No River Too Wide (13 page)

“Please, I’m sorry I woke you. But can we check around a little, just to be sure?”

“We’ll check. Then I’m making us some herbal tea.” When Jan began to protest, Taylor stopped her. “We both need it. Humor me, okay? Grab the phone and get ready to dial if we need to.”

Ten minutes later Jan was sitting on the sofa beside Taylor sipping a steaming cup of chamomile and mint tea. She wasn’t sure what made her feel worse. Believing that an ice maker was an intruder? Waking Taylor from a sound sleep? The knowledge that for the rest of her life every unexpected noise would make her tremble this way?

“My parents were complete opposites,” Taylor said. “My father’s unbelievably tactful and understanding. My mother was blunt to a fault. If she thought something needed to be said, she said it.”

Jan wondered where she herself fit on that spectrum. Her job as a parent had been to soften everything her husband did or said. But if she hadn’t married Rex, who would she be?

“I’m more like Mom,” Taylor continued. “I’ve tried to be more like my dad, but so far I haven’t been too successful. Tonight, though, I’m going to be Mom. You’ve been through so much, Jan. More than most people could handle. I know it’s marked you. You don’t have to tell me. How could it not? I just wonder if you need to talk to somebody who could help you make this transition. Somebody who could listen and guide you through the worst.”

“A shrink?” Jan managed a laugh. “He would think I was so crazy for staying with Rex all those years, he would probably lock me away.”

“Domestic abuse is never simple. He or she would know that, and it’s not a shrink’s job to judge you, anyway. But actually I was thinking of a friend of Harmony’s and mine, one of the goddesses. Her name is Analiese, and she’s a minister.”

“I went to my own minister once, and I told him what was going on at home. I thought he would help me work out what to do. He told me it was my job to stay with Rex and make him happy, that like Daniel, a good wife would find a way to tame the lion in her den, so I just needed to be a good wife.”

“What kind of church was that?” Taylor sounded horrified.

“One Rex carefully chose for us.”

“Oh...”

“I don’t trust ministers. I’m sorry.”

“You need to tell your story to somebody, don’t you? To get it out in the open and look at it?”

“I
am
telling it.” Jan took a sip and considered how much to say. But in the end, what difference did this make? Taylor wouldn’t tell anybody, and she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Moving On gave me a little minirecorder a couple of months ago. They told me to record what had been happening over the years so there would be evidence in case...” She didn’t want to think about “in case.”

Taylor figured it out. “In case something happened to you before they could get you away.”

Jan nodded. “Tiny little cassettes. I was able to pass them on without a problem. I just dropped them in the mail or slipped them to somebody the few times we were able to meet and go over plans. Bea gave them back to me when she left me here. She made copies for their records, but she wanted me to have the originals. So, you see, I’m telling my story, even though nobody’s ever going to hear it but me.”

“Has it helped?”

“It has.”

Taylor was silent so long that Jan thought the topic had ended. Then she said, “Have you thought about making them available to other women?”

“Making what available?”

“The tapes. Have you ever heard of podcasts?”

When Jan shook her head, Taylor went on. “Podcasts are audio files played over the internet. People can listen on their computers. They have all different kinds. Travel advice, how to fix your car or make a soufflé, philosophical ramblings, anything. There are directories divided by subjects, region, et cetera. People who need advice or just encouragement can find a subject that’s important to them and listen.”

“But those must be professionals making them.”

“Not everybody. Not by a long shot. I was just thinking that you have the tapes, and with some editing you could make them into podcasts. We could put them online for you. You could change enough of the details that nobody would know who was speaking. We could even change the sound of your voice. Maddie’s father has his own recording studio. He would be happy to help.”

“I don’t have anything to say. I lived this. Who wants to hear the details?”

“Are you kidding? Other women going through it. Women who need to know that even after years of abuse, you got away. And how about the women who don’t understand how something like this ever happens, who believe no reasonable, intelligent woman could ever get herself into your situation? Maybe it would help them, too. Maybe they would be more careful themselves, or reach out to somebody they’re afraid might be a victim.”

Jan wanted to say no. What did she have to offer except a life in which she had failed on every front?

“We all have something to give,” Taylor said, when she didn’t answer. “Maybe your
story
is the gift you need to share. You were a victim for so many years, but now you’ve taken back your life.”

Jan couldn’t manage a smile. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You can’t see it, but you’ve made big steps. Maybe putting your story out there for other people to hear is the next one. Or a future step, at least?”

“Do I tell the story of the night I almost reported an ice maker to 911?”

“A little humor might be appreciated.”

“I can’t imagine what I could have to say.”

Taylor drained the last of her cup and stood. She reached out and laid a hand on Jan’s shoulder. “But don’t you see? You’ve already said it. Now you just have to decide whether you want anybody to hear it.”

Chapter 11

From the audio journal of a forty-five-year-old woman, taped for the files of Moving On, an underground highway for abused women.

Surely one of the worst things a woman can do is have a baby to strengthen her marriage. Abuse often escalates after the pregnancy test is positive, and one in every six women is abused during pregnancy. Even in a happy family, preparing for a new family member is a stressful time, both emotionally and financially. In an abusive marriage? A man who wants the world to center on his needs may not want to put up with a wife who no longer has the energy to meet them. He probably won’t like sharing the limelight with a squalling infant.

The Abuser wanted children, most notably a son. His own father had deserted him when he was a toddler. He had been raised by a flighty mother who, in between hopeless love affairs with unsavory men, spoiled him to make up for his father’s abandonment. Even though he hadn’t known a father’s love or a mother’s discipline, he was certain he would be the perfect parent.

I was less enthusiastic. In some ways I was still a child myself. I also found the Abuser’s demands tiring, and I wondered if adding a child would completely exhaust me. By then I knew child care would be entirely my domain. The Abuser would return home in the evening and expect a clean house and warm meal. I would need to schedule the baby’s needs around his and pretend I was happy to do so.

The Abuser convinced me not to take my birth control pills by hiding them. They were dangerous, he claimed, a heavy dose of hormones draining into my delicate feminine system. I used a diaphragm instead, but not always. There were times his sexual demands made it impossible to use it in time. He always assured me that the timing was wrong to get pregnant, but it was no surprise to either of us when we learned his calculations had failed and I was going to have a baby.

I can’t pretend a part of me wasn’t happy. I’ve always loved children, and before my marriage I had hoped to teach them. I told myself if we were a real family, the Abuser would finally be content. He would dote on our child as I foolishly believed he doted on me. And once he saw I was still devoted to him, his fears would ebb. He would have the happy, secure family he hadn’t experienced as a child and become the husband I knew he could be.

When he learned the child inside me was the son he had yearned for, he said he wanted nothing more from his life than to mold his little boy into a man just like him.

I didn’t sleep that night, fearing what life would be like for the helpless creature growing inside me.

* * *

Adam checked out three apartments before he settled on one in an old house so close to Asheville’s downtown he could jog to Pack Square if he ever felt so inclined. In its twentieth-century heyday the house had probably been attractive enough, but now it sagged sadly on its foundation. If houses had feelings, this one was probably disheartened by the way it had been divided into four lackluster apartments with no attempt to preserve architectural integrity. The do-it-yourselfer who’d made the changes had used cheap paneling and cheaper vinyl flooring, all now showing decades of wear.

Adam lucked out with the smallest of the four units and, happily, the most isolated. He only had to climb two flights to a converted attic with a window air-conditioning unit that hummed loudly enough to drown out the other residents’ stereos or televisions.

On his first morning of occupancy, as he finished putting away the contents of his duffel bag, he debated removing the dusty plastic flower arrangement on the dresser and the 2003 calendar with photos of the Pioneer 10 spacecraft on the wall. In the end he left both. He didn’t really care how the place looked. He had a fridge, a two-burner stove, a bed and a shower. He could buy anything he needed for the kitchen right in town. This wasn’t his dream home, and he wasn’t going to stay in Asheville longer than he had to. The apartment was better than the rent-by-the-hour motel on the highway, and the air conditioner was more acceptable than the hallway ice machine.

“Home, sweet home.” He punctuated this by stowing the empty duffel under the bed.

These days he never wore a watch, and since the room had no wall clock he pulled out his smart phone to check the time. He had taken exactly half an hour to move in, and that long only because he had been forced to chase down the landlord to get his key. The well-beyond-senior, who owned three houses on the street, had forgotten to meet him downstairs as planned, which wasn’t so bad. If the old guy forgot things that easily, when Adam pulled up stakes he might forget he had ever lived here, too. Adam had paid three months’ rent up front, along with a hefty security deposit in lieu of a credit check. Once Adam left, his landlord would have a nice little nest egg and an empty apartment he could rent all over again.

Time to get busy.

Pocketing keys, phone and wallet, he reconsidered his decision not to add a wireless alarm to the inside of the door. He had a good one in his car, and installation was quick and simple. But what did he have here that anybody might want? He was traveling light, the way he always did, and even if somebody pulled out a credit card and made swift work of his flimsy lock, there was nothing in the room to steal, nothing that indicated anything that was true or important about him. He carried everything that mattered on his person.

It was better not to make a fuss.

He locked the door, since that was expected behavior, and made short work of both flights of stairs. As he clumped past the other apartment doors, he noted a dog whining inside one and the odor of incense from another. He hoped the person burning incense wasn’t also a candle freak who fell asleep with flames flickering in substandard candleholders. The old house would go up quickly.

Of course, the first thing he’d checked before he told the landlord he would take the apartment was the safety of the outside metal stairway leading from his apartment to the ground.

While the house had no yard to speak of, it did have a muddy parking spot for each unit. His was the closest to the street, which suited him perfectly. He unlocked his SUV and climbed in.

He didn’t like or dislike Asheville. His job could be done anywhere, and there was no point in getting attached to a location, because he would move on once he finished. He did like the mountains, lusher and greener than the most recent mountains in his past. He liked the diversity, too. The only thing predictable about this town was its unpredictability. That made his job more interesting, his life more interesting. And considering how boring most of his days were, that was a bonus.

He didn’t have to drive far. Ten minutes later he was parked on a street lined with trees that were just beginning to change color. He was sandwiched between a pickup and a Honda CRV, and while his view wasn’t blocked, the trees and his heavily tinted windows acted as a disguise.

The houses he could see were simple enough, not identical cardboard cutouts, but built some years ago from an array of styles. A few were two story; more were not. Many had been renovated. Some showed impish charm, with statues in yards, and bright paint on porches and shutters. Others were staid and traditional, with the requisite petunias fading in flower beds and new chrysanthemums in concrete planters.

The house he turned his eyes to was neither impish nor traditional, but sleek and clever, with landscaping that was deceptively simple, almost Asian in style. He knew a little about the owner and wondered if she was the one who’d done the work or the design.

He hoped to learn a lot more very soon.

Adam slid down into his seat and made himself comfortable. Then he reached over to open his glove box and take out a granola bar to go with the coffee he’d stopped for on the way.

“Breakfast.” He unwrapped the bar and took a bite, screwing up his face in distaste. “But not lunch.”

A man could learn a lot in a short time. That was exactly what he was hoping for today. That was what the man he was working for was hoping for, too.

* * *

“Will I need my key this afternoon?” Maddie, about to depart for school, looked hopeful, as if the possibility existed that she might be in her house alone, at least for a little while, when she returned that afternoon.

Jan hated to disappoint the girl, but she and Taylor had carefully tweaked schedules so Jan would be here when Maddie arrived. She tried to think of a way to let her down easily.