Thou Shalt Not (25 page)

“April, what’s wrong?” I said, standing up. I began pacing around as she continued to cry. I asked her once more what was wrong, and I could tell she was trying to get words out.

“He...hit...me,” she said, and then repeated herself, seeming bewildered.

Oh god. That bastard.

“April, where are you? Are you okay?”

I could tell she was driving, and the sound seemed muffled because she was probably talking to me through her car’s speakers.

“Yeah. I’m...okay,” she said.

“Where are you, April?” I asked, walking circles around my living room.

“I’m just driving,” she replied. “I’m not even sure where I am.”

I immediately thought of getting in my car and going to find her. But then what did I plan on doing? Just hang out with her next to each other’s cars? No.

“April, come over to my house,” I finally said. I didn’t give myself time to question what I was saying, or rethink it. I just said it.

“What?” she said, still in a daze.

“Drive to me. You can just stay with me until you’re okay.”

“Are you...I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m insisting. Come over now. You don’t need to be driving around like this.”

I didn’t know where she was, so I asked her if she could make it to the school from where she was. She said yes, she probably could, so I gave her the simple directions from the school to my house.

“Okay, I think I can do that,” she said.

I heard a loud beeping sound on her end.

“Marco is calling,” she said, and her voice went up and filled with tears again.

“Don’t answer it,” I said.

“What?”

“Don’t answer him. Drive over here. You aren’t going to talk to him like this. You can use a little time to cool off, breathe, think. Then, if you want to call him or answer his calls, you can.”

“Okay,” she replied.

I heard the beeping again. And she started sobbing.

“April, you are going to be okay. Just get to me. Everything is going to be fine. He can’t hit you if you are with me.”

“Okay,” she said again, as if trying to will herself to believe it.

I made her tell me where she was, and what she was seeing, and I directed her accordingly. I had no intention of hanging up until she was in my driveway.

When she got into my neighborhood, I walked outside so I could wave her down when she neared my house. I had fallen asleep in my Rays’ shirt and had forgotten to change it.

I saw her headlights as she turned onto my street. I tossed my third toothpick of the night into the bushes and stuck my hands in my pockets.
She’s not yours. Don’t touch her.

She parked, got out of the car, and I saw the swelling under her eye immediately. He really did hit her. That motherfucker had dared to lay hands on April. If I didn’t hate him before, I did with every fiber of my being now. I had half a mind to tell him to come over here, take on someone his own size. I had been worried he would beat the shit out of me if he ambushed me while I was at his home. But, in a fair fight without the element of surprise, I knew I could kick his ass. And I wanted to.

“Oh my god,” I said. “Come here.”

I reached my arms toward her, and she fell into them. I could feel the tears soaking my shirt right away, and her body trembled and shook with fear or anger or sadness. Or all of the above. I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter. Because she was safe now. In my arms.

We stood like that for a few minutes. I just held her while she cried. You have those moments where you feel like you need to say something, reassure a person, but no words come. And it was usually during those times that I have found that words wouldn’t suffice anyway. Silence was sometimes the best option, and so I held her quietly and listened to her cry.

Her head was buried into my neck, and my hands rubbed her shoulders and arms in a continual motion. The more I did it, the calmer she seemed to get and the sobs lessened.

“Let’s get you inside,” I said.

We turned toward the house and I walked her in, my arms still around her. It had been a long time since I had my arms wrapped around a woman like this, but it felt good with April, despite the circumstances. It felt natural.

She sat down on the couch and I went to the freezer to find something to put on her cheek, underneath her eye. I wanted the swelling to go down. Thankfully, I had a plethora of ice packs in my freezer that I had used for the various sports injuries I sustained during softball, baseball, tennis, and all the other sports I recreationally participated in. I always joked with myself that you could tell how old a person was by the number of ice packs they had in their freezer.

I brought one back, and knelt down in front of her. Her head was in her hands, so I gently took hold of them and pulled them away. She leaned her head back and saw the ice pack, wincing almost involuntarily.

“It’ll help,” I said, and then softly pressed it against her cheek. Her hand fell over mine, holding it against the ice pack against her cheek. The sensation was bizarre because her hand, her body heat, was pouring through her touch, and the cold of the other side was a stark contrast.

I got up and sat next to her, putting my right arm around her and pulling her toward me. My left hand was still holding the ice pack and being held by her right hand. She rested the left side of her head on my right shoulder, and we sat there in silence.

Her phone vibrated in her lap and she flinched. I could see that Marco was calling again.

“Turn the sound and vibration off,” I said.

She lowered her left hand from my hand and did what I had instructed.

“Now throw your phone over there,” I said, gesturing to a stack of pillows near the couch.

She quickly obeyed.

Her tears had stopped, as had her shaking, and I could tell she was regaining control over her emotions. Now, I could ask what had made him hit her.

“What happened?” I said.

Her head didn’t move from my shoulder when she spoke.

“He came home and was mad. I could hear him in the kitchen clanging bottles around. I think he was already drunk when he got home.”

“What did you say to him? Anything?”

“I went downstairs and stood in the kitchen, watching him. He said, ‘What the fuck are you looking at, bitch?’ and I told him to keep his voice down because the kids were sleeping.”

He had called his wife a bitch. There wasn’t a word I hated more in the English language than bitch, and I hated anyone who used it when talking to a woman.

“Then what happened?”

“He threw a bottle of rum at me. It hit the floor by my feet.”

She was wearing sandals and lifted her feet up. I could see where the glass had cut her. They weren’t deep cuts, and the blood had already dried.

“April—” I said, rubbing a hand over my face. I was trying hard not to lose it.

“I yelled at him. And then he told me to keep my voice down. Then I got angry.”

“What did you do?”

“I asked him what the hell his problem was. Then I asked him why he was such an asshole.”

“I imagine he didn’t take that well,” I said.

She breathed in deeply.

“No. He said I was stupid and didn’t know what I was talking about. Said I didn’t have a fucking clue what he was going through. I told him I saw what he did, and I was tired of him embarrassing his family like that, told him he was just a kid throwing a tantrum every time things didn’t go his way.”

“Is that when he hit you?”

“No. He told me to shut the fuck up. And I antagonized him. I shouldn’t have, but I did. I asked him if he was going to throw a baseball at my head like he did to the guy from Baltimore. Or if he was going to pick up a water cooler and throw it at me like he did to the manager.”

“God.”

“Then he told me if I knew what was best for me I would shut up, or he would make sure I shut up.”

She paused.

“What did you say?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

She sighed.

“I told him to take the bottle of tequila he was holding and go fuck himself with it.”

I had to fight down a smile. I was impressed with her bravery to go toe-to-toe with him. But, maybe it was more that she had reached the end of her rope and was over it all.

“And that’s when he hit you?”

“That’s when he hit me.”

“Has he ever hit you before?” I asked.

“No. Never. I didn’t think he would. That’s what surprised me. I was scared when he did.”

“That’s when you left?”

“Yeah. I fell backwards when he hit me and I landed on the ground. He backed away because I think he took himself by surprise. I called him a motherfucker and he got angry again, said next time I won’t be talking. Then he lunged at me as I was getting up. Thankfully he was drunk and missed. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.”

“What about the kids? You don’t think he would hurt them?”

“God, no. He won’t lay a finger on them. He won’t even spank them when they get in trouble. If I thought he would have harmed them, I would have gotten them and left.”

She lifted her head off my shoulder and pulled my hand off of hers, taking the ice pack with it.

I took her chin into my left hand and gently pulled it toward me, letting me see the swelling.

“He definitely left a mark,” I said. “But the ice seems to be helping.”

“Thank God this didn’t happen on a school night,” she said.

I was tempted to laugh. The fact that in her condition she had even thought to say that was probably a good sign, and also a good indicator of her personality.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” I asked.

“Water,” she said.

I had placed my cell phone on the kitchen counter when I had walked in with her, and as I filled a glass of water for April I noticed I had gotten a message.

Holly.

God, she was going to be here in an hour. What was I going to do? I certainly wasn’t going to kick April out and send her back to her insane husband. “My fuck buddy is coming over” didn’t seem like an acceptable reason to send a battered woman back onto the streets. But, what was I going to tell Holly? “My beautiful coworker just got beat up and threatened by her husband and her first thought was to call me so I invited her over and now she’s here and I am holding her on the couch…” That wasn’t going to fly either. Fuck.

I took the water over to her, and she took it with her left hand, the one not holding the ice pack. She took a few sips and then handed it back to me.

“Can I use your restroom?” she asked. “I really want to wash my face.”

“Of course,” I said, pointing her toward the bathroom.

I took the glass from her and set it down on the counter, picking my phone up.

Can’t wait to see you tonight
, the text from Holly read.
I am wet just thinking about you.

Oh my god. I had to think of a lie. And fast.

This is perfect
, I thought myself.

April was out of the bathroom rather quickly, her face looking clean and her cheek somehow looking less puffy.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and excused myself to the bathroom, telling her I had too much water at the game.

Considering how closely my face had been to hers earlier, and how she was in the general vicinity of my breath, I decided brushing my teeth wouldn’t be a bad idea either. I brushed quickly and then pulled out the phone.

Hey
, I typed, beginning the text.
I hate to do this to you, but I ate something funky at the game tonight. I’ve already puked once and I feel like shit. I might just lie down and try to sleep. Can we raincheck...?

I knew she was obviously working, so I had no idea when she would be able to read the text and respond. Knowing my luck, her phone would die before she could read my message, and she would just drive on over, thinking plans hadn’t changed.

I pocketed the phone and walked back out into the living room. April was looking through my book and movie collection, which was alphabetically arranged in the bookshelf.

“I can’t believe you own this movie,” she said, holding up my copy of
Clueless
. “You seem like such a serious guy. I wouldn’t have had you pegged as a fan.”

“I am not that serious of a guy,” I protested. “I can laugh at funny stuff just like everyone else.”

I joined her next to the bookshelf and ran my finger along the DVDs until I reached the D section. I pulled one of the movies out.

“Would a serious man own a movie called
Dick
?” I asked.

She took it out of my hand.

“What the...
Dick
? I have never even heard of this.”

“It is hilarious. Low-brow at times. So there. You have been debunked.”

“I have been debunked,” she said in a robotic, sing-song voice

She turned to me quickly, as if remembering something.

“That’s another thing!” she said, much more loudly than she needed to.

“What is?” I said. Then, I added, “My neighbors would love to know too!”

She smiled, and then grimaced, the smile clearly hurting her cheek.

“You hardly ever use contractions when you speak! What’s that about?”

I had never had anyone point that out to me, not even Robin. I doubted that it was true.