The Words I Speak (Anyone Who Believes Book 2)

by Jeffrey McClain Jones

  “I done prayed, and I just knew God was gonna do somethin’ this time. And I ain’t no way surprised it’s you.” She finished with a string of profanity that embarrassed Scott and reminded Willow of jail.

  “This is Scott,” Willow said, when Lila peered briefly in his direction. “He can wait outside, if you’d rather.”

  Lila just nodded, now looking Scott up and down. She had made a life and a living sizing up men—men of every race and economic status, of every age and even religion. She smiled slightly when she was done with her evaluation.

  “He don’t look dangerous,” Lila said. “He can come in, but maybe he should watch through the door, while he’s in here.” She looked up and down the street and then motioned them in with a sweep of her free hand.

  As they followed her invitation, Willow and Scott got a better look at Lila’s face. They both winced visibly. Lila was looking at Willow and noticed the reaction. She reached up and gingerly touched the left side of her face, which was swollen to twice the size of the right. Because of the way the door opened, they had only seen the good side at first.

  Without thinking, Scott said what came to mind. “A right-hander,” he muttered.

  He might have been wrong, of course, if the man who hit Lila did it with the back of his hand. But Scott guessed this was knuckles on bone, repeated punches, and probably wearing at least one big ring.

  “Have you seen a doctor?” Willow said, knowing what the answer would be.

  Lila pursed the half of her mouth that she could, and shook her head just slightly. Then she raised one bruised hand to her head and moaned. “Oh, I can’t move my head even that much.” And she emphasized the point with some more colorful language.

  “You have to get to a hospital. We can take you,” Scott said.

  Lila stopped and looked at him as if he had just overstepped his bounds. But he wasn’t intimidated.

  “I know what that kind of punching can do. We worked with street fighters in Bangkok. You have a concussion and a fractured cheek bone. That has to be seen by a doctor soon, to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

  Lila looked at Willow. “He sounds pretty sure o’ hisself.” Her voice was low and even, with just a hint of respect.

  “We’ll take you, and you can tell us what happened.” Willow put a hand on Lila’s near shoulder. “We can find you a place to stay that’s safe, too.”

  Until she mentioned a safe place, Lila seemed only remotely interested. It did occur to her that the people who hurt her wouldn’t know these church people, who certainly didn’t live in this neighborhood. She stood calculating, beginning to accept the obvious fact that moving quickly was the best option. She stopped thinking and seemed to relax all over, allowing a long sigh.

  “Let me get some things together. I got a bag packed; I just need to pull together some valuables.”

  To Scott and Willow, valuables implied family heirlooms and perhaps special pieces of jewelry. But Willow glanced into Lila’s bedroom in time to see her wrapping a small pile of cash in a plastic bag and stuffing it into a gym bag, which looked to be already full of clothes. Lila was ready to disappear. Willow knew the feeling.

  Scott spoke up from the front door. “Who am I supposed to be looking for?” He turned to see Lila walking in from the bedroom.

  “Big, bald guy and two skinny weasels trailing him like they his pets.”

  “They’re just getting outta their car,” Scott said, closing the door. “Is there a back way?”

  Lila waved her free hand toward the bedroom. “I keep a stool by the window.”

  “I’ll head out the front like I’m a customer and get the car. Where do I meet you?”

  Scott already had the door open slightly.

  “Around the block on that side,” Lila pointed to her right.

  Willow pushed Lila toward the bedroom and Scott stepped out onto the stoop, closing the door behind him. He prayed out loud. “We need your help right now, Lord.”

  Suddenly, he felt that one of his shoes was untied. He glanced down and found them both tied, but got the idea. He knelt down right there between the approaching men and the front door.

  He kept his head down, like all he cared about was his shoe, which he had hastily untied and was retying. But he could hear the approaching footsteps and struggled to keep his hands from shaking. He had just finished, when a deep voice startled him.

  “Hey, get outta the way, white trash.”

  That cruel voice caught Scott in mid-motion, trying to stand. He stumbled forward and accidentally caught the big man under the chin with his forehead.

  Scott had not been in a fight since he was ten years old. His instinct when he banged into the big man with the mean voice was to apologize. This part was no act.

  “Oh, man. Sorry. Dang. I didn’t realize you were so close. Man, I am sooo sorry,” he was saying, reaching up to help steady the broad-chested man of about forty.

  Holding his chin and glaring at Scott, the big man seemed to soften at the look in Scott’s eyes. He could tell Scott was sincerely sorry. This seemed to surprise him as much as the knock to the chin. One of the big man’s sidekicks reached up and grabbed Scott’s arm, like a bodyguard, but the leader intervened.

  “Hey. It’s okay. Let him go.”

  Scott reached up to feel the small knot forming on his head.

  “Bad timing. You startled me and I really didn’t think you were that close.” Again, he was believable, because he believed what he was saying. “You okay?” Scott said.

  The big man nodded, still holding his chin. “Yeah. No problem.”

  “That’s good. Sorry again. Take care,” and Scott stepped between the big man and his second assistant, who retreated to make way.

  As he walked to the car, Scott had to repress laughter. Part of that was relief that he hadn’t been killed or something. But part of it was the thought that God had answered his prayer by making him think his shoes were untied and then allowing him to stand up too fast and nearly knock the big bruiser out. When he remembered the big rings on the right hand that held the big guy’s chin, he suddenly sobered. He prayed again for protection for the women.

  There are advantages to being slim and long-limbed. Greater ease at climbing out of windows falls into that category. Willow hadn’t known that already. As tall and athletic as Lila was, she had far more difficulty than Willow squeezing through that Window. Her face was not the only part of her injured by the cruel man who was headed for the front door. Bruised or broken ribs made bending and climbing extremely painful, and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, even in the cool air outside the window, as she forced herself to endure silently. Willow prayed for her friend’s strength and healing, even as she watched from her place outside the window.

  The alley was lighted with a newer, bluish street lamp less than half a block away. Willow began to wish she had made Lila go first. Those men weren’t after Willow. But Lila finally reached the ground with one foot. Willow held her bag and caught one of her hands as Lila swung free of the window.

  As Lila collected her things and caught her breath, Willow pulled the window shut, to make it less obvious where they had gone. Later, when she thought back to the experience, she wasn’t sure whether her early teenage years of planning her own escape had prepared her, or whether divine guidance could be credited. Though her hands were shaking, her head seemed clear the whole time.

  Willow walked quickly, tugging Lila along next to her. She steered toward the shadows cast by buildings on their left, in case their pursuers looked out that back window. She suddenly slowed, with the thought that they might have anticipated this escape route. Checking behind and ahead, down the patchy asphalt dotted with half frozen puddles, she saw no one.

  When they reached the end of the alley, a large black sedan stopped suddenly, just across the street. A young man jumped out and shouted something. But he was looking back into the car and hadn’t even glanced in their direction.

  Willo
w stood in front of Lila, who slunk into a dark doorway, leaning into the shadows. Willow prayed for Scott, stopping for the first time to think about how dangerous his role in this escape could be. Lila’s face had already borne witness to the cruelty of the men approaching the front door, and discovering Lila’s other injuries sunk the feeling of danger deeper under Willow’s skin. Her face and sides hurt at the thought of the beating Lila had endured.

  “He wants my territory. He wants my girls,” Lila said in her low, steady voice. She answered an unasked question as a way of processing her next move. “I told the girls to take off. He won’t be no good for them. But he can have this neighborhood, if he wants. I’m gettin’ out.”

  “Out of the neighborhood, or out of this life?” Willow cast a sideways look at Lila, turning back to her vigil after just a second.

  Before Lila could answer, a gold SUV slid to a stop in slush and ice at the end of the alley. It was Scott.

  Willow breathed a cloudy puff of relief into the moist night air. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Thank you, Jeeesus,” Lila said, perhaps feeling that Willow’s gratitude was too subdued.

  Willow helped Lila get comfortable lying on the back seat, which Scott had cleared off after he stopped. Once Lila was in, Willow climbed into the passenger seat next to Scott.

  “We have to get her to St. Agnes Hospital,” Willow said, pulling out her phone to get directions.

  Scott started driving, even before specific directions arrived. He knew they didn’t want to be around when Lila’s visitors figured out that she had escaped out the back. Resisting the urge to check down the alley, or back in the direction from which he had come, Scott concentrated on pulling into traffic and getting as far away as possible, while Willow looked up the hospital. Within a couple of blocks, she was directing his turns. They arrived at the hospital in five minutes.

  Willow hesitated before helping Lila inside, thinking that her pursuers might know to look here, the closest hospital to Lila’s apartment. Lila saw her cautious survey of the surrounding parking lots.

  “I don’t think they would know this place. They’re not from around here, and this ain’t where I would go anyways.”

  Willow smiled at the fortunate error, thinking this private hospital would be where Lila would naturally go, given its proximity. She realized that she was thinking like a rich white person. She didn’t condemn herself, just shook her head and stood corrected.

  To detail the process of getting help in any hospital emergency room would be a trauma in itself. Arduous. Frustrating. Infuriating. Hours wasted. They didn’t see a nurse for over an hour. They didn’t get x-rays for over two. They didn’t see a doctor for nearly four hours, and then it was for less than two minutes. Given the severity of Lila’s injuries, all of this seemed cruel. Maybe the color of her skin made it so, or maybe it was just too busy that night to expect anything better.

  Lila did have a brain concussion, and a broken jaw and three cracked ribs. She needed to be attended to, someone monitoring the stability of the jawbone. Surgery was a possibility, but she refused to even discuss that option.

  Willow had taken too much time off work recently to stay home the next day with Lila, but she knew she couldn’t leave her alone. She thought of an alternative and pulled out her phone toward a few hours into the long ordeal at the hospital. She stepped out onto the street, leaning against one of the front windows as she listened to the dial tone. Annetta answered.

  Willow gave her a brief introduction to what she had in mind.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Annetta said, in response to Willow’s summary, which included words like “prostitute” and “pimp” and “beating,” none of which sound at all appealing. But Willow could tell from the tone of Annetta’s first reaction that the answer was not going to be “no.” If Willow had waited to call after a full exam and diagnosis, Annetta would have been asleep, and Willow knew that would have brought a “no” into the realm of likelihood.

  Calling again, just before they left the hospital, Willow did wake Annetta this time. After Willow told her they were on the way, Annetta said something that was entirely unintelligible. Willow hoped it wasn’t important, and suspected Annetta wouldn’t remember whatever it was anyway.

  At Annetta’s townhouse, Scott offered to wait in the car, thinking Annetta might not want to meet him under these circumstances. Willow knew otherwise. Annetta had been pleading for a chance to meet the “mystery man” in Willow’s life. She had been waiting for this for about twenty years. Maybe it wasn’t the perfect occasion, but sooner was always better than later, where Annetta was concerned.

  Meeting Lila was a different matter. Annetta had no desire to meet her—none at all.

  After ringing the bell, the three weary survivors stood waiting on the porch for half a minute. If you’re on the verge of falling asleep, that doesn’t seem like any time at all. If you’re in pain and want a soft place to lie down, it’s an eon.

  When Annetta opened the door, she found Willow looking like a sleepy child about to ask for a glass of water, Lila looking like a disgruntled customer at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and Scott looking innocent of everything of which the other two might be accused.

  “You say God told you to wake me up in the middle o’ the night?” Annetta said, posing as serious, but teasing Willow with that distortion of what she had said over the phone.

  Scott and Willow laughed. Lila was a tougher audience.

  “She’s joking,” Willow said, trying to reassure Lila.

  Lila’s pain made her more irritable, but also lowered the risk that she might try to hit somebody, Willow thought.

  Lila grunted to acknowledge Willow’s peacemaking attempt.

  Joking aside, Willow could tell that Annetta had made some effort. The fireplace was blazing and the teapot was on the table in the center of the living room. Willow thought she could even detect a bit of makeup on Annetta’s mostly awake face.

  As Willow led Lila into the living room, where they both began to take off their coats in front of the glowing fire, Scott and Annetta lagged behind. Annetta used real logs most of the time, more of a snob about such things than Willow. Willow appreciated the extra effort a real wood fire required in the early morning hours. But Annetta was not there to thank.

  When she looked back, Willow could see Annetta sizing up Scott in the entryway. She had allowed him to come in and close the door, but barred his way with her strategically positioned torso in order to look at him in the foyer light. Willow’s weariness muted any worry she might have felt over such a confrontation. Even wide awake, she trusted those two people standing face-to-face, and was glad they had finally met.

  Scott’s smile appeared genuine. Willow had seen his tolerant smile a few times at the psychic convention. Not all of the people they met there were entirely believable, and faking acceptance is something even the most skillful practitioner has to do, in limited quantities.

  Annetta turned a wry look on Willow, one eyebrow cocked. “I think he’ll do,” she said in her best deadpan.

  Willow thought, “Yes, he’ll do, but for what?” From outside her field of vision, this thought broke across her mind and then scampered on. It was too late at night to think deeply about anything, and Willow’s mind was throwing her riddles and conundrums while she stood unprotected. She tried to smile back at Annetta but was beyond pretense both with the two people now looking at her, and with her late night too-tired self.

  A strange sound from near the fireplace turned the other three heads in the room toward where Lila stood looking at the crackling fire. A small convulsion shook Lila’s broad shoulders. She had removed her coat only halfway, her elbows held tight against her side, as if it were a fur stole, the upper half of her sweater exposed. Her shoulders continued to shake, but she didn’t look up. Only the fire saw her face, witnessed her tears.

  Willow reached over and put a hand on Lila’s upper back and just rested it there, waiting for what
would come next. But no one spoke. Perhaps everyone knew well enough what was happening, what it meant to the battered madam and prostitute welcomed into a cozy and respectable home, what it meant to be rescued from more pain, and perhaps death. Certainly, relief leaked out with those tears, as well as a sense of safety in being hidden in this unlikely place. Though everyone could decipher most of this, Willow could feel it through her hands, could feel the relief, could feel the disbelief bowing to revelation, and revelation to wonder. She could feel that Lila was unable to speak about what she was experiencing and would not want anyone else to try.

  After moments of settling silence, they made muted arrangements for Lila to stay and Willow to come and see her the next day, over lunch and then after work. Even Annetta, known to rumble right through situations when she was on her own pace, allowed a slow and easy settling-in for her guest.

  Scott and Willow left after two a.m., peaceful under the heavy blanket of realization that all had gone well and anxious moments had passed without serious injury. Willow felt the knot on Scott’s head, which he showed her like a souvenir from a prized excursion. She knew he also did it to get close to her, to receive a little comfort. But even in that receiving she found no desperation for attention, no clinging neediness, just an opening to share a small thing, a token of a united experience.

  They each arrived home safely, through the intoxication of the late hour. When he dropped her off, Willow pulled his face toward her and kissed that lump on top of his head, laughing at herself for the silly gesture. His smile seemed less silly, sleepless ease revealing deeper feelings than that little kiss offered.

  Willow knew, but pursued it no further. At least, not in the predawn hours, in front of her house.

  Horton Hears a Who

  Two days later, Lila feeling better physically and much better emotionally, they sat in Willow’s living room looking out at the last light of day. They waited for the timer on the stove to ring, signaling supper ready for two hungry women. Lila’s eyes glowed with life, as Willow had never seen them.