For Better or Worse

by Donna Huston Murray

  Chapter 37

  THE SCENT OF warm pizza, the attack in the woods, the “Urgent” text message from Chelsea, and the dilemma about Susan and Jack conspired to stall my mind like an airplane headed into a nosedive.

  Yet sometimes your brain surprises you and gets the job done.

  I guided George back to the picnic-table bench, urged him to sit, then looked him in the eye.

  “I misled you a moment ago,” I confessed. “I did speak to the Bowler, Minnnesota, police, but I was waiting to see a doctor and balked at giving them the address until after I got home.”

  “Have you been home?”

  “No.”

  George didn’t seem to comprehend the favor I was doing for him and Susan, because he said, “I’m sure they have ways of getting it themselves.”

  “Probably,” I agreed, “but Mike goes to pretty great lengths not to be found. Out-of-state area codes on their cells, for instance, and no landline. A rented house. It wouldn’t surprise me if he cut a private deal with the property owner just to stay off the grid.”

  “I don’t get it. You balk at having Mike arrested, but you don’t want me to alert Susan.”

  “What will they do if you tell her Mike stole Jack from his mother?”

  “They’ll run.”

  “Yep. Like the wind. You may never see Jack or Susan again.”

  I’ve never seen a face go red so fast. I thought George might choke on his own blood. “Then what...why...?” Words deserted him.

  To calm myself I glanced toward the road traffic, imagined the drivers delivering furniture, shopping for socks, not one of them aware of a life-changing conversation happening a head-turn away.

  When I felt composed enough, I said, “It’s always bothered me that adopting Jack seemed like a one-sided decision. I kept watching Susan for some sign that I was wrong.”

  George was too dumbstruck to comment, so I plowed ahead.

  “All I saw was a young woman struggling to work out who she was. Nothing out of the ordinary; we all have to do it.”

  George’s lips compressed into a tight line as if he were struggling not to fly apart.

  “I also got the feeling she’s been manipulated, probably even used.”

  George’s chest heaved, but he managed to say, “You still haven’t told me why you withheld the address.”

  “I haven’t? I thought I did.” I shrugged. “When this is over, I want Susan free to be whoever she decides to be.”

  “Exactly how do you plan to arrange that?” White patches had appeared on his cheeks. He kneaded his thighs with stiff fingers without looking at me. Without looking at anything.

  I told him, “I’m not. You and Susan are.”

  “Dammit, woman...”

  “You’re going to hire a really good lawyer, somebody capable of negotiating with the Bowler District Attorney on your daughter’s behalf—her freedom for Mike’s location. When that’s arranged—before the end of the day probably would be best—Susan will call the Minnesota police herself and turn Mike in.”

  George’s bouncing knee had a mind of its own. He gazed toward the restaurant’s dumpster or Hawaii, hard to tell which.

  “It’ll end their marriage.” He twisted his head to give me a sly look that appeared to contain pleasure.

  “It sure will,” I agreed.

  That elicited a snort and a chuckle that dispelled some of the tension.

  “You busy tomorrow?” I inquired, which netted one of those head-shaking eye rolls I get every now and then.

  “Why?”

  “Because Jack’s babysitter is going to call in sick.”

  “Oh.”

  I stood. George needed to get cracking on his attorney assignment; and if I didn’t call Chelsea back in the next thirty seconds, I was going to develop hives.

  George rose and shook my hand. With his longer legs he was back at his car before I could count to five.

  “Hey! You forgot your pizza,” I called after him.

  No response.

  I dialed my daughter.

  Chapter 38

  “CISSIE’S really hurt,” Chelsea blurted before George’s sedan slipped into the afternoon traffic. “I need help, Mom. Can you come? Like—right now!”

  “Ronald?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Should you call an ambulance?”

  “Cissie says that’ll make him even madder.”

  I didn’t care if Ronald got so angry his head exploded; but Cissie had to live with the bastard, so she had the final say.

  “Eric?” I suggested. He could help get her to the Emergency Room much faster.

  “Oh, no no no...”

  “On my way.”

  This was precisely the worst-case scenario some frightened part of me imagined the day Eric, Cissie, and I had lunch on the Voight’s back steps. I wanted to hammer my fists and kick like a brat having a tantrum, but I was driving so I bottled it all up. I don’t know how I arrived at my daughter’s without incident.

  Chelsea lurched into my arms the second I stepped inside the door. Tears pooling in her eyes, she gestured me into the living room where Cissie sat on the sofa.

  Nothing about the young mother resembled the trusting, naïve woman I’d so recently met. Her face was ashen, her eyes dull. Despite her obvious pain, she sat stiffly upright holding baby Caroline snugly to her shoulder.

  Approaching slowly, I stretched out my hands. “May I?”

  Cissie didn’t seem to understand the question.

  After I gently relieved her of the sleeping child, she clutched her ribs and curled into herself.

  I passed Caroline over to Chelsea. “Did you give Cissie any painkillers?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t want to interfere with what the doctor will do. Anyway, she’s nursing, so...”

  “Good thinking, Chel.”

  I kneeled down to Cissie’s level and spoke softly. "We need to get you to a doctor. Will you let us call an ambulance?" Still the best option in my opinion.

  Cissie's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. "No ambulance. Please. No ambulance." The fear in her voice gave me chills.

  "Okay, okay," I promised. She wasn’t gasping for breath or bleeding anywhere I could see.

  “Nothing’s broken,” she insisted. “I walked over here by myself.”

  "Is Ronald still home?"

  Negative.

  "Do you have your purse?”

  Cissie tucked her head under her arm and sobbed.

  “Okay. No problem.” If necessary, I would break a window to get it.

  Brow pinched with concern, Chelsea swayed from foot to foot as she rocked the baby in her arms. She was rattled, I knew, still close to tears.

  “You be okay for a few minutes?"

  She said yes, and I had to trust she meant it.

  My hope was that Cissie had left through her backdoor and it would still be unlocked.

  It was, but I turned the knob with trembling fingers. Ronald may have returned by now.

  Once inside, I glanced around as if he might jump out of a shadow or drop down from the ceiling.

  Nothing moved that I could hear, yet the whole house seemed to hold its breath.

  Dirty dishes filled the kitchen sink, crumbs littered the vinyl tablecloth, laundry overflowed from a basket on the floor. Yet everything felt different. The odor of fear-sweat mingled with the smell of bacon grease.

  I checked the stove. Off. The coffee pot. Unplugged.

  Then I made my way through the dining room, glanced into the living room, and gasped.

  An overstuffed chair had been knocked askew. Two top-heavy, wrought iron floor lamps I’d noticed before had toppled, their glass globes nothing but shards. A blonde-wood coffee table tilted on a broken leg. Something ceramic had exploded against a wall. The hook for the dolphin mobile above Caroline's Pack N Play had snapped. So much angry energy lingered I could almost hear Ronald's insults, helplessly watch the body punches, the vicious kicks, the final violent shove across
the room.

  Remaining with such a man was madness, yet I knew women did it again and again. Until now Cissie had done it, too, but maybe this time her husband had gone too far. Maybe this time she could be persuaded to heed the handwriting on the wall.

  I found her purse among the rubble and checked inside for a health-insurance card. Then I ran upstairs to Caroline’s room, threw extra diapers into the diaper bag by the changing table.

  "Abington Emergency room, here we come," I called as I rushed back through Chelsea's front door.

  "Infant seat," the injured woman warned from her prone position.

  “Covered!” I fished Cissie's keys out of her purse and tossed them to my daughter. "Chelsea will drive Caroline in your car, and you’ll ride with me.”

  I desperately wanted to counsel the young mother, persuade her to try the Women’s Shelter for at least a night or two, but I simply could not. She was too traumatized to think half an hour ahead, in too much pain to think at all. I let her rest in the backseat with a pillow.

  After I gave the receiving nurse some basic information, the emergency staff whisked Cissie away on one of their many wheelchairs. I wouldn’t see her again for over an hour.

  Chelsea arrived with Caroline in her car-seat carrier, but one glance at the waiting room’s revolving cast of needed and needy and my daughter waved me outside. The afternoon heat was at its apex, but an overhang sheltered the unloading zone from the sun. We chose a bench away from the door and flopped down gratefully.

  Caroline fell asleep sucking on a purple pacifier, and I finally got to ask what happened.

  Chelsea leaned back and sighed. “I was watering my hanging baskets before it got too hot. A little before noon I guess, so I was on my front porch when Cissie ran out.

  “Ronald shouted for her to ‘Get back in here,’ but Cissie just stood there, so he came out after her. He was shoving her toward the steps when Eric stormed out of his house yelling to let her go.

  “Ronald told him to mind his own business, so Eric threatened to call the police.

  “That’s when Ronald pushed Cissie aside and squared off in front of Eric.

  “’Go ahead,’” he says. ‘I’ll tell them what you did to dear old Granny.’

  “Eric started to laugh that off, but Ronald was serious, so Eric told him he was crazy, that he hadn’t done anything to Maisie.

  “’Oh, yeah? That’s not what her doctor thinks.

  “Until then Cissie’d just been biting her thumb and listening, but Ronald’s zinger made her gasp. ‘I didn’t,’ she tried to tell Eric, but then she saw Ronald’s face. The guy was steaming, Mom. He looked like he wanted to punch Cissie right then and there.

  “Eric must have been pretty alarmed, too, because he tried to calm things down. ‘The doctor’s wrong,’ he said. ‘I would never hurt Maisie.’

  “’Oh, yeah?’ Ronald challenged him. ‘Then how come you told my wife you’d be better off without the old bag?’

  “That really upset Eric. He called Ronald a liar, and I was sure fists would fly. But they didn’t. For some reason Eric backed off...”

  My daughter lowered her head and spread her hands. “...which must have been exactly what Ronald wanted, because he gave Cissie the smuggest, most arrogant look I’ve ever seen. She got the message, too, whatever it was, because she practically wilted.

  “Then Ronald turned back to Eric and said he guessed it was his word against Eric’s—‘except for one thing.’ He’s got a witness who saw Eric man-handling Maisie into his car. She was fighting back tooth and nail, hollering and slapping at Eric. Even worse, it happened the day before Maisie fell down the stairs, Mom. Ronald said he remembered because it rained and he had gotten off work.”

  Unfortunately, that sounded true.

  I asked Chelsea if she knew why Ronald had come home in the first place.

  She nodded. “To check up on Cissie, who happened to be on the phone.”

  “With...?”

  “A girlfriend, but Ronald thought she was talking to Eric. That’s why he exploded.”

  “She told you this?”

  “Yes. While we were waiting for you.”

  I didn’t want to disillusion my daughter, but I couldn’t imagine how Eric would have known Cissie was in trouble if they hadn’t been on the phone together. Also, even a Neanderthal like Ronald would know how to access the most recent caller’s name and number.

  I did not believe Eric got that ‘better off without the old bag’ line from Cissie. Surely, she knew better than to ever mention Eric’s name to her husband.

  Yet somehow Ronald had either discovered, or invented, another way to tighten his chokehold on her. Whether Cissie and Eric were friends or lovers didn’t especially matter. Ronald felt entitled to do whatever he wished to his wife.

  Chapter 39

  BABY CAROLINE had been fussing for her afternoon meal, and Cissie was eager to accommodate. When she reached out for her child in the Emergency room’s numbered cubicle, neither Chelsea nor I could miss seeing a broad bruise on her forearm.

  In my imagination I heard Ronald’s disclaimer. “She’s lying, Officer. The woman is a total klutz.” But that wouldn’t fly this time. Even if Cissie fabricated her own “clumsy” excuse, her present injuries had surely triggered an official, “These are your resources...” speech.

  "Will Mrs. Voight be staying overnight?" I inquired of the nurse who came to make notes on Cissie's chart.

  "No, she's got her discharge papers and prescriptions. She's good to go whenever she’s ready." The young woman cast a concerned glance toward Cissie before moving onto her next responsibility.

  I pulled up one of the two chairs, gestured Chelsea into the other. Monitors pinged, and the muted bustle beyond the curtain kept us acutely aware of where we were.

  Cissie reluctantly met my eye.

  "What'll it be?" I pressed.

  She fingered the baby's collar and gazed off into the distance, perhaps all the way into the future.

  "He may hurt Caroline," I reminded her. "Maybe not today or tomorrow, but down the road. And he's hurting you now. You don't deserve to be treated like this, Cissie. Nobody does."

  "I know, I know." Tears slipped down the young woman's cheeks. "But I love him."

  “Understood,” I conceded with a nod. Then I slipped into my own motherly aspect, the authoritative one that said, I'm older; I know more than you.

  "When I was dating,” I seemed to reminisce, “I got dumped by a lot of guys. A lot,” I emphasized. “So many that I came up with a way to get over just about anybody."

  Cissie’s brow crimped. "You're kidding, right?"

  I fixed her with a look that dared her not to take me seriously.

  "What did you do?" My perceptive daughter prompted.

  “So glad you asked. I concentrated on their faults. Really, really concentrated on their faults."

  "And that worked?"

  "You bet it did," I declared. "Everybody has faults."

  Chelsea’s lips twitched with mischief. "Lucky Dad didn't concentrate on yours."

  "Watch it, kid." I teased, and Cissie actually smiled.

  Then she abruptly turned inward. Stroked Caroline's soft hair the way you pet a kitten, to give and receive comfort. "I don't know..."

  I stood, clasped my hands in front of me. "Then how about just one night. Give yourself a short break from Ronald and see what the shelter's about at the same time."

  Ronald’s belief in his own entitlement wouldn’t disappear overnight, but his period of good behavior might last a little longer. Hopefully, long enough for Cissie to start planning a permanent escape.

  Caroline had finished nursing. An aide with a wheelchair hovered nearby.

  "How about it?" I asked in my most encouraging tone.

  Cissie winced as she hefted her daughter into the burp position.

  "Okay," she agreed. "One night."

  Chapter 40

  WHEN I VISITED this emergency room with Maisie Z
umstein after her fall, the notice in the women’s restroom asking, "Are you a victim of abuse?" or "Are you afraid of your partner?" had caught me off guard. Now I recognized it for a hand extended to pull someone out of hell, or the key to unlock a prison door.

  After programming the number into my phone, I hurried outside for privacy and a reliable signal. Trotting across the driveway to a tree-shaded sidewalk, I waved to Chelsea, waiting for the valet parker to retrieve our cars. Cissie and Caroline rested behind her on one of the benches.

  Natalie, the shelter manager who answered my call, sounded young and competent. I sketched out the situation as best I could, adding with regret that Cissie only agreed to leave her husband for one night.

  "It's a start," the manager reassured me. She suggested we meet at a certain corner of an Acme supermarket parking lot. "I'll be driving a green van."

  "We need a few minutes to pick up a prescription, and maybe some lunch."

  She told me she’d be there in twenty minutes, “and I'll wait."

  My, "Thank you," sounded grossly inadequate.

  ***

  I noticed Natalie surveying our surroundings before she emerged from the van to greet us. She appeared to be scarcely older than Cissie with black hair and startlingly beautiful blue eyes. She wore a pale yellow t-shirt tucked into a summer skirt and flip flops adorned with beads.

  After introducing herself with a smile, she cautioned, "We shouldn't stand around too long." Addressing Cissie, she asked, "Would you like to ride with me?"

  "My car’s here, but I'm not supposed to drive."

  Natalie nodded. "Pain meds, right?"

  Cissie had confided to Chelsea and me that three of her ribs were broken, and just breathing hurt like crazy.

  "So here's the thing," Natalie explained. "You're welcome to have a car at the shelter; but you should realize it may be spotted if you go out."

  Cissie cast a panicky glance toward her gray Subaru, and I could almost hear what she was thinking. Her car represented freedom.

  "Or your husband might report it stolen," Natalie added. "We can give the police a heads up to avoid that, but it might be best to let your friends park it back at your place. What do you think? It's up to you."