Lana sat looking over her notes, she was a tough old bird, but this would be her first time standing before a crowd this big, sharing such a personal part of life. The three of them made their way onto the stage where they stood next to one another quietly, tall and skinny Rachel in her green gown, short and round Lana in her red, clashing like a cheap Christmas decoration.
Jake held the microphone and waited offstage as the music wrapped before he gathered the attention of the crowd.
"Good evening," he began, "We hope everyone is enjoying themselves."
He waited until the crowd assembled quietly and continued, "We'd like to thank each of you for coming this evening, my name is Jake Ross and I'm the Director of Operations for ReachingOut, a non-profit organization serving survivors of domestic violence through web-based support services. ReachingOut was founded ten years ago by our Executive Director and my dearest friend, Rachel Daniels, in an effort to enhance the resources available to survivors of domestic violence. Many of you may not know, but domestic violence is the nation's leading cause of injury to women. Every year, more women are harmed by partners who abuse them than are harmed in car accidents, muggings, and rape combined."
He spoke at length about the domestic violence statistics in Texas, about domestic violence in the gay and lesbian community, about how their organization helped people.
And then he introduced Lana.
Rachel squeezed her hand and Lana whispered, "Here goes nothin', fancypants."
She took the microphone from Jake and in her deep drawl, she started telling her story. She'd been married at sixteen, she spoke about her husband raping her on their wedding night, she told the story about when he'd first sent her to the hospital with a broken arm and a broken jaw.
Then she talked about her son showing her the ReachingOut website, and how she'd finally gotten the courage to leave. Rachel had heard the story a dozen times, but to watch her share it in this forum, in such an impassioned way, it was like hearing it for the first time. And then she finished her story in the way Lana finished every story, with a joke.
"In the end, we divorced over religion. He thought he was God," she deadpanned, "And I didn't."
The crowd roared and she finished, "It took me five minutes to get married and thirty-five years to get smart. I was nervous about tellin' y'all my story here tonight, but then I remembered somethin' I read on Jake and Rachel's website. It was a quote by a lady named Maggie Kuhn. I remember her because she was a sassy old lady like me. She said we should stand before the people we fear and speak our mind, even if our voices shake. So that's what I tried to do here. Thanks for listenin'."
Applause filled the room, Jake placed his arm around Lana's shoulders and reached for the microphone. He held her protectively as he addressed the crowd again, "Thank you, Lana. Without women like Lana coming forward to bravely share their stories, our community may never know the suffering and abuse many are experiencing every day, right now, in their own homes, in the place where they should feel the most safe. It's imperative you continue to sustain organizations like ReachingOut in order to give women like Lana an outlet to find education, support and eventually, to find a way out."
He hugged her tightly and the sickness in Rachel's stomach grew as Lana walked toward her offstage.
This gray haired old woman, who came from a time when speaking out was unheard of, this beautiful woman and mother who'd suffered countless injustices and heart-wrenching abuse had found the courage to share the most intimate pieces of her life with more than a thousand strangers because she knew it might help somebody else.
And there stood Rachel, a woman who had everything, who'd come from a generation of people who never stopped talking, a generation of people who shared every nauseating detail of their lives with the world, and she'd never been able to do the same.
Jake introduced her and as the applause began, she felt her legs go weak, she needed to throw up. Why hadn't she taken the Valium? She was locked in place and watched as Jake coaxed her center stage, first with his eyes, and then a wave of his hand.
"Come on, Rachel," he said, trying to keep it light, "I've got a date with a bacon-wrapped jalapeno."
She willed her feet to move and slowly made her way towards him, the lights bright and unforgiving. The crowd was silent, a collective discomfort filling the room as she battled her stage fright. She prepared for panic to take over, for the humiliation she would feel when she puked on the stage. In front of a thousand people or more.
She took the microphone from Jake reluctantly and scanned the crowd, unsure of how to begin the speech she'd recited flawlessly in the mirror every night for over a week. She saw Kenneth, standing near the stage with his parents, Hunter at his side, Lauren in his arms, the scowling impatience on his face growing as he stood with their children, waiting for her to speak, until he finally turned to leave with them.
Her babies. The son who would one day grow into a man, the type of man she prayed would be kind to the woman he loves, a man who wouldn't be afraid to share his feelings without anger or contempt. And Lauren, her baby girl. Rachel needed Lauren to believe she was special and brilliant and beautiful and all of the things that a mother dreams her daughter will be. Strong, independent, unafraid.
She needed to give her children more than her mother had given her, to show them how much they were loved, and to model for them what it meant to be a strong woman and mother.
Rachel stood there, silently until they were gone, the lights on her face. The crowd began to buzz, and Jake walked over to save her.
But then she saw Dylan. He was alone, in the back of the crowd. Tall, handsome and even from the great distance, his smile bright, telling her he believed in her. Loving him had given her strength, Dylan made her bold. The speech she'd perfected and memorized was gone now, but she found her voice in Dylan's eyes, Lana's words echoing, "Stand before the people you fear and speak your mind, even if your voice shakes."
"Good evening," she finally began, "My name is Rachel Daniels. When I was eighteen years old, I found myself pregnant and pressured into marrying a man I thought to be kind, a man who promised to treat me with respect, to protect me and the child I carried. But even before we were married, he'd started systematically tearing me down. He told me I was stupid, and worthless. And then after we were married, he began threatening me, pushing me, slapping me. When I finally found the courage to ask for help, I turned to the only person I thought I could turn to, but my mother told me I should just apologize, that I needed my husband to take care of me and my baby. And I had nowhere else to go."
In ten years as the founder and Executive Director of ReachingOut, she'd never had the courage to share her own story of abuse. The crowd watched her intently, transfixed.
"My pregnancy drew on and my husband became more abusive until one night when I was only a few weeks from giving birth, he assaulted me. He choked me until I lost consciousness, and when I came to he was kicking me in the head and the stomach. As I begged for him to stop, he pointed a handgun at my pregnant belly and threatened to kill me, and my baby, and then kill himself. But then the gun went off accidentally, and he did kill himself. And I lost my baby."
Excited whispers made their way through the crowd, and Rachel looked to Dylan, no longer smiling, but he nodded his support for her to continue.
"Not all women in abusive relationships are as lucky as I was. Many find themselves on the other end of that barrel when the gun goes off. My story might be vastly different than other women who find themselves in situations like mine, but most of them are as scared and ashamed and humiliated as I was, and like me, most of them have nowhere else to go, and no one to talk to who understands. And that's why I created ReachingOut. To give women a place where they can find the education, the support and the services they need to leave their abusers. Last year, ReachingOut helped one hundred and sixty four women in the state of Texas get out of abusive relationships and start their lives over. They took their lives back
. And we showed them how to do it. You're here tonight because we'd like to ask each of you to consider giving a charitable contribution to ReachingOut. Help us help them. Thank you for coming."
Silence.
She turned to Jake, his face pale, and handed him the microphone. He tucked it under his arm and hugged her tighter than she'd ever been hugged, then turned to the crowd and clapped.
The crowd erupted into applause as they exited the stage where Dylan stood waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. He was awash with emotion, he looked down into her eyes and cupped her face in his hands.
"You are the bravest, most amazing woman I've ever known."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
"I'm sorry I didn't ask."
He leaned down and kissed her, unconcerned with the crowd or who may be watching.
"Rachel," her mother hissed, her white trash slipping through, "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
There she stood in all her glory, that gold lame' gown shaking with rage. Jameson was just behind her, casting furtive glances this way and that, on the lookout for anyone who may witness their ugly family discussion.
"Have you lost your mind? You just humiliated me in front of the entire city, in front of all of my friends, why on earth would you do that to me?"
Rachel's hands shook then, but she spoke confidently.
"Mother, if I'd wanted to humiliate you, I'd have taken out an ad in LifeStyle and let the whole city read about your gold-digging, social climbing, racist ways. I'd tell them how your reputation was more important to you than your only child's happiness, so you conspired to keep the father of my unborn child from me, and coerced me into marrying one of your wealthy friend's delinquent kids. Then I'd tell them how you shipped me off to a mental hospital after my baby died so I couldn't tell your friends he beat the shit out of me and killed himself after you refused to come and get me."
"Are you insane?" Savannah spit through gritted teeth, "That isn't how it happened at all, and your life is fine today because of me. You have a good husband and two children, and all of this," her hands waved wildly, and then looking to Dylan, "This boy was no good for you, he got you pregnant when you were still in high school, he was trash, his whole family was trash. And now here he is kissing you when you're married to another man. He's still trash! That baby was better off dead than with either of you!"
A punch to the gut.
"You're unbelievable, what a vicious thing to say," Rachel said, her voice rising.
Dylan's hand ran down her arm until his fingers interlaced with hers, hoping to still her fury, her newfound confidence making her seemingly unpredictable.
"You are a disgusting, selfish girl, Rachel. I won't repeat myself. I'm leaving before you abuse me further with your delusions," Savannah said, trying to regain her composure.
She turned to leave, storming off, and Jameson watched Rachel and Dylan's faces for a moment before finally turning to follow her out.
"Did I do okay?" she asked, turning to Dylan and Jake, who stood still as a statue watching everything unfold, "Not the weak damsel in distress my mother always glamorized, remember?"
"I'm sorry I said that, Rachel," Jake said, "You know I think you're a tough bitch, and you were marvelous. Poor Jameson will be sleeping in the pool house for months while she cuts your face out of all the family photos and screams about wire hangers like Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest. I'm going to make the rounds and see if she caused any other damage elsewhere, don't leave without talking to me."
Dylan waited for him to leave and turned to her.
"Rachel, leave with me, you're done here."
"I have to find Kenneth and the kids and make sure they're okay. He walked out with them when I was on stage. His parents are supposed to take them home, and- and I have to tell him I'm leaving."
She put her hand to his cheek and brushed her thumb over his lips. Providence had brought Dylan back to her, and she wouldn't play the 'What If' game today.
"I need to do this the right way. Come with me."
***
He wouldn’t have let her go if she’d tried, Dylan needed to hold her, protect her. He'd watched her on stage in that emerald green gown, the same green in her eyes, her hair dark and soft against her white skin, she'd looked like a rare fragile flower alone up there under the lights.
But she'd found the strength to tell the world a terrible truth, to tell him that terrible truth. He'd wanted to race to the stage and carry her off someplace safe, to hold her against him and promise to make it better, promise that he'd make it up to her.
He waited as she told her children goodbye and turned back to him, a tired smile, but she was leaving with him. Dylan had so many things he wanted to tell her, about the life he’d lived, about losing his mother, and about Michael. He needed to tell her that he hadn't tried hard enough, he was sorry he hadn't kept her safe all those years ago.
“Are you ready to go home?” she asked.
Ginny’s voice played in his ear, “Home isn’t where you live, son, home is who you love.”
Dylan leaned in to hiss her and whispered, “I am home.”
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