by Leanne Davis
“No. He knows. He knows you’re hurt. He just isn’t here, honey.”
“Trent’s here though.”
Christine looked at her parents’ faces and a bad feeling started to creep into her head. They looked really upset. She remembered then that Trent hadn’t really answered her earlier about the baby, he’d simply hushed her up.
She looked down at her hands joined in theirs. “You know I’m pregnant?”
An odd silence filled her room. She jerked her gaze up. They were all looking at her as if they’d sucked on a day-old fish.
“What?”
“We thought you’d remember when the doctor told you earlier,” Kay said softly.
Everything was fuzzy. She didn’t remember anything but disjointed blurs of colors and sounds. “Told me what?”
Aaron cleared his throat. He put two hands around her one and squeezed as he leaned in and said softly, “The baby has no heartbeat. They’ll need to talk to you about doing a D&C. Do you know what that is?”
“Yes, I know what that is,” she whispered. They sometimes did those after miscarriages. The thought made her shudder. She stared at first her dad, then her mom. She shook her head no. They nodded yes with a terrible, sickening silence. She didn’t react at all. She lay there unmoving, staring blankly into their faces.
She shook her head. “No, This isn’t happening.”
“Yes. I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart,” Kay said softly.
Denial was thick in her throat, stuck on the lump that had suddenly formed and was suffocating her. Her throat burned and her eyes filled with tears. “Did you tell Jason that?”
“He knows, Christine. He knows everything. And he’s... not coming.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice was edged in panic. “He would come. If he knew I got hurt, and that I had a miscarriage, he would come to see me. He would come to see that I was all right.” Even if Jason hadn’t wanted the baby, he would come. He had to come. She couldn’t be that wrong about him.
They shook their heads, grief for her thick in their gazes. Aaron said gently, “We’re sorry, but you’re better off realizing who he is now than later.”
She jerked her hands from theirs. She turned away, crying into her pillow, wishing she could move so she could run as far away from all this as possible. First she’d lost her baby, and then Jason hadn’t even cared enough to come? He had meant it all, everything he’d said to her. And losing the baby had obviously been a relief to him. He didn’t even feel enough about her to drive twenty minutes to the hospital? He wasn’t human enough to at least do that?
****
It was an hour after her father’s revelation that a cop showed up at the hospital. They learned then that her apartment had been ransacked, along with Kelso’s Garage. Money had been taken from the garage, and most likely from her apartment. It was then she concentrated enough on the actual fall to remember the large dark figure. He had hit her hard in her stomach and purposely shoved her down the stairs. It most likely wasn’t the fall down the stairs, but the blunt force trauma against her abdomen, that had caused her miscarriage. She could attest to the sheer, blinding pain around her middle. Who? Why? Why would anyone do this to her? She had no idea. Other than they had stolen far more than any insurance could replace.
Chapter Twenty-One
She learned over the next few days that Jason had been hauled into the police station and questioned. She proclaimed to the police with absolute certainty that it wasn’t Jason who had attacked her. Though it had been dark, she would have recognized him. Whoever had hit her and pushed her down the stairs was shorter and bulkier than Jason. Still, even after his name had been cleared, he hadn’t called.
Her parents moved her belongings out of the apartment. None of it mattered to her anyway.
She was back home. And this time everything was different. Her parents were not only kind and caring, but had changed their entire attitudes. They were happy to have her home. They only wanted her to be safe and healthy.
The fall had changed everything. It revealed what a heartless bastard Jason was, but also let her parents finally love her as she always wanted.
She hurt everywhere physically, and emotionally she was too heartsick to even start contemplate what to do next. She’d taken some time off from the shop because she could hardly walk. She looked awful. Her skin was pale and pasty from being so traumatized. It made her bruises and cuts stand out in sharp contrast to her milky white skin.
None of that mattered. She could hardly find the energy to take care of herself. She stayed in bed all day because it hurt to move. She stared at the walls. She had been home for nearly a week and had barely showered or changed clothes. Grief sank over her like an added fifty pounds that her legs seemed unable to carry.
****
She was awakened by a soft noise at her patio door. It wasn’t a knock, but a faint tapping, as if someone was using just their finger against the glass. She rolled over. The clock read five o’clock in the morning. She winced as she stood. She looked over at her door. Had she been dreaming, or had she heard something there? Was it Jason? Her heart bumped into her ribs. God, please let it be Jason. Let him explain that he’d freaked out and he didn’t mean any of it and could she forgive him? Because... she could. She could if he’d just come to her.
Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of her bed, grabbed one of her crutches, and hobbled to the door. She opened the curtain and peeked out. A knot formed in her stomach. There was a figure there. It was a short, slight person, no bigger than her. Cautiously, she turned on the light.
She gasped out loud. Irene Malone? Jason’s mother? What was she doing here? Christine yanked open the door, curiosity outweighing any caution she felt.
“What are you doing here? How did you know I lived here?”
“You all right?” Irene asked as her gaze slid over Christine.
Irene looked different. She appeared coherent this time. She wore gray sweats too big and baggy for her and a dingy purple sweatshirt with holes in it. Her hair was caught in a hasty ponytail and her sad-looking face was devoid of make-up. Last time she’d looked like a washed-out whore, but this time she looked like a woebegone, homeless bum.
“What are you talking about?”
Irene’s lip began to tremble and she started to cry. “I had to make sure you were alive.”
Alive? What the hell drug was Irene on to imagine that she was dead? She suddenly gasped and her mouth dropped open as she stepped back. Holy shit! Irene was guilty. Irene was somehow involved with the robbery and attack on her at Kelso’s Garage. An icy chill came over her.
But then Irene bent over in body-wracking sobs. Christine looked around helplessy. She finally led Irene inside and to a chair. She quickly picked up the phone and dialed Jason’s phone number.
“Hello.”
Her heart blipped at hearing him.
“I think you’d better get over here,” she said without preamble. There was some rustling around as he sat up in bed. She could picture just what he’d look like, shirtless and tangled in the sheets.
“Christine?”
“Get over here. Now.”
He let out a long, deep sigh. “Oh God, I hoped—”
“Irene’s here.”
“My mother? Irene? Are you kidding me?”
There was shock and disbelief in his voice. And more rustling, like he’d just jumped up out of bed.
“No. I’m not.”
“Are you all right?”
“Just come get her.”
“I’ll be right there.”
****
He knocked softly. She jerked the door open. They stared at each other with a too long of pause. She finally turned severing the connection and waved him in. He had put on jeans, a blue shirt, and a light windbreaker. His hair was messed up from sleep.
His gaze ran over her, glued to her without even glancing at his mother. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” she said, her voice
hollow. What a stupid question to ask a woman standing there in a full leg cast. She hobbled aside and let him see his mother. Irene was a wreck. She looked up at Jason, recognition filling her face as her eyes welled up again.
“Christ,” Jason said under his breath. At one time her heart would have bled for him having to see his mom like that, but now it didn’t matter to her. She just wished they’d have this scene somewhere else. She was tired.
“Why are you here?” Jason demanded, hands on his hips. In the short time it had taken him to get there, Irene Malone hadn’t said a word.
Irene glanced up, blinking in confusion, as if she were having trouble comprehending Jason’s words. “I had to see if she was dead or not.”
Jason blinked. “What the hell are you talking about? Are you high?”
Irene shook her head miserably. “No. But I was that night. I swear it. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”
Jason stiffened. His jaw clenched. She felt curiously detached, like she was watching this drama play out on TV. She couldn’t seem to process that this was about her.
Softly, Jason uttered, “I hope you’re not saying what I think you are.”
“I didn’t mean it, I swear.”
He swore and shoved his hands into his hair like he wanted to tear the roots out. Christine backed up. He dropped his arms and fisted his hands. Was he going to strike his mother? He strode forward and gabbed Irene by both arms, hauling her to her feet. He shook her hard. Irene went limp like a rag doll. “What did you do?” His voice was a harsh command.
Irene squeaked. “We just needed a little money. Just a little. I thought we’d only get some money from the garage. I didn’t think he’d try to go into her apartment, I swear it. I didn’t think he’d hurt her.”
His grip tightened on her and Irene let out a gasp.
“You’re supposed to be in rehab.”
“He came back. Got me out.”
“He? Back? Who are you talking about?”
“My…boyfriend. We skipped town after he got released from prison. We came back and then... well, you know the rest.”
Silence. Then, in a lethal, deadpan voice, he asked, “Who is he?”
She was crying again, blubbering so hard she couldn’t speak.
“Damn it. Tell me. Who was he?”
“Just a guy. His name’s Phil.”
“The same ‘Phil’ who gave testimony that I had sold him drugs?”
All the puzzle pieces surrounding Jason’s imprisonment came together in that moment. She could see by the sudden narrowing of Jason’s eyes that he’d made all the same connections she had. Irene’s boyfriend Phil, no doubt, was the snitch who knew so much about Jason. Irene had truly set up her own son to get her boyfriend out of prison early.
He flung Irene away so quickly she stumbled and ended up back on the chair.
He loomed over her. “Where is he?”
She cowered. “I don’t know. Honest. He ditched me, for real this time. I couldn’t handle it. You know? What he’d done. I mean, we were just supposed to rob the garage. We just needed a little money. And then he went up to her apartment, opened the door, and pulled her out. I saw him throw her down the stairs. He did it so purposely it was like he had planned to do it. I swear to you, I didn’t know he would do such a thing.”
“So you thought it was a good idea to rob my shop? Then go upstairs and throw my girlfriend down the stairs?”
“I never meant anyone to get hurt,” Irene croaked.
“You saw her fall?”
“Yes.”
“And you left her there?”
Irene sobbed. “I thought she was dead, I swear it. I panicked. I didn’t intend anything.”
“You thought she was dead?” Jason repeated. His voice had a strange, silky quality to it.
“I thought I couldn’t do nuthin’, so I ran. But the guilt, it kept eating me up. I kept seeing her. And I had to know if she was dead. Phil, he left me and I remembered Christine’s name and I looked her up. I had to see her. She ain’t dead. So I’m not a murderer.” The last part was said in awe; Irene was evidently relieved to know she wasn’t a murderer.
Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t talk.
Moments went by. Irene looked down at the carpet, tears streaming over his face. He spoke then, softly. “I should murder you for what you did to her.”
“Jason!” Christine said sharply. He jumped. Had he forgotten she was there? “Call the police.”
“No.” Irene jumped up. “You can’t, Jason, you can’t.”
He looked over at her, his gaze hard and unreadable. She stared right back, just as unreadable. He then turned back to his mother and said, “I’ve felt sorry for you all my life, and all you’ve done is screw up at every turn. I used to think you weren’t bad, that it was the drugs, it was the alcohol, it was the men. But I was wrong. It’s you.” As he glowered over Irene, she cowered under him, afraid. Then he added softly, “You do realize you sent me to prison, don’t you? The drugs you left in my house? I went to prison for possession over them. You did that to me. You fucking, no-good cunt. I swear to God I should kill you.”
Irene gulped in air noisily and more tears ran down her face. Her face was a mess, with big tears and long streaks of snot running unchecked into her mouth.
“I’m sorry for what I did, but don’t call the cops on me. Please! You’re my son!”
The anger seemed to suddenly dissipate from Jason as his head dropped down and his entire body seemed to sag. He shook his head slowly. “No. No, Irene. I haven’t been your son since I was five years old and you took your first hit.”
He deliberately pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed, his eyes not once leaving his mother’s. He was turning his mother in. She should feel something for Irene or Jason, but she didn’t. She should go tell her parents why the house was about to be overrun with police. She should tell Jason what she really thought of him. But she didn’t. She went and sat down quietly on her bed.
****
Sirens screeched into the driveway and her parents come rushing into her room. The shock and horror on their faces was evident as they spotted Jason and his mother. Jason quickly told them what was going on. Christine didn’t even register it. She sat on her bed and watched wordlessly. Who cared if this woman was arrested? Nothing would change what had happened. Nothing would change what Jason hadn’t done. He cared about sending his mother to prison, but not about her.
It was surreal and chaotic to see this sad bag of bones—really, she was so thin her bones protruded—arrested and read her rights. Irene hung her head and went so limp she almost had to be carried by one of the uniformed officers. Jason stood silently watching his mother be handcuffed, read her rights, and led away. He didn’t move a muscle; the only sign of his emotions was the tight clenching of his jaw and the paleness in his face.
He turned and answered the questions one of the policemen asked him. They took down all necessary information from all of them. Her own parents listened with horrified fascination at the tale and what had happened to her. Her mother’s lips set in a thin, disapproving line as she stared at Jason.
They all followed the two officers out of the hall towards the main entrance of the house. Jason walked over to the squad car as they put Irene in it. Her face was devoid of hope, like she just didn’t care anymore about what was happening to her. Jason looked grim. He told the officers he would follow them to the station.
Once the car was loaded, the four of them were left standing in the driveway.
Christine was blinded by the morning sunlight and cursed at its bright cheerfulness. She didn’t say anything, nor did she look at her parents. She simply stared listlessly down at the cement. What was she supposed to feel? Retribution? No. That was for Jason. She only felt as bad as she had before.
****
Jason couldn’t take his eyes off Christine. She looked awful; she looked like she’d been run over this morning. Her clothes were heavily wrinkled
, as if they’d been slept in for days. Her hair was stringy and limp, caught at her shoulders with a rubber band. The cut along her hairline stood out, the stitches a dark line under her crooked bangs.
His heart flipped over. Her eyes were expressionless, cold, almost disinterested in anything around her. Her facial expression hadn’t changed during the whole morning’s drama. She said little. Was she in some kind of shock? Or depression?
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t called him.
He hadn’t been doing so well himself the last few days. He had yet to return to work, had been staring at the phone, waiting, hoping, willing her to call him. She hadn’t. Apparently Christine’s mother, who Jason had been sure was wrong, had turned out to be right.
The day of Christine’s accident, Kay Andrews had begged him to leave the hospital. She was convinced that Christine would be better off with just her family. Kay insisted that he should let Christine have a chance to put some perspective on what had happened. That maybe Christine would be too fragile to deal with him. After all, from what Trent had told them, Jason hadn’t wanted her to have the baby, had he? Jason had no argument against Kay’s reasoning. He assumed Trent had told the Andrews’ about his reaction. How could he fight with Kay after what he’d done? Maybe Kay was right; he wasn’t the best person for her to be around after she lost the baby he told her not to have.
He understood Christine’s silence. He deserved it.
She may never get past what he had done to her. The anger, the words, and finally walking out on her, was more than anyone could forgive. He cringed inwardly each time he thought of himself standing against the garage the last time he’d seen her coming home from work. She had been distressed at seeing him and her longing for him to do or say something had been obvious. And yet, cruelly... he’d done nothing. He’d only stared at her. He could have gone to her then. He could have tried to talk to her. He could have at least acknowledged her. But no, he’d stood there and done nothing even as she stumbled around dropping her purse.
The way he’d reacted to her pregnancy, and the days he’d let pass without a word to her, had pretty much ruined what she’d felt for him. He got that now, clearly. Starkly. He’d done this to her. Why would she want him around her, when he’d practically wished this upon her?