by Freya Barker
Sarah had sounded dull on the phone when I called yesterday, lifeless and beaten down. I forced down the guilt that wanted to bubble up and immediately asked her to come see me. I could hear reluctance in her voice when she agreed to see me today.
“He’s good.”
The slight hesitation and lack of elaboration has warning bells go off.
“What are the kids up to today?” I decide to try and draw her out with more general questions rather than the direct ones I usually prefer.
“Oh,” she says, a little taken aback. “Well, they’re actually with family. I have some family staying with us for the holidays.”
“I didn’t realize you had contact with your folks again? That’s wonderful.” She’s lying and I know it. Or at least she’s stretching the truth. When she first came here, she made it clear she had nowhere else to go, that her parents had turned their back on her years before and the kids had never even met them. To think that they’d suddenly show up out of the blue seemed a bit too convenient.
Her eyes look down on her hands, fiddling restlessly with the clasp of her purse.
“Sarah?” I prompt her and the truth is visible in the guilty eyes she lifts to meet mine.
“He was all alone for Christmas. He had nowhere to go,” she whispers, and a feeling of dread settles in my stomach.
“Okay,” I say, trying to stay calm. “So is he at your place now?” A short, sharp nod confirms my fears. “With the boys?”
I hold my breath waiting for the answer, because the bastard had not held back beating her then two little boys as easily as he beat her. She finally took the kids and left him when Benji, the oldest, had started fighting back. It had scared her. She’d been afraid the boyfriend would take it too far. Her words, not mine. In my opinion, the first time the asswipe used his hands on either her or the kids, he’d already gone way too far.
“They’ve been fine so far,” she says, a slight whine to her voice, and I can’t help the small recoil of disgust I feel. It’s not fair to judge her when I haven’t lived her life, but holy fucking hell, it’s hard not to shake the woman for putting her kids in danger.
“Sarah,” I say with more patience than I feel. “Can you honestly tell me you feel it’s safe leaving the boys with him?” I don’t want to put words in her mouth or add to her guilt, which is why I want her to answer the question I already know the answer to. I watch as thick tears start rolling down her cheeks, and she crumples in on herself in front of my eyes. “Honey.” I lean over and put my hand on her knee. “Sarah, I need you to look at me,” I say a bit sterner, and she finally lifts her eyes again. “Good. Now do your boys have cell phones? Does Benji have one?”
“He promised me he’d call if something happened,” she whispers. “He was gonna keep Sam in his room with him until I get back. Phil was still sleeping when I left. They should be okay?” She asks the last—like she’s asking me for confirmation.
“Call him. Call Benji right now.”
Whether it’s my own fragile emotions or my well-honed, hyper vigilant senses, I feel the urgent need to have the boys’ well-being confirmed. Sarah is already digging through her purse, and as soon as she has her phone in hand, is dialing.
“Hi, sweetie, is everything alright?” I watch and listen as Sarah talks to her son. “Is Sammy okay?...Yes, I’ll come home right now.” She ends the call and turns to me with fear in her eyes.
“I’ve gotta go. He’s looking for me.” She abruptly stands up, and I barely manage to halt her with a tight grip on her wrist.
“Honey, what’s going on?” I demand, standing up to.
“The kids locked themselves in the bathroom. He’s trying to break down the door.” The moment I release my hold on her to grab my phone, she’s running toward the door.
“Sarah, wait!”
My fingers are already dialing as I run after her.
“What’s your emergency?” the nine one one operator asks, as I catch up with Sarah at the front door where Marianne is blocking her way.
“Domestic assault in progress.” Pulling the phone away from my mouth, I turn to Sarah who is struggling to tug loose from the much smaller woman, who by now has her pinned against the wall beside the door. “Sarah! Give me your address, honey. Now!” Shocked at my voice, she rattles off the address, which I immediately pass on to the operator before adding; “Two underage boys have locked themselves in the bathroom. Mom’s boyfriend is beating down the door. Hurry!”
The moment I hear her say, “Units are on their way,” I hang up, grab my coat, and snatch my car keys from the hook by the door.
“Let’s go,” I tell Sarah, “we’re taking my car.” But she’s not the only one who follows me outside, Marianne is right behind her, zipping up her coat. “Where are you going, Marianne?” I ask as I unlock my doors and thank the Lord I don’t need to clear snow off my car this morning. Marianne already has the backdoor open before she turns to me.
“Not going to let you go alone,” she says, determination on her face as she slips in the backseat, slamming the door shut behind her.
Dino
“Gina?”
I’m supposed to be at The Skipper in twenty minutes, and I’ve been waiting for my girl to come downstairs for half an hour already. Ruby, Syd, and Matt were there yesterday, and today Viv, Gunnar, and I are supposed to man the pub. With Ike out of town, Viv was going to bring little Francessca and I’d suggested Gina could look after her. That way, Viv has her daughter close by, and I don’t have to worry about mine all day long, wondering if she’s going to stick close to home, the way she’s supposed to. One of the benefits working for Gunnar, who has kids of his own, is his flexibility when it comes to our families.
But Gina’s not coming down, and although I’d stopped barging in her room two years ago, I am about to break that rule. I’d knocked twice already and yelled up the stairs a few times more. I try knocking one more time, but when there’s no answer I push open the door. For a minute I stand in the doorway, wondering if she’d pulled a fast one on me; there’s a distinct lump under the covers but it seems too short to be a body. With two long strides, I’m by the side of the bed and reach out to rip the covers off the bed.
“What the hell?” A sleepy voice comes from my daughter, curled up in a ball, pulling the covers back from my hands. Her face is red and her eyes swollen. Worry replaces my earlier anger as I wonder what has my little girl rolled into a fetal position, hiding under her blankets. I sit down heavily on the side of the mattress and gently stroke the hair plastered to her forehead.
“Morning, Princess.”
“I don’t feel well,” she says, when I spot her cell phone sticking out from under her pillow, the screen lit with a text message. She tries to shove it out of sight when she notices me looking, but I’m faster.
B: Can’t. Supsd to look aft the brat til M gets home. Give me 1 hr? Ppmt Pk.
“Get dressed, Gina,” I bite off, looking at the guilty look on her face. “And who’s ‘B’?”
“Friend,” she answers with a shrug, an almost bored look replacing the guilty one she wore just seconds ago. Fucking hell. It was just a couple of months ago I saw that exact look on her brother’s face.
She rolls out of bed on the opposite side, tags some clothes from the piles on the floor, and tries to scoot by me on the way to the bathroom. Again, I’m faster as I grab her wrist, stopping her.
“Tell me you weren’t planning to go against my wishes and leave the house? Lying, Princess? Since fucking when?” I take a deep breath when I notice my volume rising along with my temper. “And even if you weren’t grounded, you know better than to hang out in Peppermint Park.” Her eyes flare with surprise. Yeah, honey, your old man may be ancient in your eyes but he’s not a fool. Still, she keeps her mouth firmly shut, until I finally let go of her wrist. “You’ve got five minutes, Gina—If I have to come up again, I swear I’ll toss you over my shoulder and carry you down.”
Son of a bitch. If I was
n’t already late for work, I’d sit her down until I got to the bottom of this. Instead, I tuck her phone in my pocket and head downstairs.
With less than a minute to spare, Gina’s footsteps come down the stairs. I’m already dressed and hand Gina her coat. She doesn’t even look at me. What the hell happened to my girl?
I tried one more time to get her to tell me who she was supposed to be meeting, but she maintained her silence.
“Alright, missy; I’ll be keeping your phone, since it’s obvious I can’t trust you with it.”
“But, Dad...”
I flick my hand at her in warning. “Not a word, Gina. You screwed up and I’m done talking for now.”
I try not to glance over, but in my peripheral vision I can see her staring out the passenger side window, her arms folded protectively in front of her body. Jesus, these kids.
When we walk into the kitchen, where Francessca is bouncing in her chair on the table, I’m amazed at the change in my daughter. With a distracted ‘Hi’ to Viv, Gina’s entire demeanor lights up when she walks over to the baby, lifting her from the seat into her arms. It’s hard to stay angry at her when I watch her giggle as the little girl slaps Gina’s cheeks with her tiny hands.
“Everything okay?” Viv softly asks when I pass by her to hang up my coat. “You guys both walked in here with thunder on your faces.”
“We’re fine,” I lie, not wanting to get into it with Gina sitting behind me at the table. Viv seems to get it and doesn’t ask any more. “Want some breakfast, Princess?” I turn to Gina, watching a war play out on her face. She seems to want to hang on to her scowl when she looks at me, but the prospect of food has her wavering. Her stomach finally wins, as I guessed it would, since it’s almost lunch time and she hasn’t had anything, she gives me a tight nod.
I hate this kind of tension. Hated it with Jonas and hate it even more with my girl. She’s only thirteen for fuck’s sake, a little girl in my eyes, not this moody, secretive teenager. I throw together some cinnamon French toast and toss it in the buttered pan, while watching her from the corner of my eye. There’s no scowl on her face as she makes silly faces to coax giggles from the baby. There isn’t one either when Viv says something to her and she easily responds. It’s clear she saves her mood for me, and I wonder what I might’ve done to warrant that.
After clearing her plate, Gina heads up to the apartment with Francessca to put her down for a nap. Viv just looks at me with an eyebrow raised.
“Fine?” she prompts.
“Difficult,” I offer. “Not sure what’s up with her.”
“Hormones,” is Viv’s decisive response.
“She’s too young.”
Viv’s snort has me look at her.
“For your information,” she says, without taking her eyes off the dough she’s kneading. “I was barely eleven when I got my period, and I remember how utterly mortifying that was in a house full of brothers. Still, I had my mom around.”
“Shit. You think that’s it? I don’t get why she wouldn’t say anything to me.”
“You’re a guy,” Viv points out with a shoulder shrug.
“I’m her dad.”
“Even worse,” she chuckles. “You’re the ultimate guy. The one who’d like nothing better than to keep her playing with dolls and wearing pigtails for the rest of her life, so you don’t have to pulverize pimple-faced adolescent boys, who are bound to come sniffing around your daughter.”
That has me thinking of the message I intercepted earlier. I wonder if it would be too late to send her to a monastery school somewhere. Jesus.
“You want, I can talk to her,” Viv offers, and I gratefully nod yes, which gets her snickering again. I’m relieved at the thought perhaps Gina’s attitude change is something as simple as getting her period for the first time. Yet, I’m not entirely convinced.
I’m putting the last touches on the goulash when the phone starts buzzing in my pocket.
“Hello,” I answer without looking. I don’t hear anything at first, just some scuffling in the background when a young voice starts whispering.
“Is Gina there?”
The hair on my arms stands on end when I realize it’s my daughter’s phone in my hand. It doesn’t make me feel any better to hear a man yelling in the background, accompanied by a loud banging.
“Who is this?” I ask, reacting more to the ruckus I can hear and not his question. “What’s going on?”
“I’m ...it’s...never mind.” Just like that, the connection is broken and I take a good look at the phone. It was the same person who sent the message to my daughter earlier—B. I’m tempted to call right back, the boy sounded pretty scared, but I don’t know what kind of situation he’s in, or if I’d only make it worse.
“Viv, can you keep an eye on this? I’ve gotta check on Gina.” Viv simply nods and I head upstairs, where my daughter is watching the little one.
When I tiptoe into the small apartment, I find not only the baby asleep in the folding crib, but my own little girl is curled up on the couch right beside her. I’m tempted to let her sleep, but I can’t dismiss the fear I heard in that boy’s voice.
“Wake up, baby,” I whisper, trying not to wake Francessca as I sit on the edge of the couch and softly shake Gina’s shoulder. “Princess, I’ve gotta talk to you,” I try again when she pulls her shoulder from under my hand. She slowly turns her head and blinks at me. “Who is B on your phone, honey?” The question has her shoot up straight wiping hair away from her face.
“B?”
“He just called. I had your phone in my pocket, thought it was mine so I answered. He sounded scared, who is he and what’s going on?” I see her face shift to worry and she puts her hand on my arm.
“Scared? Oh no...” Gina scrambles off the couch, and I follow suit, putting my hands on her shoulders to keep her in place.
“Baby, what the fuck is going on?”
“His stepdad. He beats on them. He’s been scared ever since his mom let the guy move back in.” Gina’s rambling now, her eyes everywhere but on mine. “Benji’s a good kid, Dad. He told me they got away from his stepdad once but that he’s back now.”
“Okay, honey, calm down.” I pull Gina in to my chest when she starts sniffling. “We don’t know what, if anything, is going on yet. Where does Ben live?”
“Behind the hospital, I’m not sure exactly what street it is. I’ve never been there.”
“Here.” I hand Gina her phone. “Try calling him back but keep it on speakerphone, so I can hear?” She moves into the kitchen area and I follow close behind. The phone rings on the other side but there’s no answer.
“Try one more time, baby,” I urge her on. This time there’s an answer, and when I hear the voice my heart stops in my throat.
“Gina?” Pam says.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Pam
“Turn right.”
Sarah’s voice is subdued. She’s been quiet the entire drive, just speaking up to give me directions to her place, her hands wringing restlessly in her lap. Marianne has been quiet in the backseat as well, all of us dreading what we might be walking into. Those poor boys, hiding from their mom’s boyfriend’s ire. I silently hope the police arrive before we do. I won’t hesitate to barge into the house and face off with the bastard if I have to, but I’m also not an idiot; I know a few cops with sidearms will likely make more of an impact than I would.
“Oh thank God,” I hear Sarah mutter beside me when flashing lights down the road come into view.
Just as I pull off to the curb, when our path is blocked by a cruiser. An ambulance with sirens blaring turns into the street behind us and continues right by us, bypassing the cop car. Sarah is out of the car and running before I have a chance to turn the engine off. Marianne is trying to keep up with her as I scramble to get out. I catch up to them when a police officer steps in our path, holding us back. Marianne has her arms around Sarah, physically restraining her, and I step in front of them, facing
off with the cop.
“You cannot go through. Not until I’ve been assured the situation is under control,” he bites off sternly.
“Officer,” I try. “This woman’s two underage boys are in there. We’re the ones who called it in.”
“I understand,” he says, his tone a little friendlier as he throws a pitying look in Sarah’s direction, but he doesn’t budge an inch.
We’re holding Sarah up, who by this time is wailing for her boys, when movement by the front door of the dilapidated little house draws our attention. Two uniformed officers drag a cuffed and shackled man out of the house, whose incoherent yelling is loud enough to reach us where we’re stand on the sidewalk.
“Sarah! You bitch!” he yells when he spots our little huddle on the sidewalk. “You’re gonna pay for this, you fucking cunt!”
The officer, who’s been holding us back, steps forward to block us from the raging man’s view, but not before I feel Sarah’s body go completely limp in my arms. It takes everything out of me not to drop her to the ground, but between Marianne and I, we manage to keep her upright. More or less.
The moment the patrol car holding Sarah’s boyfriend, Phil, whizzes by, I turn my attention to the officer in front of us. “Can we check on her boys now?”
He holds up a finger and mumbles something in his radio. He nods at what he hears back, even though I can’t make head or tails of it, and indicates for us to follow him. Sarah is barely moving her feet as we march her, wedged between us, up to the front door.
The inside is teeming with uniforms, and in what looks to be the kitchen, the EMTs are attending to someone on the floor. My heart stutters in my chest until I hear Sarah call out.
“Benji!”
She pulls from our hold and runs into the kitchen, dropping down on the floor beside her son, who is thankfully moving. My eyes scan around to look for her younger boy, but I can’t find him. Remembering the boys had been holed up in the bathroom earlier, I start walking down the hallway, hoping to find it. The first door is open, revealing what I think is the boys’ room; a small space with bunk beds against one wall and an old dresser against the other. Dirty clothes and garbage is strewn everywhere, covering the floor and sparse furniture.