Damage Done

by Virginia Duke

  He frowned, clearly disappointed, and she laughed her apology, "Sorry, Jake, I'll make sure to impart your Google, MD wisdom next time."

  "So what did Kenneth say?"

  "Kenneth checked out. He didn't want to go. Besides, they’re busy hosting some advanced training for a group of paramedic students down at the station this morning."

  She pulled open her drawer full of junk food and dug around for a Hershey Bar, bracing for her friend's disapproval.

  "Honey, you've got to put down the chocolate. Your skin looks like shit, are you sleeping?" He planted himself on the sofa across the room and crossed one knee over the other, settling in. This meant they were in for a lengthy conversation. He loved to talk about how she was sleeping, whether she was taking her vitamins, if she'd eaten a healthy breakfast, why she wasn't having sex. She needed a way to get him out of her office.

  "Let me proof these numbers. We’ll talk about it over lunch." She threw the opened but untouched chocolate bar back in the drawer to show him she was serious.

  Creeeaak.

  The metal hardware on the front door needed to be greased, but it wasn't on the top of her to-do list, and the noise it made signaling visitors comforted her. Without it she’d have visions of some psycho sneaking in and taking off with Lauren, slitting her throat, or some other equally horrific thing.

  Mark called out, "Hey y'all, I brought donuts!" Jake's boyfriend loved to ruffle his feathers, always threatening to show up somewhere with junk food or cheap shoes. Jake rolled his eyes, but his smile said he secretly loved it.

  "Hey Mark," Rachel called back.

  "Hey Rach, where's our boy?"

  "I'm just about to kick him out of my office."

  Jake stood to leave, hands on hips, bared his large set of freshly whitened teeth, and purposefully exaggerated his deep Texas drawl, "Now listen here, Honey Pie, don't you dare go pulling that chocolate bar back out as soon as I leave the room, ya hear?"

  He snatched her diet soda and threw it in the garbage as he pranced out of her office.

  Asshole.

  She flipped him her middle finger with one hand and reached back into the chocolate drawer with the other, careful to watch until he was out of sight before pulling it out. The chocolate was terrible, but the sugar would give her a jumpstart and that's all she was after. She hadn't slept, she was running on caffeine and chocolate, she was tired. Like her husband, sleep was an angry mistress no longer sharing her bed.

  She reluctantly to hit the play button on her voicemail while her laptop warmed up.

  Sarah's never-had-a-bad-day-in-her-life voice boomed from the machine, "Hey girl! Is your cell phone dead? We're having fajitas and margaritas before the game tomorrow night, you and Kenneth promised to come over! Call me when you get this!"

  She didn't feel like putting on a happy face for her friends, but Sarah never took no for an answer, and they needed an excuse to get out of the house. She turned her phone back on and sent Kenneth a text.

  Promised dinner and drinks at Sarah’s tomorrow after the game.

  Maybe they’d drink enough tequila to flirt their way into bed together for the first time in eight months. She’d been dying to have sex, the weekly date nights with her detachable showerhead were no longer fitting the bill. But the last time she tried to come on to Kenneth, he told her he had a headache. She'd laughed, thinking he was teasing. But he'd shaken his head wearily and gone to bed - in the guest room downstairs.

  When he first started ignoring her after he came home from work, she was hurt and angry, but enough time had passed now to accept he'd probably just grown bored with keeping up pretenses, and she figured even great marriages had down times. She'd been busy herself, worrying about Hunter getting on his teacher's nerves, listening to Lauren ask over and over again how babies are made, finding money for another woman whose husband was threatening to take off with the kids, or listening to a volunteer debrief after hearing a particularly cruel story from a victim they were supporting. She understood maybe he was preoccupied or tired, but if Rachel could drag herself out of bed to beg people for money to keep her organization afloat then it wouldn’t have killed him to throw her some pity sex every now and then, or just sit by her on the couch. Or say hello when he walked in the door.

  She’d been dragging herself out of bed too many mornings lately, and this morning was no different. She was beyond exhausted and had zero interest in doing any real work. But then the front door creaked open again, and Mark yelled, "Holy Mother of Christ!"

  She flew to the front room, her adrenaline pumping and her hands shaking, "What's the matter?"

  Lana took a seat on the guest sofa and tilted her head back, she’d shoved a handful of Kleenex up her nose to stop the blood. Lauren stood near her toys with her hands on her hips and watched with interest while Jake and Mark flapped around the bleeding woman like vultures fighting over roadkill.

  "Move Mark! I've got it" Jake said, annoyed.

  "You couldn't handle the sunburn I got a few weeks ago," Mark argued, "You moaned and complained about how gross it was and begged me to keep my shirt on, I'm the doctor here, you ass, now get out of the way and let me see!"

  "Gentleman," Lana snorted, her nose and throat full of blood, "Take your catfight to the litter box, I'm fine. Just get me a cold wet rag."

  She wiped a bloody hand on her enormous Grandma Does It Better t-shirt and went back to shoving tissue in her nose.

  "Did you cut yourself?" Lauren asked, coming closer to inspect the damage.

  "Crap kid, I'm sorry," Mark said when he realized Lauren was listening, "I forgot you were here," and looking to Rachel, "I'm sorry, Rachel, I didn't mean to blaspheme in front of your little girl."

  "She's heard worse, I assure you," Jake said as he escorted Lauren from the scene, "Hey sweet pea, Lana's alright, let's get you set up on the computer in your mom's office while they get her a band-aid."

  "I want to see the blood," Lauren protested, but thought better of it after she realized he’d offered to let her play a computer game, "Hey, can I play Hunter’s pirate game?"

  "Absolutely, let's do it," Jake said, leading her to Rachel's office.

  Mark sat next to Lana and surveyed her face, “Don’t lean your head back, Lana, just look straight forward.”

  Rachel handed her a stack of wet paper towels, "Lana, what happened? Are you okay?”

  "Sure, I'll live," Lana snorted, "But I'm not sure how long Russell Whitaker will."

  "Laaaana," Rachel moaned, taking the seat opposite Mark on the other side of the sofa, "What did you do?"

  "I was havin' coffee with Megan over at Brewster's and he came in with his crew, she thought he was on a job in Ellis, so we thought it’d be safe to meet," Lana began, bringing a pudgy finger up to push her short gray hair from her eyes while Mark pressed against her nose.

  "Oh my Lord," Mark gasped, "You mean he punched you? I thought maybe you ran into something!"

  Rachel took a deep breath and leaned into the sofa, prepping for another one of Lana's tales about how she couldn't stay out of it and just had to interfere. Lana was her favorite volunteer, a feisty round little thing in her late fifties, she'd been volunteering with them since she left her abusive husband eight years prior. She was one of their first real success stories, and she was devoted to helping women like herself. But sometimes she forgot the cardinal rule of domestic violence advocacy, “Safety First,” and she let her mouth get her into trouble.

  "No Sugar, I stopped runnin’ into stuff when I divorced my husband," Lana laughed while Mark dabbed at her busted lip with a clean paper towel, "Old Russell came over and pinched Megan's arm, then he told her to get up and go home. He didn't like what I had to say about it."

  Mark stood with the bloody paper towels and shook his head, "You don't need any stitches, but let me clean it up. Rachel, where's the First Aid kit?"

  Rachel directed him to the cabinet under the sink in the bathroom and waited for him to leave the room, "Lana,
he punched you? Nobody called the police?"

  "Of course not, dollface," Lana said, her pudgy fingers pinching her nose, "We were in the parkin' lot, those two boys who work for him were the only ones who saw it. They made him get in the truck and as soon as Megan drove off, they did, too. I think she's almost ready to leave him. She was finally openin' up and tellin' me she'd started her own bank account, she's put about three hundred dollars in there. And I ain’t gettin' the police involved, they just ask too many questions and I don't want Russell knowin' we're workin' with her."

  Rachel watched her thoughtfully.

  "Lana, if we don't report it, and something else happens to Megan, then what? If we let the police know, then she can have that on record if she finally decides to leave or get a restraining order. It will help protect her in the future."

  "Rachel," Lana snorted defiantly, "It's my face, my choice. I didn't leave after thirty years of gettin' pushed around by my old man so I could get told what to do by you or anybody else. You know the best thing we can do for Megan is to let her make that decision. If she wants to report it, then I'll report it."

  Jake came back from setting Lauren up on the laptop, and Mark walked in with a bag of cotton balls and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, resuming his seat next to Lana.

  "This was all I could find," he said, “It’ll only sting a bit.”

  "Don't worry, Sugar,” she laughed, “I've been dealt worse.”

  Jake took a seat in the overstuffed chair across the room, his face concerned, "Lana, my oompaloompa, what happened?"

  Rachel jumped in while Mark held Lana’s busted lip open to clean it, summarizing, "Megan's husband dragged her out of Brewster's this morning and Lana mouthed off to him. And now she's arguing with me about self-determination and why she doesn't want to get the police involved."

  "You're damn right," Lana snorted loudly, pushing Mark’s hands away.

  Jake crossed his legs and gave Lana a thousand watt smile, "That's why I love you, you loud-mouthed lunatic," and looking to Rachel, "She's right, Rach. If she doesn't want to get police involved, that's her call. And Megan gets to choose what's safest for her, she knows her situation better than any of us ever could."

  Rachel could have argued, but she was outnumbered. And anyway, they were right, getting the police involved might create more problems for Megan, and their ultimate goal was to help her leave safely. Lana had been working with her to leave for months now, and she'd never let Rachel hear the end of it if she interfered.

  "Fine," she agreed, "But I want pictures of your face and a detailed incident report to keep in Megan's file. And go get it notarized. It might not be admissible in court, but maybe it’ll help if we need to sway the judge down the road."

  She made her way towards her office and turned to point her finger back to the old woman, "And Lana, next time you meet with a client in person, you need to give us a head's up. If you wind up in a ditch somewhere I want to be able to tell the police what you were up to."

  "I’ll keep you informed, dollface."

  "You do that," Rachel said, walking into her office and calling behind her, "Now leave me alone for awhile so I can find some money to pad Megan's bank account."

  She resettled Lauren on the sofa with the laptop so she could overlook the numbers for the Courier article. If she was lucky, the article might bring them a few thousand dollars to help with the gala, but it still wouldn’t be enough to keep them out of the red.

  Running a non-profit organization is a paycheck to paycheck kind of job unless you're lucky enough to head up a charity like the Red Cross. Most barely scrape by, and with the economy in such bad shape, donors weren't exactly eager to part with their money. Rachel spent all of her time digging around for grants to pay the bills, when they could, help the occasional battered woman start her life over.

  But the hardest work was done by the volunteers, like Lana. She and another two dozen former victims of domestic violence hung out online in their spare time, offering support to victims desperate for a safe place to chat, hoping to connect with people who understood how hard it was to leave, how few resources there were out there to help, how much it hurt to be victimized by the one person who is supposed to love you the most. Rachel was grateful for people like Lana, women who'd come from such dark and terrifying circumstances and still found the strength to want to help others.

  And she was grateful for Jake who managed the technical side of operations, yelled at her about staying on task, and a thousand other things that made him invaluable to her. They worked hard, the hours were long, and the pay was meager. Thank God neither of them was in it for a paycheck, because there’d been several month stretches where they’d both gone without one. Rachel had Kenneth and her mother to lean on, and shortly after they’d started working together, Jake’s grandfather left him an enormous amount of very coveted Texas real estate. Rachel was terrified he’d abandon her then, but when she asked him about it, he laughed and promised she'd never get rid of him so easily.

  She jumped nervously when he squealed from the doorway, "Oh my God, Rachel! I almost forgot! You'll never believe who I saw last night at the Booster Rally!"

  The Harrison Township Booster Club was always putting together some party or another to celebrate their five time State Champion high school football team. The game against the Ellis Eagles tomorrow marked the beginning of the season, and Jake had gone to the rally to take photos for the local paper.

  "Tony Homo?" Rachel smirked.

  "No, smartass. I wish. Anyway, I'm not sure what he was doing there, he had to be with one of the kids from Ellis, but he had the sassiest haircut and a hand tailored business suit, I almost didn't recognize him without some khaki pants hanging off his ass? You know, it's a shame I wasn't out back in high school, because he was fine as hell, but you know what they say about -"

  "Jake!" she interrupted, drumming her fingers impatiently on her desk, "Just tell me already."

  "Are you ready for this? It was Dylan!"

  Rachel felt the blood drain from her face and she watched the smug look on Jake's face evolve into worry as he took quick strides toward her desk.

  "Hey hey hey! Honey! It'll be okay, let's get you a piece of chocolate!"

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rachel held Hunter’s hand through the crowded maze of over-sized pickup trucks in the parking lot, worried he might scratch somebody's paint with his toy robot. Lauren sat on Kenneth's broad shoulders giggling, "Faster, Daddy, faster, Daddy!" while he held tightly and galloped towards the stadium entrance.

  He was still in his uniform, the black tactical paramedic pants showing off his muscular legs, a touch of sweat glistening on his forearms as he held their baby girl. The margaritas at dinner helped him relax some, and he was never sexier than when he was playing the devoted father. Or loading the dishwasher, but he hadn’t loaded the dishwasher in years. Rachel wished she had another margarita, or two, but somebody had to drive them to the game.

  The brand new million dollar stadium behind the old run down high school flooded with people, teenage girls with tiny paw prints painted on their cheeks holding handmade signs that said things like, "Go Bulldogs! Destroy the Eagles!" and “Hustle, Hit & Never Quit!”

  Rachel hated football, but she never dared tell people that. Fridays in the fall are a big deal in small town Texas, and football might be revered in small towns across the country, but in small town Texas, high school football is the lifeblood of a community. She was enough of an outcast already, so when the whole town could be found at the field watching the first game of the season, she showed up and pretended to care.

  They made their way to the bleachers and she spotted tiny Megan sitting quietly with her husband. At least Megan didn't have any visible evidence of the morning's episode with Lana, hopefully Russell hadn't taken it out on his wife when they got home. They made eye contact and Rachel braved a nod of the head, but turned away when Megan looked down at her weathered shoes and nervously twisted her lon
g unkempt hair. Rachel knew better than to attempt conversation with a client while their abuser was nearby. Everybody knew what Rachel did, and acknowledging her at all would only have served to tip Megan’s husband off.

  She continued the ascent up the bleachers, nodding her greeting every few seconds to friends or neighbors. The town had grown in recent years to more than thirty thousand people, but for people like Rachel who'd grown up there, it was still small enough not to go anywhere without running into somebody she knew. She never learned how to handle those run-ins with ease, she was too stiff, and worried she'd seem rude or unfriendly. It wasn't unusual for her to hide from people she knew in the grocery store, or to put off filling up her car so she could avoid a lengthy gossip session with somebody she'd seen at the pump when she drove by.

  Rachel craved an urban sprawl where her social awkwardness wouldn't be as much of a problem, where she didn't have to fake a smile and pretend to be interested in small talk. But living in the city hadn't been practical, and they weren't going anywhere any time soon, so she'd learned to suffer through it when she had to.

  She looked up and waved when Sarah called her name, thankful to be saved from any more long winded neighbors. Settling in, she turned her long skinny legs towards her friend so her bony knees wouldn’t poke the man sitting in front of her. She hated her chicken legs, she was too pale and it hurt sitting next to the petite doe eyed beauty with perfect skin and perfect hair and the perfect smile that she'd never had to work for. Rachel smoothed her ponytail self-consciously and pulled the lip gloss out of her pocket, annoyed that pretty had never come as naturally for her as it had for Sarah.

  "Hunter! Don't stomp on the seats!" she yelled a little more loudly than she wanted.

  Kenneth sat with Lauren and gave her his 'don't be such a bitch' look. If it were up to him, the kids would do whatever the hell they wanted. They could yell for twenty minutes and he’d never say a word until Rachel screamed at them to quit, and then he’d miraculously recover his hearing and ask, “God, why are you screaming?”