When they had urged her to press charges against whoever had beaten her, she quickly refused. She knew Greg wouldn’t hesitate to make sure she was busted right along with him. She knew a hooker had no rights and no protection under the law.
“If I go down, you go down, babe,” he had promised her many a time. The social worker had shaken her head in disapproval at Ashley’s refusal, remarking that Ashley and people like her were the reason these bastards got away with what they did, but she hadn’t pressed the issue.
Ashley spent the first week mostly just sleeping and they let her be. But now as her mind was clearing Ashley knew she had to do something. She couldn’t just live in this little room with two other battered women, hiding out from the world forever.
And then there was Andrew.
It had been two weeks now since she’d seen him. He must have totally written her off. Andrew Nolan. Ashley and Andrew…she sighed, realizing that was one pair of names that would never be coupled.
You could go to the bookstore. Greg never knew you went there. He wouldn’t be caught dead setting foot in a bookstore. At first, she dismissed these thoughts. That part of her life was over. Unfortunately, Andrew was a part of her old life. She had to start fresh.
But the thoughts wouldn’t go away. It was almost as if she was two people, and that other person wanted to see Andrew, damn it. Finally, she decided to risk it. She would just look in to see if he was there. Today was Thursday. She’d go tomorrow. He was usually there on Fridays, his lightest workday, he had told her.
Carefully she applied her makeup, using more foundation than usual to try to cover the greenish yellowed bruising along her jaw line. The black eye was harder to cover but at least the swelling was mostly gone. It wasn’t like she was going to approach him anyway—she just wanted to look at him.
This time she took the bus. The few thousand dollars she had squirreled away wouldn’t last long—she knew that. She’d need money for a deposit on some kind of housing and she’d need to get out and find a job. She didn’t mind the bus, though. She had to transfer midway and it took about forty minutes to make the trip. Forty minutes in which she had time to check her reflection several times in her compact, frowning at the lingering evidence of the beating. She couldn’t face Andrew like this. If he was even there.
If she’d been in a car she would have turned around. What had she been thinking? The bus rumbled on and there was Bradley Bookstore, its friendly storefront beckoning her in. Taking a deep breath, willing herself the courage she felt she lacked, Ashley entered the old familiar bookstore. She breathed in the welcoming scent of fresh coffee and blueberry muffins as she approached the little café.
She scanned the tables, suddenly unsure if she wanted him to be there or didn’t want him to be.
There he was.
Time seemed to freeze as she looked at him, marveling that he was still the same. Somehow, a lifetime had passed since they’d last talked about their favorite books and he’d finally confronted her, asking if she were married. In a way a lifetime had passed. She was no longer the same person she had been then.
And yet, she was still afraid, afraid of his reaction if he knew the truth of her screwed-up life. She stood rooted to the spot, her expression softening as she gazed at him. The way his thick straight hair fell across his brow, the light glinting softly against it. The curve of his shoulder as he leaned forward. Slowly he lifted his head and their eyes met. He didn’t smile as he stood, the book on his lap falling forgotten to the floor.
She wanted to turn and run as she saw him approach. And yet, she couldn’t. His large brown eyes, so clear and candid, stayed locked on hers as he walked toward her. She tried to make her legs move, to turn around, to flee before it was too late. But she stayed where she was.
When he got right up to her and said softly, “Hi,” she burst into tears.
~*~
They sat in his car near the park. He hadn’t asked any questions at first, just putting his arm around her and walking her out of the bookstore. “Where’s your car?” he asked, and when she shook her head and managed to whisper that she had no car he said, “We’ll take mine.”
She didn’t protest as he opened the passenger door. “Where to?” he asked.
“Watson Park. Over at Industrial and Eighth.”
“That’s across town. I thought you lived near here?”
“Not anymore.”
Again, an opportunity that he didn’t take to question her. They drove silently, except for her snuffles and sniffles as she wiped her nose and the tears slowly subsided. He pulled into the municipal parking lot across from Watson Park and killed the engine after lowering both windows with the button on his door.
Ashley took a deep breath of the fresh spring air blowing gently through the car. She could barely take in that she was sitting in a car with him. She hadn’t planned this, and yet, if she were honest, hadn’t she? Did she really expect him to ignore her? Though she lacked the self-confidence to believe he was really smitten with her, he had made it pretty clear that he liked her. He had asked her out, after all. She was the one who had rebuffed him.
She looked over at him, realizing he was looking at her. Softly with one finger, he stroked her jaw where Greg’s hose had struck the hardest. “What happened to you, Ashley? Who hurt you? Your husband?” His voice was quiet, easy, like he was talking to a wild animal and didn’t want to scare it away.
Again, Ashley started to cry. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I can’t seem to stop this stupid crying.” She half-laughed between her tears and Andrew smiled gently back at her.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I think you probably have a lot of stuff to cry about. There’s no reason to hold it in. I don’t mind a few tears. We have all the time in the world.” She cried a little more and wiped her eyes, sighing. It was a relief to cry, actually. She’d been so stoic and strong at the shelter, something frozen inside of her that allowed her to get through it, she supposed.
But now with his tender questioning, something had melted and the tears were free to flow. She stopped trying to hold it back and just cried and cried until she was all cried out at last. Andrew had slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder as she cried while he stroked her hair.
Now she didn’t want to move, liking the warm, strong feel of him. She nestled her wet cheek against the soft cotton of his shirt and wished time would suspend at this moment. She would never have to tell him anything about her life. They would just sit together in this sweet companionable silence for all of eternity.
Eventually though, Andrew shifted, handing her a fresh tissue. “I have some water here,” he said, holding out a plastic bottle of spring water. “I always keep some handy in the car. Never know when you’ll have a thirst emergency.” She laughed, and he laughed with her, no doubt relieved she’d finally turned off her own waterworks.
Ashley took a long drink, letting the cool refreshing liquid ease her parched, sore throat. She sniffed and dabbed her nose. She must look like a total mess.
“You’re probably wondering…” she began and then floundered to a halt.
Andrew answered, his voice low and sure, “Ashley, you don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to talk. Not until you’re ready. Just relax. Shall we go out and sit at a picnic table, maybe? Or I might have an old blanket in the trunk.”
The car was getting rather hot. It would be nice to sit outside. Greg would never pass by this park. Her face clouded a moment as she silently cursed Greg. How long would she have to consider where Greg might or might not be?
In a horrible coincidence, Greg’s cell phone suddenly rang. It was him. He’d called it several times during the past week, no doubt trying to find out where it was. She saw the word home scroll across its little screen as it rang. Of course, she never answered it. She had thought about tossing the thing, but had kept it in the event of an emergency.
As the ring got louder and louder in h
er purse Andrew said, “Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“No, no,” Ashley said, feeling terror in the pit of her belly as if Greg were in the car with them.
“Hey, take it easy, Ashley. Do you want me to answer it?”
“No! Stay away! Oh, I mean, I’m sorry…” She bit her lip as the ringing finally stopped. She would throw the damn thing away the second she could.
Andrew looked at her appraisingly, his eyes narrowed slightly. But all he said was, “Let’s see if I’ve got that blanket. I think we could both use the air.”
They got out of the car and walked around to the trunk. Andrew pulled out a large, faded blue quilt that was neatly folded into a plastic carrier bag. Together they selected a nice spot under a large shade tree. Andrew shook out the quilt and laid it on the ground. He gestured, smiling, for Ashley to sit and he sat next to her, leaning down on one elbow and gracefully stretching out his long, well-muscled frame.
Ashley sat up straight, her legs tucked up under her. She didn’t know it, but sitting that way, in her simple blouse and jeans, her straight blonde hair loose around her face, her makeup all cried off, she looked about fifteen instead of twenty-four. Andrew reached out and gently touched her hand.
Ashley smiled at him. “I wish I didn’t have to ruin this.”
“You couldn’t if you tried.”
“No, I’m going to ruin it. To fuck it up.”
“No way, Ashley. There’s nothing you could tell me that would fuck anything up.” He paused, as if collecting his own thoughts. “I can see you’re a battered woman. I can see you’ve been hurt. You dropped other hints before, and I’m sitting here now cursing myself for not picking up on them. I’ve had cases like this before, you know. There’s nothing that would shock me. Your husband…”
She cut him off. “He’s not my husband. I’m not married.”
Andrew snapped his mouth shut, looking confused. “But I thought you said…”
“I know.” Ashley took a deep breath as she pulled her hair up, twisting it on top of her head and then letting it fall again. “I lied. I lied about a lot of stuff. I’m not who you think I am. That’s why I’m going to fuck it up. I’m going to tell you the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She smiled half-heartedly at her attempt at courtroom humor.
Andrew sat up and leaned in toward her. “Listen to me, Ashley. Listen well. These past two weeks have been a nightmare for me. When you didn’t come back to the bookstore, I thought my heart would just crack. I know it’s corny, but I felt actual pain in my chest at the loss of you. I cursed myself a thousand times for forcing the issue with you, for making you admit you were married.”
“I’m not married,” Ashley interjected again.
“Okay, okay, but you said you were and I had no reason to doubt you. It fit in with your pattern of only being available on certain mornings and never at night, of refusing to give me your number or go out with me, even though we definitely had something special happening between us.
“When I saw you standing there this morning, my heart almost burst through my chest. Jesus, Ashley, I thought I’d never see you again. Do you understand what I’m saying to you? I’m in love with you. You haven’t left my mind once since we last parted. There is nothing, nothing, you could say that would change my mind.”
He sat back wrapping his arms across his chest, waiting for her response. Ashley stared at him. She was still playing his words in her head, trying to wrap her mind around them. Of course, the main words she kept hearing were I’m in love with you.
Finally, stupidly she said, “What?”
Andrew looked at her. “What do you mean, what?”
“What did you say?” No one had ever said that to her. Never. “Did you,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “say you were in love with me?” Her face was so serious, her dark blue eyes so intense that Andrew leaned forward, taking her face gently in his hands.
“You poor darling. You poor sweet baby. What’s happened to you? What’s happened to you that such a lovely, beautiful, bright woman like you can’t believe someone would be in love with you?” He pulled her close to him, holding her tightly against his strong, firm chest. Ashley felt light-headed. If she didn’t know better, she’d think shehad somehow been caught up in some romance novel.
At last he released his hold, sitting back on his haunches. “Ashley. Are you ready to tell me, honey? I’m here. I don’t care if you killed somebody. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I get the feeling you’ve never been able to trust anyone in your life. At least not for a long time. But you can trust me. I will never let harm come to you as long as I can help it. Now tell me. Let it go.”
And she did.
Hesitantly at first, she told him about her background. About her abusive father. Her mother who drank herself to death, drowning in her own vomit. Her own addiction to crack cocaine. She paused when the story came around to Greg, the words feeling thick and bitter in her mouth.
But with his patient, kind coaxing and his assurances that he would never judge her, Andrew got her to open up. She told him about Greg, about the “rescue” and her subsequent realization that she wasn’t being “saved” but imprisoned only to be hired out, earning her living with her cunt.
She flushed as she said this, consciously using the coarse slang, as if testing Andrew at his word that he’d heard it all. Andrew didn’t offer platitudes. He didn’t murmur “poor baby” or rant and rage that he would “kill the bastard” as many men might have. He just listened, his expression grave, holding her hand lightly in his.
He had actually laughed when she’d described nasty Mr. Stockton, telling her she had a definite way with words. “You should be a writer,” he said, and when she ducked her head and denied his compliments he said, “No really, you can tell a story. But we’ll discuss your literary talents later, my dear. Go on. Let’s hear how you got from there to here.”
And so she told him, the words now tumbling and spilling from her. Never in her life had someone taken the time to really listen to what she had to say. She found that once she had an audience she didn’t want to stop talking. Things that had been bottled up for years came pouring forth as she rushed to get the words out. Andrew listened, asking only the occasional question when something wasn’t clear. She must have talked for over two hours because the sun had moved much lower in the sky by the time she was done at last.
“What a survivor you are,” he said, his voice admiring. She hadn’t told him about the role he himself had played in all of this. She hadn’t told him that she, too, had thought of him constantly and that maybe she was in love with him. She wasn’t ready for that yet. Happily, he didn’t seem to require reciprocation. It seemed that just her presence was enough for him right now.
What a novel thought. She didn’t have to do anything. She didn’t have to perform, or please or placate or humor. He just seemed to like having her around. He kept stroking her hand or her arm or her hair as she talked, but not in a way that threatened her. His eyes were so kind, filling with tears from time to time as she shared her sordid tale. This embarrassed her and she would try to lighten it up, to make him laugh with descriptions of particularly disgusting johns.
Finally, she drifted into silence and they sat awhile. A dog came bounding across the quilt, startling them both as it went after a ball. It snapped them both out of whatever collective daydream they were in because at the same time they each said, “I’m hungry.” They laughed and stood, smoothing down their rumpled clothing. Together they folded the quilt like some old married couple, their fingers touching as they brought the edges together.
“I know this great place,” Andrew said as they walked to the car. “Right near here. It’s Mexican. Do you like Mexican?”
“I love it,” she answered, feeling ravenous. When was the last time she felt hungry? She couldn’t recall.
“Tequilas and tacos, nothing better,” he said.
“I’ll stick to iced tea,” s
he said, glancing sidelong at him. “Given my history and all.” Andrew nodded and looked a little embarrassed. He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head.
“I know this is stupid or unfair, after what you’ve been through, but…”
He paused and Ashley said, “What? Tell me. You can tell me anything,” she teased, using Andrew’s cajoling tone.
He laughed and said, “Well, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy in my life. To quote one of my favorite authors, ‘You are the we of me’.” And then he bent down and kissed her.
~*~
Over tacos and tea, they settled down to more serious business. “We need a plan, Ashley. What Greg did to you was wrong. Beyond wrong, it’s a crime. I’m an attorney. I know people. I can find a way to bust his ass so he can’t do this again, maybe next time to a woman who doesn’t have the guts and brains you have.”
Ashley grinned. She was definitely getting used to this new definition of herself, even if she didn’t quite believe it. Then her smile faded. “You won’t get him. He’s a slippery bastard. And if he finds out I’m involved, he’ll find me and kill me.” She clutched the tablecloth, the sweetness of the last hours suddenly seeming to sour.
“No, no, he’s got you thinking that way, but it’s crap. He’s just one stupid little punk. He’s a bully. He bullied you because he could get away with it. Look how he caved with that asshole Stockton. He doesn’t have the guts to face anyone who might whip his sorry little ass.” Andrew sat back, smiling grimly. “Hey, I know I’m talking like some big-ass macho all-American male. But that’s the kind of language punks like him understand. The only kind. We’re going put that bastard behind bars. Let him be someone’s bitch for a while and see how he likes it.”
Ashley’s enthusiasm began to rise despite old feelings of fatalism. “How? Don’t you have to catch him in the act? It’s the girls who take all the risks. It’s the girls who meet the johns, get picked up by the cops, get thrown in jail.”
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