Divine (3 page)

Emma took a step back. "Bye." The word was quiet, empty.

The white-haired woman looked over her shoulder, and their eyes met. "They'll be just fine. Go ahead to your appointment."

Emma didn't want an appointment. She wanted a fix—and fast. Why was she here, anyway? She took another step back and nodded. "Thank you. I ... I won't be long."

"Take your time. Leah phoned up from the front desk." The woman smiled. "Mary's waiting for you."

Mary Madison.

That was the reason she'd come, wasn't it? Several days ago when Charlie had exploded at her, she'd been desperate for help, desperate for something that would take her and the girls out of the apartment and away from his rage. When he was finished with her, Charlie did what he often did. He sped away and left her moaning on the floor, the girls screaming from their bedroom.

Then she'd taken the girls and gone to stay with a friend, but it was hardly a healthy atmosphere. Her friend sold crack, and Emma spent most of the next four days as high as a kite. She knew that if she stayed there, she'd overdose for sure, and if she went back to Charlie he'd kill her. So this morning, she'd grabbed the yellow pages. She found the heading
Abuse Shelter
and dialed the number before she had time to think.

After an initial discussion with a staff counselor, she had an appointment with Mary.
The
Mary Madison.

Emma turned and headed down the hallway. Mary was the reason she'd come. Everyone in the country knew Mary Madison's story—at least the public details. The woman was always in the news, gaining ground for the city's downtrodden. She was powerful and beautiful, a survivor. No question something had turned life around for Mary, and Emma was curious. But now . . . with her girls safe, the other possibility—getting enough drugs to end it all—loomed even more tempting than meeting Mary Madison.

The door was ten feet away. She had twenty bucks in her pocket. She could buy some cheap crack, take it in an alley somewhere, and be dead in an hour. Her breathing came quicker, shallower, and somewhere deep in her chest her heart skittered into a rhythm too fast to feel.

Do it, Emma . . . end it all. You're worthless. No one needs you.

She put her hands over her ears. The voices had left her alone all morning, but they were back. She gave a quick shake of her head. "Stop!" She hissed the word and waited.

Your girls are better off without you. . . . Leave and don't look hack, Emma. Crack's as close as a cab ride away. . . .

Her hands were damp with sweat, and she wiped them across her jeans.

Don't waste time, Emma. Go!
The voice was shouting at her, laughing at her.

Fine.

No one needed to tell her the obvious. She would go, and • she would take three times the crack she'd ever taken before. No more terrifying nights, no more hiding in the closet with Kami and Kaitlyn, no more longing for a man who couldn't love her without hurting her. She could take the drugs, and an hour from now there would be no more missing her mother and Terrence and the life she'd left behind. No more nightmares or drugs or voices in her head. No more danger for her girls.

Never mind about Mary Madison. She walked to the door and gripped the steel bar.

"Emma?"

She turned and tried to grab a full breath. It was a young woman, a girl no older than twenty. "Yes?"

The girl smiled and held out her hand. "I'm Leah Hamilton. I work at the front desk."

"Oh." Her throat was so dry she barely squeaked the word out. What was the girl doing, stopping her? Emma ran her tongue along the inside of her lips. "Okay."

"You aren't. . . leaving, are you?" Leah looked down at Emma's hand still on the door. "Mary's expecting you." She smiled. "She's looking forward to meeting you."

Air, that's what she needed. She pushed the door open a crack and sucked in a partial breath. The whole time she kept her eyes on Leah's. "I . . . I'm not feeling well." She could get away from this girl. Slip out, grab a taxi, and be dead before lunchtime, right? No one would know the difference.

Go, Emma. Run and don't look back. You're worthless. . . . What good are you doing anyone by staying alive? Better dead than living your life. . . . Everyone you know will be better off without
—

The voices were incessant. Emma pushed the door farther, but Leah stepped around her and opened it before she had a chance. "Let's stand out here together." She patted Emma's shoulder. "The first time's always the hardest."

"It is?"

"Yes." Leah was pretty, and something in her eyes spoke to the dark places in Emma's soul. "It's easy to convince yourself you shouldn't be here. You're not worth the time." Leah looked intently at her. "Know what I mean?"

The voices were silent. "Y-y-yes. I think so." Emma hugged herself and tried to stop shivering. It was summer after all. Eighty degrees and sunny. Did Leah know what she'd been thinking? Were the voices in her head loud enough for even a stranger to hear? She watched an empty cab drive by, the cab that could've taken her to another part of the city, where the drugs would be a sure thing. But with Leah standing here . . . what would it hurt, meeting with Mary? Just this once. She could take a cab and get the drugs later.

"Emma?" Leah's voice was gentle. She leaned closer, searching her eyes, her heart. "Did you just leave the man who's been hurting you?"

"A little while ago. I . . . stayed at a friend's house until I came here."

Leah took a step in the direction of the door. "Emma, you ready?"

"Yes." Fear put its icy fingers around her throat.

You're nothing but trash, Emma.

"Come on." Leah held out her hand. "I'll take you to Mary."

Emma squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
"
I cant . . ."

"You can." Leah took her hand and led her back inside.

The fight left as quickly as it had come. Tears flooded Emma's eyes, and she felt her body go limp. What was she thinking? She couldn't kill herself, could she? What would happen to Kami and Kaitlyn?

When they were inside, Leah let go of her hand but stayed next to her. "Mary's office is just down the hall."

Emma blinked so she could see. Leah was taking small steps, hardly making progress, and still it took every bit of Emma's energy to move her feet. She looked up and met Leah's eyes. "Is it. . . always this hard?"

"Often." Leah stopped outside a plain door. "But I can tell you this. No matter how hard it feels, no matter what you've been through, Mary's been there." She offered the slightest sad smile. "You'll like her, Emma. Give this a chance, okay?"

Emma was shaking again, but at least the voices were quiet. She didn't have the strength to speak, not when fear was clamping its fingers on her throat, making words impossible. Instead she nodded and watched as Leah opened the door. It was too late now. She couldn't run even if she wanted to, couldn't think about getting a cab and driving a few blocks away, going to the nearest alley and—

"Mary?" Leah leaned inside. "Emma's here."

From the other side of the door came a voice that was as kind as it was strong. "Thank you, Leah. Send her in."

Emma managed to get inside, and suddenly she was hit by a force that shook her to the core. She dropped to the chair closest to her, and only then did she look into the eyes of the woman with the face America knew so well. "Hi," Emma said weakly.

"Emma." Mary stood from the sofa opposite Emma's chair and held out her hand. "I'm glad you came."

"Yes, ma'am." They were the only words she could manage. Even still, her next breath stopped in her throat. Mary was far more beautiful in person. As she sat back down Emma was struck by her appearance. The woman had delicate features framed by long golden curls and the most brilliant blue eyes she'd ever seen. But that wasn't what made it hard to catch her breath. It was something deeper that came from inside the woman and filled the room. Whatever it was, Emma didn't recognize it.

Mary sat on the edge of the sofa, and their eyes met. "I read your file, Emma." She reached for a folder, never breaking eye contact. "You need help. That's why I'm here."

Emma produced a slight nod. Mary was dressed in a navy jacket and pants with a white blouse. Clothes that could've belonged to someone uppity. But the woman across from her was as welcoming as a summer breeze.

"I've asked God to lead us today." Mary set the folder on her lap. "You don't want to talk, do you?"

"No." Emma felt another chill. "How . . . did you know?"

Mary's voice grew softer. "I've sat in your seat, Emma. You think there's no way out of the nightmare." She put her hand on Emma's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Every once in a while God asks me to give a battered woman space, time. So instead of telling me your story, why don't we start with mine?"

"Yours?" There it was, the strange rush of emotions, the feeling she couldn't identify. She had figured Mary would demand the details of her life the minute they got started. Details she wasn't ready to share. She had never thought for a moment that they would start with Mary's story. The muscles at the base of her neck relaxed some. "That. . . that would be good."

Mary leaned back in the sofa. "See, Emma, I was just like you not that many years ago. Life wasn't worth living. But then—" her eyes glowed from a place deep inside her—"I met the love of my life. And everything—absolutely everything—changed."

Emma sat very still. Thoughts of taxi cabs and drug overdoses faded from her mind. She nodded. "Tell me about that."

"One condition." Mary searched Emma's eyes, her heart, and her soul. "It'll take several sessions to tell you the whole story." She hesitated. "You have to promise me that you and your girls will stay here at the shelter and you'll keep coming until I finish the story." She gave a sideways nod. "Along the way we might talk about you, but only as much as you're ready for."

Emma blinked. Could she do that? Could she stay here with strangers when Charlie must be desperate for her to come home? She looked out the window. And what about the voices? They were right, weren't they? Several sessions? Days and nights at the shelter? She wasn't worth the time. Mary must have a hundred more important things she needed to do. Why should she think she was worth anything when—

"I want to make something clear to you." Mary's voice was pleasant, but it demanded her attention.

Emma lifted her eyes to the woman across from her once more.

Mary studied her. "Jesus saved me for one reason."

The shaking was back. "One reason?"

"Yes." Her tone softened. "To share my story with women like you."

The chill passed from Emma's shoulders straight down her spine. Had she known? Like Leah earlier, Mary seemed to sense the exact thoughts screaming at her. "You're . . . busy."

Mary folded her hands and smiled. Again the feeling that Emma couldn't identify filled the room. "I work for God, but this is what I live for. I mean that." Mary waited a few beats. "Do I have your promise?"

Emma gritted her teeth. She was curious, almost desperate to know about Mary, what she'd been freed from, what led to her very public life now. If it meant keeping the voices at bay for a few days, so be it. And if sharing her story was what Mary lived for, well, then . . . "Okay. You have my word."

You're a liar, Emma. You don't mean it. You're worth nothing. Tomorrow you can find a dealer and buy what you need and
—

"All right then, let's pray and then we can get started." Mary's voice fell a notch. "Every time I tell this story, God works a miracle. The same will be true for you, Emma." She placed her hand over her heart. "I can feel it."

Emma didn't really hear the prayer, couldn't focus on the words coming from Mary's mouth. But as soon as she started praying, the voices stopped again. And once more the feeling filled the room, working its way through Emma's fingertips and skin, easing its way to the center of her soul.

As the prayer ended, Mary looked up and took a deep breath. And in that instant, Emma suddenly knew what the feeling was—the sense she'd had from the moment she walked into the room. It was something she hadn't felt in four years, since she walked out on her mother and everything good about life. It was a feeling she never expected to feel again, foreign and welcome all at the same time.

The feeling was hope.

There was no way to tell her story without starting at the beginning, back in the days before even Mary was aware that the story had started. From that vantage point, the pieces fit together and made a tapestry, a picture that belonged to the women God brought into her life. The first part had less to do with Mary and more to do with Grandma Peggy.

Peggy Madison, who was still closer to Mary than any other person, the only family she had.

Even so, Mary wouldn't spend a long time talking about Grandma Peggy. Emma was edgy, her eyes flitting around the room, checking the door every few minutes. Mary gripped the arm of the sofa. Urgency filled her soul and pushed her to tell the story—all the sad and unbelievable details—as quickly as possible without losing Emma along the way. She stood and poured cups of water for both of them from the pitcher on her desk. She looked at Emma as she took her seat on the sofa. "Comfortable?"