Milkshakes and Heartbreaks at the Starlight Diner

by Helen Cox

I looked again at the river. Deep into its grey blur.

  If I jumped, now, from this height, how quick would my body sink? It was quite a drop. I might not even be fully conscious when I hit the water. And I wouldn’t put up a fight. Either way, it would at least be an end. Afterwards I’d feel nothing. There’d be silence. There’d be peace.

  For me but what about Mum? What about Ryan? And although he might hate me, I couldn’t bring myself to believe Jack would be happier if I were dead.

  The splashing of somebody running with weighty feet in the rain sounded out. Some fanatical fitness freak jogging in the tempest, no doubt. Manhattan was full of them. I looked over in the direction of the footsteps. Sure enough some murky figure was heading my way. A tall, well-built man undeterred by the rainstorm. His black outline against the deep blue of twilight made me shudder. I looked around, conscious of being a woman alone in the near-darkness in a notorious area of the city and hid in a recess beneath one of the arches, hoping he’d just jog on by. Although things were about as bleak as they’d ever been, I’d rather not get murdered on the Brooklyn Bridge. Death on my own terms was one thing but being at the mercy of someone else? Never again.

  Tucked away in the crevice, I waited a minute or so before the man came running by. He was looking in all directions, was soaked to the skin and wore a suede jacket I recognised.

  ‘Jack?’ I called. The man turned. It was him. Breathless and saturated. I looked my lover up and down. Straight away, desperate to be in his arms – there nothing could hurt me.

  ‘Esther!’ He back-pedalled to meet me in the alcove, which provided some shelter from the rain, and put his hands either side of my head. ‘I didn’t know if I’d be able to find you.’ He kissed my forehead. My cheeks. My lips. But it was hurried. Borderline frantic. Not like the slow, passionate kisses we’d shared when we were last together here.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,’ I whimpered. He held me tight. I wrapped my arms around his neck; sure this would be our last embrace. After a moment he untangled himself. Steadied his breathing. ‘Suppose you read Boyle’s piece?’ I said. My head was so heavy with guilt lifting it to look up at him was a struggle.

  ‘Yeah.’ He nodded.

  ‘Then, why are you here? Don’t you hate me now?’

  ‘What? No.’ He looked at me and shook his head. ‘I don’t think I could ever hate you, not if you’re the person I think you are.’ I sighed, wondering if I was. ‘It’s probably time we talked about this though,’ he said and then, likely thinking back to his hours in prison when I’d had the opportunity to come clean but hadn’t, he added: ‘about all of it.’

  I leant my head back against the brickwork of the bridge. When Jack saw who I was deep down, when he knew what I’d done, he was bound to walk away. But at least he’d do so knowing the truth. I looked into his eyes, and took a deep breath.

  Start slow, Esther. One sin at a time.

  ‘I lied to the police about what happened the day my husband died.’ I took in another breath and held onto it.

  Jack tilted his head to one side. ‘Why’d you lie to them?’ His voice was unruffled but a frown was settling in on his brow.

  ‘The day my husband died, I was leaving him.’ I looked at the ground in case Jack’s face was a picture of disgust. I didn’t think I could take that just then.

  ‘You’d met someone else?’

  ‘I wasn’t having an affair. But someone was going to get me away from him. I probably would’ve stuck it out a lot longer but Michael – my husband – he’d started to talk about having kids. And I couldn’t … I couldn’t bring a child into what was going on between us.’ I was going to run away with Ryan, Boyle’s unexpected source. How he’d found out about him I had no idea. There was nothing romantic about the arrangement, at least not on my part. But in Boyle’s twisted version of the story Ryan and I were the next Bonnie and Clyde.

  ‘Let me guess: your husband wasn’t who you thought he was when you said “I do”,’ Jack said with more bitterness than I’d have expected.

  ‘He was possessive. In the beginning, I actually thought it was gallant. How jealous he got over me. But after a time he got less gentlemanly. He used to force me to –’ I looked at Jack ‘– to…’ Again, the words caught at the back of my throat. Jack’s face went dark with anger. His hands folded themselves into fists.

  He knew.

  I looked to the ground. ‘I didn’t want to but what could I do? Tell the police? He was my husband. After a while I stopped saying no. I worked out that he liked it more when I struggled. Oh God.’ I covered my mouth with my hand. Jack winced and shook his head in what seemed like disbelief but was probably closer to horror. ‘Seven years I lasted. I don’t know how. But I couldn’t do it any longer. I had to leave, Jack. I had to.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be scared of your husband.’ Jack moved closer to me. ‘Leaving was the right thing to do.’

  ‘I’ve gone over the day he died so many times in my head. Been through all the “what ifs” and I still don’t know exactly what the right thing would’ve been to do. But what I did… it was wrong.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Jack said.

  I scraped my hair out of my face.

  ‘That afternoon we were due at a family lunch but I said I didn’t think we should go after all. And I told him. I told him I was leaving. And I cried. And he got angry. And it was awful.’

  ‘I’ve had that conversation,’ said Jack. ‘Awful doesn’t come close.’ His eyes glazed over. He stared off into some imaginary scene I couldn’t see.

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘But after a few minutes Michael seemed to get a hold on himself, and said we should go to the family lunch. Talk again when we got back. Some small part of me knew it was a trick but I was scared. I was always scared. I got in the car with him…and…’ I began to cry.

  ‘Hey.’ Jack wrapped his arms around me and held my head against his chest. ‘Easy now.’

  ‘It’s so awful.’ I shook my head. ‘After about ten minutes he turned off the radio and I remember how silent the car was. We sat like that for a while and then he told me… he told me he wouldn’t let me leave. Never.’ I looked up at Jack. His jaw had tightened. Darkness danced at the centre of his blue eyes. Words. So many words were corked at the back of my throat. But I had to release them. ‘When he said that, I saw my future. And I was… nothing. Just a shell. A snakeskin shed by whoever it was I used to be. And, I panicked. Started arguing with him. I wouldn’t normally have argued but I was so desperate. We got to a point where we were both shouting and hurling abuse at each other. And then…’ Tears were getting the better of me. ‘And then…’ I tried again but couldn’t get the words out. Jack held me close a second time, and rubbed my arms.

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘He lost control of the car, didn’t he?’

  ‘No.’ I looked up at him. ‘I told the police we’d been arguing and a rabbit ran out on the road and Michael swerved and rolled the car. Michael’s family would be heartbroken if they knew what actually happened.’

  ‘What did happen?’ Jack’s brow knitted.

  ‘He… he said if I wouldn’t stay he was going to kill us. Both of us.’ Jack’s eyes widened. Of all the explanations this seemed to be one he hadn’t thought of. ‘He pushed his foot down on the accelerator and I screamed but he didn’t slow down.’ I shook my head. It was my voice admitting all this but it no longer felt like it belonged to me. My lips moved without my bidding. ‘He aimed the car at a tree. We hit the verge first and the car rolled and I was sure it was the end. But not for me, and he’s gone now. Because of me.’

  ‘You can’t seriously blame yourself for all this?’ Jack said, stroking my hair.

  ‘That’s not all, Jack. There’s more. And if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone. Especially Alan. Please. Promise me that. Even if you never want to see me again, promise me you’ll keep my secret.’

  ‘I promise.’ Jack nodded.

  ‘I didn’t cause the crash but
my husband is still dead because of me.’ I paused. I looked into my lover’s eyes and swallowed hard. ‘When I regained consciousness, Michael wasn’t dead.’

  ‘What, you mean –’

  ‘I mean, he was badly injured but still breathing.’ My eyes filled with tears. I reminded myself I’d done what I had to. But was that the truth or just another comforting lie?

  ‘So, what happened?’ Jack’s frown had never been deeper than it was then.

  ‘We drove that road a lot. I knew there was a phone box about a ten-minute walk away from where we’d crashed. But I didn’t go to it. Not at first. I sat and I watched him for what seemed like forever. I watched him dying. Slowly.’ Saying those words was like vomiting. I was a sweating, shivering mess. ‘I could’ve saved him. But I didn’t. I killed him. And it was horrible. But I was so angry.’ I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. ‘Eventually, I ran. Harder than I’ve ever run anywhere and called an ambulance. But it was too late, and I think part of me knew even when I was running. I knew there was no point. When I got back to the car he was taking his last breaths. And then, his eyes sort of… emptied out. It was over. And… I felt… I felt… glad.’ I lowered my head, overcome with shame. Jack was quiet. I was convinced he’d walk away or maybe even turn me in but after a minute he started as though just remembering where he was and that I was there with him.

  ‘Esther, you need to listen to me.’ Jack held me steady with a hand on each arm. ‘This isn’t your fault. People are within their rights to leave their spouses and should be able to without anybody dying.’

  ‘I let him die, Jack. And part of me was happy to.’ And that was the worst of it. All this time I’d wondered, did I feel any guilt at all over Michael’s death? Or was I just sick over the fact I’d taken pleasure in it? Of all the tears I’d cried since that day, had even one of them been for the late Mr Delaney?

  ‘He deserved it,’ Jack growled, ferocity flashing in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t say that…’

  ‘He did. He…’ Jack paused. His eyes glazed with tears. ‘Esther, that man didn’t deserve to live. He raped you. How many times in all those years?’ I squeezed my eyes shut at even the thought of that calculation and continued to cry. ‘And then he tried to kill you. You’re telling me someone like that deserves mercy? You did the only thing you could.’

  ‘If that’s true why do I feel like this?’ I asked through my tears.

  ‘Because you’re a good person,’ said Jack, his voice so gentle it was almost inaudible over the rain. I laughed the most bitter of laughs.

  ‘Right now that feels like the furthest thing from the truth. I just wish…’ I paused, doing what I could to fend off more tears.

  ‘Esther, there’s something…’ Jack began but I wasn’t finished and I was in such a state I cut him off without thinking.

  ‘I know what I did was wrong. I do. But he shouldn’t have done that to me. He was my husband. My husband. He was supposed to take care of me.’

  Jack’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips and nodded. ‘You’re right,’ he murmured at the ground. ‘Husbands should take care of their wives.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth…’ I started but a split second later he was kissing me. It was the deepest kind of kiss and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Right then, being closer was all that mattered. The tips of my fingers ached. Longing to retrace the journey they’d made down his back just a few nights ago. Jack, reading my mind, ran his hands from my shoulders down to my hips and gripped. When our lips parted again we were both breathy, shaking. Jack held my face in his hands.

  ‘I don’t know if I should say this now. But I want you to know…’ Jack said. He pulled me closer, pressing me against his body. ‘I love you.’

  My eyes widened. ‘Say that again,’ I whispered, not daring to believe I’d heard him right.

  ‘I love you.’ He pressed his forehead against mine.

  ‘I love you,’ I said. ‘I do. But…what happened…what I did.’

  ‘It’s past. And it’s not your fault. I know you. And I know for you to do something like that…well, it was all you could do. It was an impossible situation.’ He kissed me again and pressed his nose to the side of mine. We lingered there in the moment, examining the depths of each other’s eyes before Jack, at last, glanced back at the Manhattan skyline, breaking the stare.

  ‘Come on, we’d better get back to shore and let your mother know you’re OK.’

  ‘You’ve met my mother?’ My eyes flared wide again.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure you could exactly say that. Mona called me from the diner to say you’d run away and I had to calm down the whole crowd – your mother was one of them. Mona’s got Alan out looking for you too.’

  ‘Oh Mona. How am I ever going to face her again? All I’ve done is keep secrets.’ I put a hand to my forehead.

  ‘She’ll forgive you. She won’t believe Boyle’s twisted version of events over what you’ve got to say. Walt was about to call 911 and wasn’t satisfied until Mona put Alan on the case. That crew really care about you,’ said Jack.

  ‘I don’t know why they care. I’m wretched,’ I said, shaking my head.

  ‘Well, I guess we make a fine pair then.’ He pulled me close again. ‘Maybe even wretched people deserve to be loved, sometimes.’

  I looked up at him and pressed my lips together. The rain was setting into my uniform and I’d begun to shiver. Noticing this, Jack wrapped a large, protective arm around me. I nestled myself into his side, clung to his shirt and let him lead me, onwards.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was one of those balmy, New York evenings where the heat of the afternoon still hung in the air long after the sun started to set. Mum and I were walking up Grand Street, en route to meet Jack for dinner in Little Italy, an event she’d been in a flap about ever since it’d been arranged the night before, at her own insistence. The way she’d carried on in front of the mirror back at the hotel you’d have thought she was the one with the new boyfriend. She must’ve tried on a dozen outfits. She finally settled on what I knew she’d wear all along: her yellow shift dress, along with a violet cardigan she always saved for ‘best’ draped over her shoulders. Mum had pleaded with me to go clothes shopping but, refusing to be drawn into her ridiculous frenzy, I chose instead to throw on the same dress I’d worn to the hop. A decision she’d spent most of the walk to the restaurant punishing me for with her trademark niggling and nagging.

  ‘Don’t keep fiddling with your hair, Esther. You’ll ruin it.’ Mum tutted for what must’ve been the twelfth time in five minutes. I rolled my eyes at a mannequin in a nearby shop window. Right after my shift at the diner, Mother had made me an appointment at the hairdresser’s quite against my will. I’d always had long hair but it was now halfway down my back when I let it loose. According to Mum, chopping the split-ends off the length with a pair of vanity scissors every three months didn’t count as a haircut. ‘I still think you’d have been better wearing your contacts tonight too,’ she moaned.

  ‘Mum, Jack knows I wear glasses. He’s fine with it,’ I reminded her. She pursed her lips while I fought the urge to sigh. She knew I’d never got on with contacts. I only wore them before because Michael expressed a preference for them in that ugly, starched manner he favoured when making any of his feelings known.

  ‘Alright. Alright. I can see you want to change the subject,’ Mum said, the area around her mouth taut enough to show her dissatisfaction. ‘Everything cleared up at the diner? You know, about…’ This time I did sigh. Couldn’t she make small talk about the weather like a normal person? Just this once?

  ‘I think they’ve pretty much digested what I told them,’ I managed, despite my irritation.

  ‘From what I saw when you got back, they seemed alright about it. But were things OK today?’

  ‘Yeah. Actually they’ve been so good about it I feel even guiltier about keeping secrets than I did before.’ I half-smiled,
remembering the hug Mona had given me when I stumbled back through the diner doorway, all but shoving my own Mother out the way to get to me first. She was frothing at the mouth to hear my side of things of course but to her credit she wouldn’t let me say a word until I’d changed out of my sodden uniform into dry, civilian clothes and had a steaming cup of coffee in my hand.

  ‘Well, after what happened, you didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. Secrets were pretty inevitable. But it’s behind you now, love.’ Mum linked her arm through mine. Patted my elbow.

  ‘I suppose so.’ I nodded with as much conviction as I could. I still hadn’t been able to tell the diner gang every last detail. I left out the part about my failure to call the emergency services, fearing what Alan might say. I also glossed over the exact nature of my husband’s abuse.

  Abuse.

  It seemed such an official word but that is what it had been. And it was still mortifying. Michael shouldn’t have been able to humiliate me from beyond the grave but every time I thought about him shame struck like a steel punch to the gut. I knew it was illogical to be embarrassed. They were his perversions, not mine. But what good was logic with a burden like this? Thinking about what he did, really remembering, was belittling. He could do what he did to me as many times as he wanted, as long as I remembered. Somehow, if I was ever to move on, I needed to forget. I hadn’t worked out how but for the sake of my future, and Jack’s, I had to try.

  ‘Ooh is this the place?’ said Mum, jerking me out of my thoughts.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said looking up at the sign. The letters were painted in the colours of the Italian flag. ‘Jack said Russo’s.’

  Eager to escape the sickening smell of over-boiled noodles and raw fish wafting down from Chinatown, not to mention more fussing from Mother, I pushed on the heavy, silver door, gesturing for her to follow.

  Inside, Russo’s was a cosy, family-run restaurant illuminated largely by candlelight. Red chequered cloths adorned round tables; the walls boasted intricate stonework and little Italian flags were pinned everywhere around.