“I can’t remember,” she says, releasing a fresh wave of tears.
“Can I give you one? I’ll just hold you while you cry it out,” I tell her. “I’ll stop when you say so.”
“Really?” she asks. So hopeful and sorrowful at the same time.
“Come here,” I say, setting the glass aside and opening my arms. Shockingly, she doesn’t hesitate to crawl around the fire and into my lap. She faces me, grabs my flannel in both hands, and hides her face in my chest. Wrapping my arms around her shoulders, I weather her cries.
Soft wails erupt, her body shattering, only anchored by her tightly clenched fists. Carefully, I soothe my hands along her back, keeping them high and respectful. Aware that it wouldn’t take much to make her skitter away in fear. She needs this release. The comfort of human touch that we take for granted until we haven’t had it for too long.
I don’t know her family situation, but it must not be great, considering she’s here alone instead of with them. How long has she been deprived of basic nurturing? Of concern? Of love?
A million questions race through my mind. I don’t ask a single one. Lou needs to unwind her nest of knots on her own timeline. I’m just thankful she feels she can trust me enough to be a sounding board.
The noises coming from her frail body break my heart. I wrap my arms a little tighter and brush my cheek along the top of her head.
A raindrop lands on my face, the dying light of the sky darkening with the clouds rolling in. I let it come. There’s healing in rainfall. It can wash away the old and usher in the new. I do reach for the blanket Lou vacated, though, and pull it around her. There’s no meat on her to keep her warm and the fire is dying quickly.
I won’t stop her. I’ll sit here through whatever Mother Nature throws at us for as long as she needs this.
Turns out to be almost an hour before her breath evens out, and she pulls her face out of my shirt to turn it up to me.
“It’s raining.”
“It is,” I say, trying not to let my smile grow too wide.
“For how long?” she asks. “Your hair is wet.”
“A while now. Yours is too,” I tell her, and she reaches up to feel it.
“You should have said. I’m so...”
“Do not fucking apologize,” I stop her. “You needed to let it out.”
I needed to be here to let her.
“Thank you, but let’s get inside. I think a storm is brewing.”
But the real storm started brewing the day this gorgeous, shattered woman hit the borders of Stowaway.
Seven
Lou
“You survived the abuse, you’re going to survive the recovery.”
Mariska Hargitay
Louisa,
Enough now. You’ve had plenty of time to act like a petulant child. Your parents are worried. Call me and come home.
PSG
The email comes early in the day. I stared at it for twenty minutes before opening it, antsy and tight-chested. I expected more than four sentences. And a lot more anger. This borders on politeness for Pierre.
As I’ve done with the many emails from my mother over the past few days, I press delete and attempt to put it out of my head. Los Angeles isn’t my home. Pierre isn’t my home.
Where home is…I don’t yet know. I’ll figure that out on my own and in my own time. Few decisions have been made since I left the hospital, but one was that I’m never going back. If I have to remind myself of that every hour of every day for the rest of my life, so be it.
