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“Bobby told you, didn’t he?” she asked, looking at me. I saw a glint in her eye, and wondered if it was just the light, or if she was holding back her tears.
“Told me what?” I feigned stupidity.
She smiled and bit her lip again. I knew she could see right through that lie.
“Yeah, he gave me an idea,” I said. “But don’t be angry. We’re tight, Bobby and I, and we spend a lot of time together. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’d talk to me about things that bothered him.”
“You two have always been like that,” she said. “Two peas in a pod.”
“It comes in handy when you stay behind like we did,” I explained. “It’s hard to make new friends when you’re surrounded by college kids.”
She looked at me for a beat before asking, “What did he tell you?”
“That you were having trouble,” I said, deciding a small lie was better than the complete truth. “I was with him last night when you called. He seemed worried.”
“Is that why he asked you to babysit me?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
I chuckled. “I really wouldn’t call it babysitting.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I paused, looking her in the eye. “Yeah,” I finally said. “He’s worried your husband might decide to come looking for you.”
“Do you think he will?” Andrea asked. “My husband, I mean. Do you think he’ll come looking for me?”
I placed my mug down on the coffee table, folded my arms across my chest and sighed. “My father used his hands,” I said. “A lot. On my mom. On me. Whenever he damn-well felt like it. The thing is, my mom stuck around. Until the day she died.”
Andrea’s eyes glistened, and a tear raced down one of her cheeks. She quickly wiped away.
“She didn’t have your guts,” I continued. “I don’t know why. Sometimes I thought she stuck around for me. Sometimes I was cruel enough to believe she enjoyed the beatings. But she stayed through it all. You didn’t. And that says a lot.”
Andrea turned away, looking out the window. I couldn’t tell if she wanted a distraction or was trying to hide her tears.
“I think,” I said, “that if she had left, my father would have chased after her. The man was a relentless son of a bitch, and I didn’t shed a tear when he finally croaked. He had his good days, rare as they were, but when it came to my mother, he was a possessive motherfucker. If she had run, he would have followed.”
I picked up my coffee and took another sip, before gazing out the window myself. “So, yes, Andrea,” I said. “I do think he’ll come looking for you. And that’s why I’m here today. And every day that Bobby wants me to be here.”
She looked at me and I met her gaze.
“If your husband comes knocking on that door, he’ll be in for the surprise of his life.”
We drank the rest of our coffee in silence and said very little for the rest of the day.
Chapter 7: Andrea
I woke up screaming.
The nightmare was far too vivid. At one point, I had known I was dreaming. After all, why would I be at home in Manchester when I knew I was in my bedroom on Davis Road, with Bobby sleeping two rooms away, snoring up a storm?
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bsp; But I was there. Sitting at the kitchen table I had shared for years with Dennis, dinner laid out and ready, waiting for my husband to come home. And he did come home. Drunk as ever, smelling like alcohol and piss and a hint of women’s perfume. He staggered through the front door, and as usual, left it open expecting me to come running and close it.
I didn’t move. I only sat there, watching him sway. He suddenly stood completely still and stared at me from the living room, expecting me to get up as I usually did. Expecting me to shower him with pleasantries in hopes that he would stay placated until we could go to sleep. On any other day, I would have done that. I usually did. And it never seemed to matter, because he would always turn sour, curse at me for a while before practicing his punching hand.
So, I didn’t move.
“Get over here,” Dennis snarled.
