pulled the door open, letting in a rush of warm city air and traffic noise.
All at once, Jeannie froze. She dropped into a crouch. The cigarette fell.
Beth ran forward before she could think. She grabbed Jeannie and pulled her backward and upright at the same time.
“He’s here!” Jeannie twisted like she was trying to escape Beth’s hold and beat her palm frantically against Beth’s shoulder. “He’s here!”
Beth peered past her mother to try to see between the bars of the balcony railing. She could just see the car parked across the street, right under the streetlight. A thin, familiar shadow leaned against the driver’s side door, not even trying to hide. Smoke rose in pale spirals from the cigarette in his fingers.
Beth lunged past her mother and yanked her phone out of her pocket at the same time.
“No! Beth!”
Beth did not listen. She pressed herself right up against the balcony railing.
Across the street, her father lifted his head.
Beth held up the phone and flashed a picture. And another.
Dad pushed himself away from the car. He pitched his cigarette aside. Slowly, without any sign of concern, he raised his index finger and traced a wavering line down through the air in front of him. An answering shudder ran down the inside of Beth’s arm, starting at the scar, reminding her how he’d touched her. Reminding her how easily he could make her bleed.
Todd climbed casually into the car and started the engine.
Beth flashed another picture as it drove away. She meant to check it right away, to see if she got the license plate, but she became aware of a low moaning behind her.
Jeannie huddled on the couch, her face pressed against her hands.
“He’ll be back,” Jeannie wailed. “He’s not gonna stop.” She lifted her face, and Beth saw her tears shining against her ashy skin. “He won’t ever stop. Not until somebody’s dead.”
Beth stared at her, caught between simple, sour anger and a stirring of new feeling she did not want.
“I’ve screwed everything up,” Jeannie whispered. “I should have never…He’s gonna be so mad, Star. Beth. So mad. He’ll come after you. Even if I go back now, he will, because he knows you helped me. ”
Beth stared down at her, trying desperately to pull herself back from the fragile sympathy unfurling inside.
Because it’s a trap, same as always.
“I have to get out of here. I can’t stay. I can’t…he’ll kill you. He’ll kill Dana.”
Jeannie teetered to her feet and stumbled to the door. She scrabbled at the chain and the lock.
It’s not real, Beth told herself, even as she moved to her mother’s side.
“Stop, Mom.” Beth laid her hand on her mother’s and felt how cold it was.
“I can’t. He won’t. Not until somebody’s dead.”
“I know.”
Slowly, with stiff, jerking movements, Beth wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders. She felt Jeannie’s shoulder blades press against the pulse points on her wrists.
I remember.
She remembered wanting this and missing this—this press of this sinewy body, this scent, the prickle of Jeannie’s wiry hair against her cheek—everything that came with the simple act of holding someone and being held. She was five. She was eight. She was ten. She was thirteen and fourteen, and she knew everything this woman was and knew a single moment changed nothing. But she still wanted her mother’s embrace.
She’d told herself this need was a sickness, like an addiction. It was brainwashing and Stockholm syndrome and a dozen other mental pathologies. It was anything and everything, except love. It could not ever be love.
“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Beth whispered. “First thing tomorrow, we’re getting you out of here. The Haven House shelter has room and—”
Jeannie stiffened. “I can’t go there.”
“You’ll be safe. I know these people. A friend of mine does their fundraising. I was able to—”
“No. I can’t.” Jeannie was shaking, patting her pockets, rummaging for a cigarette. “They’ll shut me up and tell me all the things I can’t do. Probably won’t even let me smoke.” She looked at her fingers, where the cigarette had been.
Beth refused to take the hint.
“They’ll get you help. If you want to get away from Todd, you’re going to have to start thinking about how you’ll survive.” She let those words sit. Jeannie stuffed her hand back into her pocket, and Beth watched her fist flex and curl.
“You’re really going to hand me over to a bunch of strangers?” whispered Jeannie. “You owe me!”
Here we go. Beth felt the strange urge to smile. This was the woman she understood.