He sat back in the chair.
“Dad, you want to take off your coat?” one of them shouted.
Did they think he was hard of hearing? Well, he was, a little…but it was the darned basketball game so loud on the TV that made them have to shout. Not him.
“Cold in here,” he called back. “Always so darned cold in this house.”
He kept his gaze fixed on the TV the way he did when he was really interested in the forecast. He had to play this right. Make sure no one was suspicious.
Freckles was the one he had to watch. She was the sharp one. Jayne was too self-centered to pay close attention. Always running here and there. Scatterbrained. Hyper. She’d been that way since she was a kid. Not that he didn’t love his Jayne…but it was different between him and Jayne and him and Freckles. Always had been.
Ed heard the front door open and he relaxed a little in the chair. Freckles was finally leaving. Once she was gone, he’d have a better chance. The son-in-law would be busy watching the game. The grandkids would be running disruptively all over the house. Jayne would be doing her little projects, talking nonstop on the phone, not paying attention to her wild Indian children, or him.
Ed just had to be patient. Be patient and try not to fall asleep watching this pointless game on the TV.
Chapter 26
Angel was waiting for Charlie when he pulled into the parking lot of the apartment building.
He had picked her up after work tonight, on time, like he had been all week, and he had been in a good mood. Yeah, he smelled like beer, but he had been nice to her. He even mentioned how great it had been New Year’s Eve to hang out together and not go out partying.
After work, they had gone by Shonda’s, picked up the baby, and come home. Only once they were in the house did Angel realize she’d forgotten to get milk. Buddy needed his milk. The little bugger drank it the way Charlie drank beer.
Charlie had offered to buy the milk. With his own money. He had said his granny had given him money for Christmas. He knew Angel hadn’t gotten her WIC coupons for juice, milk, and cereal yet for January, so she had thought that was real nice of him to offer. He had promised he would be back in ten minutes and bring home Chinese takeout for dinner.
That had been four hours ago. Angel felt like one of those cartoon characters with steam coming out of their ears. From the window, she watched Charlie walk across the parking lot, drinking out of the plastic half-gallon container of milk.
Buddy was long in bed. He’d had a juice bottle tonight instead of milk. Angel had eaten a packet of instant oatmeal for dinner. She’d cleaned the refrigerator out, which wasn’t hard because there was no food in it. Then she’d picked up Buddy’s toys and put them in his new toy chest under the tree. She was proud of that red and blue toy chest. It had been expensive, but her overtime had stretched far enough for her to pick it up from layaway on Christmas Eve.
Tonight, after Angel had put Buddy to bed, she had been so tired that she had fallen asleep on the couch, but she was awake now. She was ready for Charlie.
He walked into the house without the takeout, carrying the milk. He had a milk mustache like you saw in the magazine ads. “I’ll put this in the fridge,” he said, trying to slip by her.
She snatched the milk out of his hand. “Where you been?” She leaned closer to him and sniffed his coat. “You been in that bar, haven’t you? You were supposed to bring dinner home. You said you was bringin’ home dinner four hours ago!”
“You little bitch,” he slurred.
He hit her so hard that her head whipped around and it felt like something in her neck cracked. His fist just seemed to come out of nowhere. One minute she was standing there giving him hell, and the next minute it was like her jaw was going to split in two.
Blinding tears filled Angel’s eyes as she tried to stay upright. He swung again, knocking her against the wall. Her head hit with a sickening clunk and she felt blood trickle down the back of her neck. He’s going to kill me, she thought. No he’s not. He’s not! She heaved the plastic container of milk and it hit him right in the chest. The green plastic cap flew off and milk sprayed everywhere, soaking them both.
“Cunt,” Charlie grunted, looking down at his new coat, covered in milk. He lunged at her.
Angel knew when to stand her ground and when to run.
She ran.
I open the dryer door and savor the rush of warm air that comes from it. The Downy Fresh Scent wafts in the heat. I reach in and pull out one white undershirt. I pinch it by the shoulders and snap it. Hard. I do it a second time, hoping to release some of the tension in my own shoulders.
I am out of sorts tonight. I’ve been so all day.
I lay the shirt on top of the washer, enjoying the feel of the warm fabric on my fingertips. I fold one side over, carefully straightening it. I run my thumb along the fold to make a nice crease.
There are many thoughts weighing heavily on my mind tonight. Thoughts that have become worries. I am not usually a worrier and I don’t like the feel of it. I don’t like my lack of appetite, my inability to sleep soundly, or the fact that I can’t concentrate properly. I do not like the tightness I feel in the pit of my stomach when I turn my worries over in my mind.
I fold in the other side of the undershirt. Crease it. Smooth the warm fabric.
I wish I could talk to Maury face-to-face. He would be a good sounding board.
I am worried about Casey. About Angel. About Drina. Oddly enough, I am worried about Linda. I know she is dead, but I think about her. About what she must have experienced those last seconds of her life. The terror. The pain.
I fold up the bottom of the shirt, flip the shirt over, and smooth it. It’s perfect. I reach for another T-shirt in the dryer.
I have other concerns.
There are solutions to my concerns. I have come up with several solutions for each. What I must do now is decide how troublesome each matter is and what I am willing to do…what I am willing to risk…to implement these solutions.
Her screaming baby in her arms, Angel somehow managed to get the car doors locked. Charlie was like a wild man. He was out of his skull, furious. He pounded on the passenger-side window as she laid Buddy on the seat of the car beside her. There was blood everywhere. All over Angel. All over the blanket she had wrapped Buddy in. Charlie had hit her a couple more times before she’d gotten her boy and run out of the house. Her nose was bleeding like crazy.
Charlie pounded harder on the car window. Buddy screamed louder.
Angel ignored both of them as she tried to get the key in the ignition. Thank God the keys had fallen out of Charlie’s pocket when he’d hit her in the living room; otherwise, she’d be running down the street right now trying to carry Buddy and his diaper bag.
But the key wouldn’t go in the ignition, her hand was shaking so bad. It wouldn’t go in!
Charlie was cussing her. Still beating on the window. If he broke it, Angel knew she was dead. Charlie was that out of control this time.
“Come on, come on,” Angel groaned, trying hard not to cry. She couldn’t breathe when she cried. It was just a bloody nose, but it hurt bad. Probably broken. She knew how that felt. She’d had it broken once before. An old boyfriend.
Buddy sat up and crawled across the seat toward her. He was completely awake now and he put out his little hand to her. He needed to be in his car seat. She knew that. But if she could just get out of the parking lot, get far enough from Charlie, then she could stop and put Buddy in his car seat, calm him down. She had some juice in the diaper bag. She’d give him a bottle; that would make him stop crying.
But first she had to get out of here.
“Sit down, Buddy. Sit next to Mommy.” She patted the seat with her hand and the key. “Right here.”
But he was scared. He was just a baby. He couldn’t help it if he was scared.
“Ma-ma!” Buddy blubbered.
“Stop it! Stop it, Charlie!” Angel screamed at the window.
> Finally, the key went in and Angel twisted it hard and rammed her foot down on the gas pedal. You had to give it a lot of gas when it was cold, or else it wouldn’t start.
Blood dribbled over her lips and she wiped at it with the sleeve of her already bloody sweatshirt. A nose could bleed a lot. Plus, she had a cut under one eye. She could tell by the way it stung. And her head, maybe. She touched the back of it as she shifted into reverse. Her hair was wet too. More blood.
The car lurched backward.
Charlie backed away from the window.
It was a wonder the police weren’t already here, the way he was carrying on. Surely one of her neighbors would have called the cops. Toto, in the next place over, had already threatened to call them earlier in the week, and that night Charlie had hardly gotten loud. Tonight…tonight he was like a psycho in a slasher movie.
Angel shifted the car into drive and it shot forward. As she pulled away, she saw Charlie running after her carrying a cement block.
Shit! If he hit the window, the glass might bust.
Angel hit the gas hard. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cement block hurling toward the car. But he must have missed the window because all she heard was a big clunk above the sound of Buddy’s wailing. One hand on the wheel, she reached out to comfort her baby boy and sped away.
Several blocks up the street, Angel realized she was crying almost as hard as Buddy. She couldn’t see through her tears and she couldn’t catch her breath. Looking in the rearview mirror to be sure Charlie wasn’t running down the middle of the street after her, she pulled over.
Her nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. She had to stop the bleeding.
Holding Buddy in one arm, she dug into his diaper bag and pulled out a cloth diaper she used to wipe his boogies. “It’s going to be all right. Stop cryin’, baby,” she soothed. “We’re gonna be fine. We don’t need him. I swear to God, we don’t.”
And this time, she really meant it.
Casey cruised by the public-housing complex; no sign of the blue car, which was odd for this early. She sipped her coffee, warm air from the heater blasting her face, a classic-rock station tuned in on the radio.
She had left her father and Frazier in front of the TV eating Cap’n Crunch cereal and watching The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance on DVD. Casey found it interesting that his whole life her father had always eaten sensible bran cereals, and now suddenly he had decided he wanted the sugary kids’ stuff. Last week it had been Cocoa Puffs; this week it was the Cap’n, with crunch berries.
Casey circled the block. Although it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, Angela Carey’s car definitely wasn’t there. The flea market didn’t open until ten. Maybe she’d gone in early, left Charlie with the cute little boy Casey saw her loading into the car seat each day.
The thought that Gaitlin might be the little boy’s babysitter turned the coffee sour in her stomach. What if he got angry with the child? She was frightened for him. Men who hit women hit children, too.
Casey took another turn around the block, debating whether or not she should pull into the parking lot or go to the flea market. One curtain in the living room to Angela’s unit appeared to be open…or maybe torn down. Casey might be able to see through the window if she pulled into the handicapped spot.
Casey’s phone rang and she tapped the Bluetooth earpiece in her ear. “Hello?”
“Casey, it’s Rose O’Shannon. From the ER.”
Casey eased into a parking spot across the street from the housing complex. “Hey, Rose.”
“I know you’re not on call.”
“Actually, I’m on vacation until Wednesday,” Casey said apologetically. “I think Alberta’s on call all weekend. You should have her number.”
“Yes, that’s right. It is Alberta, but…” Rose hesitated.
Casey liked the fifty-something Irish woman. Rose had a no-nonsense manner in the ER, but she could be amazingly compassionate. Word around the hospital was that she’d never missed weekly mass since her first communion. Casey didn’t know if it was her strong religious beliefs that made Rose so capable, but the woman was an amazing emergency room nurse.
“Casey, I probably shouldn’t be making this call,” Rose said in a low voice.
Casey rested her hand on her earpiece to block out the sound of a car passing on the street.
Rose didn’t give Casey time to speak. “I’ve got a patient here. Lacerations to the face. Broken nose for sure, possible fractured eye socket. She says her boyfriend did it.”
Casey groaned inwardly. Everyone in the ER knew her pet cause was battered women, but she really didn’t know if she was up to tackling a case today. She felt as if the time she had to try to catch Gaitlin in the act of harassing her was running out. Five days had passed and he had never once gone near her, her house, the senior center, or even a mailbox, to her knowledge. “Rose,” Casey started.
“Casey, her name is Angel. She says her boyfriend is Charles Gaitlin. She says Gaitlin is the one who beat her up.”
Casey reached for the steering wheel and gripped it solidly. How many Charles Gaitlins could there be? She glanced in the direction of the sagging living room curtain. “You said her name is Angel?”
“Yeah. Well, it’s Angela, Angela Carey, but she says everyone calls her Angel. I’ve got her in a treatment room right now, but I’m not sure how long I can keep her.”
Casey’s throat constricted. “Her baby? She has a little boy.”
“She says he’s with a friend. He’s fine. Apparently this happened last night. Angel came in this morning only because her friend made her. They couldn’t get her nose to stop bleeding.”
Casey looked at the living room window of the town house again. At the pathetic, hanging curtain. Gaitlin could be inside right now, she thought. Inside gloating. “Keep her. Whatever you do, don’t let her leave. You hear me, Rose? Don’t let her leave. I’ll be right there.”
Casey closed the curtain to the treatment room, turned around, and practically bumped into Rose.
“How’d it go?” Rose asked. She wore blue scrub pants and a scrub top with yellow Tweety Birds all over it.
“Pretty well,” Casey whispered, then walked down the hall crooking her finger to indicate that Rose should follow. They halted near the ladies’ room door, out of earshot of Angel. “She’s pretty scared, but I think she has a good head on her shoulders. She seems like a good mom. She wants to do what’s right for her little boy.”
“Officer Mendez said Angel wouldn’t talk to her. Said she gave the usual story about how she fell. How it was all her fault.” Rose held on to the stethoscope dangling from her neck. “You think she’ll go back to the boyfriend?”
“I’ve been here long enough, seen enough of this to know better than to place any serious bets, but I have a good feeling about this girl. She’s gutsy.” Casey looked back at the curtained treatment room. “Of course, the place is hers, not his. I’m trying to convince her that she should go to a shelter and then have the police remove him from her property.”
Rose frowned. “That only works until the next time she opens the door for him. She needs to have him arrested.”
“I know.” Casey smiled grimly. “But maybe a few days in a shelter and she can get some perspective on this. Some time away from him and some counseling and she might realize that she has to get away from him, at any cost. Him in jail would be the best bet, but I’m trying to look at this from her point of view. I understand why these women don’t want to prosecute. Angel seems, at least right now, to at least want to get away from him.” She threw one hand up in the air. “I know the apartment is hers, but if it comes down to having to move to get away from him, we have to convince her that it’s worth it. No one wants to see Gaitlin in jail again more than I, but I have to help Angel. She has to be my priority right now.”
“You talk to her about the last girlfriend? About what he did to her?”
Casey grimaced again. “She doesn’t think he did
it, of course. Even after this, he’s still got her snowed into believing he’s a decent person.”
“Just like the one he murdered.” Rose touched the tiny gold crucifix she wore around her neck.
“I’m going to make some phone calls to see if I can find a place in a shelter for Angel.”
“She can’t stay with the friend who’s watching the baby?”
“She says not.” Casey started to walk down the hall. “How long do you think we can keep her here?”
“At least another hour, hour and a half. Her nose is definitely broken, and the laceration on the back of her head needs a couple of stitches.”
“Can you stay with her?” Casey asked. “I swear, I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Rose smiled sympathetically. “I’ll be right here.”
Fifteen minutes later, Casey returned to the ER floor. The curtain to Angel’s treatment room was half open, so Casey knocked on the wall. “It’s Casey, Angel. Okay if I come in?”
“Sure,” the woman called, her voice nasal.
Casey waved to Rose, who was at the other end of the hall. She mouthed “Thank you,” knowing the nurse was way too busy to be baby-sitting. Casey found Angel lying on her back on a gurney, gauze packing protruding from her nostrils.
“Good news.” Casey walked to the woman’s bedside and laid her hand on her arm. “Sunrise has an opening for one woman with one toddler. It’s a small private shelter on the south side of town.” She tried to sound upbeat and positive. “Buddy’s walking, right?”
Angel nodded and then reached up to cover her nose with her hand. “Bleeding’s stopped but I know I look stupid.” She half smiled. “Buddy’s real smart. He was walking by his first birthday. He’s eighteen months now. He can say a bunch a words.”
“I know you must be proud.” Casey pulled a chair up beside the bed. “Do you want to do this, Angel? You want to tell the police the truth about who did this? You want to go to the women’s shelter and break this cycle of abuse? You have to be very strong, but I know you can be.”
Don't Turn Around Page 27
