Rage: A Love Story

by Julie Anne Peters

  Reeve’s eyes fuse to mine. “Did my neighbor see Anthony kill Robbie?”

  A chill slithers up my spine. “What?” I whisper.

  Reeve goes, “He stabbed my mom, then he slit Robbie’s throat.”

  Chapter 31

  Robbie is dead. I can’t believe it.

  The gray lady is Reeve’s social services caseworker. She says to Reeve, “How do I get in touch with your father?”

  “Why?” Reeve asks.

  “He’s your only living relative. He could take you in until—”

  “She can’t live there,” I cut in.

  Tessa goes, “Stay out of this, Johanna.”

  “He molested them,” I tell the caseworker.

  The caseworker says to Reeve, “I never heard about this.”

  The halls have cleared; all the doctors, nurses, police officers have gone. “He abused both of them,” I say. “He beat their mother too.”

  Tessa fixes on Reeve.

  “She’s coming home with me,” I tell Tessa and the gray lady.

  The caseworker looks like she has a problem with it, but Tessa says to her, “Can I speak to you in private?”

  They leave and I hold Reeve. Robbie’s dead. He’s dead. He can’t be.

  Tessa comes back alone. “Let’s go,” she says. I think she means the two of us, but she grasps Reeve’s arm too.

  I sit in the back and hold Reeve. She’s cold and stiff.

  When we get home, I steer Reeve toward my apartment, but Tessa blocks my path. “Where are you going?”

  Reeve’s fingers are icicles.

  Tessa says, “Come in the house. Let’s figure this out.”

  What’s to figure out? Reeve is living with me. It’s cold and wet and I don’t want to argue.

  Reeve breaks away and opens the patio door to the house.

  Novak ambushes us inside. “Hey, you found her.”

  I shield Reeve from Novak.

  Tessa sets down her carryall. “Reeve can have the sleeper sofa, since Novak’s in the baby’s—I mean, the blue room.”

  “No way!” My voice echoes through the house. No way is Reeve going to be near Novak.

  Tessa eyes me. “Okay. Then Novak can stay with you and Reeve can have—”

  “No.”

  “It’s the only solution,” Tessa says.

  “Reeve is moving in with me.”

  “We’re through discussing this.” Tessa heads into the living room.

  I shout at her, “We’re not through! It’s not a solution!” I follow her to the back. “Why can’t Reeve stay with me? Because you’re afraid we’ll have sex? I’m gay, okay? It’s what we do.”

  Tessa turns slowly, her eyes rise to my face. “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

  “I think it is.”

  Behind me, I hear Reeve tell Novak, “My mother and brother are dead.”

  Novak goes, “Oh my God.”

  I say to Tessa, “You just want to keep us apart.”

  Tessa says, “Yes. I want her as far away from you as possible.”

  I knew it.

  In a calmer voice, she adds, “Johanna, look at your face. Look what she did to you. I’m afraid to leave her alone with you.”

  “I can take care of myself. I love her.”

  Tessa’s eyes soften. “You have strong feelings for this girl. You want to be her savior. But the way she treats you, that isn’t love.”

  We look at each other intensely. I say, “She doesn’t mean it. She can’t help it.”

  Tessa gives me a slow shake of her head.

  “You don’t understand,” I say.

  Tessa opens the linen closet and hauls out an armload of sheets, towels, a pillow. “She’s not staying with you.” She walks past me. “Reeve, you’re here on the sleeper sofa. Temporarily. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I charge past Tessa and reach for Reeve’s hand. “She’s living with me.”

  Reeve pulls away.

  What? Why, baby?

  Tessa says, “Johanna, if you need sheets or blankets—”

  “Fuck you,” I say. I storm out, slamming the sliding door so hard the glass cracks.

  Ramming my throbbing skull against my car’s seat back, I squeeze my eyes shut and get sucked into the undertow. From some roiling sea inside me, an angry wave of tears swells to the surface.

  Robbie’s dead. Their mom is dead. Reeve saw it happen.

  What does it do to a person to live with violence every day? With fear? In my entire life I never once woke up feeling afraid. Well, not of physical violence. My biggest fear was that I’d wake up every day alone, that I’d never find someone to love.

  But I did. I found Reeve. We’re going through a rough patch. I can smooth it out.

  It’s freaking Siberia in the car with the window broken. I curl up tight on the seat. I wonder if Reeve is crying, if there are enough tears in a person to cry that much out. I remember this one youth service project we did where we went to the inner city to work with kids. It was Martin Luther King Day or something, and we asked the kids to draw their dream. We told them, “If you can see it, you can be it.”

  What does Reeve see?

  She just lost her brother and her mother.

  I lost my father and mother, but it doesn’t seem the same. They died in peace.

  Tessa lost two babies. And her parents.

  Reeve’s pain can be my pain. I’ll take it. I think about what Reeve said, that the reason I take it is because I don’t value my life.

  That’s not true. I’ve never had anything to live for as important as her. If someone came at me with a knife and tried to hurt me, I’d defend myself. So why didn’t I even try against Reeve?

  Because I never felt in danger. I only felt… in love.

  My legs cramp. I roll onto my back and stretch my legs to the window. My life isn’t a constant struggle for survival. Occasionally I worry where my next meal will come from, but I know I won’t starve. I never worry about having a warm place to sleep at night.

  Except … Who’s got a bed tonight? Everyone but me.

  I have to pee. The security light under the house eave is burned out and I trip over an Adirondack footrest, scraping it across the flagstone. If that doesn’t wake the devil… The sliding door is locked. Thanks, Tessa.

  I creep up the apartment stairs quietly so Novak won’t hear. She didn’t lock me out, at least.

  Objects in the room take shape. The divan, TV, hallway. I go to the bathroom. Novak isn’t in the bed, or on the divan. I switch on the light in the kitchen and see my spiral, the one I wrote letters in, lying open on the table. Open to a page where I wrote out a scene from Joy-land.

  On the opposite page, Novak left a note:

  Lesbo,

  You're a horny bitch. There are lots of grlz who’d sleep with you. I’m going home to kiss my mother’s ass. I’d like to remove the poker from it first, but she might bleed to death. Sorry. Inappropriate humor considering the circumstances. If I promise to be a good girl from now on, maybe she’ll let me stay until I leave for college. How long do you think I can keep that promise?

  About a minute, I think.

  I know I don't deserve you. I took advantage of you and I’m sorry. Tell Tessa thank you, okay? Tell Reeve I’m so so sorry. OMG. I can't believe her mom’s dead. And Robbie. OMG.

  I have to be honest, Joho. I don't think she’s good for you. She might feed your caring soul or your nymphomania, but she’s damaged. I know love is blind and all, but not to everyone around you who loves you and doesn't want to see you get hurt. Like me. And Tessa.

  She talked to Tessa about Reeve. She told her.

  You’ve already ripped this up, so it’s not going to matter if I say what I’m going to say next.

  “I’m still reading, Novak,” I say aloud.

  I’m not sorry I kissed you. You can forget what happened, but I won't. I think we both wanted it. Maybe I’m bi, or maybe you’re just so fucking irresistible you made me gay. Guy
s suck, okay? They’re never there when you need them the most.

  There’s an arrow (over), and I can’t help myself.

  You were always there for me, Johanna. I needed you more than I should have. Sound familiar?

  Chapter 32

  Novak straightened my room. My shirts are hanging in the closet and my jeans are folded. She made the bed. Why couldn’t she leave my place the way she found it? Why couldn’t she leave me the way she found me?

  I sit up all night, picking off the black tips from all the candles I lit the night Reeve came over. A tendril of desire tickles my belly.

  Death drowns it. A familiar sense of loss seeps through my veins.

  Reeve is close, right downstairs. All I have to do is go get her.

  No. She needs space to grieve. I have to let her come to me. With time and trust, she can be healed.

  When I raise my head from the table, I have a crick in my neck. It’s morning.

  The curtains on the sliding door are drawn, and Martin, most likely, has duct-taped the crack in the glass. That’s going to cost me. Tessa’s in the dining room, drinking coffee.

  “I’ll pay for the glass,” I tell her, easing the door shut behind me.

  She presses an index finger to her lips. The house is still.

  “Does Novak want breakfast?” Tessa whispers. “Do you?”

  I cross into the kitchen. “Novak went home.”

  There’s a prolonged silence. “Look. I’m sorry,” Tessa says. “Not for what you think. I’m doing what’s right for you—for once.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Tessa goes, “Shh. Come sit with me a minute.” She motions to the chair beside her.

  I open the fridge and grab the jug of milk. There’s a clean glass in the dish drainer next to the sink.

  Sliding into a chair across from Tessa, I sip my milk. She says, “I should’ve had this talk with you a while ago.”

  Blood rushes up my neck. Here it comes.

  “I feel completely responsible for everything that happened. I should’ve stayed home to go to college. I knew how dependent Mom was after Dad died and I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”

  Does she think I did a crap job of it all?

  “I just couldn’t quit school so near the end—” Tessa pauses. “Yes, I could have. It’s no excuse. And your letter—”

  A shadow behind her snags my attention. Reeve. I get up to meet her under the archway. My momentum carries us both backward into the living room and I hold her. I kiss her gently on the mouth and she lets me.

  I sense Tessa behind me. Always, I feel her judging me.

  Reeve detaches and says, “I need to get my stuff from my house.”

  I say to Reeve, “Novak’s gone. She said to say she’s sorry about your mom and Robbie. She’s gone, okay?”

  “When did she leave?” Tessa asks, eavesdropping on my private conversation.

  “I don’t know.” I smooth Reeve’s hair. “I wasn’t in the apartment.”

  Reeve says, “Where were you?”

  “In my car.”

  A glint of emotion passes through Reeve’s eyes and a tiny smile crooks her lips. An instant of relief, and trust?

  Crime-scene tape is strung along the fence and crisscrossed on the doors and windows. Tessa says, “We should’ve gotten permission, or a police escort.”

  Reeve goes, “Fuck the police.”

  Tessa’s eyes narrow at Reeve.

  “We’ll just get some clothes and leave,” I say. “We won’t destroy evidence or anything.”

  From the car, Tessa scans the area. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to come inside,” I tell her.

  Reeve gets out and makes a beeline for the back. I’m on her heels. A basement window has been rigged and Reeve fits through easily, but it’s a squeeze for me.

  The first thing that hits me is the smell. Like vinegar.

  Reeve says, “Mom cooks down here.”

  Cooks? Then I see it—drug paraphernalia. A thump behind me makes me yelp. Tessa. She claws a spiderweb off her face. Reeve pushes a trapdoor and light filters down a laddered shaft.

  The air is a relief. I climb up after Reeve and we emerge in the kitchen, where jagged shapes cut eerie shadows. There are splatters of red on the wall. Is that blood? Oh my God. Reeve’s breathing is stuttered and shallow.

  “It’s okay, baby.”

  Sidestepping a pile of rubble, she says, “Stay here.”

  Tessa breathes, “Oh, Johanna,” as Reeve’s footsteps pound on the stairs. “What are you into?”

  Her, I answer silently. I leave Tessa behind and catch up to Reeve.

  The second floor is destroyed. Doors are busted down or missing and there are gaping holes in the walls. It stinks like vomit. I flip on a light switch, but nothing happens.

  Reeve goes, “I told you to stay downstairs.” She comes out of nowhere, pushing me back.

  “But I want to help.”

  “I can do it. Don’t come any closer.” She balls a fist in my face. “I mean it.”

  This has to be hard for her, returning to the scene where Robbie … her mom …

  Reeve skitters to the end of the hall, crouches on the floor, and starts shoveling clothes into a pillowcase. I trip on a hunk of loose carpet.

  “Damn you.” She flies to her feet and charges me. She rams me into an exposed wall beam, gouging my spine.

  “Let me help,” I say.

  “No!”

  “Why?”

  She sets her jaw.

  “I…” What doesn’t she want me to see? I’ve already seen it all. I glance over her shoulder. “Is that your room?” It’s a closet, or used to be. There’s no door. A small, square mirror hangs by a string on a nail. The clothes she hasn’t shoved into the pillowcase are scant. She has, like, three shirts and a pair of jeans.

  This is where she sleeps? In a closet?

  “Don’t.” She squeezes my arms so hard it hurts. “Don’t you fucking feel sorry for me.”

  I meet her eyes. Snatching the pillowcase from her hand, I edge past her to the closet and sink to my knees. I jam the rest of the clothes in as this fire burns in my belly. How unfair is this? How little she has, how she—how anybody—has to live this way.

  Me thinking it’s so cool, so vintage. This isn’t vintage. It’s poverty.

  I storm to the stairs and throw the pillowcase down to Tessa. “We’re taking everything!” I yell.

  Robbie had a room—no door, no closet, no plaster on the walls. He slept on a crappy single mattress on the floor. Reeve slept right outside his door.

  His case is sitting on the mattress. He’s never coming back.

  “That’s it,” Reeve says.

  “Do you want Robbie’s things?”

  She avoids looking into his room. “No.”

  As we load up Tessa’s Subaru, I think, Get the hell out of here. Torch it. Demolish the whole block. Tessa pulls away from the curb and I yell, “Stop!”

  She slams on the brakes.

  “I forgot something,” I tell Tessa. “Go back.”

  I don’t wait for her. I fling open the door and sprint to the house.

  The case, it could be empty. It could be full of—who cares? That case is all he had.

  Chapter 33

  Tessa calls this mortuary and schedules a service for Robbie and their mom on Wednesday. Tuesday she goes back to work at the clinic.

  I gather up all the candles that still have wicks and wash the sheets and lower the miniblinds. The bedroom isn’t pitch black, not at eight-thirty in the morning, but the gauzy natural light with the flickering candles feels dreamy and romantic.

  I hear the apartment door open, close, and lock. I feel her coming down the hall. She lingers for a moment in the doorway. I’ve been waiting so long for her, for this, for the two of us to finally come together.

  Reeve says, “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

  “Do you want me to help?”

&n
bsp; A smile tugs her lips. “I think I can handle it.”

  I listen to the water run and imagine her taking off her cami, her shorts, her bra. Testing the water. Stepping into the spray.

  I’m already naked under the sheets, and ready. Reeve comes in, clutching a towel to her front. She looks all pink and tingly. She drops her towel and slides in underneath.

  I pull her into my arms.

  “Johanna,” she says, “I know what you want.” She presses her forehead to mine. “I want it too, but…”

  Her hair is damp and combed straight. I curl her hair over her ear so I can look at her face.

  “What do you need, Reeve?” I ask.

  Tears glisten in her eyes. “I need you to hold me.”

  I draw her in closer. Her stick-thin arms slide up between us, sharp elbows pressing into my breasts as her head burrows into my neck.

  “I can’t give you what you need,” Reeve says in a small voice. “I’m sorry.”

  I close my eyes and fight down the disappointment. “It’s okay. I understand.” She needs time to heal. “You’re all I need.”

  “Sure,” she goes. “But you couldn’t wait.”

  I bleed out internally.

  She rolls over, away from me, and I release her from my needs. I’d never force her.

  I’ve never wanted anything or anyone so much.

  To cut the silence and tension, I say, “The rule is, after number ten you have to start counting over.”

  “At number two?”

  I clench my throat to keep from crying.

  We lie together in bed for a while.

  “I want to take you somewhere,” I say.

  “I told you I’m not ready.”

  “Not there.” I slide out from between the sheets. “Get dressed.”

  She twists her head to look at me.

  “Please?”

  “Where?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  So do I. We have that in common.

  Memorial Hospice is a hodgepodge of structures—on one side, a cottage house converted to a café; on the other, the new addition, with a glassed-in entrance to hide the older building, the public ward.