of the faucet and Paul’s singing still echoed from the kitchen. She grabbed her phone from the table.
Her hands were shaking while she tapped open the Facebook message from Rose and composed her reply.
I think Paul hurt that guy in a coma on the news. I don’t know, but I’m really scared, Rose.
She hesitated. Thought about adding something else, but didn’t know what. She sent the message and pushed the phone into her pocket.
“Neighbors describe Webster as friendly and outgoing. Witnesses reported seeing a white male in the vicinity, aged twenty-five to thirty. Police are asking for any information that might lead to the apprehension of the suspect.”
Jennifer shivered.
That was when she realized she no longer heard the singing; the apartment was silent except for the television and the roaring beat of her heart. She felt her skin crawl: she wasn’t alone.
Paul was behind her. He slowly and deliberately reached down and removed the remote control from her hand and clicked off the television.
“Oh, Jennie. I really wish you hadn’t seen that.”
Paul swung his fist into the side of her head and the world went black.