CJ set down her briefcase and Karita thought that those penetrating eyes hadn't missed the crack in the counter, patches in the linoleum, nor the significance of the monitors displaying the empty front and back porches. Still, there was a wry twist to her mouth as she asked, "Is the chocolate milk for me?"
"No," Karita said as she leaned over Emily's desk. She snagged the folder with the necessary forms, and returned to the kitchen. "It's for a little girl with adorable red braids in the dining room with her mom and baby sister. They were here last week and mom's got a broken arm now. This time maybe she's left for good."
CJ glanced in the direction Karita pointed, but only nodded as she stirred together the milk and a generous tablespoon of chocolate syrup. "Shall I take it in?"
"No, I'll do that. You fill these out—the confidentiality agreement is the most important. I should be right back and then I'll give you a quick tour and we can put your stuff in a locker. Never leave out any personal items, especially your cell phone. The last thing we need is a client calling her batterer to ask to get picked up."
She took the plastic cup out of CJ's hand; their fingers touched briefly. A chill flush spread down her arm. At least at first it seemed cold, but there was a sensation of heat in other parts of her body. Don't let it show, Karita told herself, but she knew her smile had faded completely. CJ wasn't smiling either. Flirting in the coffee bar had been fun, challenging even, but at that moment all Karita could think was that the tension between them felt nothing like flirting.
This is not fate, she told herself, not magic, you're not an elf and the moment she's done her time here she'll be out of your life, and she'll never look back.
She delivered the chocolate milk to the little girl along with a picture book and a soft toy to tuck next to the baby sleeping blissfully in a basket carrier. The book had no interest for the child, but after her mother said it was okay, she sipped at the milk and kept drinking. Color came back into her cheeks almost immediately, and as the child relaxed, so did the mother. Chocolate milk made the world safe again.
CJ looked up from the papers as Karita returned. Her expression was impassive, but Karita thought she knew that look. CJ really did not want to be here, and not because she had a date or better things to do, or thought she was above it or was being treated unfairly by being forced to help other human beings. She doesn't want to experience this kind of place, Karita thought.
A minute flicker of dark light in CJ's eyes made Karita expand her opinion. She doesn't want to experience this kind of place—again.
CJ didn't know what she had expected, but an evening of making beds and catching up on a backlog of laundry and dishes wasn't it. She deeply wished she'd brought a change of clothes because going up and down the stairs in her business heels was giving her a blister. The money belt filled with fifties from her trip to the bank earlier would be just as hidden under jeans.
The time, however, passed quickly, but chances to talk to Karita were nonexistent. She took it that the night was busy, and the shelter director spent almost all of it with new arrivals in what had been the old house's dining room. She was welcomed by Emily, who looked as disarming as Winnie-the-Pooh, but CJ knew she was decidedly no pushover. Near midnight she was introduced to Pauline, a registered nurse who volunteered at the shelter just on Friday nights. Overall, she did her best not to cause anyone more work. Karita seemed to be everywhere at once, including carrying both the baby and little girl upstairs while the mother with the broken arm trailed absently in their wake.
Not that CJ wanted to flirt or even just chat. There had been a moment when she'd first arrived when she'd thought, irrationally "Oh good, another chance with her." But moments later, aware of the way Karita was evaluating her, she'd realized she just wanted to escape. All her instincts told her that Karita, who looked naïve and trusting, saw and understood far too much.
She could hear her father's training: when you suspect you've been found out, run for it. Karita could put a lot of pieces together. Something about her was too perceptive, and yet, everything about her said she couldn't possibly guess at the life CJ had once led. It still wasn't safe to be around anyone like Karita. Being in this house didn't feel safe, either. She'd gone from one like it to detention, and then to four long years free of the Gathering, but also without freedom to do anything but read, exercise and keep her head down.
She didn't go a day when she didn't feel the Gathering reaching for her, trying to pull her back in. Because nobody ever escaped it. It was not a place, but a state of mind, a way of living. She didn't want to go back to a time in her life when ignoring Aunt Bitty's split lip or her own mother's bruised neck was how normal people behaved. By comparison, Karita's obvious kindness and open heart seemed freakish. CJ had worked too hard to leave it all behind and she didn't want to start thinking of Karita as yet another do-gooder to be shown contempt for the stupidity of caring about people.
She didn't want to be Cassiopeia Juniper Rochambeau, not ever again, and this place made Cassie June seem all too real. She did not want to think or behave the way that had been necessary for Cassie June's survival. Even now, living with the possibility that someday the knock on the door would be a marshal, she had more choices than Cassie June had ever had.
She bent over the hot towels just out of the dryer, and realized her hands were shaking.
"Need help with those?"
"No, I've got it." CJ could feel Karita's gaze on her back. She methodically folded the threadbare bath towels. It was just like life in the Gathering. Back then nothing matched—everything was cobbled together. Sheets from an unguarded coin laundry, a jacket left on the back of a chair. Everything a hand-me-down, and they were proud to be free of any need they couldn't fill themselves. If it couldn't be stolen, it wasn't needed.
"Let me show you where to put those."
CJ followed Karita silently down the long central hall that split the old house in two. They left a few of the towels in a downstairs closet, and carried the rest of the stacks upstairs. Karita excused herself to the communal restroom near the top of the stairs as CJ put the linens on the empty shelf in another large closet. The piles needed a little tidying and she took care of that, then stepped back into the hallway. She was startled by a small but sturdy woman right next to the door—for a moment she was staring at Aunt Bitty's face after Uncle Vaughn had gone on a bender.
She knew how to hold her expression, had learned young that a curl of a lip or a blink of the eyes could draw attention. Nothing in her face moved, so it must have been her eyes that betrayed the rush of memory and fear.
The woman snapped, "Don't stare at me."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not. You got a problem with me?"
CJ sincerely hoped the woman had no kids, because guaranteed the moment her own beatings stopped, she turned around and passed on the pain. "I have no problem with you."
The woman dropped her voice and got eye-to-eye. "You should see the other guy bitch."
CJ leaned forward—it was an old reflex. Never give ground to a bully. A scant inch separated their noses. "I am nobody's bitch."
The woman's arm cocked back and CJ saw it coming. The light in the hallway went red and black as her own arm began to rise, then a flash of silver caught her attention.
"Stop it," Karita said sharply.
It broke the spell of the confrontation and CJ relaxed—then realized a moment too late the other woman was still in attack mode. She ducked the punch and had no time to warn Karita. There was a dull thud, a sharp cry and CJ managed to get her shoulder against the other woman's chest. The struggle was dizzying, but one thing was apparent—the other woman was an amateur. She had no sense of weight or momentum, and she left her kidneys wide open. One sharp strike would have put her on the floor, but CJ managed instead to protect her own head while she shoved the woman backward into the closet. She slammed the door and braced herself against it while the woman cussed a blue streak that no doubt everyone in the
house could hear.
Karita was sprawled on the floor, one hand on her neck. Footsteps thumped up the stairs toward them and Emily looking incongruously like an out-of-breath teddy bear in her brown sweats, arrived at a run. A door slammed and Pauline was hurrying toward them from the far end of the upstairs hall. The door behind CJ's back resounded from the trapped woman's blows.
"What in hell happened? Karita, are you okay, sweetie?" Emily rounded on CJ. "What happened?"
CJ's vision swam as adrenaline abruptly drained out of her. She couldn't find any words. Her mouth wouldn't work.
"Emily, Em." Still holding her neck, Karita said hoarsely, "It's okay. I'm okay." She glanced at Pauline, who was out of breath.
"I'm okay Pauline, just surprised. It's Sonya—she didn't get my face or anything. I'll just have a bruise."
Emily looked back at Karita, then focused again on CJ. "You can move out of the way." CJ did as she was told, and Emily snatched open the closet door and held up an imperious hand. "Sonya! Stop that immediately or I will call the cops."
The woman bellowed, "That bitch started it!"
There were tears in Karita's eyes. I should have let her hit me, CJ thought. I know how to take a punch.
"There's no way Karita started anything with you, and you know it." Emily put her sizeable bulk between Sonya and the rest of them.
"Not that bitch, the other one!"
"I don't care, frankly." Emily said something else, but CJ didn't really have a clue. She did something she'd never done before in her entire life, and had only enough time to think, So this is what it feels like to faint.
She came out of unconsciousness with a start, surging upright and nearly knocking Emily in the mouth with her head. Her heart fluttered in her throat with panic—she'd been completely vulnerable, in front of strangers.
"Hey, hold on."
"Is Karita okay?"
"I'm fine," Karita said from behind her.
CJ tried to sit up all the way, wanting off the dusty patched rugs. There was no sign of Sonya or Pauline.
"Don't get up," Emily said sharply. "You were completely out."
"I know. I'm fine, though. It was just adrenaline." It was the truth, well most of it.
"Has this happened before?"
"Actually, no. I was taken by surprise, that's all. She was spoiling to hit someone. She meant to punch me, not Karita. She might have thought I was one of the other vic—clients because she's a smart enough bully not to attack one of the staff."
"You got toe-to-toe with her. That's what that type will do when challenged. Are you sure you're okay?"
CJ proved it by getting carefully to her feet. "I'm fine."
The woman with one arm in a sling passed them in the hall, shying away from getting too close. She gave CJ a look of sympathy, as if she understood they shared some experiences. Again, CJ thought nothing showed in her expression by way of response, but Emily said quietly, "I'm not sure this is the right place for you to be."
She couldn't help it, she turned her head just enough to glance at Karita. When she returned her gaze to Emily she realized that Emily was watching her very, very closely.
Emily's gaze flicked to Karita and back. "Do you two know each other?"
"No," CJ said.
"Not really," Karita said. "We frequent the same coffee place."
Emily's expression became professionally distant. "I think you're very uncomfortable here."
"Look," CJ said, trying not to sound defensive. "I can fold sheets and wash dishes, vacuum, whatever."
"You're still not comfortable." Emily shifted her weight. She was no Winnie-the-Pooh. Social workers liked to look warm and fuzzy but they weren't. "You see our clients as asking for it, don't you?"
"Nobody deserves the first beating, not even the fifth. But when you go back for the tenth, the twentieth…" CJ realized she'd not meant to say any of that. Why was she trying to argue herself into finishing out her time? Emily was right—this place wasn't for her.
"Then you deserve the twentieth beating?"
"Then you have some responsibility for your actions."
"What if you've got no choice, and you're sure that no matter where you hide, he'll find you and then he'll kill you."
"There's always a choice." She tried not to see Aunt Bitty with that crowbar in her hand.
"Some women no longer believe that. And that makes them stupid, doesn't it?"
"No. Just another permanent victim, soaking up resources and energy that might actually help someone else."
"Our goal here is to get every woman into the recovery system. To show them they have choices that don't include being beaten to death or killing their abusers while they sleep."
CJ blinked and Emily saw it. No doubt Emily thought she knew all about CJ now, but Uncle Vaughn hadn't been asleep. Showers were easier to clean than beds, Aunt Bitty had told her mother. "Does my opinion really matter if I can do the work?"
"I can't afford another scene like that."
"I didn't start it—like I said, she was spoiling to hit someone."
"You don't step toward someone in that mood. You step back."
CJ was certain that had she stepped back, Sonya would have lunged at her. She'd been that ready to fight. She was also certain she'd been in more fistfights than Emily, but it wasn't a credential she wanted to establish. "I'll keep that in mind."
Emily's eyes were a light brown that blended out to purple. Right then the purple was darkening, and CJ could see the attempt being made by Emily to get inside her head. No doubt about it, Emily was good at reading people, and CJ was willing to bet she read men nearly perfectly. Women weren't quite so easy for her, maybe because she was gay and didn't really want to understand how dark a woman's soul could be.
CJ understood women's souls in all their shades of black. "I'm just here to do my time."
For some reason, Emily glanced at Karita. "Well, you're done for the night. I'll have to decide about anything more." Her expression softened slightly. "I'm just not sure this is comfortable for you and above all, this is a safe place for everybody. You might… pay more than you owe."
CJ tried to keep an ironic smile off her face. "That's against my principles."
Emily's gaze hardened. Again, it flicked to Karita and back. "What do your principles say about taking more than you're due?"
"I avoid that, too." She added, sure Emily would understand her meaning, "I don't overreach."
Karita, who had been watching their exchange with her arms crossed over her chest, said quietly, "I'd really like some tea."
"You're going home," Emily said. "No arguments."
"Don't be silly." Karita turned toward the stairs. "It's Friday night."
They were nearly back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. CJ took a moment longer than either of the others to glance at the closed-circuit monitor. A cop and yet another weeping woman stood on the front doorstep.
"I'll go," Karita said.
"No you won't." Emily pointed at the nearest chair. "Sit."
Emily was no sooner out of the kitchen when Karita got up to make tea.
"Let me do that," CJ said.
"I'm not the one who fainted." Karita's voice was still hoarse.
"You're going to have a hell of a bruise tomorrow." CJ watched on the monitor as Emily let the officer and the woman in. After a brief pause, the officer left.
"Tomorrow's Saturday. I can rest my voice."
"Take some anti-inflammatory." CJ couldn't stop staring at the slowly purpling bruise on Karita's throat. Were it not for the rising tide of unwelcome memories she might have offered to kiss it and make it better. But there was nothing flirtatious inside her at the moment, not with the sound of sobbing coming from the dining room.
Karita heard it too. A bleak expression fitted over her expressive face, then it was gone, replaced by something that might have been determination. "I think I'll make tea for everybody."
CJ couldn't think of anything to do but go bac
k to the utility room and resume folding towels. As she creased and stacked she repeated to herself that she was a thousand miles from where she had grown up, and it certainly felt like a thousand years since then, too. She didn't know why she kept thinking about Aunt Bitty, who was probably still alive. Why did she look at these cowed and beaten down women and think of Aunt Bitty? Why didn't they remind her of her mother?
Karita set a steaming mug on the washing machine. "Drink it. I don't care if you don't like sweetened tea."
Karita hurried away before CJ had time to thank her. She loathed sugar in her tea as much as she loved it in her coffee, but she dutifully sipped. She swallowed with great care and realized she was babying her mouth, as if she had a loose tooth or torn inner cheek, or a neck that was sore from being grabbed and shaken. The way she felt inside was like after—she forced her thoughts away from more memories. She was not there, she was here. She was in the here and now and she wasn't hurt. To prove it she took a large gulp and burned the roof of her mouth. Terrific.
She was nearly done with the tea and the towels when Emily said from behind her, "I thought I told you to go home."
"You did. I wanted to finish up at least one chore tonight."
Emily watched CJ work for a moment, then said, "She's off limits."
A bitter laugh escaped CJ before she could catch it back. "I barely know her."
"Good."
"I don't see what you—"
"I don't know you. But I know her. I'll bet that just about no one in your life has any idea that you are a great big open sore. She knows, she can't help but know. God love her, she wants to help the world."
"I don't need help." CJ finished the last towel, then busied her hands making the stacks neater. "And I surely don't need any psychology one-oh-one."
"If that's your choice, that's fine. But don't go sucking empathy out of an amateur when you're ignoring professional advice."
She slowly raised her gaze to meet Emily's and wasn't surprised by the fierce protectiveness she saw there. The pang of envy was sharp and surprising. No one had ever protected her from anything.
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