Pull (Push #2) (21 page)

Chapter 33

After Anna

I am standing on this bridge, filled with a deep and logical clarity. A sense of satisfaction that is at once wildly arousing and yet also completely calming. It’s a feeling that is untamed and yet perfectly justified. It’s pure and righteous and unfiltered. It could even be called epic, if only in a private and convenient kind of way. What I did was right. It was the only thing that could lighten her. It was the only thing that could bring peace. To both of us. This needed to happen. For Anna. And for me.

While it’s true that it’s the end—the end of a person who lived beneath a constant, all-consuming shadow of paranoia and fear—it’s also a beginning. A release. A liberation. This is the only thing that could free her of the burden her own mind had become. Her acceptance of this as the truth was the best thing that could have happened to her. It was the thing that made it right. The thing that validated all of it. The thing that, in the end, truly set her free.

But her acknowledgement of this reality wasn’t made with words; it didn’t have to be. It was made as relief washed over her face when I told her that doing this would make Thomas go away. It was made the moment I saw a glimpse of real freedom in her eyes. The moment I saw the first hint of solidness and sanity and strength I’ve ever seen in her. It was made the second she believed my promise. My promise that Thomas would leave her alone. If she would just jump.

It brought me pleasure, yes, but not just for the control and power in the actual act of pushing her, but also because I know it was the right thing to do. I know Anna wanted this. I saw it on her face. Read it in her eyes. She’s been walking a precarious line her whole life, ready to fall off the edge at any moment. All I wanted to do was fix it. All I wanted to do was bring her peace. At first, I tried with my words. I told her Thomas wasn’t around anymore. I told her he was gone. I told her I got him evicted. But she didn’t believe me. She told me he followed her everywhere. So then, when it was clear that my words didn’t work, I tried with my actions. I moved in with her. I watched over her. I made sure she took her medication. I met with her therapist, Dr. Schreiber, every week and we talked about her, about what I could do to help. I lied and told her I was talking to him about what happened with Jenny, when I was really seeing him in an effort to help unchain her from her mental imprisonment. From the imaginary shackles created by a man who didn’t even exist.

She was always angry at me for not believing her. For not believing that Thomas was real, so I made shit up in an effort to comfort her. I told her I saw his camera aimed at her window. I told her the police found videotapes of her. I told her he was sent away. When the reality was that Thomas existed only in her head. I just wanted her to feel less alone. Less crazy. Less insane. I thought that if I could validate her fears, maybe they would go away. I listened to Dr. Schreiber, too. I did everything he told me to do. I tried to help her in every way I could. But nothing ever worked. Nothing ever brought relief to her face. Nothing ever made the fear and paranoia go away. Nothing ever made her right inside. Not until I told her to jump. Not until I told her that Thomas would see us, and he would believe she was gone. It was then that I saw it all disappear. I saw all the worry and all the suspicion drain from her face. I saw the relief she’s always wanted.

Looking down into the water, I wonder why didn’t I just leave her when things got bad. Why did I even allow myself to get drawn into her life in the first place? I ask myself these things, but the truth is, I already know the answers. Because I truly thought I could make things right for her. I thought I could make a difference. I thought I could convince her brain to switch to normalcy, to turn off the paranoia and feel okay again. But it didn’t work. Nothing ever worked. I fought to save her, and I swear to God, until two weeks ago, I never once considered pushing her. I never once anticipated this moment. Not like with the others. She needed me. Anna needed me in a way that no one ever had before, and something about that enabled me to keep myself in line. To forget how epically pleasurable this moment might be.

I decided this was the only real answer about two weeks ago, when Anna tried to scratch off her own face in an effort to “ugly herself” and turn Thomas away. But until today, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s strange how, with the others,
I
needed to do it.
I
needed to control that perfect moment. But with Anna,
she
needed me to do it.
She
needed me to make this decision for her because she couldn’t make it herself. She was incapable of saving herself, of handing down her own judgment, of making her own best decision. So I did it for her.

The happy twist in my gut I felt when I pushed Sarah and the others came from dominance and control and my own dark need. I know that. I’ve always known that. But with Anna it feels…I don’t know.
Holy.
It feels true and unpolluted and right, like I’m some sort of liberating savior, like I put a small, powerful grain of peace into her brain. Like I was finally strong enough to settle her, at long last.

As I walk away from the bridge, my last thought is that I won’t miss her. I won’t mourn her like another man would. I won’t be sad about not having her in my life anymore. After Jenny, I’m incapable of all that. I’m incapable of caring about anyone enough to feel sad when they’re gone. I banished sadness from my life, and it’s the best decision I ever made. Maybe that’s why I stayed with Anna. Maybe that’s why I wanted to fix her so badly. Because I knew it wouldn’t—
couldn’t—
make me sad, no matter what happened. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally accepted that my mother’s kind of love doesn’t exist and having someone who needs you is the only other thing that will get you through to tomorrow.

I’m going to start over. As soon as the dust settles from all of this, I’m going to pack up and get the hell out of here. I’m going to move far away and begin again. I’m going to pull myself up and put down a new set of roots in a new city. It will be a place where I can work on finding myself. A place where, just maybe, I can maintain enough order and direction to keep on going. To keep my chin up and remember who I am. Remember I’m not just some carpenter who needs to do this
thing,
but I’m also a person with hard-bitten edges and a smashed-up soul. Just like everyone else, I’m looking for forgiveness and purpose far beyond the
things
I do. I’m looking for the real me.

Chapter 34

David—Present Day

Tonight was a rousing success, and it isn’t even over. It’s three a.m. and all but a few players have left. Carl spent most of the evening in the back room, sucking God-knows-what up his nose. The smile on his face when he finally sat down at a table tells me that the idea of our move is growing on him. I took mercy on the man and laid off him a little tonight. When he asked me to put into the game, I told him I was out for the night. No cards for me. He didn’t even look disappointed. I think he actually managed to leave with a couple grand in his pocket. That should settle him down…for a while anyway.

As I make my way over to the last remaining table of players, Xavier and two other guys come in. Cameron is working the door, and he tips his chin at me as they walk in, knowing exactly why they are here. I put my hand on the back of the dealer’s shoulder and whisper “last hand” into her ear before motioning for Xavier to follow me into the back.

“When you boys gonna let us join your little game?” Xavier asks when we get to the back office.

“You know that’s not going to happen.” I turn to meet his eyes. “That wasn’t part of the agreement with Ray. Unless you want out of that agreement now that he’s gone?”

“We don’t want out.”

“Good,” I say. “Then the deal stands.” I walk around the desk, feeling confident and relaxed, and open a drawer, taking out their share of tonight’s money. I hand Xavier the envelope, and he briefly flips through the cash inside.

“Nice doing business with you,” he says with a smile.

“You, too.” I tilt my head to the side and reach out to shake his hand. I don’t think he’ll push me on anything ever again. All it took was a wad of cash for him to realize it’s too good a deal for him to fuck up. “See you next week.”

After I walk Xavier out, we start to clean up. Hannah and the other servers are busy chattering about how many tips they pulled in tonight. They all seem to have done very well, and when Brad hands each of them their night’s pay, I can’t help but feel good. Some of them have kids at home. Hannah takes care of her disabled brother. I’m not used to feeling proud, but the fact that this game is putting food in people’s mouths somehow makes everything right. I slip my hands into my pockets and lean against the back wall, watching all the girls saying their goodbyes. A few of them look over and give me a small smile before heading out the door. I nod back at them in appreciation. True appreciation. Because I trust each and every one of them to keep their mouths shut about what happens here every Tuesday night. I appreciate the fact that sometimes they have to put up with drunk assholes, and now they’ll have to deal with high ones, too. But never for long, because asshole behavior will send you to the curb in short order, no matter what its source. Still, every week, I’m impressed by what they put up with.

My train of thought eventually leads me to Nikki and all she’s had to tolerate in her life. Bad choices aside, she was probably barraged with asshole behavior from every corner of her life, and from every man she’s ever known. Once again, I’m left hoping she’s happy now. Wherever she is.

And then Emma enters my mind, and I think about her relationship with her stepfather and her brothers, and how damaged she still is because of it. I don’t think that kind of pain ever goes away. The burden of those memories will always be hers. It will always weigh her down. But I feel good knowing that no one will ever hurt her again. Because I won’t let them. I will always find a way to protect her. The last bit of hurt she’ll ever feel comes from that damned backpack in my closet. For a brief second I consider setting fire to it, so I know it can never hurt her, but I know that what’s inside is hers and not mine. She deserves to decide what happens to it, not me. It’s her decision to make.

By the time we finish counting and I get back to Emma’s apartment, it’s nearly five in the morning. I decide I’m just going to stay awake until she gets up for work, but I’m so damn tired that the moment I sit down on her couch, I fall asleep.

                            -------------------------------------------------------------------

I wake up Wednesday morning to the sound of Emma’s apartment door closing. The source of the noise doesn’t register at first and a minute or so passes before I lift myself off her couch and look out the window. I see her out there, walking through the parking lot on her way to the bus stop, her bag swinging from her shoulder and her hair skimming across her upper back. Her pace is hurried, like she might be running a few minutes late. I smile at how gracefully she moves. I’ve only slept for two hours, and the desire to drop myself back onto her couch and return to unconsciousness is overwhelming. But I would much rather sleep in her bed than on her couch. I turn away from the window to walk back to her bedroom when I see a note on the table.

Hey.

Hope the game went well last night. Can’t wait to hear all about it. Can you pick me up at work tonight? I have a surprise for you. Text me and let me know.

Love you,

E.

I don’t like surprises. But I have a feeling this one may be a little different. I pull my phone from my pocket and text my reply as I walk back to the bedroom.

Yes.

I take my jeans and T-shirt off and climb into Emma’s bed, into a cocoon of warmth that smells, and feels, just like her. I’m about to close my eyes when my phone vibrates from inside my pocket. I reach down to the floor and fish it out.

You’re awake?

Barely.

Hope I didn’t make too much noise.

No. Just wanted to move to the bed.

Smart. U didn’t look too comfy on the sofa.

I was going to try to stay awake to c u, but that didn’t work out so well.

I guess not.

So what’s this surprise u speak of?

Not telling.

Is it a new throw rug for the Bat Cave?

Nope…it’s far better than that.

What could be better than a new throw rug?

You’ll see.

I don’t like surprises.

I know, but don’t worry, you’ll like this one.

Is that so?

Yes.

Okay then. I’ll see you at 6:00.

Sweet dreams.

Always of you.

Gag.

But u never gag…it’s one of my favorite things about u.

And I never will.

Atta girl.

Love you.

Best.

Once again, the cheesy smile on my face efficiently knocks my reputation down yet another notch, even though I know no one is looking. I shake my head, put my phone on mute, and set it on Emma’s dresser. The instant my head hits the pillow, I’m out.

                                          -------------------------------------------------------

I manage to make it downtown by 5:30 and Emma exits the building at precisely 6:05. She’s walking side-by-side with Matt. I’m double-parked in my favorite spot, leaning against the front fender when I see him turn to Emma and put his hand on her upper arm, rubbing it up and down. Like he’s trying to comfort her about something. She looks up at him, straightening herself and hoisting her bag farther up onto her shoulder. A second later, they split off from each other, Matt walking quickly toward the parking garage and Emma heading over to me. I wonder what’s going on.

When Emma gets close enough, I can see she’s upset about something. I leave my perch against the car and walk toward her. When we meet, she wraps her hands around my waist and leans into me.

“What’s up? You look upset.”

“It wasn’t a very good day, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

“Oh,” I say sympathetically. “That sucks.”

“Yeah, it kinda does.” She pulls back and looks up at me. “But it had to happen sometime, I guess.”

“Shit happens, Emma. Even to the best of us.” I slather on my best charming smile in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I know,” she says, returning my efforts with an overdramatic, childish pout.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home so you can surprise me.”

And there it is. Her smile. Sweet and sacred and healing. It’s only there for a second before I bend down and cover her mouth with mine, soothing and energizing her all at once. She kisses me back hard, like she wants to suck the love right out of me. It’s hers to take.

When the kiss ends, I separate my hands and drop one against the small of her back, leading her over to the car and opening the door. I can feel the heat of her skin through her shirt. It makes me hope her surprise is something that involves the countless perks and indescribable benefits I promised her. With maybe some unholy acts thrown in for good measure. Still, a part of me wishes she didn’t have any surprise at all. And not just because I don’t like them. It’s just that her surprise is making it a hell of a lot harder for me to show her that damned backpack. And it’s making the significance of my own future words all the more burdensome. I hope I can manage to find the right ones. I hope I can tell her what she needs to hear without lighting a whole new fire.

On the drive home I tell her all about the game last night. We talk about Brad and how he handled his temporary shunning, and about how I think he and Matt “made up” because I saw them talking by the bar. She must have forgotten her work troubles because she’s bubbling over with smiles and flirting with me like we’re on our first date. I’m glad her mood has improved. I’m only sorry I might be the one responsible for changing it in a few hours. I have to do it tonight, though, because she needs to know. And I need to get it over with before insanity sets in. In the meantime, I put the thought out of my head and try to focus on enjoying right now.

I start prodding her for her surprise the moment we pull into the parking lot of our building.

“So what’s your big surprise?” I ask as I put the car into park.

“You have to wait until we get inside,” she says, unbuckling her seat belt. I get out as quickly as I can and walk around to her side of the car, opening the door and watching her climb out.

“Come on now, let’s get moving.” I jokingly push her toward the door with my hand at her back.

“Slow down there, champ. What’s the big rush? I thought you didn’t like surprises?”

“I’m thinking this one might be different,” I say as we climb the steps to her apartment.

“Great expectations can sometimes lead to great disappointments,” she says sassily, unlocking her door and switching on the lights.

“
Nothing
you do is ever going to disappoint me.” As I say the words, I stop her, turn her face toward mine, and cup her cheeks in my hands. I mean every word. There is nothing she could do that would let me down. I rub my thumbs across the arch of her cheeks, and she exhales a warm breath against my wrists.

“That’s good to know,” she says, stretching up on her tiptoes to plant a small, hot kiss on my lips just as I let go of her face. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” As I watch her walk down the hallway, I think again about the grown-up me. About how she’s forming him, molding him out of the old me with her attention and forgiveness. By giving me a new sense of self-worth. A new sense of purpose. A new epic. Gratification washes over me yet again as the old me takes a single step backward, into the shadows, and the grown-up me takes another baby step forward.

I don’t even make it to the couch before Emma is back in the room, standing in front of me with an impish grin on her lips and a large brown paper bag in her hands.

“Here.” She lifts the bag and holds it out to me. “I hope you like it.”

“What’s this?” I take the bag out of her hands. But I already know what it is. It’s a gift. And the thing is, it’s the first gift anyone has given me in a very long time. It doesn’t even matter what’s in the bag. The symbolism in it is all I need. The tangible gift isn’t the one that matters.

But I can see that whatever’s in this bag matters to her because she’s bouncing up and down like it’s Easter morning and her faith in the Easter Bunny has yet to be spoiled by some 5th-grade jackass on the school bus. “Go ahead,” she prods. “Open it.”

I walk over to her table and set the bag down, unfolding the top edge and looking inside. I reach down into the bag and pull out what’s inside.

“Whoa,” I say, stretching a totally kickass black leather tool belt out between my hands. I wonder immediately where it came from.

“Do you like it?”

“Hell yeah.” It’s so much better than the worn, brown one I’ve used for the past six years. “Where’d you get it?”

“A little bird told me about this guy who makes them by hand. I had it shipped to my office yesterday.”

“A little bird, huh?”

She smiles at me and nods her head.

“Clive?” I ask.

She nods her head again. “When I asked him for some ideas on Saturday, he told me he and Barbara were tired of looking at your raggedy old belt. He said it was too saggy for a nice young man like you, and if you’re not careful, one of these days that old belt is going to drag your pants clean off and leave you more naked than the jaybird you’ve got on your arm.”