Come Back To Me

by Julia Barrett

  James hesitated a moment before agreeing. “I promise, Cara, but I want to know why. Why can’t I tell the police?”

  “Because it’s my fault this happened. I shouldn’t have been there in the first place. It’s my fault. I knew better. I knew better than to go to him alone.”

  With a sigh, James sat back in his chair. He would deal with this Randy Johnson character later. Right now, he needed to deal with Cara.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault. Men aren’t supposed to do that to women. Men aren’t supposed to frighten you or beat you or rape you. Men are not supposed to force you to have sex with them. Nobody is supposed to do that to you. Do you hear me? Nobody has the right to do that to you.”

  Eyes wide, cheeks streaked with tears, Cara just stared at him.

  “I’m not bullshitting you Cara. Nobody has the right to do that to you.”

  “Then why do they keep doing it?”

  James clenched his fists to keep from hauling her off the gurney and burying her against his chest. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I can’t answer that. Honest to God, I can’t answer that. I only know it’s not your fault, Cara. It’s not your fault.”

  She closed her eyes and James thought she’d drifted off to sleep. He began to rise, but stopped when he heard her murmur his name.

  “James, I think I need to see a real psychiatrist, not Dr. Bowman.”

  “Why? Why now? Is it because of what I just told you?”

  “No, because of what happened, what happened before I went to Randy’s place.”

  “What happened, honey?”

  For some reason, his concern seemed to make Cara uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and turned her gaze to the far wall.

  “I was driving home from here, from the hospital. My grandmother had a stroke and she’s in Intensive Care. I had just met with the doctors and they’d given me her prognosis. I needed to go home and tell my mom about it. As I was driving, it was like . . . I don’t know how to explain. It was like I couldn’t see anymore, as if I was going blind or something. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might jump right out of my chest, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. James, I thought I was going to die. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do. The only thing I could think of was to get stoned. I know it was stupid of me. I didn’t know what else to do. I wanted the feeling to go away. I just wanted it to go away.”

  “Do you get stoned often?”

  “No. Well, I did for a while,” she said. “But not much since my dad died. The last time I smoked a joint was a few weeks after the funeral. I mean until last night. I’ve never been to Randy’s alone before, never.”

  “Well, I guess now you know your instincts were right about him. You could have died, Cara. If I hadn’t driven by, if you hadn’t darted in front of my car . . . Do you understand? Jesus. I don’t even want to think about it.” James rubbed his forehead, distracted by his thoughts of what might have happened.

  “Can you ask Debbie to find me a doctor, a good one?”

  Shit, Debbie. He’d forgotten all about Debbie.

  “Yeah, I can. Cara, what you had is something called an anxiety attack. It happens to people when they’re under a great deal of stress. It’s okay. It can be fixed.”

  The doctor entered the cubicle, accompanied by the one of the officers. They asked James to step outside. He took Cara’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She squeezed back. As he turned to leave she said, “James, can you check on my mom? Please? Someone needs to check on my mom.”

  Before James could answer, the police officer said, “My partner’s leaving for your house in a few minutes, Miss Franklin. He’ll let your mother know what’s going on and he can give her a ride over here.”

  The look of horror on Cara’s face told James that might not be a good idea.

  “Cara, how is your mom doing? How’s she been since your father’s death?”

  “She’s not well,” Cara said, and James heard the panic in her voice. “Please, she’s not well.”

  “I’ll go.” James volunteered. “I’ll make sure Mrs. Franklin gets here tonight. “Please,” Cara said. “Please let Dr. Mackie go in your place.”

  “All right,” he said. “Let me talk to my partner. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you,” Cara whispered to James. “Thank you for everything.”

  James didn’t drive straight to Cara’s home. He headed up Valley Drive, past the place he found Cara, clear to the end. He found the old van parked underneath the apple tree, exactly as Cara had described. James left the motor running in his car, then climbed out and strode to the rear of the van. He pounded on the metal door. For a few seconds he heard nothing.

  At last a voice called out, “Fuck off, Cara! You ain’t getting no more shit from me!”

  “I’m not Cara.”

  The back door of the van opened. James stared at a half-dressed, scruffy looking man in his early twenties. He had several deep red slashes along one cheek.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Your worst nightmare.” James hauled him out the back of the van and slammed him against the apple tree. “You beat up a girl tonight. She’s a good friend of mine. You tried to rape her, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”

  “Nah, man, I didn’t try to rape her! Get your fucking hands off me! I didn’t try to rape her! You got it wrong. She asked me for it. She was begging me for it. She’s a fucking cunt . . .”

  James fist connected with Randy’s face, knocking the back of his head against the thick tree trunk. “What did you say? I don’t think I heard you right. You said she asked for it?”

  “Yeah, man.” Randy spat, holding a hand to his bleeding mouth. “She offered it up in trade man. You know, I give her dope, she gives me . . .”

  James’ knee jerked up into Randy’s groin.

  “Jesus Christ man!” Randy squealed like a piglet. He would have doubled over but James kept him pinned to the tree.

  “I’m sorry,” said James, his voice sweet, “But I didn’t hear that last thing you said. She offered what?”

  Randy tried to catch his breath. “Nothin’, man, nothin’. She didn’t offer me nothin’. She just . . .” He grunted, unable to speak for a moment. “I just misunderstood, that’s all. I must have misunderstood what she wanted. There’s no problem, man. No problem. Let me go. I won’t touch her again.”

  James held onto him with both hands, jerking him around until they stood behind the van. Randy’s legs shook.

  “You’re damn right you won’t touch her again. You speak to her, you touch her, you even think about her, you have one teeny-tiny wet dream about her and I’ll fucking kill you. You got it?”

  “Yeah man, I got it,” wheezed Randy, his face white, his eyes bulging from his head.

  James abruptly let go and Randy dropped to the ground like he’d been shot. James stalked to his car and peeled away from the curb, making a U-turn. He pointed his car down Valley Lane and headed to Cara’s house. That felt good, James thought. That felt very, very good.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  James stood on Cara’s front porch. He rang the bell for several minutes. When there was no response, he pounded on the front door. Eventually he went around to the back where he could see Cara’s mother through the picture window, huddled on the couch, wrapped in a thick blanket.

  James called her name in a loud voice, but she gave no indication that she heard him. So this was what Cara has been dealing with since her father’s death. Exasperated, he pounded on the glass window, hoping to startle her into reacting. He didn’t care if she called the police. At least she would be doing something besides staring off into space. The woman appeared to rouse herself. Standing with the blanket clutched tight to her chest, she peered through the glass into the dark backyard.

  “Cara?” she called out. “There’s somebody in the backyard. Cara? Where are you?”

  “Mrs. Franklin,” James yelled. “I’m Dr. Mackie. James Mackie. Cara wa
s in an accident tonight. She’s in the hospital. She sent me to get you.”

  Mrs. Franklin stared at him.

  “Mrs. Franklin, did you hear what I said? Cara’s in the hospital. Open the door and talk to me. If you’re afraid to talk to me then for god’s sake call the police and talk to them.”

  He wished he could shake the woman out of her stupor. Damn, if he was in Cara’s position he’d probably use drugs too. He watched as Mrs. Franklin walked in slow motion to the back door, dragging the blanket behind her like a little kid. She flipped on the floodlights, illuminating the entire backyard. James followed her to the door, standing a few feet away, hands in front of him, giving the woman lots of space. He didn’t want to spook her any worse than he had already.

  Louise Franklin opened the door. “What’s she done now?”

  “Cara hasn’t done anything Mrs. Franklin. She’s been hurt and she’s at the hospital. The police want you to come down.”

  “I don’t like to leave the house. Cara knows that.”

  “She said you weren’t feeling well,” he said, forcing himself to use his best bedside manner. “She asked me to check on you.”

  “Oh. When is she coming home?”

  “She has to stay overnight. It would be nice if you could come to the hospital with me. I’m sure Cara would appreciate it. She’s all alone there.”

  “But I told you, I don’t like to leave the house.”

  James patience came to an end. If anyone was in need of her mother, it was Cara. He couldn’t disguise the contempt he felt. “Look Mrs. Franklin, maybe Cara will put up with your whining, but I won’t. Your daughter needs you. She’s been hurt and she’s scared. For once in your life act like a goddamned parent. Get your shoes on, get a jacket and I’ll drive you to the hospital. It’s either me or the police. You decide.”

  At first, Mrs. Franklin seemed to withdraw from him even further. Then anger crept over her features. James decided anger was much better than complete apathy. She dropped the blanket and stomped upstairs like a petulant child, reappearing a few minutes later with a pair of boots and a suede jacket.

  Poor Cara. James knew exactly who was the adult in this household.

  As they walked to the car, James said, “I expect you to behave yourself when we get to the hospital. Cara didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Who do you think you are that you can . . . ?” She bristled, but James cut her off.

  “I’m a friend. I’m a friend of Cara’s and I was acquainted with your husband. I’m aware of the way you’ve treated your daughter and I’m telling you right now I won’t put up with it. If you can’t be kind, you can at least be respectful.

  “You have no idea what I’ve had to deal with all these years.”

  James frowned. “I think it’s more accurate to say you have no idea what your daughter has had to deal with all these years. Now get in the car.”

  She pointed a long finger at him. “You are a very disrespectful young man.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not as nice as your daughter. I don’t have a lot of patience for people who abuse their children.”

  Mrs. Franklin slapped his face. James didn’t make a sound. He just looked at the woman. At least he’d gotten a rise out of her. Indignation was an improvement over the lethargy he’d witnessed. The epitome of politeness, James held the car door open for her and watched her climb in. The woman sat, stone-faced, on the drive to the hospital. James didn’t try to engage her in conversation. He didn’t see the point. His only concern was how she’d respond to Cara. If she uttered one word of criticism, one single word, he’d turn her right around, march her outside, drive her back home and leave her there alone to stew in her own juices. Maybe it would do her good. Cara should go off to college and leave her mother’s issues behind. It might be the best thing for everyone.

  James escorted Mrs. Franklin into the emergency room. The ward clerk informed them that Cara had been transferred to a bed in the Medical unit. He got the room number and walked with Mrs. Franklin to the elevator.

  “You don’t have to come with me,” she said.

  “Yes actually, I do.”

  She turned up her nose, but remained silent.

  As they walked side by side down the hallway toward Cara’s room.

  “Look Mrs. Franklin, your daughter’s been beaten, and whoever did it tried to rape her. She was able to fight him off, but she was out in the cold for god only knows how long. I’m the one who found her nearly dead from hypothermia. I should warn you, Cara looks pretty bad.” James put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, forcing her to come to a halt. “Do you think you can at least pretend to be sympathetic? If you plan to be a bitch about it, I’d just as soon take you home right now.”

  Louise Franklin took a deep breath. In a voice reeking of sarcasm, she asked, “Why are you making this your business? What does my daughter mean to you anyway?”

  “You may not realize this, Mrs. Franklin, but your husband and I spent a great deal of time together during Cara’s previous hospitalization. He cared what happened to his daughter. He’s gone now. Somebody needs to care about her. It might as well be me.”

  Louise Franklin stared at him. Her voice softened just a bit. “Regardless of what you may think of me, Dr. Mackie, Cara is my daughter. I care about her.” She paused. “I’ll do my best to be sympathetic.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  They continued down the hallway in silence.

  Cara was asleep. Mrs. Franklin sucked in a breath at the sight of Cara’s battered face, the bruises visible beneath the dim light. Hands over her mouth, she began to back out of the room, but she backed right into James where he stood blocking the doorway.

  “I can’t,” she muttered. “I can’t look at her.”

  She tried to get by James, but he held her arm. “She needs you. She needs her mother. Stay.”

  James felt a tremor go through the woman. He studied her face, wondering if she felt faint, if he should sit her down. An odd, fractured look came over her, as if her facade had cracked. The tears began to flow and Mrs. Franklin crumbled against him. Her shoulders shook for a long time. All at once, she quieted and pushed herself away.

  James gazed into the woman’s eyes. She seemed worn out, far older than her forty years, but now he saw some strength in the set of her jaw, some spark of life in her features. He pulled a chair from the corner of the room and set it next to the head of the bed. Mrs. Franklin sat down, laying her hand lightly on the bed covers. It was something. Cara stirred, but she didn’t wake.

  With weary steps, James made his way down the hall. He walked straight to his car, drove on autopilot to Debbie’s house. Her car was parked in the drive and her house lights were on. He decided to knock rather than let himself in with his key. Debbie opened the door to greet him, but James didn’t feel much like talking. He threw his bag in her room, showered and went to bed. That night he tossed and turned, his dreams filled with disturbing visions of a pale bruised face surrounded by waves of auburn hair. He knew he’d disappointed Debbie, but James wasn’t in the mood to stay. He left for Iowa City after breakfast.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Over the following six months, Cara tried hard to hold herself together. She continued to struggle with anxiety attacks, but James had kept his word. Debbie gave her a list of psychiatrists who specialized in stress-management.

  Cara and her new psychiatrist, Dr. Kenny, met together twice a week. When he suggested they try some new techniques, Cara agreed without hesitation. She absolutely dreaded the heart-pounding terror she felt during an attack.

  One weekly session involved hypnotherapy. In the beginning, Cara’s anxiety increased and the attacks became more frequent. As part of his treatment, Dr. Kenny instructed her to come up with a trigger word, something that had positive connotations for her. He put her under hypnosis and asked Cara to relive the circumstances that triggered the first attack. He then guided her through the relaxation techniques he’d taught her.
He used her trigger word to invoke feelings of security, safety and warmth. The trigger word Cara decided upon was James. Only she and Dr. Kenny knew the reason for that particular word.

  Cara continued to attend her classes and work both jobs. In incremental steps, her mother resumed her management of the household, doing the cooking, the cleaning, the grocery shopping, and to Cara’s great relief, paying their bills. She and Cara shared the task of driving Cara’s grandmother to physical therapy sessions, and she helped Cara contract with a private home care agency. Mrs. Franklin also rejoined her bridge group at the country club and to all appearances, managed to have a sense of humor about the fact that her daughter regularly served the group lunch.

  Cara was shocked to overhear her mother say, “There’s a lot to admire about Cara’s work ethic.”

  At last Cara felt confident enough to make a late application to the University of Iowa. She received her Letter of Acceptance, and with her mother’s blessing, packed her things and moved to Iowa City as soon as her junior college semester ended. With the help of the Housing Office, she rented a furnished studio apartment in the attic of an old Victorian a block from campus.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Cara loved her compact apartment, especially the dormer window in her bedroom. It overlooked a green common area, so she positioned her bed in the alcove where she could watch students jog, play Frisbee and touch football, meet for outdoor study groups, sunbathe and simply kick back. The mere existence of the window and the energetic scene below made her feel happier than she’d felt in ages.

  Her bathroom was tiny and lacked a shower, but the short, deep, antique white porcelain claw-foot bathtub made up for that. She couldn’t wait to run the water for a long hot soak.

  The kitchen consisted of a café table and a couple of chairs, a sink, a row of shelving and a two-burner stove. There was no oven, but Cara didn’t mind a bit. The place was all hers and she reveled in her freedom. And it was freedom, pure and simple, despite her appointment at the Office of Financial Aid in the morning to find out about work-study options. While Cara had saved enough money to pay for her own housing, tuition and books would be paid for by a combination of grants and work-study. Rent came to eighty-five dollars a month so it would be necessary to work only one part-time job. She’d have all the time she needed to study.