Hear Me Roar

by Katie Cross

  All the awful things, happening around me like falling dominos, had funneled me to the glory of Daniel’s safety.

  He had been strong. Confident. Carefree and giddy about life in a way I couldn’t comprehend. He knew what he wanted—and that had been me. To the girl who couldn’t find anything solid, he’d been a tether. A safe spot in the storm. A place to cling.

  Until he wasn’t.

  I wondered if I hated Daniel so much because he was the only one left for me to hate.

  The sound of feet on the floor outside my room drew my attention. A soft tap preceded a quiet, “Mommy?”

  “Yes, Lana?”

  Her voice choked with a sob. “I had a bad dream. I’m scared.”

  “C’mere.”

  She ran to my bed, hopped up, and crawled next to me with a muted cry. I held her tight. She seemed so little, her usually indomitable body clinging to me through her tears.

  I thought of Mom and held her tighter.

  For the first minute or two, her shoulders trembled, then eventually relaxed. The subtle sparkle of tears streaming down her face caught my eye. I whisked them away with the pad of my thumb and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She tilted her head back to look at me.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

  She shook her head with a sniffle. ”I’m scared.”

  “You’re safe. I have you now, and nothing can take me away. I promise. I’ll keep you safe.”

  She snuggled closer, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. Within minutes, her breathing evened out. Her arms relaxed. While Lana drifted back to sleep, my mind returned to Mom again.

  Suddenly, I understood what it felt like to be a shell about to collapse.

  New THHS Check-In Opened in WonderFriendApp

  Opened by: BITSY

  Bitsy: Just a friendly text message reminder that we meet again for our weekly call Wednesday (which is tomorrow) at 7:00 p.m. EST.

  Lexie: You’re more reliable than my alarm clock. Do you schedule these out?

  Bitsy: I never forget my priorities.

  Lexie: If that were my strength, I’d be 1,000 pounds right now.

  Megan: I’ll be there!

  Mira: Me too. I might be a few minutes late, though.

  Bitsy: There will be a gentle, stretching yoga session for the first thirty minutes. Come as you can.

  Rachelle: So I guess me offering to bring snacks from the bakery would be out?

  Bitsy: Yep.

  Rachelle: A girl can dream.

  Lexie: Srsly.

  Bitsy: See you then. Text with questions.

  Conversation CLOSED by BITSY

  “He called you Elizabeth?”

  Lexie’s outraged voice cut my Daniel story off mid-sentence. She leaned closer to her webcam. Her bright, sky-blue eyes smoldered.

  “Yes. He did.”

  “You’ve told him before not to do that.”

  “I’m sure he forgot.”

  “Let me at him. Bradley’s taught me a few good tricks.”

  In the video slot next to Lexie, and chiming in from a city in Wyoming where she worked as a nurse, waited Megan. She wore a long-sleeved shirt and held a glass of iced herbal tea. Sweat stained her hair, which she’d shoved off her face in a braid.

  “Calm down, Lexie,” Megan said. “Bitsy is a nickname for Elizabeth. Everyone knows that.”

  Lexie’s jaw dropped. “What the … seriously?”

  “My full name is Elizabeth,” I said, frowning. It sounded so … old me. “Doesn’t make me like it any better!”

  “But …” Lexie motioned to me with a wave of her hand. “You’re Bitsy, not Elizabeth.”

  “Precisely.”

  We’d just finished the gentle yoga stretching session over video chat, which left us right on schedule for our weekly Health and Happiness Society check-in. The remaining two members, Mira and Rachelle, sat on either side of me at my kitchen table. The schedule that I’d printed out before they arrived lay in front of me. I perused my plan.

  Right on time to the minute.

  Felt so good.

  Mira stirred her iced herbal tea as well. The clink of the spoon against the cup filled the silence. Her brow was furrowed, as if she were deep in thought.

  “Time for weekly sharing,” I said. “Lex—”

  “Wait!” Rachelle lifted her coffee mug. “I still think we’ve given up too early on the option of egging Daniel’s house.”

  “No.”

  Seeing Daniel’s house covered in egg yolks would be satisfying in the same way that burning my marriage certificate had been, but I still wouldn’t let her do it.

  Knowing Rachelle, she would.

  “But—”

  “No violence. No life interruptions. He’ll continue on with his life, and that’s the end of it. He’s not a part of my life anymore.”

  “He is, though.”

  “No. He’s not.”

  The words resounded like a gong.

  Megan’s eyes widened. Lexie chewed on her bottom lip. Rachelle glared at me—she was the only one brave enough to challenge my assertions—and I could tell she wouldn’t back down.

  “Bitsy—” she began, but Mira cleared her throat and lifted her cup.

  “Can we start sharing? I’m interested to see how things have gone this week.”

  “Yes, but before we report our calorie counts for the week, I found a new article in The New York Times I want to review. It’s the perfect segue into calorie targets and…”

  When I paused, I realized a strange silence had descended on the group. Mira and Rachelle exchanged uncertain looks. Megan pressed her lips together and kept her head down.

  “What’s wrong? It was gentle yoga! You can’t be that tired.”

  Rachelle’s face twisted into a grimace. “I’m not tired. I just dropped my phone in a puddle. It’s on the fritz, and … I haven’t logged in to record my calories in … a while.”

  “A while?”

  “Three weeks,” she whispered.

  “You’ve been using a broken phone for three weeks?”

  “Ah, no.” She cleared her throat. “That happened just today. It’s at home, sitting in rice.”

  My brow furrowed. “I don’t…”

  “I’d hoped I could slide that detail in so you thought I didn’t log in because of that. The truth is … I just haven’t recorded calories in three weeks because I didn’t want to.”

  “You reported last week.”

  “Kind of?”

  My mind spun back. She had been a bit vague. “Oh.”

  “Please don’t hate me!” she cried. “I just … summer is the worst for dieting mojo. It’s almost as bad as the holidays.”

  “Hate you?” I asked. I didn’t hate anyone. What I hated was losing control of this meeting. “I don’t hate you, Rachelle.”

  Mira raised a hand. “That’s not so bad, Rachelle. I gained four pounds and drank three cans of Pepsi yesterday. Straight,” she added in a little peep. Then, with a grimace, “Without logging the calories.”

  Lexie glanced up through her feathery lashes. “Dieting is a drag, Bits. I need a break from calorie counting. There’s just no time. Not with summer break, work, and alllll the yummy barbeques.”

  “There’s always time for health,” I said. The rote mantra slipped out of my lips before I could stop it. Rachelle rolled her eyes, but I ignored her. Megan shifted back, hiding behind her teacup, which was sign enough that she hadn’t been doing it either.

  “Et tu, Brute?” I asked her.

  She grimaced. “Sorry, Bitsy. You know I hate calorie counting and believe it’s an unhealthy strategy for weight loss.”

  “But we all decided together, in January, to start logging calories again through the summer! It was our mutual goal.”

  “Sure,” Lexie said, “but I forgot how busy things get. It’s stressful weighing out ingredients when I cook! I fix food for a football player. He’s a linebacker. Sometimes several football pla
yers come over! Think there’s time to count calories there? Not even. I can barely keep them fed!”

  I opened my mouth, then shut it again. I shouldn’t feel betrayed, but I did. Being strong was easier when I knew they had my back. When they also had wins, losses, and temptations they overcame.

  “Counting calories with uber exactness is awful,” Mira said. “It’s exhausting. Sometimes I just want to eat three meatballs without weighing them.”

  Megan reared back. “You’d weigh them?”

  “You don’t?” Lexie asked.

  “No way! I don’t even count. I just make vague declarations.”

  “I’ve managed it, and I have two children and run a business from home,” I snapped.

  Lexie grimaced. I immediately regretted my self-righteous tone.

  “Sorry,” I said quietly. “That didn’t come out the way I intended it. I guess I’m just surprised.”

  Didn’t they see what was happening? Our solidarity was slipping away. We were losing the very thing that defined the Health and Happiness Society—health. With calorie counting and accountability, we had control of our urges and failures. With control came health. With health came happiness.

  The circle could not be broken.

  “Bitsy, we’re not giving up,” Rachelle said. “We just want to loosen up a little bit, you know? We need to step back and enjoy the summer. We can’t be all in all the time.” She shot me a knowing gaze. “Janine has been working with me on that.”

  But I am all in all the time.

  A shiver crept down my spine. How was it possible that all four of my support people would break down at the same time?

  “You’ve been talking about this without me on the app, haven’t you?” I asked.

  Lexie hung her head. “Yes.”

  “Lexie!” Rachelle hissed.

  “I told you she would ask!” Lexie cried. “And I told you I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. She knows my soul! Like a demon overlord or something.”

  Rachelle sighed. “We just wanted to present a united front.”

  I cleared my throat, sucking in a deep breath. No doubt about it—that stung. Were they afraid of me?

  “I see,” I whispered.

  Lexie narrowed one eye. “I don’t think you do. Bitsy. This isn’t personal. That’s what we were afraid you’d think.”

  Mira reached over and put a hand on my arm. “We’re still in this together,” she said. “Lots of people lead healthy lives without writing out their calorie journal every day.”

  Rachelle’s mouth dropped.

  “You write your calories?” she asked.

  “Of course. What else would I do?”

  “What is this, Mira, the 1800s? There are apps for that!”

  Mira shrugged, flicking a careless hand. “So?”

  Megan sat back in her chair. “Bitsy, you’ll be fine. You just won’t be beholden to the gods of calorie counting while you’re celebrating with the gods of summer.”

  “They’re indignant gods,” Lexie muttered.

  I lowered the printed articles, stapled and perfectly collated, on how determination toward a goal is a measurement of internal success and growth.

  “I understand. When we meet next week, we’ll discuss how…”

  I trailed away, not having been prepared for this. We’ll discuss how fast you came running back to calorie counting, I wanted to add, but the victory would be much sweeter if I didn’t predict it aloud.

  “Well,” I said, “we’ll discuss something.”

  Lexie’s smile appeared strained. “Thanks for understanding.”

  My eyes flickered to the clock. Two minutes away from closing the meeting. It would end on a somber note tonight—nothing that I could fix at this late stage. I hated the strangled atmosphere but didn’t know how to pick up my own thoughts.

  “Great, then call me if you need anything,” I said. “We spent all the time in … discussion, so we can just do the article another time.”

  Lexie started to speak but decided not to. She frowned.

  “See you gals,” Megan said with a wave. “I’m going to cuddle up to my mountain man and pretend like my brothers are good at running a business.”

  “I have cookies to make early tomorrow morning,” Rachelle said through a yawn. She stood and shuffled toward her jacket that lay across the couch.

  With a worried frown, Lexie waved goodbye and ended the video call. Rachelle called out a farewell to me as she stepped outside.

  Mira was the last to go. She stood at my door with a concerned expression on her face.

  “How are you, Bits?”

  “Fine!”

  “You’re lying.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Mira. I understand.” I met her gaze and meant it. “We all need a break. I get it.”

  “No. I mean with Daniel. I don’t think Lexie meant to interrupt the story, but I have to say, I’m worried about you. I haven’t heard from you as much lately, and … I’ve worried you just didn’t want to talk about him. Your ex moving so close has to be hard. Especially when he’s Daniel.”

  “Oh, that? That’s … just … you know.”

  “You saw Janine for a little while after the divorce. Maybe it’s time to see her again.”

  A flare of indignation caught me by surprise. I almost snapped at Mira to mind her own business.

  Since when did I react so strongly to Mira? With a deep breath, I forced myself to calm.

  This wasn’t like me.

  “Thanks, Mira.”

  The urge to fall into the leftovers in the fridge swept over me. I let the temptation pass through. My calorie count was right on track today. Not even counting workouts. No reason to mess that up now.

  She reached out and pulled me into a hug. “I’m here for you, Bits. Please call if you need anything. Where are the girls, by the way?”

  “Daniel took them to the store to pick up furniture for their new rooms at his house.” Recalling the last-minute conversation—which had happened despite his earlier promises—still rankled my nerves.

  “Night off for you!”

  “I have work to do.”

  “Do a puzzle or watch a chick flick or something!” she cried. “Don’t just work. That’s boring. This is supposed to be you time. We could do an impromptu girls’ night if you want!”

  “Girls’ night?”

  “C’mon. You’ve done a girls’ night before.”

  I blinked. I never had.

  Her eyes widened. “Seriously?” she asked. “Cupcakes. Sugary foods. Cheesy movies. Painting toenails. Lexie always insists there’s some form of glitter … you’ve never done one?”

  “Not really. Work is happy for me, Mira. Money is happy.”

  She eventually nodded, but looked away. I knew her well enough to know she’d left much unsaid.

  Once she departed, I closed the door, slumped against the wall, and stared at the ceiling.

  The others could take their break—I was happy they were looking forward to the summer—but I wouldn’t.

  I’d keep going.

  Chapter 3

  The Goddess

  The sound of spraying water woke me that weekend.

  My eyes flew open. Even though I’d gone to bed at eight o’clock, I felt as if I’d just fallen asleep. Dreams of Daniel dressed as a bear and chasing the girls had plagued my night.

  Rolling onto my side, I forced myself out of bed and into the bathroom and slapped cold water on my cheeks. With a suppressed groan, I shoved my feet into my tennis shoes and forced my fingers to tie them.

  Routine was mundane.

  The girls still slept when I peeked in on them, and the house lay in quiet, morning repose. Mira would be here in a few hours to babysit for me. Bridgette, one of my oldest clients, expected me at nine o’clock to organize old paperwork into storage boxes for her kids to, in her words, burn later, once I’m dead.

  Knowing that I’d be organizing, cleaning, and putting a big mess to right motivated me o
ut the door.

  I loved a good organizational shift.

  Jim stood in front of an old couch in the middle of his lawn … again. He sprayed it with a hose—my hose—concentrating on a massive green spot right in the middle. Whatever it was, the water was making the stain spread even further.

  “Seriously?” I whispered. A stain like that would never come out with plain water. Basic chemistry. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so vexing. My nose wrinkled. He needed an interior decorator.

  A maid, at least.

  “You need an upholstery cleaner,” I called, lifting one leg behind me to stretch my quads. “Something with a good scrubber. You know the kind with bristles?”

  He whipped around, then relaxed once he saw me.

  “Got it!” He held up a clear-blue spray bottle filled with window cleaner. I stacked my hands on my hips, one eyebrow raised.

  “You have to be kidding.”

  He shrugged. “Works.”

  “Hold on,” I muttered. “I’ll be right there.”

  I stalked through the kitchen and into my garage, gathered two different upholstery cleaners from the trunk of my car where I kept my strongest cleaning supplies, and pushed back out through the front door. A toilet brush stained army green hung from his other hand.

  “You were scrubbing with a toilet brush?” I asked as I approached, amusement covering up my incredulity.

  Men.

  He glanced at it with a shrug. “It was new.”

  “Still…”

  He’d tucked his shirt into a pair of loose basketball shorts that gave way to sculpted calves and a new pair of tennis shoes. For so early in the morning, he sure was put together.

  “Here.” I handed him both containers. I wasn’t about to clean for him. “Just press that button as you’re scrubbing and it’ll foam out. I suggest you start with the red one first, then go to the blue. Works better in that sequence for smells. Is that paint?”

  He eyed the bottles with suspicion. ”Why are these better than window cleaner?”

  “Because they’re made for tough fabric. They have bristles.” I pointed to the bottle in his hand. “That is made for windows and mirrors. Sometimes kitchens, if you’re in a pinch. This is high school chemistry if you want me to dive into it.”