Safe with Me: A Novel

by Hatvany, Amy

  I’m hoping a big part of that girl will be someone who helps her mother get away from a dangerous marriage, so I open up a search engine on my laptop and type in the words “how to leave an abusive relationship.” More than 3 million links are returned in under a second, and in some small way that comforts me, knowing I’m not the first person to sit in front of the computer and look up this particular subject.

  The first thing I learn is that there is a National Domestic Violence Hotline, so I quickly look up that number and program it into my phone, just in case my mom and I need to call. I review the list of things a person is supposed to do in order to prepare to leave a violent relationship and immediately become overwhelmed. We can’t just walk out the door like I’d hoped we could barely an hour ago. We’ll have to gather birth certificates, medical records, and money; we’ll need to create an exit plan and maybe call the police to escort us to safety. And since I’m a minor, my mom can’t just take me away and never come back. There are custody issues to deal with—if she and I just pack our bags and disappear, she could be charged with kidnapping.

  A sinking feeling gathers in my chest as I realize how complicated starting over might be, and I begin to understand why my mom has stayed with Dad so long. The instructions talk about how important it is to have documentation of the abuse—pictures of injuries, records of emergency room visits, and police reports. I’m sure my mom has none of these, since up until tonight she kept what my father does to her a secret. Except from Hannah, who at this point, doesn’t even count.

  The back of my throat aches as I think about how she lied to us, how both my mom and I thought she was our friend. I think about how long I’ve felt bad for the parents of the girl who saved my life, and suddenly, knowing what kind of person she actually is, my guilt begins to fade. “Screw her,” I mutter, but then a little voice chirps inside my head: You lied about who you are, too. You lied to Dirk . . . to every single person you chatted with online. Hannah said she was scared to be honest, just like I was scared to be honest with Dirk. Is it fair to be angry at her for doing to us for a couple of weeks what I’ve done for over a year, even if it was for an entirely different reason?

  Not really wanting to think about the answer to that particular question, I quickly erase my browsing history as the instructions I just read suggested. As far as I know, my dad has never checked up on what I do on my laptop, but I figure it’s better to be safe than sorry. Then, because I said I would, I call Noah.

  “How was the mall?” he asks with a slight mocking edge to his tone. I sigh before launching into a description of what happened with Hailey and Jade. My head spins thinking that all of this happened just a few hours ago—it feels so much longer than that.

  “Are you effing kidding me?” he says when I finish explaining my bogus arrest and how Hailey and Jade ditched me. “What a couple of bitches.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” I say. “But whatever. Who needs them.” I pause, panicking a little when I remember that my dad knows Noah’s dad, worried that what happened will get back to him. It could ruin everything. I quickly try to cover my tracks. “My mom is being pretty cool, though. She paid the fines with her own money and she’s not going to tell my dad.”

  “Why not?”

  I blow out a quick breath between my lips. I have to tell the truth to someone. The instructions I just read said it’s important that other people know what you’re dealing with so if they can, they might be available to help. “Because he might hit her,” I say, and the words catch in my throat like they have claws.

  “What? No way. You’re joking, right?”

  “I wish,” I say in a very small voice.

  “Like he’s done it before?”

  “Yes.” My heart races, wondering how Noah will react.

  He’s quiet for a moment, but when he speaks, it is with sincerity. “Whoa, Maddie, I’m sorry. That totally sucks.” He hesitates before saying more. “My dad told me he’s always thought your dad is kind of a prick. I guess he was right.”

  “I guess so,” I say, unable to stop myself from feeling a little bit pleased he talked about me with his dad.

  “Has she called the cops on him? Have you?”

  “Not yet,” I say, and then slowly, quietly just in case my dad comes to my bedroom door, I tell him the whole story, as much as I know. He listens for the longest time, not saying anything. And when I finally finish—when I tell him about meeting Hannah and finding out just a while ago who she actually is—he lets go of a heavy sigh.

  “Dude, you’ve got issues,” he says, and I smile, loving that in a moment like this, he can make me laugh.

  “You got that right.” I pause, suddenly worried I’ve made a mistake in revealing this much to him. “You can’t tell anyone any of this, though . . . okay? Especially not your dad. You understand that, right?”

  “It’s cool, Maddie. I get it. This is some heavy shit you’re dealing with. I won’t talk about it unless you say it’s okay. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say, exhaling in relief. There is a soft knock on my door, and my mother opens it, sticking her head into the room. I wave at her and hold up a single finger to let her know I’ll just be a minute, so she steps all the way inside, closes the door behind her, and waits. “Noah? I have to go. My mom just walked in. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I pause. “And hey . . . thank you. You’re a pretty cool guy.”

  “You’re just pretty,” he says, and I smile, grateful he’s not there to see me blush.

  We hang up, and Mom comes over and sits down on the edge of my bed, then leans in to hug me. She smells like sesame oil, garlic, and my dad’s spicy cologne. “You look happy,” she says. She pulls back and tilts her head toward a shoulder, a tired but amused smile on her face. “Is it serious? Should we be looking for a prom dress?”

  “No,” I say, blushing even more. “He’s just really nice. That’s all.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she says, and then she sighs. “What a day, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I say, searching her expression for some evidence of how things went with Dad downstairs. She looks exhausted—the lines around her mouth and eyes seem more pronounced than usual. “I’m sorry about Hannah, Mom. I know how much you liked her. I did, too.” I have the random thought that now I’ll have to find someone else to cut and color my hair. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but still.

  She bobs her head and sighs again. “Everything’s kind of a mess, isn’t it.” A statement—not a question. Her bottom lip trembles as she speaks again. “I want you to know something, Maddie. I tried to leave your dad years ago. I was going to divorce him and start a new life with you. But then you got sick, and I knew if I filed for divorce, he’d try and take you away from me, honey. He’d try to prove I was unfit—”

  “That’s crazy,” I interject, feeling guilty for being the reason she had to stay. “There’s no way he could do that. You’re the best mother I know.” My voice cracks, and a single tear slips down my cheek. She reaches over and wipes it away with the edge of her thumb. She looks at me tenderly.

  “Thank you for that, sweetheart. But you know your dad. He can do pretty much anything he sets his mind to.” She frowns and then looks at me, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

  We’re both quiet for a moment before I speak. “What’re we going to do?”

  She sighs again. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Your dad is acting like he believes what I said happened with Hannah showing up unannounced, but I’m not sure he means it. It was a pretty weak story. If he finds out who she really is and that I let her into our life . . .” She trails off, and I can almost hear the thoughts clicking together like gears in her head. The terror she feels at what he might do to her—to us—radiates from her body. “I was going to try and stick it out until you left for college so custody and visitation with him wouldn’t be an issue.” She gives me a halfhearted smile. “I thought I might get my degree in criminal justice so I could become a lawyer, like I alwa
ys wanted. So I could get a good job and not depend on your dad for money. I even went to a class at Lakeview College last week.”

  I pull my chin into my chest. “That’s awesome, Mom!” It strikes me that there is so much I don’t know about my mother—the picture I’ve always had of her was just the woman who took care of me and put up with too much crap from my dad. Beneath the surface, it’s like she’s this whole different person.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “With all that happened with Hannah and with you, I think it might be too risky if I go through with it. I can’t do anything that might upset your dad.”

  “What about the police? Can’t you call them and get a restraining order or something?”

  “It’s not that easy,” she says, nervously glancing at the door, then back to me. She reaches over to squeeze my hand. “There has to be an incident . . . more than one, really. Some sort of evidence. Pictures or witnesses. It’d be his word against mine, honey. And I’ve done a really good job of not telling anyone what he does to me.” Her voice breaks and she clears her throat. “I don’t have any proof.”

  “But you have me.”

  “You’ve never seen him hit me though, have you?” she asks gently. “You’ve never actually witnessed it.”

  “But I know he does! I’ve heard it. I’ve seen the bruises. I’ve seen you cry. And when we leave and he tries to tell a judge you’re a bad mom, I’ll say he’s lying, okay? You don’t have to worry about that.” I grab my phone and quickly scroll down to the abuse hotline number, which I’d filed under the name “Sierra” just in case my dad ever looked through my contact list, then tell her what it actually is. “Maybe we can call them and get some ideas about what to do. How to get ready to leave.”

  “Where did you find this number?” she asks, suddenly looking panicked again.

  “Online. I was just looking around for things that could help us.”

  “Did you tell anyone? That boy, Noah?” Her voice is low, but insistent. She’s regretting now that she told me the truth. I can tell by the look on her face.

  I drop my eyes to my bed and gather a pillow to my chest. “He promised not to say anything.”

  “Oh, Maddie.” The words are thick with a messy combination of disappointment and fear. “I have to think, okay? I have to figure some things out. Please don’t tell anyone else.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” She drags her fingers through her hair, pulling it away from her face. Her eyes are droopy, her eyeliner is smudged. “But for now, I think we need to act like everything is the same as it’s always been. Can you do that?”

  Though I hate the idea of more secrets, I nod because I know she needs me to. She looks so fragile sitting next to me on my bed, as though she might shatter if I touch her. I suddenly feel more like her mother than her child, worried she’s going to make a bad decision, but knowing there’s nothing I can do to stop her. I can’t make her leave my father.

  The one thing I do know is that if the day ever comes that he raises a hand to me—if he hits me or punches me or even screams at me too loudly—there’s no way I’ll stay. With or without my mother, the first thing I’ll do is gather up my things and walk right out the door.

  Hannah

  As much as she hates leaving Olivia and Maddie alone with James, Hannah knows she doesn’t have a choice. Driving north on I-405 toward the 520 floating bridge, she wonders if telling them who she is in the middle of them trying to figure out how to leave James was the best decision she ever made, but in her gut she knows she couldn’t keep the truth from them a minute longer.

  Grateful she thought to put her headset on before leaving the Bells’ driveway, she uses the voice commands on her phone to call Sophie, crossing her fingers that her friend answers.

  “I’m so glad you called,” Sophie says when she picks up, in lieu of an actual greeting. “I feel awful about this morning. I shouldn’t have lectured you like that.”

  “No, you were right. And I did it. I told them who I am.” Hannah sniffles and fights back her tears. “But there’s more to the story, Soph. I need to talk.”

  “Oh, honey. Of course. Come on over. I’ll send Robert home.” Hannah can hear the low rumble of a man’s voice in the background.

  “Can you meet me at the storage unit instead?” Hannah lets the words rush from her mouth before she can stop them. “I’m on my way there now, but I don’t have the keys. Isaac gave you a set, right? I want . . . I just . . . I need to be with her.” A rough sob escapes her and she bites her bottom lip to stop it. “I’m sorry to interrupt your night . . .”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Sophie says, ignoring her apology. “You just hold on. Everything will be okay.”

  Hannah thanks her and then hangs up the phone, quickly instructing it to call her brother. He doesn’t answer, so she leaves him a voicemail. “I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch,” she says. “I’m going through some stuff, but I’m okay. I’ll be fine. Sophie and I are going to the storage unit tonight. It’s time. I’ve put it off long enough.” She sighs. “I love you, Isaac. Talk with you soon.”

  A few minutes later, Hannah turns in to the parking lot of the facility Isaac chose last year to hold her and Emily’s possessions. She isn’t sure why, exactly, she feels so driven to go through her daughter’s things now, but she isn’t in any shape to figure it out. She only knows that she needs to reconnect with a part of herself she shut down when Emily died. Maybe before that, even. Before Devin. If she’s ever going to be happy, she needs to find a way to let go and try to move on. Not to forget her grief over losing Emily—she will never forget it—but to ease it somehow, to lessen its icy grip around her heart.

  While she waits for Sophie to arrive, she can’t help but think about Olivia and Maddie and worry about how James will react to the knowledge of who Hannah actually is. She’s so certain that he will hurt them, she’s tempted to call the police and report a domestic disturbance. But she’s also certain that if he isn’t hurting them—if Olivia decided it was safer not to tell James about Hannah’s identity, just like she decided not to tell him about Maddie’s arrest—then the police showing up at their front door would only put Olivia and Maddie in more danger. And that isn’t something she wants to risk.

  A few minutes later, a pair of headlights shine in her rearview mirror and Hannah recognizes the grille of Sophie’s black Camry. Her friend pulls up next to her, and they both quickly get out of their cars, Sophie rushing over to hug her. Hannah breathes in her friend’s sweet perfume, grateful for her strength when Hannah feels so weak.

  “Thank you for coming,” she whispers. “You’re such a good friend to me . . . I know I don’t say it often enough—”

  “Shush!” Sophie says, squeezing her once more before pulling back. “You don’t have to thank me. I love you, chérie.”

  “I love you, too.” Hannah takes a deep breath to try to relax the muscles in her chest. “Did you bring the keys?”

  Sophie pulls out a single silver key from her pocket. “I almost forgot Isaac gave me this,” she says. “I had to search for it and the address. I brought a flashlight, too.”

  Moments later, Hannah and Sophie enter the storage unit, careful to lock the door behind them. Sophie finds the light switch and flips it on, the space suddenly illuminated in the weak glow of a single bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling. Seeing the sheet-covered furniture and haphazard stacks of boxes—each labeled HANNAH or EMILY in her brother’s scrawling script—Hannah’s eyes sting with tears. She reaches out and runs her fingers over Emily’s name. “God, I miss her,” she whispers. “It feels like . . .” She trails off, and the muscles around her stomach convulse.

  “Like what?” Sophie asks gently.

  Hannah turns to look at her friend. “Like a piece of me has been amputated. Like I’m stumbling around without a prosthetic for the part of me I lost.” She swallows, hard. “I know I didn’t handle the situation with Olivia and Maddi
e the right way. I know that. But it was like I couldn’t help myself. Meeting Maddie was almost like being able to see my daughter again . . .” She pauses to wipe away a few tears with the back of her hand. “I mean, I know she wasn’t Emily. I’m not totally crazy.”

  Sophie gives her an understanding smile and reaches out to hold her hand. “No, not totally.” Her friend sighs. “Maybe you just needed to see that you made the right decision. Not just the whole of-course-it’s-the-right-thing-to-do-to-save-other-people’s-lives thing, but on a deeper level, just for you and Emily.” She cocks her head to one side. “Hell. Now I sound crazy.”

  “Oh, good.” Hannah lets loose a sound that is half laughter, half cough. “I’m pretty tired of being the unstable one.” She takes a deep breath and looks around the unit again. “I think I’m going to donate her clothes and toys to an organization that helps pay for families to stay near the transplant center,” she tells Sophie. “Zoe—that coordinator I told you about?—mentioned it in passing once and said that the kids who have to stay there rarely have anything other than the bare necessities.”

  “I think that’s a lovely idea,” Sophie says. “You’re donating all of it?”

  Hannah shrugs, then opens the box next to her and reaches inside to pull out a blue sweater that Emily had particularly favored. A spasm of grief seizes her throat, and she pushes the sweater against her nose, trying to find a trace of her daughter’s scent, but there’s nothing there, only a stale, cottony smell of fabric packed away too long. Emily is gone. “Yes, all of it. I want her art projects and schoolwork, but except for some of what she wore as a baby, I don’t need her clothes and toys. They should be put to better use.”