October Snow (20 page)

Jo was handing her another drink. “This one’s made
right
.”

Max took a careful sip. “Ow. Better not light a cigarette.”

It turned out that Jo fell asleep on the floor halfway into her third drink. Max put their glasses in the sink and set up the coffee, before she tucked a pillow under Jo’s head and put a blanket over her. Daisy came to lay beside her.

Max scratched her neck, putting an extra pillow beside her, and then bringing her furry quilt out before she left. “You’re a good kid,” she said. “Take care of her.”

In her dream, she was sitting in the far corner of the field, underneath the cluster of Paula Red trees. She drew her knees up, hugging herself, protecting herself from the gusts; then suddenly, she wasn’t cold–but it was dark, and she was alone. She could see the entire field from her corner, stretching out at all angles in front of her. The glow of the moonlight was casting shadows under the trees, shadows that looked like long, gnarled fingers.

I’m asleep. This isn’t real. Unless I’m not asleep, but then I’m not here anymore. But there should have been a bright light then. They say it’s like a bright light.

I’m cold. I’m alone. Oh please, I don’t want to be here by myself, an old woman, crying out in the dark to people she only imagined.

There was something I could have done.

She looked around, frantic to find Matthew and Johnny, thinking they would be lost out there without her. But she was too cold and too frightened to move.

She screamed,
Where are you?

She had moaned it aloud, and Daisy began to nudge her.

A man approached her.

Get up now, Josilyn. You don’t have to stay here. Let’s go.

I know you. Tell me, what could I have done?

The man held out his hand.

You could have turned around–but you didn’t want to look
.

She came awake sitting up.

“Why didn’t I look over my shoulder?” Her own voice surprised her. Daisy was sitting at attention beside her, head cocked, worried.

Jo patted her head. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m okay.” The dog licked her cheek, then started toward the bedroom, turning around halfway there as if to suggest that Jo follow her.

“Max?” She looked around at the dark apartment, still confused. The small clock on the TV stand said 2:54.

She gathered the blankets and pillows, and followed Daisy to bed.

She was still awake when the birds began their day, so she decided to start hers then, as well. She knew she would spend much of the day with the disjointed perceptions that are the remnants of vivid dreams, and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

The day was dawning bright again, and she didn’t mind that Daisy lingered outside. The clear, clean light took the edge off of the strangeness of the night, and being out in the world when no one else was around felt like a secret of some kind, a moment in time that belonged to her alone.

Back in her apartment, she smiled when she saw the coffee already set up. She took her mug into the bedroom and debated whether to pack or to get a quick shower–court was at ten o’clock. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 6:50, so she opened her closet and pulled out the two duffel bags she had packed the day before, moving them to the front door.

The Mother’s Day card was beside the clock. She picked it up and, without looking at it, tossed it on top of the large, plastic storage box that she kept in the back of the closet–her “Precious Box”, she called it–that contained the tangible bits of her memories with the boys.

She remembered that they had promised to call her when they landed in Florida. She was still in yesterday’s clothes, and her phone was still in her pocket; she realized that it hadn’t rung since yesterday. She pulled it out and looked at it. No calls.

Until very recently, she would have been worried; frantic, really, because the hyper-vigilance of the battered mother doesn’t abate easily. She stared dully at her phone, then shrugged and tossed it onto the bed. She turned back to the Precious Box, and shoved it with her foot to the back of the closet.

Daisy had been dozing on the floor. She jerked awake at the sound of the box hitting the back wall, looking at Jo questioningly.

“Sorry, Daize.” She grabbed her bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door. “I’m going to get a shower.”

Jo, Max, and Victoria emerged from the courthouse at 11:40, protective orders in hand, good for a year. Jack had crossed one line too many when he made the death threats against the two women, and even Judge Schultz–known for a fair amount of bias against the claims of abused women–had been swayed. The fact that neither Jo nor Max was married to the accused seemed to be key to his decision.

He had chastised Jo for what he called her “trickery” for “baiting” Jack when she announced she was recording him; but he did acknowledge that under New Hampshire law, Jack had to be made aware that he was being taped. In response, Jo made Schultz aware of the reason that Jack had been unable to attend, and the women laughed about it as they made their way to their cars.

“I’m glad I didn’t have to see the guy,” Victoria said, unlocking her car door. “In a sane world, they’d keep him locked up for good.” She turned to Jo. “So, Becca said you’re back in the fold.”

She appeared to be waiting for a response. “Yeah, I am,” Jo sighed, glancing uncomfortably at Max. “For now, anyway.”

“Well, it’s good to have you back. I’m glad I got the chance to know you.” She squeezed her hand, then said to Max, “You too, Maxine. If you need anything, just call.”

“I will. Thanks for your help.”

Victoria studied her for a moment. “You were good in there, you know. Ever think of getting certified, helping us out at the center?”

She smiled. “I’ll give that some thought.”

“Good.” She slid into her car. “Take care.”

They watched her drive away. “You
were
good in there, Bim,” Jo said. “Natural. I can see you as a lawyer, I really can.”

“Thanks.”

They were at the truck, and Max said, “I’m trying to figure out how I can do it. Law school, I mean.” She slid in. “I’ve got nine credits to finish for my Bachelors, and I don’t even know how to swing
that
. And then I think, at my age? I’ll be so old when I finish.”

Jo pulled her door shut, then leaned away from her and stared, offended.

“What?” Max asked.

“You’ll be
my
age.”

“Oh, man…” They laughed, and Max said, “Hey, it’s hard for me to remember that you’re so old, Bim. You look so young.”

“Nice save.” She started the truck. “I think.”

“Hey, we should call Sammy.”

“Yeah. Do that.”

Jack made a beeline for the bathroom the minute he stepped into his house. He had spent the night in the Hillsboro County Jail and, as it was the first time he had ever been arrested–let alone incarcerated–he hadn’t been comfortable using the toilet in his cell. Not with as public as it seemed.

Afterwards, he stripped off his clothes in the kitchen and stuffed them into a garbage bag, tying the top tightly and tossing it into the breezeway. Looking at the frig, he remembered that he hadn’t eaten since Saturday, and he certainly hadn’t slept; but he decided to shower first, and get rid of the germs and the bugs that he figured had to be crawling on him.

He scrubbed himself in the shower until his skin felt raw, then let the water beat on his neck for a while, contemplating why he wasn’t absolutely enraged. If anything, he felt like curling up in a ball and hiding in his bed for a week. As he thought about how there was no one there to make him a meal, or to rub his neck for him, or to listen to his stories about his ordeal, he started to feel his gut clench. The rage was there after all, and he was glad for that. He couldn’t tolerate the thought of becoming a pussy.

He thought it best, though, to look after himself carefully for a day or so. He had been through something here, he thought–and even if the slut didn’t care about that,
he
did.

He finished his shower, and remembered that he should call Andrew, his partner at the dealership they owned. The guy would need to know that he wouldn’t be in for a couple of days.

He managed to sidestep some of Andrew’s questions by promising him a few drinks and a full explanation at Devon’s the next evening. Andrew asked him if he needed the name of a good lawyer; and Jack, just becoming acutely aware of how badly he had handled things up to then, said yes. Andrew promised to make a call for him.

He decided to eat well, get some much-needed sleep, and regroup–and tomorrow, pick up on the things that he needed to do.

“The woman’s in
fine
fettle this morning.” Max was smiling as she closed her phone.

Jo glanced sideways, amused.

“It means ‘spirits’.”

“You’re right–you do know stuff.”

Max was suddenly wistful. “I never heard her that happy.”

“She loves him.”

“Yeah. She always did, I suppose. And poor Dave–he wears his heart on his sleeve for her.”

“Couldn’t ask her if she told him she’s pregnant?”

“Nah. Besides, like you said, her business.”

“Well…” Jo’s phone was ringing. Distracted with trying to merge into traffic, she handed it to Max. “Get this.”

She checked the ID. “It’s Liz. Hello?…It’s Max, Liz. Jo’s driving.” After a few moments, she said, “Wait a second.”

Jo held her hand out, balancing her phone on her shoulder as she turned onto Beech Street. “Hi, Liz. What’s up?”

Max noted the shifting of her tone, from curious and engaging to brusque, almost business-like. It was fascinating, watching her friend become someone different. Jo was asking rapid-fire, pointed questions of Liz; her comments were a strange combination of cautions and reassurances. Apparently, Liz was asking if she should seek a restraining order for herself against Jack, and Jo was giving her a short course on the law.

“You can’t prove he’s the one who vandalized your house, Liz. You need more than your suspicions…Of course, I know it, too. But the judge will want something concrete…Okay, here’s what I want you to do.” She gave Liz the number for the crisis center, and explained how to approach them.

Then something occurred to her: “One more thing. Call the Manchester Police Department. Ask for Sergeant Derosa…No, trust me. He’ll care…Tell him everything…Yeah. He’ll give you good advice…Okay, Liz. Keep me posted.”

Max took the phone from her, closing it slowly. She stared out the windshield, already worn out again, and it wasn’t lunchtime yet. She wondered how she would wait for next Monday.

As if reading her thoughts, Jo said, “I’m going to finish packing, and we’re heading up to the lake. You were right. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m packed,” Max said, wondering again about Mother’s Day but deciding not to ask.

“Then let’s go. I can’t take it anymore.” Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel; her mouth became a tight, flat line.

“Jo…”

“What these guys do…What they’re able to do…I need to leave it behind.”

She sounded as though she could actually spiral out of control, and Max knew that their usual buffers wouldn’t help.

“Yes, you do. Let’s get the rest of your stuff, and we’ll just take off. We’ll call Sammy on the way.”