by Gina Holmes
He banged on the window, then the door, then the window again, screaming for us to let him in.
After a few minutes, his car roared out of the driveway, and I relaxed.
Callie Mae sat beside us. “He’ll be back.”
“I know.” I looked down at you and saw, for the first time, a dribble of milk slip down the corner of your mouth, and you were gulping. My milk had finally come in. Maybe I wouldn’t starve you to death after all. Maybe everything really would be okay.
Callie Mae pulled the ponytail holder out of her hair, letting it spill to the top of her shoulders. “Penny, I need to know when I go to the food bank tomorrow that you’ll be strong enough to not let him in.”
I knew that the moment he knocked on the door, I was going back to him sooner rather than later, and I was so tired of lying, so I said nothing.
“Promise me you won’t let him in. He could kill you this time. He could kill Manny.”
I thought she was overstating it more than a little, but I knew I’d never convince her she was wrong. Her daughter had been murdered, so in her mind, I might be too. But she didn’t know that Trent was always sorry after an incident like this. He would be on his best behavior for at least a few weeks. There would never be a time when I’d be safer around him. And you were his son. He had a God-given right to at least meet you. And what about your right to have a father?
“I promise I won’t let him in,” I said reluctantly. That didn’t mean I couldn’t visit with him on the porch. He could at least hold you a minute or two. He needed us now more than ever, and in my emotionally unstable state, I thought we needed him, too.
She gave me a look that made it clear she wasn’t convinced, but my promise would have to be enough for her. I was a grown woman, after all. She had just told Trent he didn’t own me, and neither did she.
While you finished up your meal, she turned on the TV. We watched a game show in silence. As the contestants were informed of their parting gifts, the phone rang. I knew it would be him.
Jumping up, Callie Mae rushed over to the phone as though she was afraid I might beat her to it. “Hello?”
She looked over her shoulder at me and mouthed, It’s him. “I’ve already told you she isn’t going to see you right now. Don’t call us. We’ll call you.” She slammed the phone down. “If he keeps it up, I’m going to have to report him for harassment.”
I looked down at you to see you’d fallen asleep. Your long eyelashes fluttered as if you were dreaming, and the side of your mouth twitched up. I carried you to your crib, kissed your nose, and laid you down. After I covered you, I tiptoed back out of the room and closed the door.
Callie Mae was staring at the TV, which was now just a black screen. “I have a gun,” she said through tight lips.
My eyes widened. “A gun?”
She walked over to a small table resting in the corner of the room and opened the drawer. “I loaded it this morning.” She pulled out a white-handled pistol. “Do you know how to use it?”
This was getting way out of hand. I wasn’t about to shoot my own husband. What was she thinking?
“Just in case. Know it’s there.”
“I don’t need a gun, Callie.” I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Sara didn’t think she needed a gun either.”
I rubbed away the goose bumps that had broken out over my arms. “He just needs a little time to think about his temper. He doesn’t need me to murder him.”
“You just pull the hammer back, aim, and fire.” She held the gun with both hands, pointed it at the door, and pretended to shoot it. The glazed-over look on her face wasn’t one I’d seen before, and it scared me. Slowly, she lowered the gun and walked it back over to the table. “That’s all there is to it.” She set it beside a phone book and closed the drawer. “Not murder. Self-defense. If he breaks in here and tries to hurt you or take Manny, you have a right to protect yourself.”
“He wouldn’t take Manny.”
“You don’t know what he’ll try to do. He’s going to get desperate. The behavior you’ve seen so far is nothing compared to what he’ll do if he thinks he’s losing you.”
He’s not losing me, I thought. Did she think I was going to keep him away from his own son forever? That I was just going to live in her guest room for the rest of my life? This wasn’t home. I missed my kitchen, my bed, and my husband. We were a family—Trent, you, and me. She was my friend—a good friend—but that was no substitution.
The next morning, as soon as Callie Mae left for the food bank, I called Trent before I could lose my nerve. I thought he would cuss me out for not letting him in the night before, but he was just so relieved to hear I still loved him. He begged me to come home and I agreed, with the understanding that if he ever touched me again, I would press charges. He said I wouldn’t have to. He would do it himself. Once again, I chose to believe him.
I left a note on the table apologizing for the trouble I’d put Callie Mae through and a promise, which I hoped wasn’t empty, that everything would be okay.
I had no ride and just enough money for the city bus, so I walked the half mile with you snuggled inside my coat, lugging my bag of things to the bus stop, knowing I’d have another two miles to walk after the bus dropped me off.
When I finally got home, my arms were burning and the house was a mess. But surprisingly, there were no empty cans or bottles lying around. I thought for sure he would have gone on a bender when Callie Mae refused to let him see us. In my convoluted mind, this was confirmation he really was changing. I set you in the swing I’d picked up at the thrift store weeks before, and you were just as content as could be swinging to and fro as a lullaby played.
By the time the house was picked up and dinner started, the phone was ringing off the hook. I knew at least some of the calls were Callie Mae, so I didn’t dare answer. I couldn’t face her. I didn’t doubt for a second her motivation was love, but Trent was right—she didn’t know how it was for us. I wasn’t Sara, and Trent wasn’t going to kill me or hurt you. I promised myself if he got himself all worked up again, I’d leave. If he put one finger on me, or so much as looked at you the wrong way, I’d call the police and file charges.
About five thirty his car pulled up. He rushed through the front door, scooped me up, and swung me around grinning and kissing my face. “Oh, baby, don’t you ever do that to me again.” He gave me one more kiss before setting me down. “I couldn’t live without you, Penny. I’d rather be dead.”
“Don’t talk that way,” I said as my heart fluttered. I was so glad to be home—to be a family again.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed me so hard I thought he might fracture one of my ribs. His lips were cold against my mouth, but as soft as they’d ever felt. He tried to pull me toward the bedroom, but I stopped him, digging my heels into the carpet. “Doctor says not for six weeks.”
He frowned as he let me loose. “Six weeks might as well be forever. What if—?”
“No means no, Trent.” I braced myself for his fury. The front door was unlocked. The car keys were sitting on top of the TV, and your swing was right next to it. In a matter of seconds, I could grab you and the keys and be gone.
He wasn’t mad, though. He kissed my hand. “I missed you. Oh, baby, you don’t know how I missed you.”
I did know because I missed him the same way. “Would you like to meet your son?”
He glanced at you. “In a minute.” He ran his hand through my hair, staring into my eyes like we were in some romance novel. “The police told me you backed my story up. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Well, at least one person thought so. “I told them the truth. That you didn’t mean to hurt Fatimah.”
He nodded. “I knew I could count on you to have my back, babe.”
“It was the truth,” I repeated. Just not all of it.
The smell of meatloaf wafted past us, and I decided it had probably been in the oven long enough
. I motioned toward the kitchen. “I need to check that.”
“Penny, thank you. You saved my bacon.” He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it.
I walked to the kitchen and pulled open the oven. Heat escaped, along with the smell of beef and onion. The ketchup on top of the loaf was browning, and the drippings were turning black around the edges of the meat. I closed the oven and turned it off.
His arms wrapped around the back of my waist. “This time it’s going to be different. You’ll see. You’ve shown me the meaning of true love. You’re a loyal woman, and I’m going to be the most loyal husband and father in the entire world. This time I’m going to deserve you.”
I swallowed down my fear and turned around. We were nose to nose, and I could feel his hot breath on me. I wondered if I should put more distance between us before saying what I needed to. “You know, you can’t be hitting me now that we have Manny in the house.”
“I didn’t mean to— You know I don’t never really mean to hurt you. I just lose my temper sometimes. It’s hard loving a woman as much as I love you. Sometimes it makes me crazy.”
I left his arms to reach in the cabinet and pull out a box of instant potatoes. “Well, you can’t get crazy anymore. I can’t have my son living the way I’ve been living. I won’t have it.”
When the crease formed between his eyebrows, I was terrified. But this had to be said. “I mean it. If you put your hands on me again, it’s over.”
He walked over and pinned me against the cabinets with the full weight of his body. He put a hand behind my head and kissed me too forcefully to be pleasant. I tried to turn away from him, but he had a handful of my hair in his fist. He tried to give me that macho look of his that was meant to melt me. “It’s never going to be over for us, Penny. You know that as well as I do. You belong to me. You always will.”
“I belong to no one.” I tore away from him, as hair pulled at my scalp.
He scowled. “So, this is how it is now? You do me a little favor and now you wear the pants?”
“No.” I rubbed the back of my head, eyeing the back door—unlocked. “I’m just saying, as the mother of your child, I can’t have you putting your hands on me anymore. Things are going to be different and not just because you say so. Because I say so.”
The smile on his lips didn’t match the malice in his eyes. “Of course they are, love. Before God, I swear I will never put a hand on you again as long as I live.”
I didn’t believe him, but I would give him the benefit of the doubt, one last time.
“Come on, girl. Show me Junior. I’ll bet he’s beautiful like his mama.”
I smiled, sweeping the worries from my mind. If I was really going to give him a chance to prove his words, then I had to prove it myself first, by showing him I trusted him. “He is, Trent. He’s so beautiful.”
We walked over to your swing, which was no longer moving. You were awake, looking at the ceiling like something up there fascinated you. When I glanced up, all I saw was a thin crack snaking through plaster.
Trent melted as he looked down at you. I could see in his eyes that you had him. “He’s so little.”
I laughed. “Of course he’s little. He’s a baby.”
“Can I hold him?”
Had my husband asked for my permission to hold his own son? Maybe things really were going to be different. Maybe itty-bitty you would soften him in a way I never could.
I reached down and picked you up. You were so warm. I cradled you in my arms so he could see how to do it, then handed you over.
There are moments in life that should be savored forever, and this was one of those. Your father held you against him, and suddenly nothing else existed in my world but the two of you. He walked over to the easy chair and sat down with you. For the next few minutes he cradled you and told you what it meant to be a man. He whispered in your ear you should always treat your mama right because you only got one in life. He told you that drugs were bad and you shouldn’t spend so much time in bars like he did and that the world was going to be a kinder place for you than it had ever been for him. Things you couldn’t possibly understand. Things I didn’t know he did.
No matter what you grow up thinking about your father, Manny, I want you to know he really did want to be the kind of man we deserved. But dreams don’t come true just because you want them to. Like my support group always says, you have to do the work.
THIRTY-FIVE
SATURDAY MORNING was the best time I could ever remember spending with your father. We lay in bed a good portion of the day with you nestled between us. Enveloped in the warmth of layers of quilts, we admired everything there was to admire about you—your eyes, your gurgles, your toes. We were a couple in love with our baby, and one another. I told myself then even if he beat me tomorrow, at least I had the memory of today—a sweet recollection I could share with you someday. Which, I guess, I’m doing now.
When Trent kissed your little toes, you sneezed. He scratched at his bare chest and gave me a concerned look. “Do you think he’s got a cold? I bet I brought home something from the jail. There was a guy in there hacking up a lung.”
I turned to my side, bent my elbow, and leaned on my hand. “He did that in the hospital. The nurse said it was normal.”
He picked your other foot up and kissed the bottom of it. You kicked your legs as if trying to get away. “I know I was drunk, but was that kid of hers as ugly as I remember it?”
I gave his hand a gentle slap like my mother was always doing to my father. “Oh, stop. She had a rough birth. She’ll cute up. I mean, look at her parents.”
When he gave me a dirty look, I realized my mistake. “Why don’t you just go marry him if you think he’s so hot.”
I reached across you and touched his arm. “Come on, baby, you know I didn’t mean anything by it. They’re just both attractive. Don’t you think?”
“So, you are attracted to him. I knew it.” He sat up, sulking at the wall.
I ran my hand over the freckles running the length of his shoulders. “Honey, I only love you. I just meant the baby is going to get cuter. That’s all.”
He glanced down at you, then back at me. “I bet you think you would have made a better-looking kid with him.”
I thought the peaceful lull would have lasted longer than one day, and then it clicked that things weren’t going to be different just because we had you now. Something had to change. I was still of the mind-set that the something was him. Swinging my feet over the side of the bed, I said, “I’m going to fix some lunch.” I bent down, scooped you off the bed, walked you over to the crib, and laid you down.
He started to laugh as he pointed at me. “Gotcha!”
Over my shoulder, I gave him a weary look. “What?”
“Dag, One Cent, what happened to your sense of humor? I was joshing.”
I didn’t say anything as I studied his expression, his body language. Given he’d just been released from jail for assault, why on earth would he think that was funny? “I guess you must have knocked it out of me last time you punched me.”
I went to the kitchen, knowing he would follow. I realized then I was trying to provoke him, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because deep down I thought I deserved to be beaten. Maybe I enjoyed being the martyr. Or I was just addicted to the making up that was sure to follow.
He stomped into the kitchen behind me, wearing a look that told me he was ticked. “Why are you starting with me? I’m trying to be a better man.”
I poured a cup of coffee, trying my best to ignore him, knowing it would only add fuel to the flames. What is wrong with me? I wondered. It finally occurred to me that maybe Fatimah and Callie Mae were right, and he wasn’t the only one needing help.
“Answer me, Penny!”
I whipped around, full of a fury that caught me by surprise. I jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you dare make the baby cry.”
His nose flared. “You better get off your high horse there, lit
tle princess. I’m the king of this castle, and I’ll raise my voice if I want to raise my voice.”
I walked to the fridge and opened it, just to look like I was uninterested. He reached over my shoulder and slammed it shut, nearly catching my nose. “You know what I think?” His hot breath puffed across the back of my ear. “I think you like making me mad. I think you want me to hit you so you can run crying to your loudmouth, holy-roller friends.”
Was he right? I was definitely trying to set him off, but not for the reasons I assumed then. Eventually he was going to start hitting me again, and I think I wanted to get it over with, rather than live with the torture of waiting for it to happen. At least if I provoked it, I had some control over the when and why.
But as I turned around and looked into his eyes, a new fear overtook me. I didn’t have Fatimah’s support anymore. I most likely didn’t have Callie Mae’s, either. I had told him if he ever hit me again, I would leave him, but where would we go? Who would watch you while I worked to support us? Did I really want my baby being raised by strangers in day care? And that’s if I could even afford day care. He wouldn’t just let us go, anyway. Even if by some miracle he did let me go, he would fight for you. What if he filed for custody and won? I wouldn’t be able to afford a lawyer. Was leaving him worth the possibility of losing you?
I swallowed my pride. “You’re right.”
“You’re daggone right I’m right. . . . Wait, what?”
“I said you’re probably right. Maybe I was trying to provoke you. I guess maybe it’s the hormones. I’m sorry.”
His face was still red, and he looked more than a little confused about how to proceed. It’s not like I’d ever admitted trying to get hit before.
The phone rang and I excused myself to answer it. “Hello?”
“I do not believe you!” Fatimah screamed.
“Calm down. I can barely understand you.”
“I will not calm. You lied against me to protect that pig of a man. Why? Why?”
Trent watched from the kitchen.
“They asked if he meant to push you and I said no.”