“Hi. I’m sort of in the neighborhood. Can I stop by for a minute?”
“Talia? Are you okay? Sure. Of course. I’m at work. Where are you?”
“Just tell me the cross streets where you’re at. I figured if you weren’t in class, you might be at your uncle’s office today. Do you get a lunch break or something like that?” I recall how Lagan asked me the same question the first time he snuck up on me at the garden.
“Are you asking me out on a date? To what special occasion do I owe this surprise visit? Did Christmas come early this year? Hold on a sec. I have another call coming in on the office line...”
As I think about how to answer Lagan’s questions, I realize that another student has lined up behind me, waiting for the use of the phone. I motion to her with one finger and hope that Lagan will keep me waiting less than a minute.
“So, as you were saying...” Lagan’s voice comes back on the line.
“You were about to tell me the cross streets. I’ll meet you at your uncle’s office, and we can talk when I get there. There’s someone waiting to use this phone.”
“I’m near the corner of La Salle and Michigan Ave., 258 Clark Street to be exact. Sure you don’t want me to meet you where you’re at? I can clock out early today.”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I’ll be there soon.” I’m moving the phone away from my ear.
“K, I’ll see...”
Click.
I look on a wall map of downtown near the library exit to decide if walking makes sense. It does. I find the law office just as Lagan described, in the heart of Chicago’s financial district. I wonder if Lagan wears high tops with his shirt and tie. Not sure if I should knock or just walk in.
The doormat displays the age-old law symbol of the balance scale. The two trays are labeled Justice and Mercy, and they are almost perfectly balanced. Mercy tips the scale to the right. Too bad there isn’t a third choice. The choice of impossible.
The door sounds a stilted chime of dysfunctional bells when I turn the knob and push. An attractive Indian woman wearing a purple, silk, button-down blouse with a black, pleated skirt swings around from behind her desk to greet me.
“Welcome to the law offices of Justice and Mercy. How can I help you?” she says properly with a tone suggesting memorized words that she greets every visitor with. She can’t be much older than me. “Do you have an appointment today, Miss?”
“I’m sorry.” I stare at her perfectly manicured lilac nails. “I’m looking for someone. Does Lag—”
“Lagan does indeed work here.” I see Lagan’s face pop up from behind a nearby cubicle. “I thought I recognized that voice. Come into my office. Rani, she’s cool. She’s with me.”
“With you?” Rani glances at me suspiciously. “Is there something you forgot to tell me, Cuz?”
Lagan looks at me, waiting for me to say my name, maybe. But I can’t. “I’m just getting some homework help. I can come back...”
“No, no, it’s cool. You’ll have to excuse my cousin. She’s just...” Lagan waves me over.
“Getting back to studying for midterms. Nice to meet you.” Rani finishes Lagan’s sentence, stretches a hand forward to shake mine, and says, “Any friend of Lagan’s is a friend of mine.”
I don’t know what comes over me, but instead of taking her hand, I move forward and give Rani a quick hug. “Really nice to meet you too.”
Lagan stands speechless for a second. “I’ll take my lunch break now and wrap up my correspondence on this case afterward. If that’s okay?”
Rani smiles warmly to me before folding her arms across her waist and shaking her head toward Lagan like she’s heard that one before. Wonder how different things might have been if I wasn’t leaving. Is she the one who will comfort him when I’m gone?
“Sure.” She shrugs her shoulders and clickity-clicks back to her seat. “Dad calls the shots around here, so if you miss a deadline, Cuz, the cost will be off your brown-skinned back.”
“Lagan.” He points to the seat opposite his desk. “Can we take a short walk? I need to talk.”
“Of course.” He looks up from his computer. “What if I introduce you to Rani? Tell her you are. With me. She’s so cool. You could hang with her while I finish up.”
“Today’s not good.” I say honestly. Or any other day, ever, I think, aware of every passing minute.
“Is everything okay?” Lagan stops typing to search my face for answers. “I’ll tell her another day. No worries. Only when you’re ready. Give me two minutes. Let me finish this e-mail to a client, and I’ll take an early break. Hang tight. I’ll make this quick.”
“Should I wait outside?”
“Nope. Take a seat. I’m just proofing the message to make sure I fix any silly typos. Be with you in five, four, three...”
“You don’t have to count.” I sit down. “I can wait two minutes.”
Two minutes stretch to five. Not until my eyes begin to span my surroundings do I realize the gift before me: a first and final peek into Lagan’s world. I spend the long seconds memorizing every detail of Lagan’s cubicle. There are funny little doodles of stick figures on Post-its everywhere. Pinned to his corkboard. One is two figures sitting side by side next to a willow tree, watching a sunrise. Or is that a sunset? Hmm. Another is of two stick figures dancing under an umbrella, next to a waterfall. A third doodle confirms my suspicions: two stick figures swimming through clouds, hand-in-hand, the sky a mix of rain and sunshine. In addition, photographs of dew drops on the tip of autumn leaves fill in spaces. National Geographic perhaps. The only other significant details to his cubicle are the quotes everywhere. Some printed out on postcards. Others handwritten on three-by-five card stock. Still others on, of course, Post-it notes.
I can’t read the fine print, except for the one taped across the top of his computer monitor, bearing typed letters in huge font: “The Beautiful Fight: Life is a battle you don’t fight alone.” I recognize the title and reread the words over and over again, until the letters blur. I don’t know if the tears evidence that I believe the words, or if they foreshadow the battles ahead. Maybe both. I peel off a blank Post-it from Lagan’s desk, scribble two short words and slip it into my back pocket while Lagan continues to tap away on his laptop.
The word battle reminds me of a dream I had last night. Jess walked the tightrope above Dad’s jailhouse courtyard, and when Dad recognized his son’s legs and arms balancing perfectly above the prison walls, angry snakes spewed from Dad’s mouth, wrapping around and amputating Jess’s arms and legs—irreparable, bloody limbs spread around like uprooted trees after a hurricane. The image disturbs more than my vision. I don’t hear Lagan’s voice until he puts his hand on my chin, lifts my head, and wipes his fingertips across my dripping cheeks.
“Talia? Where are you? Did you even hear...? Forget it. Let’s get outta here.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m back. “Done?”
“Yes.” Lagan places some Kleenex in my hands.
I fish my shades from my purse to cover up. Rani doesn’t budge from her seat, her eyes glued to textbook, when Lagan says, “Hey, I wrapped up my case and am calling it a day.”
“Manana, Cuz,” Rani says without looking up.
“Laters.” And with that, Lagan pushes the bell-sounding door open and waits for me to pass through first.
The afternoon sun greets me like a flashlight looking for a dropped diamond. Time to take off the shades.
On your heart, Talia. Part the curtains on your heart and let Lagan see you. It’s time to tell him the truth. The whole truth. The gardener speaks clearly through the sun, and I know that it’s now or never. Never was an option yesterday.
The seals on my leaky eyes keep lifting. Lagan leads me a few blocks down to the lake, toward Buckingham Fountain, and it’s crying upside down. A visual of my life, only the opposite reflection. An upside down well, once deep and dark, I have no choice but to leave my hiding place. The impending farewell stunts my speech,
and I can’t help but turn and soak Lagan’s shoulder. So much lies behind. And so much ahead. Only a day away.
When my breathing steadies, I start with one word: “Jesse.” His name sputters from my croaking throat.
“Yes?” Lagan squeezes my hand gently.
“I’m scared.”
As Lagan wraps his arm around me and leads me, my fingers follow behind him along his belt line and my thumb slips through a loop. Oh, to hold on just a little longer. Linked at the hips, we move clumsily over to a bench opposite the fountain where Lake Michigan lies to our right. Traffic blurs by on Lakeshore Drive, the world going nowhere fast.
Lagan nods and sighs as I detail yesterday’s conversation, my fears, and my nightmares. Sometimes he looks off to the lake, shakes his head, and turns back to hear more. Other times, he rubs my cupped hands, failing to arrest the shaking. The tremble spills, from my insides out, as I outline truth after truth of Dad’s violent past and the memories that frame my life of terror. That Jess, Mom, and I have faced our entire lives. I say too much.
I know this when Lagan lets go of my hands. He begins to punch his left hand with his right, attempting to injure an enemy just out of his grasp. I recognize the frustration in his repetitive pounding. Jess and I have spent our entire lives swinging at invisible adversaries in our dreams. Neither of us has ever dared to fight the real evil while awake. Until now. Until today.
I’m awake now. And I have no choice but to fight for our flight.
“And that’s why we have to leave. Dad has to believe that we’re—” And I can’t say the word. Because I know the word implies death to a lot more than just me. It’s my time to give Lagan a little, square yellow paper. The words The End stare up at me from the Post-it note I pull out from my back pocket. I hand it over, because I have no choice.
“I always knew it would be hard...” Lagan’s words trail off as the note sits on his palm like a weight that cannot be lifted.
“I always knew it couldn’t last...” I say things I thought from the beginning. Just never wanted to face.
“I always knew it would end.” Lagan stabs me with this one. “I just never knew it would end like this.”
I rise and walk over to the edge of the fountain. The spray mixes with my tears, and I know nothing will ever wash the brief time I had with Lagan from my memory. Like days with Mom, I will file away the pictures and pull them out when I want to remember. I’m forcing myself to move to the other side of later when Lagan’s arms wrap around my waist from behind to bring me back to now.
“Have you thought about calling the police?” Lagan asks the question Jesse and I answered years ago.
The police are not on our side. Dad has too many cop friends. My silence answers for me. So Lagan reels off a few more impossibles. Because that’s all we have left now. The impossible. He just hasn’t accepted it yet.
“There has to be a reason why he never just got rid of you and Jesse.” Lagan throws in another line. “Why would any father who hates parenting that much hold on to his kids? Some things just don’t add up.”
“He’s mentioned the word debt, but I never got the whole story. Not like I could outright ask him. Whatever it is or whoever he owes, it has to be bad enough that he threw a guy out of our house once over it. I don’t know, Lagan...” Because I don’t. “I just know I can’t, we can’t, live like this anymore. You don’t understand.” I hate to say the words. Because more than anything I need Lagan to just understand. There is no other way.
“Sure. I don’t get everything, but I can’t just sit back and watch you disappear. Not like this.”
“LIG.” It’s my turn to give Lagan an acronym to face life with.
“LIG?” Lagan turns my shoulders to face him, and I can feel his hands move to my back and link like cuffs.
“Let it go.” I look into those dark brown eyes, and I’m swimming. He in my pools. Me in his. “Or LMG—Let me go.”
Like a lifeguard who thinks he can rescue the Titanic, Lagan shakes his head no. “No. Not this time. Not when we’ve come so far. Not when I know what I know. Not now, when I know how much I love you.”
“And that’s why you have to let me go.” I stand my ground, even as the words I’ve never heard from a boy stream into my heart into my vault for safekeeping. I’ll take them and keep them forever. He loves me. He loves me.
Lagan shakes his head more and lets go of me this time. “It won’t work. Jesse’ll get caught. You can’t just set a house on fire and get away with it. Police investigate that kind of stuff. They’ll find out it was arson. And when they don’t find any bodies in the house, your dad will know you’re both alive. You won’t have enough time to run to the next state, let alone another country. And then Jesse will be in jail. How does that make any sense?”
“You have a point.” Several, in fact, that I had never thought about.
“What about India? You and Jess could leave on a flight tonight. I’ll borrow money from my parents. And you can search for your grandparents.”
“Any plan where Dad can find us was crossed out already.” I guess I have to spell it out.
“There are things for that.” That math brain of his refuses to accept that this is not a simple equation. Nothing adds up and no solution exists.
“Like what? And don’t say magic shows where the girl in the box is first sawed in half and then she disappears.” I’m through with bleeding. Fire woos me like a friend who promises freedom from Alcatraz, and I’m following. Whether Lagan approves or not.
“Changing identities. Witness protection programs. Home for abused...” Suddenly feeling ashamed at hearing the word spoken out loud about me for the first time, I turn away, but Lagan pulls me close. He’s grasping at me like one trying to save water in his hands, aware that even as he holds me tightly, I’m slipping away. And he can’t save me.
“How would I find this sort of place, if it existed? How would they keep Dad from finding me and taking me back? And would Jesse be able to stay with me? That’s the only condition I would even consider.” That’s the most I’ve ever thought out loud. I just want to be far away from Dad. That’s the bottom line.
“You have to tell the truth. That he hurts you. They’ll let you in then. They can’t refuse you.” Lagan is not giving up. “It would just be for a little while, until they can help you find a safe way to come back...”
To you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Of course, that’s what I want too, but I accept that no matter what happens tomorrow, I’m leaving and probably never coming back. Maybe Lagan doesn’t have to know that. Maybe it’s easier this way.
“Okay.” Who said that? Did I just have my first out of body...?
“Really?” Lagan exhales a nervous chuckle. “You’re considering it? You’re willing to find another way?”
“It’s worth a shot, right?” I hope. “Let’s find a place. A homeless shelter or something like that where they take cases like me. And Jesse. And if they have some way of hiding us. Then, maybe, someday...”
“For now, I’ll know you’re safe. And that’s what I want most of all.” Lagan pulls out his iPhone and begins to Google options.
I find my way back to the park bench as my mind goes back and forth. Where would Jesse and I run to, anyway? Taking nothing with us means I can’t touch the account my checks get deposited in either. How far will we get without money or IDs? How long before someone reports us as runaways and tries to reunite us with Dad? Maybe Lagan is onto something. A way for us to leave without Dad being able to trace us. We could try it out. Use fake names. Test out a shelter. Let some time pass. Any night of sleep under a roof where Dad does not sleep sounds heavenly, really.
“I think I found one. Or two. Actually, there are a bunch. But this one sounds promising. The thing is, Talia, and I know you do not want to hear this, but if, for just a little while, you went to a women’s shelter and let Jesse go to a men’s shelter, you’d throw off your dad. He’s expecting to find you together. What if
you separated, just for a little while? I think it only makes sense.”
“Jess will never go for it.” And neither will I, for that matter.
“But if it means you’re really free of your Dad for sure, wouldn’t that make a difference? Actually, from what I can tell so far, you might not have a choice.”
I know he’s right. “I just don’t know how I’ll convince Jesse.”
“Let me do it.” Lagan wants to play knight all day long. “I’ll talk to him. And if you’re already safe at a women’s shelter, he won’t have a choice, and he’ll agree to camp out until it’s safe—safer. You know what I mean.”
“Do you think they’ll let me keep in touch with Jess? Call him? Check on him? See him once in a while?”
“I’m sure they decide things like that on case-by-case basis. There are probably different rules at different places, too. I don’t know why they wouldn’t at least let you make calls to another shelter,” Lagan says.
After making some phone calls, finding some shelters with no empty beds and others requiring police reports, Lagan finds one that allows anonymous entry upon completion of an interview process. Seems like they have a different approach.
“Yes, I think I understand.” Lagan is verifying what he read online. “So you’re saying that as long as the shelter personnel can determine that she’s not trying to contact her abuser, they don’t see a problem with her calling her brother. Great. Nope. That answers my question. See you...maybe...today? Okay. I’ll tell her to stop by today before eight.”
“Today?” Everything’s happening so fast.
Lagan plops down on the bench next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder. “She said if you want to come by and talk informally to see if you feel comfortable, you could even show up at the head office today, tell the registry that you’re living in an abused situation, and they’ll begin the interview process. The main condition they require is all new residents must sign a contract to protect you and the other women, in which you agree never to disclose the location of the actual shelter.”
Listening to the details unravel breathes life into the idea. This is quickly becoming much more than just an idea. Am I really doing this? “Are we doing this?”
Swimming Through Clouds (A YA Contemporary Novel) Page 20
