by Paula Cox
“Yes, this argument again,” Moira mutters. “Look, I agree that Patrick is a bad man. You’d have to be a fool not to see that, from the outside. But remember, Jude, that Emily isn’t on the outside. Emily has been on the inside her entire life. Every day of her life, she’s lived with that man. Every day of her life—or almost every day, or at least often enough to make it routine—she’s been beaten and insulted and abused. Don’t you see, Jude? It’s violence. She’s lived with violence for as long as she can remember. So from her point of view, it’s the norm.”
“I don’t see your point,” I say. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t do much to heal her black eyes, does it?” Only Moira can bring out this little-boy tone in me. I sound petulant, I know, but I don’t care. It’s like the world is stacked against me. All I want to do—and, more importantly, what the family needs me to do—is take out an abusive bastard and everyone seems to have a problem with that.
“My point is,” Moira says patiently, nurse-like, “that for Emily the violence is just another part of her life. The only constants in her life have been Patrick, and violence. And whilst she’s slowly coming out of her shell, coming to terms with her abuse, do you really think taking away Patrick is going to make it easier for her? Do you really think more violence is going to fix it?”
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, I do. Once the threat is removed, she’ll have the space to move on.”
“You think with your fists,” Moira says.
“That’s true. You’re two for two, sis.”
“Now you’re being an asshole.”
“I just don’t understand why the whole world has collectively decided that Patrick is a nice guy.”
“I never said he was a nice guy. I just said you need to see it from Emily’s point of view.”
“I try, I really do, but all I see is a man twice her size battering her with his fists. Maybe she is under his thumb, maybe she is twisted and manipulated, but that doesn’t mean anything Patrick does causes her any less harm. He’s a monster and that’s all there is to it.”
“That’s never all there is to it,” Moira says. “You should know that, more than anybody.”
“What does that mean?” I demand.
“Many people would see you as a monster, Jude.”
I laugh, but it sounds forced, even to my own ears. “I take out the trash; he beats women. I’m sure anyone can see the difference there.”
“Many people wouldn’t, I bet.”
I sigh for what feels like the twentieth time.
“I need to go and find her,” I say. “We can sort all this out then. I’m not in the mood to play runaround anymore. Wait a sec—you said you spoke to her?”
“Yeah.”
“How? She left her cell at the apartment.”
“She called me. Maybe from a payphone.”
“Damn. Anyway, sis, this has been enlightening and all, but I’ve got to run.”
“Jude,” she says, in that Mom-like voice again.
“What?”
“Just think about what I said.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Jude!”
“What?”
“Think about what I said!” she snaps.
“Okay,” I say. “Fine. I will.”
“Promise?”
“Dammit! I promise!”
“Good. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Bye.”
I hang up and make my way down the street, toward the bakery. I’ve walked no farther than half a dozen steps when I spot Mickey walking toward me, alone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Emily
I remember Moira’s cellphone number by accident, just by stuffing my hands into my pockets as I walk. I finger the folded-up piece of paper as I walk down the street, not remembering what it is until I pass by a phone booth. I don’t think I’ve used a phone booth ever, in my entire life, but luckily there’s some change in my purse.
I feel lighter, somehow, as though my steps are buoyed up by some unseen force. The talk with the old man—Mickey, my family now—has helped to complete a change which was already occurring inside of me; he was right on that score. I still don’t want Patrick dead—after all, he’s still my brother—but I no longer feel that fierce allegiance to him I did before. Around two hours ago! But sometimes in life, two hours can make all the difference.
I slide change into the coin slot and dial Moira’s number. I’m not even sure why I call her, only that I think it’d be good to hear a friend’s voice. And that’s what she is, I reflect. A friend. My life has become a whirlwind of quick, meaningful encounters today. In the morning and afternoon, I made a friend; in the late afternoon, I met a father figure. My worldview shifts just like the world itself, tilting on its axis—and now I’m in daylight for perhaps the first time in my life. I’ve never felt like this before, as though life can beat me all it wants, because I have the tools to beat it back, now.
Moira answers on the third ring.
“Uh, hello?”
“It’s me,” I say. “Emily.”
“I recognized your voice. Are you calling me from a payphone?”
“Yeah, it’s retro, isn’t it?”
Moira laughs. It’s such a simple thing, to make a friend laugh, but it’s something I’ve been denied my entire life. No, I correct myself. Not been denied. Something which Patrick denied me.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“Nothing, really,” I admit. “Just wanted to talk.” A thought occurs to me. “Have you talked to Jude since you left? I stormed out and I left my cellphone behind.”
“No, I haven’t. Maybe I’ll call him after this.”
“Yeah, please do. I’m afraid he might’ve gone crazy when he saw I wasn’t in the apartment.”
I explain, as quickly as I can, everything that happened since Moira left. Mistaking Barry’s blood for Patrick’s, meeting Mickey at the park, and my newfound sense of bravery and purpose. “But I don’t want him dead,” I add quickly.
“No.” Moira pauses. “No, of course not. Why would you? But you don’t want to be ruled by him anymore, either?”
“Exactly!” I almost bark the response.
“I was just thinking about you, actually,” she says.
“You were?”
“Yeah. Strange, isn’t it?”
“The day I’m having, Moira, the word strange has lost all meaning.”
She laughs again. It feels good. “I was thinking…we had a pretty good rapport, didn’t we?”
“I’d say so,” I agree.
“Well, maybe you should move in with me. I need somebody to split rent with, and I think you’re the perfect candidate.”
“Are you serious?” I ask.
“Yeah. Why not?”
Why not?
“That’s nice of you, Moira. Especially since we only just met.”
“Well, so what? Everyone’s only just met at one point or another. Anyway, if you’re really going to go into this nursing thing full-force, it might be good to live together. I could help you with the coursework, applying for courses—everything.”
I’m beaming, a smile so wide my mouth hurts, as though my lips are surprised to be twisted into such an unusual shape. The only downside is I wouldn’t be living with Jude anymore, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t still see him, be with him. And maybe it’d be good not to live in the middle of the twister that is Jude’s life, surrounded by blood and death every day.
“It sounds good to me,” I say. “Really good. Thank you for the offer. Let me think about it.”
“Ha, it’s not completely selfless. Like I said, I need somebody to split rent with. I swear, I don’t know how anybody can live in New York without being a millionaire.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh.
We talk for a while longer, mainly about Jude and my meeting with Mickey, the change that’s occurred in me.
“I feel like a new woman,” I say. “Does that sound stupid?”
&
nbsp; “Not at all,” Moira says. “It’s a good thing. I don’t know you very well, Emily, but from what I do know, I think you deserve to be happy.”
“Well, I think the rest of today is going to be pretty darn good. I’m just going to pick up my last paycheck and then go back to the apartment. If Jude isn’t there, I’ll just call him. And then…”
The evening stretches in my mind like a yawn, a lazy, sleepy, content yawn. I think of Jude and I on the couch together, my head rested on his shoulder as we watch a nature documentary; and then I think of the bedroom and all the steamy, fire-hot delights it holds. I think about riding him, bouncing, taking and giving pleasure like I’ve never felt before, like I never believed a woman like me could feel. I think about the rest of my life, something I never allowed myself to do before because the prospect was too grim. But now, a light is shining on my life, pushing away the nasty darkness. Nursing, a roommate, a boyfriend…Almost like a proper person.
“Alright, I should go—”
My time on the payphone runs out. The line goes dead.
I replace the receiver and walk into the street, a spring in my step. People eye me curiously as I lope down the street like some excited animal on its way to a meal.
Finally, I make it to the bakery.
It’s quiet at this time of day and Mrs. Montgomery is the only staff member still here. A few customers sit at the tables, a couple of students on laptops, two old men in the corner with their pastries resting beside a checkers board. When I walk into the bakery, Mrs. M gasps, bringing her hand to her mouth. It takes me a moment to understand her reaction, and then I remember the black eyes.
“Don’t worry about them!” I cry cheerfully, dancing around the counter.
“My dear,” she mutters. “My sweet child.”
“The pain is gone now,” I say, thinking how that’s true not just of my eyes. “Really, Mrs. M, I’m fine. I’m just here to pick up my last paycheck.”
“At least let me get you a coffee.”
Before I can protest, she takes me by the elbow, leads me to a table in the back amidst crates of hot chocolate, coffee, and flour, and sits me down. She leaves me and returns about a minute later cradling a mug of coffee which throws smoky tendrils into the air.
She places it on the table and drops into the seat opposite me.
“Poor child,” she says. She gestures at the coffee. “Drink if up. It’ll make you feel better.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” I sip the coffee to placate her.
She reaches into the pocket of her apron and hands me an envelope. “Your paycheck,” she says.
“Thank you,” I reply, tucking it into my pocket next to Moira’s cell number.
“You seem…happy.” She sounds bemused, as though a person with two pitted black eyes shouldn’t be happy. And she’s right, I think. I shouldn’t.
“I am,” I say. “I know, it’s strange. But, Mrs. M, this has been a strange, strange day.” I realize my words must make no sense to her.
She squints at me as though searching my face. “I never like to pry into other people’s lives, sweetheart. Keep your own counsel, that’s what I say. But I have to say, Emily, I know that your brother beats you.”
“That obvious, is it?” I say, and then take another sip of coffee.
I don’t sound scared, embarrassed, ashamed, worried, or depressed as I would on any other day, in any other mood, when I make the admission. It’s like a lifelong weight has been hefted from my shoulders. Before, I was stumbling through life with Patrick’s bear-like body pressing me down into the earth. Each step was a struggle. Every breath was wheezy and pained. Every inch gained meant a tapestry of bruises and a bath of blood. Now, hitting me so hard it’s like a buckshot, I feel as though Patrick is lying on the floor behind me and I’m free to walk without his weight crushing me down. I don’t have to stand by him. I have a new family now. No matter how often I think it, it hits me anew. It is, easily, the biggest revelation of my life.
“It is,” Mrs. M says after a pause. “But, I’m not the prying sort, you know, so I kept my suspicions to myself. But today, Emily, it’s very strange. You seem like a different person. I see the black eyes, but you’re glowing, too.” She shakes her head. “Have you moved out of your brother’s apartment? Is that it?”
“That’s part of it.” I nod.
She breathes a sigh of relief, as though she’s been waiting for me to do that for a long time. I’m shocked. I knew Mrs. M was a nice woman, but I didn’t know she cared this much for me. But then, you didn’t think anyone cared for you, did you? You thought the only lifeline you had was a seven-foot-tall man who beat the crap out of you every chance he got.
“And you’re going to press charges?”
Ah, the transformation isn’t as complete as it could be. My body seizes at the thought; my smile slips.
“Oh, no,” I murmur. “I can’t do that.”
“Oh.” Mrs. M reaches across the table and places her hand upon mine. “Forget I mentioned that, sweetheart. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I am. Thank you.” I swallow. I don’t want to do it, but it has to be done. “I might be leaving you in the near future, Mrs. M. I’m thinking about going into nursing.”
Mrs. M claps her hands giddily. Suddenly, she’s forty years younger. “Oh, that’s wonderful. You’re a caring person, Emily. You’d make a great nurse.”
I finish my coffee and then stand up. “Well, I better get going,” I say.
“Your man waiting for you?” She winks.
“You disgust me, old woman.”
She giggles. Together, we make our way into the front of the store.
The door opens; he walks through.
It’s a testament to the effect this long, beautiful, transformative day has had that I don’t seize up immediately. I don’t become the mouse. I don’t shrink away.
But I can’t deny there’s a burning in my chest that wasn’t there before, an aching in my limbs, and suddenly my eyes begin to pound afresh.
Patrick swaggers into the center of the store, gazing around dead-eyed at the students and the old men, and then walking up to the counter.
“Now listen here, young man,” Mrs. M says, “I know who you are and you have no business being here.”
“Shut up, hag,” Patrick spits, arms spread, giant fists clenched. “I’m here to talk to my sister.”
Before I can respond, he lurches across the counter and grabs me by the front of my shirt. He brings his face close to mine, his breath washing over me, reeking of beer and tobacco.
“I’m here to talk to this fucking slut.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jude
In my excitement for news of Emily, I forget that Boss is the boss.
I charge at him, legs still shaking somewhat from the whisky, and screech to a halt so close to him he takes a step back. He holds up his forefinger and immediately I remember who this man is. I take a step back.
“Jude,” he says.
“Sir.”
“Have you spoken to her yet?”
“No.” I shake my head with so much force I think my neck will snap.
“Ah. Walk with me.”
I walk at his shoulder, passing by the bar, and joining the main street. We stroll past stores, amidst pedestrians, walking aimlessly. It seems all I’ve done today is walk aimlessly. Boss doesn’t say anything for a long time and I know better than to press him, though my heart is smashing against my ribs in longing. All I want is to hold Emily in my arms. All I want is to feel her body against mine. All I want is to walk into the living room and see her on the couch, looking cute as hell, smiling at me with those perfect lips, watching me with those huge green eyes.
After around five minutes, Boss drops onto a bench. I sit next to him and we watch the flow of pedestrians.
“She’s an amazing woman, Jude,” Mickey says, drawing his words out as though he has all the time in the world. Just once, I think, I’d li
ke this man to be as blunt as his reputation.
“I know that.” My breath comes heavy and frantic, as though even my lungs are trying to pull Emily in. I wipe sweat from my forehead with the back of my mind. Damn, but my mouth is dry, drier than the Sahara.
“We talked for a long time,” he says.
“About what?”
“About lots of things. I told her that she’s part of the family now. That seemed to help her. She thought we’d killed Patrick, Jude. She was in shock.”