“You’re Lou here,” I reassure her, pouring more bourbon in the glass and passing it to her. “What happened next?”
She studies the glass for a beat before she takes it, smelling it and then, taking a sip.
“He held me down and forced them into my mouth until I was choking.”
I curse, and she hands me back the glass. In my line of work, I’ve seen what abusive people do to others more times than I care to remember. My question is always the same. Why? What do they get out of such sadistic treatment of others? There’s no sane reason to do what he did to her.
“It was the memory. The shame,” she says. “There’s a lot of that. I struggle to forgive myself.”
“What about that memory makes you think you need forgiveness?”
“I didn’t leave,” she says, looking away from me and back out to the sea.
“Most women in similar situations stay, for one reason or another. They deserve forgiveness, and so do you,” I say. What her reasons were, I don’t know. They don’t matter. Eventually, she did leave, that’s all that matters. “How long were you with him?”
“Almost four years. The first one wasn’t so bad. I could manage his moods better. That became impossible as time went on.”
“You shouldn’t have been responsible for his moods,” I tell her. “But I understand. My marriage was similar in that respect.”
“She had to manage your emotions?” She’s still turned away, and I don’t know her well enough to know if she’s teasing me or not. I hope she is.
“I tried to manage hers. When I stopped, she became less interested in me, and more interested in my best friend.”
“Ouch, that’s fucked up.”
“It is,” I say, taking another sip, relishing the warmth as it moves down my throat. “Ultimately, it was for the best. We wereunstable, it would have been a horrible environment for Paige to grow up in. Our current situation isn’t ideal, but at least she doesn’t witness how poorly we could treat each other.”
“You love her a lot, huh?” Finally, she turns that pretty face back to me.
“Paige? More than anything. She’s my entire world.”
“That’s real sweet, Grady,” she tells me, a drop slipping from her eye.
Mirroring her position, I prop my cheek on my knees and watch her the way she watches me.
“Why does that bring up another low?” I want to reach over the flames and wipe her sadness away. There’s not enough trust here for that. Not yet. One day, maybe.
“I—” She pauses. “I’ve never told anyone this.”
“You don’t have to start with me, if you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything, Lou,” I say, trying to be clear that I don’t want to pressure her.
“Is it strange that I want to tell you things?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I think sometimes it’s easier to talk to people who aren’t tightly entwined in our lives. It feels less judgmental when they aren’t so invested.” I don’t say that I am invested in her, or that I want to be, anyway. Lou needs friends; I’d like to be one to her.
“I was pregnant once,” she says, her soft voice shaking around the words. “I lost it before I could make any decisions for myself. Before I had much time to process it all. The next day, I woke up relieved. Does that make me a horrible person?”
“No, of course it doesn’t.”
“He said it did. I shouldn’t have told him. Should have lied and lied and lied.” Her last word breaks on a sob. She buries her face in her arms. I’m helpless on how to comfort her through it. Instinctively, I want to move next to her. Wrap her in my arms and console her. But I know better than to touch her without permission.
Her body shakes, and I wonder if she’s ever let herself grieve. Not only the miscarriage, which is traumatic, even if she didn’t want to be pregnant, at the time. It puts a body through a hormonal hurricane. But also, she needs to grieve for herself. For the life he took away from her. For all the things he’s put her through.
“Lou?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, lifting her head and angrily wiping her face with her hands. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, there’s no reason to apologize. Can I ask you something?” She doesn’t say anything, but nods. “When was the last time you were hugged? By someone other than him?”
