Shelter Me (14 page)

When she reached the bottom of the stairs and rounded the corner into the living room, she was surprised to see a light on in the office. A figure emerged from the light, his face in shadow,
and for a brief moment Janie thought it was Tug, back to make some further adjustment to the porch plans. She flipped the light switch, illuminating the living room and the man’s face. It was not Tug.

This man was shorter and pasty-looking, not shades of caramel like Tug. He rubbed his latex-gloved hands in slow circles over his thighs and smiled as if he knew her, as if they were old friends who had chanced to meet in some unlikely spot, out of context from their prior relationship. Janie stared at him, momentarily wondering where she might have seen this strange, doughy face before.

“Hey there,” he said. At the sound of his voice it became clear to her that she did not know this man. He was from nowhere. And he was standing in her living room in the middle of the night.

“What?” she asked, as the fact of the situation registered in its terrifying entirety.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” he said and took a step toward her.

Robby
, she thought,
get down here!
And then she remembered she was alone in the house, except for Carly and Dylan. And she became aware that if this strange man got past her to the staircase, there was absolutely nothing standing between him and them.

“Get out,” she said, the tension in her chest making her sound small to herself.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” she wrenched out in a growl.

“Nah, I like it here.”

The bile rose up in her throat and all she could think of was how fucking infuriating it was that this pasty little troll was talking to her like this, and her husband wasn’t here to step in.
It’s your job now
, she told herself,
even this
. The women from her self-defense class assembled in the back of her brain.
Yell!
they told her.

Janie yelled. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LIKE IT HERE IN A MINUTE YOU STINKING PILE OF SHIT. YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DEALING WITH. YOU WANNA
TAKE ME YOU GO AHEAD AND TRY IT BECAUSE I AM NOT GOING DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT YOU’LL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF YOUR MISERABLE GODFORSAKEN LIFE!”

This she screamed at the very top of her lungs, like she had no plans to ever use them again. Like her vocal chords had just been waiting for this moment to burn themselves out in one last blast. She gesticulated wildly, pounding on her own chest, pointing at him.

The strange man halted his forward direction. In fact, he took a step back, a look of startled panic on his face that seemed oddly incongruous, as if she were the attacker, not him. His nostrils flared, and he appeared to will himself forward, his hands snapping out and grabbing her wrists. It was exactly what Arturo had done in that silly-looking suit. And Instructor Debbie had taught her that when her wrists were grabbed it was the perfect opportunity to slam her knee into the guy’s genitals.
Do it!
the women urged.

She reared back on her left leg to gain momentum, which served to fully focus his attention on maintaining control of her arms. Then she rammed her right knee so hard between his legs that her knee cap felt the impact of his pelvic bone behind the sensitive reproductive organs. He released his grip on her wrists and lurched forward to grasp his exploding testicles, practically an engraved invitation for her to slam her other knee into his downward facing nose.

And when he collapsed on her living room rug, he was still. Which was almost disappointing because she was just twitching to kick him some more. She had never experienced so much uncontrolled rage in all her life, and that was saying something.

Good effing work!
called the Katya in her head.

O
FFICER
D
OUGIE
S
HAW SLAMMED
on the brakes of his squad car in Janie’s driveway, leaped out, and ran for her front door, dodging lumber and piles of dirt by the light of his blue-and-red flashers.
The door was open and he lunged inside, drawing his gun and aiming it at the crumpled heap on Janie’s carpet. He whipped his head left then right, finally locating Janie on the stairs wielding the phone and a large glass jar about half full of rocks and pine cones.

“You alright?” barked Officer Dougie. He squinted quizzically at the jar for a second, and then back to the perpetrator.

“Yeah,” she said, knowing that her uncontrolled panting belied her.

The guy bleeding onto her rug began to moan and make futile little writhing movements.

“Shit, Janie,” breathed Dougie, “what the hell happened?”

The entire Pelham police force and half the fire department arrived moments later, sirens screaming, lights flashing. The primal growl of the idling fire truck and ambulance announced their ominous wrath to the neighborhood. Janie darted up the stairs to check on the kids, certain that all the noise would have woken them. Carly was sitting upright in her crib, half-lidded eyes scanning blindly around the room. Then she slowly toppled back down onto her blanket. By the time Janie tiptoed across the room and peeked over the crib railing, the little girl had already fallen back asleep. Dylan, apparently still worn out from an afternoon of ball playing, snored lightly.

Janie went back downstairs and told what she knew, as the perpetrator was handcuffed and then hauled up onto his feet.

“Aw, Jesus,” one of the officers muttered when the bloodbat-hed face came into view.

“My fuckin’ nose,” moaned the pasty little man, spitting red-streaked saliva. “Christ, my balls!” he whined, as two officers propelled him out the front door.

Janie’s house soon cleared of the uniformed invasion until it was just Dougie again, asking what sounded like the same questions over and over. Finally he jammed the little pad of paper into his pocket and said, “I’m calling Cormac.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” she said. Her breathing had slowed and the panic subsided; weariness crawled over her, and her limbs went limp. It was all she could do to stay upright.

“Janie,” he said. “You don’t want to be alone after an attack.” He scratched his crew cut with the capped end of his pen. “Course, you did beat the guy bloody. That puts a new twist on it…”

“My neighbor will be over here any second,” said Janie, wondering why Shelly hadn’t already arrived. With the fleet of rescue vehicles clogging the street, she could hardly be unaware of the spectacle. “Really, I just want to go back to sleep.”

“Once the adrenaline stops pumping you get really tired,” nodded Dougie. “You sure she’s coming?”

It took ten more minutes of reassuring him that she was fine, just worn out, and that if Shelly didn’t show up for some reason, Janie would call someone else. “You don’t want to be alone right now,” Dougie kept insisting, as if he were reporting from somewhere inside her head. As if he had any idea of what she wanted right now. What she wanted, in fact, was for him to stop talking at her and go check the lock on that bastard’s jail cell. That’s what she wanted.

F
IFTEEN MINUTES LATER
, J
ANIE
was still slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, alone. Her exhaustion had migrated into nausea and a weird shaking feeling. She knew she could not sleep. She wondered if she would ever sleep again.

If Shelly were here, she would tell Janie to go to sleep and Janie would comply. That was the core of their relationship. Shelly showed up and told her what to do when everything was incomprehensible and terrifying. And though completely uncharacteristic of her, Janie obeyed. Where was Shelly now, when she needed instructions most?

Janie reached for the phone and found herself dialing not Shelly, but the rectory. Later she would rationalize this by saying Jake was the only person she knew who would be awake.
That he would understand her need to pull inside herself. That he had been assaulted and would know how to help her calm down. These things were all true, but much later she would admit to herself that, had they not been true, she would have called him, anyway.

“Jane?” he said. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I just…this weird thing just happened, and I knew you would be awake…”

“What happened?”

“A guy…some guy broke in…”

“Someone broke into your house? Tonight?”

“Yeah, and he grabbed me…”

“Oh my God!”

“And I beat the shit out of him. Like they taught me in that class. I broke his nose and I kneed him in the crotch…I had to keep him from getting to the kids…”

“Jane, my God! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m…uh…” She gulped in air before her throat closed up altogether. A sob escaped and she put her hand over her eyes. “I’m kind of…” She was weeping before she was even aware that she was upset, her shoulders shaking, her lungs heaving.
Oh
, she thought somewhere in her numbness,
I’m crying.

He may have said something more, or he may have simply hung up. The next thing she knew there was banging at the front door. She stumbled blindly toward it, and when she opened the door she was suddenly enveloped in warmth, clutched against skin and well-worn cotton, rocked as her body spasmed and shook, as wails of anger and fear and sadness erupted from her. She heard whispering but couldn’t make it out. Didn’t care, anyway.

When the exhaustion overtook her again, and the sobbing slowed, she looked down. Still pressed against his body, all she could see was that his feet were bare.

J
ANIE ROSE TO CONSCIOUSNESS
with the slamming of a car door. Actually, the sound was too heavy for a car, the metallic
thunk
too low in register. More likely a truck.

She mulled over the familiar smell of a man whose deodorant was in need of reapplication. The vestiges of Sport Scent or Powder Fresh could still be detected, but this was overpowered by the musky, reassuring odor of dried male sweat. She felt the pressure of her cheekbone resting against his shoulder as they sat slumped next to each other on the couch, his head tilted back toward the top of the couch pillows, his mouth slightly open. She resisted the temptation to slide her arm beneath his and entwine his fingers with her own.

“Jake,” she said, and he blinked. His hand slid up to scratch his chest through the faded cotton T-shirt. Janie noticed the unraveled edge of the sleeve. It matched the ragged hems of his jeans.

His yawn ended with the start of a smile when he saw her. Then his eyes flicked down to their legs, thigh to thigh on the couch, hers covered in thin pajamas, and he slid away. Turning to face her, he made sure that none of their body parts touched. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said. “When you fell asleep, I meant to just sit there for a minute and then go. I guess I dozed off.” He looked down at his bare feet, then up at her again, a vague panic setting in around his eyes.

“You should go,” she said, and noted the relief on his face. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely. The kids will be up soon.”

He was on his feet and at the door in a moment, but halted his exit abruptly. Turning back toward her he asked, “Should I come back? It’s Friday,” he reminded her.

She thought for a moment, unable to come up with the right answer. “Um, yeah. If you want to.”

“Alright,” he said, and left.

A
FEW MINUTES LATER
Janie was scooping coffee grounds into a paper filter when there was a terrific ripping sound behind her. “Mother of Christ!” she gasped. The grounds flew from the filter and splayed out across the kitchen counter. Turning to defend herself, she saw Tug pulling the plastic off the window frame. “You scared the hell out of me!” she told him.

“Sorry,” he said without any sign of remorse. He balled up the plastic and stomped away.

What’s his problem?
Janie wondered briefly, swiping at the grounds on the counter.

By the time she had started the coffee, he was back. “You might want to clear out today,” he said inspecting a pair of pliers, for what, Janie couldn’t determine. “Lotta banging.”

“Okay.” He seemed strangely irritable. Maybe he was just tired. “Coffee?” she offered.

“No.”

Janie poured herself a cup and sat down. She would need to tell Cormac about the break-in, preferably before that blabby Dougie Shaw got to him. And then maybe she could convince him to pass it on to Aunt Jude. Janie dreaded telling her aunt. Which would be worse, she wondered: the sure-to-be-endless fretting for Janie’s and the children’s safety? Or the satisfaction that Aunt Jude would inevitably sling around at having been right about
that stupid self-defense class? As if a home invasion itself weren’t enough to put up with.

“I have to come in.” Tug was looking somewhere past her shoulder. “I have to measure for reinforcements under the window.”

“The front door’s open.”

He disappeared for a moment. “What the…what IS this!” he called from the doorway. Janie saw him staring at the hubcap-sized spot of dried blood on the living room rug.

“I forgot,” she muttered, getting up. “Can you help me get this out of here before Dylan sees it?”

“Is everyone okay?” He stared at her incredulously.

“Everyone but the guy who broke in last night.” She told him the details as they rolled the bloody rug and leaned it behind a tree by the driveway. She would have it cleaned while Dylan was at camp.

Back in the house, Malinowski poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. “So, what was…that guy…that priest…doing here this morning?”

“I just didn’t want to call anyone who, you know, cares too much about me.” Her own words sounded strange to her. She tried to make them make sense. “I didn’t want anyone who would freak out. He’s good in a crisis.”

“He didn’t have shoes on.”

“Yeah,” said Janie. “I can’t explain that.”

Dylan came down the stairs with Nubby the Hairless Bunny clamped under his arm. “I want juice,” he said and curled into Janie’s lap and closed his eyes again.

“I’ll get it,” said Tug.

“How’d you sleep, sweetie?” Janie ran her fingers through his unruly black curls.

“Good,” he grunted.

“Did you have any dreams?”

“No.” He twisted around to reach the juice Tug had placed on the table near him. “Just bad words.”

“Bad words?”

“Bad guy words.”

“Who was saying them?” Janie asked.

“A bad guy.”

“Were you scared?”

He shrugged. “I want toast. Is it time for camp? Where’s my ball?”

“Hey,” she said. “We might go hang out in the park after camp. Tug says he’s going to be doing a lot of loud banging.”

“I like loud banging.”

“It won’t be that bad,” said Tug.

“You just said it would,” Janie said, questioning.

He shrugged and put his mug in the sink.

F
RIDAY
, J
ULY
27

W
HEN
J
ANIE GOT UP
the next morning, Cormac was long gone. The Confectionary opened at 5:30 a.m. even on Saturdays, and he liked to be the first one there. A rainstorm had come to break the heat, and the pungent smell of rehydrated lawns and rinsed asphalt filtered in through the windows. She checked her e-mail before making coffee. The one from Jake said:

“Jane, I’m glad your cousin is there. I was worried about you being alone and scared. You’re going to be shaky for a while, and it helps to have someone you feel safe with. I find myself saying little prayers for you throughout the day. You’ve been given so much to shoulder, and somehow you seem to rise to the occasion. I admire that in you, Jane. As a man whose family life was something less than ideal, I can’t help but think how lucky your children are to have you. Sleep well. Jake.”

Carly was starting to talk to herself up in her crib, little singing, humming noises, playing with her voice like a toy. Then she called, “Ma? Ma!” and Janie went up to her. Dylan was just opening his eyes, so Janie took Carly with her into his bed, and the
three of them snuggled and giggled. In the happiness of their little family heap, the coffee didn’t seem so necessary.

W
ICK
L
ALLY
,
A REPORTER
for the
Pelham Town Crier
recognized the white truck as he pulled his Volvo up behind it. “Mal!” he called, crossing the lumber-strewn yard. “Mal, buddy!”

“Hey,” said Tug, barely looking up from adjusting a piece of trim around the new window. “What’s up. How’s the back?”

“Ah, it’s nothing. Little twinge.”

Tug chuckled as he banged in a nail. “That’s not how it looked last week. Looked like you were headed for a body cast.”

“Well, you know, a walk-off home run has its price. You’ll see when you get one. Someday.”

“I just never got one that made me cry, is all,” said Tug. “You here for Mrs. LaMarche?”

“Yeah, is she home?”

“Nope.”

“Where is she, when’s she coming back?”

Tug shrugged. “You should lay off her. She’s been through enough.”

Wick laughed and wagged his head. “Lay off her? I’m just hoping she won’t break my balls! What is she, like six feet, two hundred pounds?”

“She’s average. And she’s been through enough.”

Janie chose this unfortunate moment to pull into the driveway. Dylan and Keane scrambled out of the car and immediately began dueling with what had once been paper towel rolls, now brightly colored and festooned with crepe paper streamers.

“Those aren’t for fighting,” said Janie as she pulled at Carly’s car seat.

“Get the pirate hats!” yelled Keane. The boys ran for the house, calling “Hi, Tug!” as they passed.

Janie looked at the two men in her yard. One was listing slightly to the left but smiling brightly all the same; the other was
rubbing the butt of a hammer in the palm of his hand and looking annoyed.

“This is Wick Lally, a reporter for the
Town Crier,
” said Tug. “He’s a reporter.”

“Well, now that my occupation is firmly established, Mrs. LaMarche, may I speak to you for a few moments?”

Janie looked back to Tug, whose hard gaze and barely perceptible head shake gave her the impetus to say, “I’m sorry I can’t talk right now.”

“I understand,” said Wick, all sincerity. “I’ll return in an hour when you’ve had time to settle in.”

Janie glanced at Tug again and then back to Wick, “I’m not going to talk about it.”

“I understand completely. However, many victims do say how much better they feel when they’ve discussed a harrowing event, and told their side of the story.”

“First of all,” said Janie, “I don’t consider myself a victim. Second of all, there are no sides to this story. What happened is what happened. It’s not up for interpretation.”

“As a twenty-four-year veteran of the newspaper business, I can assure you there are sides to every story. Won’t you feel more comfortable if yours is told in your own words?”

“Jesus, Lally,” said Tug. “She said no.”

“Thanks for your input, Mal,” Wick said, “but if she’s capable of beating the daylights out of an intruder, she’s capable of making up her own mind without the assistance of her carpenter.”

Janie’s eyebrows went up. Tug’s face locked into a blankness that Janie no longer mistook for passivity. “Wow,” she said to Wick. “That was a poor choice of words. You can go now.”

“Mrs. LaMarche, it’s in your best interest—”

Janie took a quick step forward, and to the great amusement of her carpenter, Wick Lally flinched. “No comment,” she murmured.

When the Volvo pulled away, Janie said to Tug, “I guess I’ve got a reputation now.”

He grinned broadly and she could see tiny flecks of opalescent brown in the dark of his eyes. “Comes in handy sometimes,” he said.

T
HE MONTH OF
A
UGUST
announced itself with a thunderstorm, the heat crackling in the sky like kindling for a giant bonfire. The rain came too, however it sprinkled itself meekly, apologetically, succumbing to vapor almost as soon as it hit the ground. When the storm passed, Shelly Michelman happily pounded a For Sale sign into the damp soil of her meticulously landscaped yard. She positioned the sign so that purple and blue pansies surrounded the post, as if the flowers sprang from the sign itself and not the ground. It was calculated to beckon, to charm, to sell.

T
HAT CRACKLING IN THE
air, that sense that a cloud could burst at any moment did not give Janie second thoughts about her Friday walk with Jake. She was relieved, in fact, that things were, in her assessment, getting back to normal. They had somehow managed to get past their initial discomfort over the events of the previous week. Whenever Janie thought about how she had called Jake rather than a member of her own family, cried to him, clung to him in his well-worn T-shirt and jeans, how the feel and smell of him had been the things that had calmed her, even more than the soothing words…well, she just put that right out of her mind. Mostly.

She heard Jake’s car pull into the driveway and peeked through her new kitchen window. He got out wearing the standard black pants and collared shirt, but then he quickly unbuttoned the shirt, removed it and arranged it across the back of the driver’s seat. Underneath he wore a black T-shirt. Janie hastened Carly into her baby backpack, adjusted her sun hat, and went out to meet him.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she said to Tug, who was on a ladder, working on collar ties for the vaulted rafters of the porch ceiling.
He glanced at her, flicked his gaze at Father Jake, and did not respond.

Janie smiled at Jake. “Is there a Black Store somewhere where all you guys shop?”