Safe with Me: A Novel

by Hatvany, Amy

  She sighs again, trying to release the stress that buzzes through her body, a feeling that reminds her of the one she had in the hospital the day Emily died. She reaches into a box stuffed full with papers and begins reading the stacks of notes Emily wrote her through the years. There are the ones she drew in preschool—stick figures of Hannah and Emily standing together in front of their house, Emily attempting to write her own name in barely recognizable letters. There’s the one she pushed under Hannah’s door on a Saturday morning when she was seven that read: I am watching cartunes. Can I have Luky Charms for brakefast today? Mark Yes or No. Below this were two boxes for Hannah to indicate her answer.

  “She was such a little sugar fiend,” Sophie remarks fondly as Hannah hands her friend this particular note.

  Hannah nods, unable to speak. Her throat clenches as she reads through her daughter’s many I love you, Mommy notes, trying to remember the specific instances that prompted Emily’s affectionate declarations. But it’s harder than she thought it would be to recall the reasons why Emily decided to express her feelings. Perhaps it doesn’t matter. Perhaps all that matters is that Emily loved her.

  With this thought, Hannah dissolves into tears. Hiccuping sobs shake her body; her muscles quiver and quake. She cries for Emily and for herself. For her parents and for her brother, for Olivia and Maddie. She lets the pain take her to a place she’s avoided for over a year—the deepest, darkest space inside her—and lets it breathe, lets loose the despair that has dragged her down, kept her from moving forward. Sophie puts her arm around Hannah, not speaking, just holding on through the waves of grief, letting her know she’s not alone.

  Finally, Hannah’s tears begin to lessen, and Sophie gently pulls away. “You’ll be okay,” she says. “Everything will be okay.”

  Sniffling, Hannah nods, trying hard to believe her friend’s words. As they go through the boxes, Hannah tells Sophie the entire truth about Olivia and her marriage to James, along with everything else that has happened that day. She lets Sophie read Maddie’s letter, and ends by explaining how James walked through his front door.

  “It’s a sad story, yes. Horrible, even,” Sophie says as she lifts up a box filled with all of Emily’s old Halloween costumes. “These, too?” Hannah nods, and Sophie goes on. “But ultimately, don’t you think that what Olivia does with her life is her own business?”

  “What about Maddie?” Hannah says, feeling desperate. “Shouldn’t I report James to CPS or something? That there’s suspected abuse? Maybe they could help.”

  “You could,” Sophie says, nodding. “But you just finished saying how there isn’t any proof. And as far as you know, he’s not hitting Maddie. So you’d basically be getting CPS involved for no good reason.”

  “It’s not fair for him to get away with this,” Hannah says, frustrated that there’s really nothing she can do to help mend the situation.

  “You’re right. It’s not. But it’s not your call to decide how Olivia handles it. Especially now . . . no?”

  Hannah doesn’t respond for the simple reason that her friend is right. Olivia confided in her, and at this point, the very least Hannah can do is sit back, honor Olivia’s wishes, and keep her mouth shut.

  • • •

  The next morning, Hannah wakes up and as usual, goes for a run. She and Sophie stayed at the storage unit well past midnight, sorting through boxes, deciding which tangible items of Emily’s Hannah wants to keep. In the end, they carried only two boxes back with them to the cars, filled with Hannah’s favorite pictures of her daughter, several of her art projects, all of her I-love-you-Mommy notes, and a purple scarf she liked to wear. She’ll ask Isaac to help her get the remainder delivered to the transplant center’s charity. Her furniture and other belongings in the unit will have to wait until Hannah decides if she’s going to stay in her apartment above the salon. “Maybe I’ll sell the old house and buy a new one for myself,” she told Sophie last night. “Maybe it’s time to really start over.”

  Now, as she sets out down the sidewalk at a slow, warm-up pace, Hannah thinks the truly important things for her to keep from Emily are the intangible ones—the way her daughter looked when she first stumbled out of bed in the morning, the stink of her breath and the warmth of her skin. Hannah will forever keep the memory of how it felt for her daughter to climb up in her lap, stick her face against Hannah’s neck, and whisper, “I love you, Mama.” She’ll hold on to the bubbles of Emily’s laughter, the way she sometimes sang “C Is for Cookie” in a Cookie Monster voice purely for Hannah’s amusement. Thinking back, Hannah realizes that for the most part Emily was a joyful, happy child, and despite any mistakes she’s made along the way, this is what she needs to hold on to—not mourning, not grief, not loss.

  When she gets back to the salon, an hour later, dripping with sweat and breathing hard, she decides to pick up the phone before jumping in the shower. Her mother answers on the second ring. “Hi, honey,” she says. “What a nice surprise.”

  “I hope it’s not too early,” Hannah says. “I just got done with my run and I figured you’d be up.”

  “You know me,” her mother says, chuckling. “With the roosters.” She pauses. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, everything’s fine.” Hannah pauses to run a finger over a small crack in the plaster. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll definitely be home for Thanksgiving. I’m scheduling myself the whole week off so we can have a good long visit.” Unexpectedly, she tears up as she speaks. “I’m sorry I haven’t been home more this year, Mom. It’s been . . . well . . . it’s been hard.” She knows “hard” is too simple a word to describe what the months since Emily died have been like, but it’s the only one that comes to her.

  “Your dad and I understand, sweetheart. We worry about you . . . that’s all.”

  “I guess that never goes away,” Hannah says affectionately. “No matter how old I get?”

  “No, it never does,” her mom agrees. “You’ll always be our baby.”

  “I’m glad,” Hannah says, her throat thickening again. “I love you, Mom. I’ll talk with you later, okay?”

  They hang up, and it strikes her that for the first time in a year her mother didn’t bring up the subject of her moving home; she wonders if her adamant refusal has finally made its point. Hannah vows to have a long talk with her parents over the holiday about finding someone else to help Dad manage the farm—someone he can trust and someday turn the operation over to so they don’t have to sell any more land than they want to for their retirement. She is lucky, she knows, to still have her parents with her, and she plans to be more attentive to them.

  Her next call is a harder one to make. Surprisingly, Olivia answers her cell on the third ring. “I’m so glad you picked up,” Hannah says. “I wasn’t sure that you would.”

  Olivia sighs. “I only did so I could tell you that I really can’t talk with you anymore. It’s just not a good idea.”

  “Did you tell James about me? About Emily?”

  “No. But I can’t risk that he’ll find out another way. If he figures out Maddie wrote that letter . . .”

  “I thought you were going to leave him,” Hannah says.

  “It’s not that simple,” Olivia whispers. “I have to go now. Please understand that it’s safer for us if you just pretend we never met.”

  “Olivia . . .” Hannah begins, her voice breaking. She clears her throat so she can continue. “I just need to say that if I could go back to that day when you both walked into the salon . . . when Maddie sat down in my chair and talked about her transplant, I swear, I would change everything. I would have told you right away that it was possible Emily was her donor.”

  “I know.” Olivia sounds as though she is about to cry, too. “But you didn’t.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Hannah says.

  “Me, too,” Olivia responds, sounding more hurt than angry. A moment later they hang up, and Hannah sits on her couch, staring at her phone, hoping that so
meday, there might still be a chance for them to be friends.

  Olivia

  The first couple of days after finding out about Hannah, Olivia tiptoes around her husband, terrified she might say or do something to set him off. Strangely enough, he doesn’t pick at the edges of Olivia’s story about what happened with Hannah. When he’s at home, he seems unusually pensive and distracted—less vigilant about monitoring what Olivia does during her days.

  “Is everything okay, honey?” she asks him as they are about to go to sleep on Saturday night. He barely spoke to her all day, and usually, his silence is a precursor to one of his rages. She wants to do whatever she can to placate him.

  “Fine,” he says tersely. He waits a moment and then speaks again. “My dad called the office yesterday.”

  Olivia tenses next to him in their bed, knowing how much of a hot button James’s father is for him. “I thought your secretary knows not to let him through.”

  “The bastard gave her a fake name. Said he was a potential investor.” James laughs, a dry, empty bark. “As if he has anything to invest. He was looking for a handout. Can you believe that?”

  Olivia brushes her fingers over his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  James places his own hand on top of hers and grips it tightly. Her breath freezes in her lungs, worried about what might happen next. But then he lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the inside of her palm. “I felt like I was ten years old again, talking to him. I wanted to be sick.” Suddenly, he gathers her to him, holding her so tightly no air can enter or escape her body. He presses his mouth up against her ear so she can feel the wet heat of his breath. “Tell me I’m not like him,” he says in a ragged voice. “Please.”

  Olivia swallows the bitterness that rises in her throat and tries to ignore the conflicting ache in her heart as she tells her husband what he needs to hear. “You’re nothing like him,” she whispers. The lie burns like acid on her tongue. “Nothing at all.”

  Thus reassured, James falls asleep with his head resting on her chest and one arm flung over her stomach. Olivia doesn’t sleep, her mind twisting with worry and fear—but perhaps more disconcerting than that, love for her husband.

  The next morning, James leaves for the office despite the fact that it’s a Sunday. Olivia fights the urge to call Hannah, knowing she’s anxious to reach out so she doesn’t have to face changing her situation alone. Now that Maddie no longer just suspects James’s abuse, Olivia can’t pretend that everything will be okay. In the moments they have been without James, her daughter has been adamant about making a plan to leave—and like her father when he sets his mind on something, she will not be deterred. Still, despite Maddie’s protests, on Monday morning Olivia calls the college and withdraws her enrollment. At this point, it’s just too much of a risk.

  “Reason for your withdrawal?” the nasally woman in the administration office inquires.

  “Family emergency,” Olivia says, thinking this is about as close to the truth as she can get.

  “Hold for Professor Lang, please,” the woman says, and before Olivia can protest, her call is transferred.

  “Professor Lang,” her teacher says, and Olivia almost hangs up on her, but something makes her stay on the line.

  “Hi,” she says awkwardly. “This is Olivia Bell? The office just transferred me to you?”

  “Olivia,” Professor Lang says. “I haven’t seen you in class this week.”

  Olivia shifts in her chair, swallowing before she answers. “I, um, have a bit of a family emergency going on. I have to withdraw.”

  “That’s why the office transferred you, then. I require that students tell me personally why they’re dropping my class.”

  Olivia licks her lips nervously, worried the professor will try to get her to admit the situation she’d described was anything but hypothetical. “It’s not personal. I think the class is great. I just . . . like I said. I have a family emergency to deal with.” Please drop it, she thinks. Please just let me go.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Professor Lang says and then waits a beat. “Are you okay, Olivia? Do you need help?”

  The muscles in Olivia’s throat thicken; she’s certain Professor Lang has sorted out the truth. “No,” Olivia finally manages to say. “I’m okay. I mean, I will be.” There’s no way to know whether this is true, but Olivia has to believe it. To think otherwise is too frightening. “Thank you for asking, though,” she tells her teacher. “I appreciate it.”

  “There’s a lot of help out there,” Professor Lang says quietly. “You just have to reach out.”

  “Okay,” Olivia says hurriedly, wanting to get off the phone. She’s already made the mistake of trusting Hannah with her story—she doesn’t want to run the risk with her professor. “Thanks again.”

  After she hangs up, she logs on to her computer and runs a couple of Internet searches for women’s shelters and counselors who specialize in domestic abuse, curious about the “other help” Professor Lang had mentioned. The pictures on the shelter websites are full of smiling, happy women of all ages, colors, and sizes—stock photos, the disclaimers at the bottom of the screen state, because of identity protection issues that go along with being a survivor of abuse. Olivia reads through several of the clients’ personal accounts, weeping as she finds herself over and over again in these stories: the constant fear, shame, and self-loathing the women experienced; the terror that strangled their every breath. Will she need to take Maddie to a shelter while she and James sort out their divorce? Her stomach turns over as she imagines his response to her filing. If she doesn’t have any evidence, will she still be able to list verbal and physical abuse as the reason for leaving her marriage? Would a judge believe her?

  She clicks through to a few pro bono legal websites, shocked by the length of the waiting lists to see one of these professionals. She has the money to pay for a good lawyer, but she had set it aside to help support Maddie and herself when they are on their own. Hannah had said that James would have to pay her child support and for Maddie’s insurance—they’ve been married over ten years, so she’d be due alimony, too, however distasteful it might feel to take it from him. But if he filed for custody and won, would he have to pay her anything at all? She sits back from her computer and closes her eyes, unsure if she has the courage to leave him, though she acts as though she’s still certain she will when she picks Maddie up later that afternoon.

  “I can get any kind of job,” she says after she tells her daughter about dropping out of the class. “Waiting on tables or whatever it takes.”

  “But I thought you wanted to become a lawyer,” Maddie says as they drive toward home.

  “I used to,” Olivia says with a small, wistful smile. “Now I think maybe I wanted to go back to school as an excuse, you know? A way to postpone having to leave.” She reaches over and pats the top of Maddie’s thigh. “I’ll make some calls, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

  Maddie nods, but Olivia can see that her daughter doesn’t trust that she’ll follow through. “You haven’t told anyone about your dad other than Noah . . . right?” she asks, trying to keep the inquiry light.

  “No, Mom. I’m not someone who goes back on my promises.” Clearly, her words are meant to make a point, and they hit the mark. After everything Maddie’s been through over the years, Olivia knows she owes her daughter a chance to live beyond her father’s angry reach. But her insides churn at the very thought of packing a suitcase, let alone finding a lawyer, and then, possibly facing years of divorce disputes. And there’s the chance that James would come after her—that he would attack them both for leaving. The fear of that moment paralyzes Olivia, making her feel that the only safe movement is no movement at all. She longs for someone other than Maddie to talk with, a friend who might help her find the strength she needs—but the only person she can think of is Hannah.

  It’s strange, really, how much Olivia misses her, considering how little she actually knows about the mother of Maddie’s dono
r. Is everything Hannah purported about herself a lie, or was it just her link to the transplant that she kept secret? There is so much about Hannah that Olivia likes—her sense of humor, her insightfulness, her compassion. Olivia truly believed she had found an ally, someone who understood her like no one else did. She knows that grief can make people do crazy things—behavior they normally would never even consider. She knows that her own propensity to portray a pretty picture of her life with James—not only to the world but to her daughter—isn’t something she ever consciously decided on. It happened gradually, the small lies became one big one. It became her life. At least Hannah was only dishonest with them for a couple of weeks—she admitted she was wrong, she apologized for hurting them. Olivia hopes that someday, perhaps after she finds the courage to break away from James, she can move past the hurt she feels; then she and Hannah can try again.

  When they get home and Maddie is ensconced in her bedroom, supposedly doing her homework, but more likely chatting online with Noah, Olivia decides to call Waverly, whom she hasn’t spoken with for months.

  “Olivia!” Waverly exclaims. “Long time, no talk!”

  “I know,” Olivia says. “Life has been a little hectic around here.”

  “How are you, honey? How’s Maddie?”

  Olivia can hear the clink of silverware in the background. “We’re okay,” she says. “Did I get you at a bad time? Sounds like you’re out for dinner.”

  “I’m at the Olympic Hotel bar, waiting for a drinks date. You should come join me! I’m sure my trainer has an adorable friend I could ask him to bring along.”

  Olivia shakes her head, realizing not much has changed about Waverly since she divorced her husband. “That’s kind of you, but I can’t. You know . . . still married to James.”

  “Oh, I know that,” Waverly says with a laugh. “But it doesn’t hurt to feed your ego a little bit. You can look at the menu as long as you eat at home.”