Strains of Silence

by Strains of Silence (retail) (epub)

  “Hm.” Lenka squeezed her once more and whispered. “Zan’s growing on me, by the way—not as arrogant as I thought.”

  He came around and opened the door for Kasia. When he’d shut it behind her, she smiled at Lenka through the window.

  On the way to Huntington, Kasia answered at least a hundred questions about Peru. They talked about everything—the people, the angry cab driver, her class, the night she gave her testimony and couldn’t cry. As she remembered, shared things so important to her—she felt warm. Like her heart was awakening.

  Why didn’t she talk about Peru more often?

  She tapped his bracelet. “I’m surprised you still wear this.”

  “Well, there’s no clasp. I had to tie it on. All or nothing.”

  “You chose ‘all.’”

  His cheek slid back into those too-handsome creases. “I did.”

  A slow burn began right in the center of her, spread its warmth all the way to her fingertips. She gripped the seat beneath her.

  When he drove into the parking lot, she spotted A.J. and Jayce. Jayce straddled his bike, and A.J. sat on the hood of a shiny, maroon sedan. A.J. dangled Kasia’s keychain in the air.

  That was hers? Kasia’s mouth wouldn’t stay shut. She jumped out and walked a complete circle around the car, traced the metallic paint with her fingertips. New rims, detailing. She loved the color. On the driver’s side, at the rear, a black stripe faded into a few music notes.

  “It suits you better,” A.J. said.

  Jayce whipped out a pair of fuzzy dice. “Interested in these?”

  She laughed. “I’ll take ’em. If I had dashboard carpet and a bobble-headed dog, I could totally be a Peruvian taxi driver.”

  “We can hook you up,” Zan said.

  “You guys are too much. Thank you.” They all walked up to the apartment together. Kasia tossed her backpack on the couch and noticed the corner of her cell between the cushions.

  “I knew this must’ve fallen out of my bag.” The screen showed a missed call. She dialed voicemail.

  “You are unbelievable, Kasia.” Blake’s sister hissed through the receiver at her. “Such a gold-digging skank. I told Blake to quit slumming and move on, but I didn’t realize how manipulative you could be. You are so completely beneath us. A restraining order? Vandalism? Are you serious? What do you think this is? Some stalker movie?”

  Amber’s voice dripped with hate. “You don’t have a clue who you’re dealing with here. Our family will not just sit back and let you smear the Hamilton name. You’re just a poor, stupid Polack. Back off now, or this really gets ugly. Worthless wench.”

  “To save message, press—”

  Kasia sat down hard, dropped the phone back onto the couch.

  She’d only met Amber once, but she’d been civil at least. Kasia sat there, dumbfounded. Zan knelt in front of her after a moment. “What is it?”

  She dialed again, entered the PIN, and handed him the phone. “Blake’s sister.”

  He listened and actually growled. “Write down your voicemail number and PIN for me. This needs to go to security now.”

  He stalked over to the window. “At least it’ll help your case.”

  “How?”

  “She threatened you. His sister pulls the same kind of crap he does. Makes me wonder what his parents are like.”

  Kasia nodded, tried to shake off the sting of those insults. She scribbled down the information, and Zan pocketed it and left.

  ~*~

  Kasia spent the afternoon in her bedroom with her journal. Her heart was drawn back to the poem she’d started earlier about getting free of the pit. Another poem was due in her creative-writing class, so she might as well explore that idea further. Any distraction was welcome.

  The door opened and shut. Her heart quickened. She hopped up and stuck her head out of the room.

  “Jayce left to get dinner,” A.J. said. “Want some tea or coffee?”

  “Hot tea. Lemon, if there’s any left.” Kasia flopped back onto her bed. “Thank you, A.J. You’re the best roommate ever.”

  Zan probably wouldn’t come back tonight. He had to study too. She needed to keep reminding herself of that.

  She opened her Bible to Psalm 40 again. God show me something. She pulled out that other poem she’d written. About the seasons. The phrases she’d used—she remembered that emptiness. Sapped, withered, blinded, paralyzed, brittle. And this line: To draw out of me all that was my own.

  That was the crucial difference, wasn’t it? Blake drew her out of herself. God drew her out of the muck. He helped her stand. She did a quick search for other Psalms about the pit.

  Psalm 103:4. “Praise the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits—who forgives all your sins and heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion, who satisfies your desires with good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

  Redeemed. Crowned. Satisfied. Renewed.

  With her heart full, she grabbed a pen.

  ~*~

  Three poems down. One about Peru, one about Zan.

  One about freedom.

  And a melody began to thread through her mind.

  Kasia slid around and hung her head off the side of the bed. All afternoon, she’d run her nails along her scalp as she searched for inspiration. Her curls were a wild mess. Still upside-down, she corralled her hair and slipped the elastic band off her wrist, made a sloppy ponytail.

  A familiar pair of Chucks stepped into her doorway. “Knock, knock.”

  She shot up, and blood rushed from her head. She shut her eyes and leaned against the wall.

  Zan chuckled. “What were you doing upside-down?”

  “Hair.”

  “It looks like fire tonight.”

  She exhaled a laugh. “You came back.”

  “Yeah. I look for every possible excuse to do that.”

  “Because we have a kitchen.”

  “And there’s you.”

  Her ears turned hot. Why was her hair piled on top of her head where she couldn’t use it to hide? She jumped off the bed and pulled Tatuś’s hoodie over her T-shirt, taking cover.

  Maybe a beat too long.

  He cleared his throat. “Will you be staying in there for a while? I mean, it’s awesome and all…”

  She peeked out through the top. “Are you a Chicago fan?”

  “Since birth.”

  “This is my dad’s.” She pushed her head all the way out.

  “I respect him even more now.”

  “But seriously. I didn’t expect you back tonight.”

  He lifted a bag from behind his back. “Thought you might want fresh-baked muffins again—pumpkin this time.”

  She rubbed her hands together. “I wish I could make hot cocoa as good as theirs. Sometimes chocolate’s better than tea.”

  “I brought one of those too. It’s on the kitchen table.”

  She wanted to hug him, but he stepped out of the way so she could get down the hall.

  A.J. must’ve gone to her room.

  When Kasia turned and faced Zan again, his eyes melted her a little. She pulled out a muffin and slid the bag across the table.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “Ah, an ulterior motive. I knew it.”

  He smiled, and his eyes were Peru sky again. “I need to make sure of a few things.”

  She swallowed. “Like…”

  “I got to listen to that unfortunate message several more times today, while the security guards and I transcribed it and had it notarized. I need to know you don’t believe a word of it.”

  She sat. “I don’t.” She didn’t want to think about it. Her good mood might disappear.

  “You’re probably the best person I know, and I don’t care what Amber or Blake or anyone else says about you.”

  She blinked.

  “Even though you’ve got a quirky side. I like it.” His effort at humor eased her anxiety. />
  “Very quirky.”

  “But everything else she said. It’s a lie. You know that.”

  Kasia nodded very slowly.

  Zan reached for her hand and pulled it into both of his. Her heart stuttered.

  “I talked to Bailey today. Asked her about healing. What the process is like. You know, because ideally, after Tuesday, you’ll be free to work on it without Blake’s interference.”

  “Ideally.” She pulled her hand away to pinch a bite of muffin and pop it into her mouth. “What did she say?” Tell me, “Not so bad.”

  “It’s pretty intense.”

  Kasia flicked a crumb into the bag. “Bailey pulls no punches. She told me the same thing about the trial.”

  “First of all, she said there’s always more healing ahead—but that’s part of just following Jesus, right? She made me promise to say that everything she remembered at first threw her for a loop. But then she started to feel, get mad, work through it. She said the key is to tear down lies you believe about yourself—maybe things like Amber said—and replace them with the truth.”

  “Sounds all right.” If she knew how to go about it.

  He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, spread it on the table. His gaze locked on hers, held her attention. “Amber said you were a gold-digger and being with you was slumming.”

  She tried to look away but couldn’t.

  He leaned in. “Being with you makes me want to be a better person. And”—he looked down at his notes—“Zephaniah says God rejoices over you with singing.”

  She squirmed.

  “She said you’re manipulative, but she and her brother are the ones who have manipulated and hurt you. You’re the one telling the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

  Kasia swallowed. He could not do this with the entire phone call.

  He looked back at the paper. “She said you’re poor, a stupid Polack. But you’re wealthy in the ways that count, and your family has a rich, beautiful heritage. God designed you with a purpose, and”—notes—“God’s King of the universe, right? So…you’re a princess.”

  Kasia’s eyes stung with absentee tears. He was speaking simple truth, but this was Zan. These truths—forgotten when she needed them most—were brand-new to him. His effort alone affected her.

  “Blake called you a slut.” He turned away for a second, and his jaw knotted. “Sorry. I swore I’d do this with zero anger. Just truth.”

  She cleared her throat.

  “And this chapter I found in Romans was…I didn’t understand it all. Romans 8. But there’s something you need to hear.”

  He read, “‘Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?’” He looked up at her, his eyes burning with blue fire. “It says no. No! You’re more than a conqueror.”

  Her chest filled with confidence—not in herself, but in Christ.

  Nothing can separate me from the love of Christ. Not a pit. Not a wall. Not my sin. Not my shame.

  He cleared his throat, folded the paper, creased it with more precision than necessary. Was he embarrassed?

  He started to put the paper away, and she pressed his hand back to the table.

  His gaze lifted. “It was too—”

  “Can I keep it?”

  “This?” He eyed his work.

  “Yes, that. Thank you for taking the time to write all that.”

  His eyes were moist. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. I just looked some things up.”

  “Zan. Quit it. It was perfect.” She leaned over and pecked his cheek.

  “Kasia, I—” He stood.

  Oh. She’d made him uncomfortable. “I shouldn’t have done that. Sorry.” She tugged on her ponytail.

  “You don’t have to be careful with me.” He pulled her up, wrapped his arms around her. “I just want you to know the truth.” His chin rested on the top of her head. “I want you to know how you should see yourself.”

  Her hands grasped each other tightly against his back.

  “Amber said one thing right on the phone,” he whispered.

  She looked up at him, curious.

  “You’re unbelievable.” When his lips touched her forehead, her heart went ballistic.

  “I should go. I’ll see you before class tomorrow, all right?”

  She nodded. This time, her silence wasn’t because of emptiness.

  39

  Today Zan looked like he was born for the autumn.

  And every time she peeked over at him as he drove toward the Mill, Kasia remembered his lips against her head. She heard his words. The truths she needed to believe.

  She felt like she could handle anything today.

  “You said class went well,” he said. “How has your writing been going?”

  “Better, I think. I wrote something yesterday I’m excited about. I might even have a melody for it.”

  He smiled over at her. Did he have any idea what a big deal that was to her?

  “So this lady you’re having lunch with—is she the one you talked to outside last week? The nurse?”

  “Yep. Shea. She’s Ki-ki’s mom. Used to live in my grandmother’s neighborhood.”

  “You’ll be at her place the whole time?”

  She nodded, mildly amused. “And Kyle’s supposed to get to the Mill around 2:30.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I have some reading I can do. Practice doesn’t start until three.”

  “Zan. I won’t ask you to sit out in the parking lot.”

  “There’s the activity center,” he offered.

  “No. Go and get some work done. Shea said she’d walk me to the center. All the way to the door.”

  “All right,” he said. “I trust you to be careful.”

  His words boosted her confidence even further, and she smiled. She’d be fine.

  ~*~

  “We’ve got to do this again, girl, and soon.” Shea wrapped her sweater tight around her body and tied the belt.

  Kasia buttoned her coat and picked up her backpack. “Definitely. And that cookie fest with Ki-ki.”

  “Ooh, Ki-ki can’t wait.”

  “She’s not the only one excited, and you know it.”

  Shea laughed, stepping outside. Kasia followed, closed her friend’s apartment door.

  “So, the hearing’s tomorrow, huh?” Shea asked.

  “Yep. One way or another, it’ll be over tomorrow afternoon.”

  They strolled toward the center.

  “Well, let me tell you, you got to hold your own—even in his face. Nothing worse than a man who thinks you owe him.”

  “Look at you though,” Kasia said. “You’re taking such great care of Ki-ki. And you’ve got your degree.”

  Shea grabbed Kasia’s hand. “Look at you. You don’t let that boy take no more, y’hear?”

  “I won’t.” Kasia reached for the door.

  “You better not leave without giving me a hug, girl.”

  Kasia chuckled. “No, I know better.”

  Shea stepped away from the hug, walked backward toward home, and talked while she went. “Thanks for doin’ lunch with me. It’s been a long time since I did something for myself.”

  “Thanks for the invitation. And the walk up here.” Shea waved and turned around. Kasia went inside.

  “Hey, Kasia,” Mrs. Anderson said. “Ready for a full week this time?”

  “Yes, ma’am. It was hard to wait.”

  “Listen, I’ve got to run over to 10B for a minute. Got a complaint from one of the tenants. You’ll be all right till the kids arrive?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Kasia took off her coat and hung it on the back of one of the chairs, set her pack beside it
.

  “All right, then.” Mrs. Anderson shoved the door open with her back and stepped outside. “I’ll be a few minutes.” As the door closed, she hollered, “Your friend’s already in the kitchen.”

  The door thudded shut.

  Kyle was already here? She hadn’t seen his car. He probably just parked around back.

  Her body tensed. What if it wasn’t Kyle? She shouldn’t have let Zan leave.

  Blake’s car wasn’t out there either, but she wouldn’t be unprepared this time. She stepped into Mrs. Anderson’s office and picked up a few things off the desk, tested their weight. The industrial stapler would work. She held it behind her back, eased toward the door.

  As soon as she stepped back into the foyer, Blake appeared from her left. “Mrs. Anderson seemed impressed with me. Said she’s always glad to have young men around to help out. Very trusting.”

  Kasia breathed slowly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “But then, you never are.” He glanced over Kasia’s shoulder into the empty office. “Did I hear her say she’d be gone awhile?”

  “She’ll be right back. And another friend is on his way.”

  “You certainly have a crowd of keepers these days.”

  She glanced at the exit, wondered if she could make it.

  He rushed at her.

  With every bit of her strength, she hurled the stapler at his face and lunged for the door.

  Fresh air came at her like salvation, but he was on her heels. And he was wroth.

  She sprinted out into the middle of the lot, prayed someone would see or hear. “Don’t come near me! Stay back!”

  He laughed, and her skin crawled. When she turned around, her stomach dropped into her shoes. The stapler had cut a deep gash below his eye. Blood streamed down his face as he came toward her.

  “Stop that girl! Look at what she did to my face!” His voice sounded pained.

  But no one heard anyway.

  She wanted to run, but turning her back on him was crazy. She backed in the direction of Shea’s. A dark blue sedan pulled into the lot and veered toward them. She shouted, waved her hands in the air. “Stop! Help!”

  The car did. A tall man stepped out and stood up, pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. “What’s going on?”