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I cover my mouth to stifle the sob.
“She’s pregnant,” I say, mostly to myself. Gasping, I pray she can’t see my reaction. “Jake. Her face.”
He follows my line of sight.
I said face, but whoever did that made sure she was unrecognizable. Favoring her right leg, she’s swollen, bloodied, cut, and bruised, and yet the strongest emotion in what I imagine are beautiful features is shame.
In the middle of a busy street, she stands, dripping blood, and no one stops.
Sometimes I’m ashamed to be human.
“Fuck,” Jake roars, hitting his fist on the steering wheel over and over again.
I grip his arm in an iron hold, smothering the sob bubbling in my chest. “Stop,” I shout. “Get it together. She’s scared out of her mind. She doesn’t need another man with a raging temper.”
My words sober him, and he nods. Shaking the remaining raindrops from his trench coat, he opens his door. When he notices I’m not following, he looks over his shoulder.
“She doesn’t know me. I’m a stranger,” I explain. “What’s her name?”
“Beth.”
“Tell her I’m here. Wave at me when she’s ready.”
He takes a moment to scan my face before dipping his chin and exiting the car. He rushes under the bus shelter. The coat he’s wearing isn’t for him. He shrugs it off and places it over the little girl’s shoulders.
After long minutes of watching their lips move and calming my breathing, a quick tilt of Jake’s head tells me it’s okay to leave the car.
I pull the collar of my coat tight around my neck, sheltering myself from the bitter breeze. Rain seeps into my shoes, but I hardly notice.
This is your job, Claire. I remind myself, straightening my spine and gathering my emotions.
“Hi,” I breathe, smiling the way I’ve perfected.
Her lips merely twitch.
I don’t reach out my hand. I stay a foot away, granting her space. The little girl still clings to her hip.
“Beth, I’m Claire.” I think she tries to smile, but her lips are so badly cut, I’m not sure. I crouch, looking into eyes that mirror very much my own. “What’s your name?” I ask the shivering little girl.
“Hannah,” she answers, curling her face away into her mother’s arm.
“You’re going to be all right, Hannah.”
Beth’s body is shaking. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I told him I was leaving, and he snapped. He was drinking. He passed out, and I just ran.”
I open my mouth to reassure her, but Jake’s voice stops me. “Hey,” he says softly, leaning closer but never touching her. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault,” he chants it and Beth’s dams burst until she’s fighting for air. I don’t think she means to, but her body crashes against Jake’s and it’s like second nature to him when he wraps her up, supporting her unsteady legs. “It’s not your fault, Beth,” he mutters against her hair, and something in my chest cracks wide open.
Standing, I roll my shoulders back and get to work. My emotions can come into play later, and I appreciate it when Jake doesn’t interrupt.
“Beth,” I urge. “I need you to look at me.” Her blotchy eyes meet mine. “I promise you’re safe, but I need to ask you some questions.”
She nods.
“Move your mouth for me.”
She does as I ask, and I have the haunting feeling she’s been asked these questions before.
Her jaw isn’t broken.
