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“What about a credit card?”
“No,” she breathes, wiping her eyes and her nose with the back of a sleeve. “Nothing. He took that away a long time ago.” I take her by the elbow and pull her closer to the building, where we have a few feet of space to ourselves. Her voice is quiet as she says, “At first he just gave me cash and told me to buy whatever I needed, and it was a luxury, not having to balance a checkbook, pay bills or even think about money. He said I had so much going on that I didn’t need to worry about our finances; he would handle it, and it was a relief. But then later, when I asked for my debit and credit cards back, because you can’t just buy everything with cash, he said no, that as it turned out, I was irresponsible with money. I couldn’t be trusted. He keeps me on an allowance. If I need more money than he gives, I have to ask for it, and then he decides whether I can have it or not.” She speaks in the present now and I realize that this isn’t something he used to do. This is something he does now. She’s still reliant on him for money, which keeps her completely dependent on him. For food. For shelter.
“That’s what men like him do. It’s a form of entrapment, Nat. It’s one of the many reasons women stay in relationships like yours or keep returning to an abusive spouse. For money. Shelter. Because there is a very real fear of being homeless or broke. You were brave to walk away from him,” I say, reaching out for her hand, “but now we need to figure out your finances. We need to get you what’s rightfully yours. You need to file for divorce. We can talk to my attorney. She’s amazing.”
“If I’m so brave, then why do I always feel scared?” she asks, her dark eyes begging. She’s not looking for an answer, though I know exactly why she would feel scared, because she’s always looking over her shoulder for him. “I don’t feel brave. But,” she says, recovering, “a few weeks ago, I went to the bank. I opened an account in just my name, and I filled out the paperwork so my paychecks get deposited there instead of into the account with Declan. I have my own money now. Not much, but some,” she says, “and I’ve been saving.”
“That’s great.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll get through this,” she says, though her eyes tell a different story.
“I know you will.”
She forces a tight smile. If she’s only been saving her own money for a couple weeks, on a teacher’s salary, she has maybe a thousand dollars saved, tops. A hotel in the city could cost two or three hundred dollars a night and a hostel, though less, isn’t ideal. I worry that if Nat doesn’t have anywhere else to go, if she can’t afford food to eat, then she’ll go back to Declan for lack of options because that’s what women in her position do.
My mother once told me that I was born to be a nurse because it was in my nature to help people. It makes it easier that Sienna is with Ben tonight and I’m the only one home. I have to work all weekend. I’d agreed to take on a few extra shifts for another nurse, because I could use the money and Sienna wasn’t going to be home anyway. I didn’t think it would matter. Now I regret it. But it will be fine. We’ll figure something out. I know Nat and, if the situation were reversed, she would do the same for me.
“Come stay with me,” I say.
She’s visibly taken aback by my offer. “That’s so sweet,” she says, eschewing it at first, “but I can’t ask you to do that, Meghan. I can’t impose on you like that.”
“You didn’t. I offered. And it’s not an imposition at all. Please,” I beg, because I know that if she doesn’t come with me, things may turn out very badly for her.
I couldn’t live with myself if they did.
In my apartment, Nat says, “I told you the other day that Declan has been seeing another woman.”
“You did. I remember.”
“I almost feel sorry for her. She doesn’t know him like I do. She doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into.” She stands, shifting positions, and then says, “I thought about talking to her, about letting her know what he’s really like and trying to stop her before she lets herself get too close to him.”
“Did you?”
“No,” she says, looking out the open window.
“Why not?”
She brings her eyes back to mine. “Because I didn’t know if she’d believe me. And because I kind of hate her too. Part of me thinks it’s what she deserves, for Declan to hurt her,” she says, and then she pauses, thoughtful, and a knot forms in my stomach, thinking of partners who cheat and of people who sleep with married men and women, and wonder if they are deserving of some terrible fate. “That’s awful, right? I shouldn’t think like that.”
“No,” I tell her. “It’s okay to be upset. You’re only human. We all have thoughts like that.”
“I found her.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I found her number in his phone. I called a couple times, but when she answered, I hung up. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I shouldn’t be jealous,” she says, though I can see she is and I can’t blame her. He’s still her husband. She loved him once.
I don’t know what to say. I can’t blame her for the mix of emotions, for feeling hurt and betrayed, but also wanting to help this woman, to save her from the same fate.
“Tell me again how you and Ben met,” she says, changing the subject.
We’re standing in the living room as the L approaches outside. Nat starts when she hears it and I tell her, “It’s okay. It’s just the train.”
Still, it takes a moment for her to settle, for her to see the incoming lights and to attribute the change in her heart rhythm to the train and not to Declan. The sound isn’t him. He isn’t coming for her.
Not yet anyway.
I lay the sofa cushions on the floor. I reach down to pull out the sofa bed as her phone dings the arrival of an incoming text. She glances quickly at it as I watch, her eyes reading over the message before she puts her phone away, her eyes going outside again, as if looking for someone.
