Maybe she is married. If she has an angry husband waiting for her in there, it might explain her erratic behavior. As if to confirm my suspicion, a man around my age, with no shirt on, walks out the front door and starts yelling at Ella.
“Daddy, who’s that?” Chloe asks, watching the drama unfold from the backseat.
“I don’t know, honey,” My heart sinks as I refuse to share my theory with my four-year-old.
I could punch Ryan in the face right now. He’s been using Tinder for a long time. He must have known I would likely meet up with some woman in this kind of situation. I grind my teeth, angry that I fell for her lies. Why did she go out of her way to tell me she was a virgin if she’s got this guy at home? Heat flashes up over my neck as I remember the way she seemed genuinely offended when I straight out asked her if she was married.
I throw the car in reverse, eager to put as much distance between myself and the woman I was opening my heart to. All of a sudden, the shaggy blond-haired man grabs Ella roughly by the arm and wrenches it up tight over her head. Tears stream down her face as she cries out in pain.
Fuck that. Married or not, I’m not going to let her go home to some kind of abusive asshole. I jam the gear back into park. “I’ll be right back. Play your caterpillar game.” I hand off my cell phone to my daughter, inviting her to get a rare amount of screen time enjoying her favorite kids game so she won’t watch what I’m about to do to this man.
“Hey, get your hands off her,” I snap, slamming the car door behind me.
“Who the fuck are you?” He squints at me. “Ella, who the hell is this guy?” he demands, shaking her arm as she yelps.
“I’m gonna be the guy who beats your ass if you don’t let go of her right now,” I promise him through gritted teeth and he immediately drops his hand from her.
Just when I think I’ve got this whole situation summarized, the front door opens again and a woman in her late thirties or early forties steps outside, wrapping a silk robe around her tight.
“Ella, what did I tell you about missing curfew? You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the street, especially after making such a scene with poor Raymond.” She walks her fingers across the man’s back and I do a double take.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Sylvia. I can explain,” Ella manages to sputter through her tears.
Okay, so that’s not her husband. So who the hell are these people? Is this really just a couple she works for? All the anger I had toward Ella and the betrayal I thought she was putting me through comes into a narrow focus on these two assholes treating her like human garbage.
“Ella, you don’t have to put up with this, babe.” I walk closer, but she turns away from me and stares down at her feet. “No job is worth this shit.” I wave my hand at the woman and man. “Come with me. I’ll help you figure this out. Don’t apologize to them.” I hold out my hand, but she never sees it. She refuses to even look at me.
“You better get him out of here, Ella!” The woman hisses, “You’ve caused enough trouble for us.” The edge in her voice tells me there’s a threat I’m not seeing on the surface. On the surface, nothing about this is making much sense at all.
“Jackson, you need to leave,” Ella answers feebly, finally looking over her shoulder, tears slicking down over her honey skin.
“Come on, you can’t seriously work for these two. Let’s just get out of here. I’ll help you figure out another job, Ella.” I shake my head, not believing my ears.
“Just leave!” she screams and I jump at the power and terror in her tone. She turns away again, sobbing, and I frown at the ground, not understanding the hold these two have over her.
“You heard her. If you don’t get off our property, we’ll call the police.” The blond guy smiles smugly at me.
“It’s my property,” the woman corrects him. “Enough of this. Everyone get inside. I’ll deal with you later.” She flicks Ella like an annoying bug and I stand like a statue, dumbfounded by how she’s letting them treat her.
Turning on my heel, I walk back toward the car in a daze. That scream, her telling me to leave, it sounded like she was terrified. What the hell is going on here? I can’t make her come with me. I guess if this is how she chooses to live, then I need to let it go. I can’t be her knight in shining armor, especially when she doesn’t even want one.
I sit back in my car, clicking my seat belt into place, and watch the front door for a moment, half expecting to see her run out to the car. To me. But she doesn’t.
“Daddy, are you upset with Ella?” Chloe drops my phone in the seat.
I watch her big blue eyes looking for answers I don’t have in the rearview mirror.
“No, honey,” I lie. She doesn’t need to know that beneath the surface I’m a wreck. For her, I will be a rock. No matter what.
“I think you are,” she says in a sing-songy voice. “And you know what always makes me feel better when I’m upset, Daddy?”
“What’s that?” I manage to sound a little more chipper this time as I turn and smile at her.
“Ice cream!” she announces, poking her fingers in the air in a little dance. “I have a great idea. How about we get pancakes and ice cream for breakfast?” She looks very proud of herself for coming up with such a genius plan.
I can’t help but laugh at the twinkle in her eyes.
“Let’s see what we can do, Chloe.” I chuckle and start the car.
As I pull out of the driveway and head down the street, I find myself longing for the simplicity of childhood. Back when life was easy and at those rare moments when it wasn’t, ice cream was able to fix all problems. Because knowing that Ella is living like this, and the fact that there’s nothing I can do to help her, is the worst feeling in the world.
22 | Ella
“Miss Sylvia,” I quietly interrupt the blaring commercial as my boss and her man sit together on the couch getting ready for their show to come back on.
She sneers at me with utter disgust. The way she would if she found a roach crawling in her sink. In this house, right now, a roach might get more respect than I do.
“What?” She frowns at me as I tug at the sleeve of my shirt awkwardly.
“I’ve scrubbed all the pots and pans and polished all the silver in your cabinet.” I run through the list of the latest chores. She’s been running me ragged for the last couple of days, trying to punish me for coming back late. I suppose it could be a lot worse. So much worse that I’ve just kept my mouth shut and done exactly what she’s told me to. “May I go to bed now?”
“Bed? This early?” She looks at her wristwatch. “Did you finish the laundry?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nod.
“Did you wash the bathroom down?”
“I did,” I answer simply.
“And the garbage is out by the curb?”
“It is.”
Sylvia pauses, probably scanning her mind for more menial tasks and chores to pile onto me. However, her show comes back on and distracts her attention. “Fine, get to bed. You’ll be up bright and early anyway.” She flicks her wrist, dismissing me with her dangling hand.
“Thank you.” I walk away before she has a chance to change her mind. Although, if she really did change her mind, she could just wake me up and demand I start cleaning again.
Exhausted, I trudge down to my room, past all the gleaming surfaces I’ve cleaned and cleaned again in this house. Sylvia was furious with me for staying out. She shrieked at me, spat in my face, and told me that if she hadn’t known my father she would have sold me years ago. I’m not allowed to leave the yard at all anymore. She even fired me from picking up her coffee order, sending Raymond in my place to pick up the bitch special.
I went from feeling like a prisoner to truly becoming one. I can only hope that, in time, Sylvia’s anger eases off some and I’m actually allowed to go outside for more than just dragging garbage to the curb.
Sitting on the side of my bed, I feel so much older than I am. My body is tire
d and my joints ache. I haven’t had five minutes to sit down all day. My feet scream at me in protest, begging me to lie down and give them a break.
I’m not ready to go to sleep yet, though. I know as soon as my head hits that pillow I won’t be able to stop myself from drifting off and I’m not ready to pass out, only to be woken before the sun rises to do this all again tomorrow. I need some time to myself.
My thoughts drift to Jackson for probably the thousandth time in the last few days. Since Sylvia confiscated my phone, I’ve had no way of reactivating my profile and talking to him. It’s eating me up inside that I haven’t been able to tell him why I had to send him away. If I could just get him to hear me out, if I could explain my life, he wouldn’t be angry anymore. I hate that someone I care about so deeply will soon be a distant memory in my life.
Why can’t you talk to him? I can almost hear the thought in Julianna’s rebellious voice, whispering in my ear.
No, that’s crazy thoughts. I can’t start going down that path. As it is, I’m skating on thin ice. If I try to sneak my phone back and communicate with Jackson, I really could be facing deportation, or worse.
Who said anything about your phone? You know where he lives. Go see him. She’ll never know.
My heart skips a beat at the scandalous thought. There’s no way I could sneak out and see him… right? I mean, definitely, without question there’s no way I should. But if I did, could I get away with it? It’s not like Sylvia is going to check in on me. She knows she’s got me under her thumb right now. Tonight she’s probably just going to have too many drinks, watch her reality television, and stumble up to bed.
Would she ever even find out? I bite my lip as I consider something so stupid, yet something that my heart is begging me to do. All the rebelliousness I never got to experience as a teenager rears its ugly head as my thoughts multiply, encouraging me to take this chance.
I’m on the ground floor, so it wouldn’t be hard to sneak out through my bedroom window. My head sweeps around and I watch my bedroom door, like I half expect Sylvia to suspect that I’m up to something and come barging in here at any moment.
She doesn’t.
I stand up, still keeping my eyes on the door, but nothing changes. Walking backward, creeping slowly, I make my way to the window, never taking my eyes off that door. However, it remains closed. Beyond it, I can still hear the television blasting in the other room. I tilt my head as I hear Raymond talking to Sylvia and they both laugh.
I face my window, my heart thumping so hard I can see my pulse in my hands as I slide the pane open and tug the screen from the opening. Gently, quietly, I push the screen under my bed, hiding it from sight.
Am I really going to do this? If my body has any intention of listening to the second-guessing in my mind, it’s not showing it. I contort my body under the window, so I’m sitting on the outside with my feet dangling toward the ground. Even though I’m not high up, it’s still a jump down to the grass. I slide the window down behind me, digging the tips of my fingers into the glass like tiny suction cups and easing it toward my butt. I leave it open enough that I can sneak back in and take a deep breath.
Thud!
To me, that noise might as well be me crashing into a giant wall of cymbals. It sounds so loud, I expect to see Raymond and Sylvia rounding the corner any second, ready and willing to destroy what’s left of my life. I freeze in place, waiting for something to happen, but nothing does. From inside, I can hear them laugh again at their show and my muscles unwind, allowing me to quickly walk away from the house.
Down the street I march, forcing myself not to run. I don’t want to draw attention to myself, but I have this wild energy begging to be released inside of me that the pure adrenaline pulsing through my veins is causing. I speed walk away from the house, keeping my eyes peeled for a taxi the entire time. Up the road I see one and flag it down, shocked when it actually waits for me.
I’m doing this. I’m going to see him. To tell him the truth. It’s exhilarating and scary, but in my heart I know it’s the right thing to do.
23 | Jackson
With Chloe sound asleep, I finally have a few minutes to tidy up from the day. I take in the living room, amazed at the almost tornado-like force a child her age has on a house. As I scan the room’s surfaces, I can’t seem to find a single one that doesn’t have some traces of my daughter’s day on it. Whether it’s the paintings she worked on and proudly displayed on the coffee table for me, or the tiny My Little Pony accessories leaving a dangerous trail for me to walk on, or the fact that the TV remote is sandwiched between some of her favorite books.
And this is just one room. It’s impossible to keep the house in any kind of order when she’s here. Mom told me it gets easier when kids go to school, so maybe next year I’ll have some kind of hope of keeping things clean.
But I’m not going to hold my breath.
Sighing, I pick up the pillows from the floor and brush them off, placing them back on the couch. Gathering up the one piece of evidence that I actually live in this house, my coffee cup, I walk out to the kitchen and place it down in the sink. Without any distractions, my thoughts travel back to Ella. I stare out my kitchen window, out into the early darkness that keeps blanketing the earth a little bit earlier every night, wondering if she’s okay.
Without meaning to, I’ve found myself driving past that house every day now. However, I haven’t seen any sign of Ella even being there. I’m not sure what her job is for those dicks, but whatever it is, it’s not outside. The thing is, if I had any indication that she wanted my help, I’d kick in that door in a heartbeat and carry her out to my car. However, as I close my eyes, all I can hear is her forceful scream to go away.
My heart tells me I’m making a mistake by listening to her, but logic keeps me driving past the house. The last thing I need is someone calling the cops on me, or even worse, some kind of restraining order put out against me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that she needs me.
Lights shine in through my window, blinding me temporarily as they pull up my driveway. Who is coming here at this time? Not that it’s really that late. It’s actually only a little after eight. It just always feels late when your kid is finally asleep and you worry that any little noise might wake them up.
From the light on the top of the car, I can see it’s a taxi that’s pulled up in. So that rules out my mother. She has no reason to come over anyway, but if she did decide to stop by, it wouldn’t be in a cab. I walk over to the door, preparing to send whoever mistook this address as their destination away when my mouth goes slack and I fling the door wide-open instead.
“Ella!”
She fidgets uncomfortably and then looks over her shoulder at the cab, still not backing out of my driveway. “Hi.” Her face is contorted in pain. “I’m so sorry to do this. But, Jackson, I had to come see you. I owed you an explanation,” she starts to ramble.
“All right then, come in.” I step out of the way, clearing a path for her to come into the house.
“The thing is, I had to take a taxi to get here, but I don’t have the money to pay for it. I hate that I have to ask, but could you pay him?” Her eyebrows shoot skyward as she plays nervously with her ring.
Seriously?
She comes to my house, spends the night, spazzes out about getting back to her job, screams at me to leave, and then drives to my house a few days later without cab fare? I honestly can’t figure this girl out.
“Fine.” I walk past her and over to the driver’s side window, tapping on the glass. The cabbie lowers it down. “How much do I owe you?” I tug out my wallet from my back pocket.
“Twenty-five,” he answers flatly.
“Nope, there’s no way, man. I know how far you drove to get here. If you were purposely taking some long route, that’s on you. Now what do I really owe you?” I jut out my jaw as he sizes me up.
“Fine, it’s ten bucks.” He holds out his hand and I slap a bill against it. The cabbie
drives away and I join Ella on my step, opening the door for us.
“Okay, you said you want to talk. Come in and talk.”
I close the door behind us and head to the living room, not bothering to check if she’s following me or not. Plopping down on the sofa, I stare at her expectantly, still pretty annoyed by all this bullshit. “Are you going to sit down and tell me what all this is about?” I nod to the seat beside me.
Ella sits on the cushion gingerly, like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to take a seat. What on earth is going on in her life?
“Jackson, I’ve never told anyone this before,” she begins and I can hear the strain in her voice as she struggles to find the right words.
“Okay, well, take your time then.” I find my anger dissolving into concern. It’s impossible not to worry about her. She looks so fragile and scared. Whatever is going on with her, it’s probably a big deal.
“I’m sorry I told you to go away.” She rubs her hands over her jeans, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t know what to do. When I came to this country, I was fifteen. My entire family was killed in Colombia,” she starts to explain.
“Holy shit,” I breathe out the words.
Ella nods, blinking back tears. “Yes. But, before he was murdered, my father sent me over here with some smugglers. They bring people over the border and sell them. Dad had arranged for a woman over here to take me in. To give me protection and a better life. My boss, Sylvia, she did that for me. And part of me feels like I should be eternally grateful to her for doing that for me,” she explains.
I bite my tongue. From what I saw, Sylvia doesn’t treat her with any human dignity at all. I understand that Ella is grateful, but there’s a line.
“Okay.” I try not to let my opinion overshadow what she’s telling me.
“Sylvia, she’s not always easy to work for. She doesn’t pay me,” Ella confesses.
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