Every word was punctuated with a punch or slap to his shoulders.
She turned her back on him, ran toward a tree, and kicked the trunk.
God, help me to know when to step in. Give me wisdom. Zan caught some muttered words.
“Way to go, Kasia…this—for trusting him.” She spoke to herself with such revulsion that Zan couldn’t stay back anymore.
She slammed her hands into the rough bark of the tree, punched it. It suddenly made sense—she was trying to punish herself.
He reached around her and gently took hold of her wrists, pulled her back from the tree. He whispered the truth in her ear. “It’s not your fault, Kasia.”
“I should’ve seen it!” She sobbed.
“But it’s not your fault.” Like yesterday. Replace the lies with truth.
“How could I be so blind?” Her whimpers nearly broke him.
“It was all an act, Kasia. He was a liar, and it’s Not. Your. Fault.” He enveloped her tightly now, held her arms against her stomach. He rested his chin on her shoulder.
“He…took everything…so horrible…I was a fool.”
She hung her head and quit struggling.
“He was the fool. To not see you.” He felt a hot tear drip onto his hand. Thank You. His own eyes burned in solidarity.
“I’m worthless now.” Her body shook uncontrollably with those soft-spoken words, the dregs of an empty heart.
He turned her around and enfolded her as sobs wracked her body. He whispered to her. “Your worth has nothing to do with this. Don’t you know how much you matter? To God?” Softly enough that she wouldn’t hear, he added, “To me?”
She cried until she was empty. He held her in silence.
Minutes passed, and he considered everything she said—everything she believed.
She stepped back suddenly. “Oh, your shirt, Zan. It’s soaked.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers.
“It’s all right.” He offered a smile and tried to lighten the mood. “Feels good against all the bruises you gave me.”
“Oh, jejku.” Her face drained. “I’m sorry. I just sort of lost it.”
“No ‘sort of’ about it.” He grinned down at her. “You’ve actually got a pretty mean right hook, but I’m all right.” He laughed darkly for a moment. “I’m almost sorry you didn’t get to do it to Blake, but…it’s better this way.”
“Yeah.” She kicked at the dead grass. “I guess so.”
He wiped a tear track dry with his thumb. “You cried tonight, Kasia Bernolak.”
Her head lifted, and she sniffed, eyes wide in surprise. “I did, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“You know what started all this today, I think?”
“What?” He lifted a wet curl from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
“Blake came to the club. I felt something new today, in the pit of my stomach. When I saw him walk around that corner, all smug. How dare he, you know? I mean, it’s one thing to mess with me personally. But to bring those kids into the line of fire—”
“It’s hard to watch innocent people suffer.” How well he knew that.
“Yes! And to come there. That’s not my personal life. It’s my ministry. This is about others, part of my life without him. I…I’m not doing a very good job explaining this, am I?”
“No, I get it. It was another violation. Another way to step in and ruin something of yours that doesn’t belong to him.”
“Right,” she said. “It made me want to fight. I guess I exploded—sorry it was on you.”
He chuckled. “I volunteered to be your punching bag. I don’t think I expected it so soon, but I asked for it.”
He lifted her hand to study it in the moonlight. Her knuckles were scraped and bloodied, and the gauze from Blake’s assault was half torn off. “We need to take care of these when we get back, all right?”
She nodded, and he kept her hand safely ensconced in his as he led her back to the car.
~*~
Kasia’s heart felt lighter all the way to her apartment door. She fished the keys out of her backpack and opened it. A.J. wasn’t back.
“Thanks,” she said. “I actually do feel better—and clear headed. It’s been a long time.”
“Then it was worth it.” Zan followed her inside and flipped on the kitchen light. “First-aid kit?”
She pulled it from the cabinet under the kitchen sink, handed it over.
“Can you hop up on the counter? Your hands’ll be higher.”
She planted her hands on the counter and jumped but hissed at the pain.
“Sorry,” Zan said. “I should’ve thought of that—lifted you or something.”
Oh, he needed to not say things like that, because she already wanted him to hold her again. When he’d hugged her after she’d cried, he smelled like woods and a baseball glove.
She situated herself on the edge. He took her left hand, unwound the old, loose gauze, and used an antiseptic wipe to clean the heel of her hand.
She concentrated on how the bracelet fit snug against his wrist. How it suited him. “It’s not a problem to wear that for baseball?”
He tweezed a few splinters from her knuckles too, with painstaking precision. “Don’t care. If there’s ever an emergency, they can cut it off me.”
After doing the same with her other hand, he dabbed cream on each scrape and bandaged them.
“Did Bailey ever beat you up when she was all emotional?”
He lifted his gaze to hers and smiled. “She tells me she lost it for a while, but I wasn’t there for it, no.”
“Oh, I thought maybe that’s why you were so perfect out there. Practiced.”
Zan was suddenly consumed with cleaning the countertop. As he turned to throw a handful of bandage scraps in the trash, he muttered, “…far from perfect.”
“I wonder how you know what to say sometimes.”
He washed his hands in the sink and grabbed the dishtowel from the oven door, kept his back to her. “I think I get help with the words—or God tells my heart to shut up—because I sure ask Him to. I feel a little lost here. Just praying I won’t do more harm than good.”
He rehung the towel. Her eyes blurred.
He turned to face her and chuckled. “You must be absolutely spent.”
As she met his gaze, a chill ran through her.
“Cold?”
She slid off the countertop. “Yeah.”
“Is it all right if I grab a blanket from your room?”
She nodded, meandered over to the couch. A minute later, he was back with Tatuś’s old college blanket and her fuzzy slippers. She sat down at one end of the sofa, and before she could react, he had her boots off.
He slid her slippers onto her feet. “It’s not just anybody that can pull these babies off, but you make ’em look good—poodle fur and all.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, and she pulled her rubber band out of her hair so she could hide behind her curls. She took the blanket from him and wrapped it around herself like a shawl.
“You want to lie down?” he asked.
“Will you leave?” She wanted him right beside her.
He shook his head. “Wherever you need me.”
“Thanks.” She ducked a little. “Would it be too much…? Am I allowed to ask for you to sit there with a pillow on your lap?” She whispered, “For my head?”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted it.
“I told you, you can ask for anything.” He sat down on the far end and chose the softest of A.J.’s throw cushions, settled it against his leg.
Her stomach fluttered at the sight, and she knew this probably crossed some imaginary line in the sand, but she so wanted to curl up next to him.
Her head on the pillow, she pulled the worn blanket tight around her and turned on her side, pulled her knees up close. Zan stretched his arm out on the back of the couch and settled in.
He felt as safe as home.
~*~
Zan swallowed hard when her bandaged hands curled up next to his leg. She was so beautiful, so peaceful. He closed his eyes and prayed for her, for patience. For discipline. There was a time, not too long ago, when a girl might’ve snuggled up, and he’d have thought about getting her to take it a step farther.
But not anymore. And not with Kasia.
He couldn’t let his thoughts head that direction. At all. He shook it off, pulled out his cell, and texted Jayce to let him know what was up.
As soon as her breathing changed, Zan eased himself out of the danger zone. His fingers wanted to run through her auburn hair, and he needed to find something constructive for them to do. He checked the pantry and made a decision.
An hour later, when A.J. and Jayce got there, a pan of warm brownies—Li’l Mama’s recipe—sat on the counter, candles glowed, and a Sara Groves album played in the background. Jayce cocked an eyebrow, but Zan smiled and shook his head. “Believe me, she needed it…and I needed some ambient noise so my baking didn’t wake her.”
“Sure, man, sure. Brownies are always a good idea,” Jayce said.
A.J. laughed.
“What? My mom’s recipe is easy.”
A sharp nod said Jayce was satisfied. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s getting somewhere.”
42
Tuesday morning—courthouse morning—felt heavy. The sky was gray and overcast, and the air smelled like winter. Kasia scanned the municipal building’s lot as Zan found a place to park. Jayce and A.J. were quiet in the back.
Her corduroy skirt wasn’t meant for climbing, so she stood on the running board and Zan lifted her down. She hugged him on impulse, and he pulled in a breath, slid his arms around her. She lifted her gaze to his, and his eyes made her feel as if anything was possible.
And of course, it was.
Truth.
Tatuś strode down the steps to meet her. “We were in the lobby. Lenka kept an eye out.”
They all entered the large marble lobby together. In small groups, they shared quiet conversations—even the tiniest sounds echoed off the cold stone.
The click of high heels sounded in the hall, like a string of small firecrackers. An austere woman in a charcoal-gray business suit, hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, strode toward them. “I assume you’re the Bernolaks? Good morning, Zan.”
His head whipped to attention. “Mrs. Johansen. I didn’t expect you.”
Tatuś stepped up immediately, offered his hand. “Aryk Bernolak. You are?”
“Lydia Johansen. We spoke on the phone. Zan’s sister and I felt that Kasia needed the presence of an attorney today. There’ll be no charge, but I’d like to act as her advocate, if that’s acceptable.”
Kasia glanced at Zan, who seemed genuinely surprised. The confident smile and nod he offered calmed Kasia a tad, but—this was so last minute. She’d psyched herself up for something totally different.
Her dad cleared his throat. “Is there somewhere we can discuss this privately?”
“Certainly. Follow me.” She clacked back down the hall. Tatuś reached for Kasia’s hand as the two of them followed her.
They entered a small room, spartanly furnished, probably designed for conversations like these. The bare walls, straight-legged table, and stiff office chairs offered no comfort, but Tatuś sat beside her.
“I’m sure you have questions,” the attorney said.
“I do, Mrs. Johansen. Thank you for your help on the phone. Your suggestions were excellent, and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have the experience you do.”
“It was no problem at all. Call me Lydia.”
“What prompted you to drive three hours up here after our discussion?”
“The Hamiltons’ legal team. They’re intimidators. They speak first, apologize later. If you’ll allow me, I’ll act as Kasia’s advocate, not her official attorney, but I wouldn’t advise her being without professional legal representation.”
Kasia watched her dad’s jaw as he considered it. He would take care of her. He inhaled deeply through his nose, nodded. “Thank you, then. What do we need to do differently?”
Kasia willed herself to relax. If he trusted Lydia, she could too.
“Not much,” Lydia said. “Kasia, they’ll try to poke holes in your testimony everywhere they can. But that’s all they can do. They can’t make you anything less than you are, and they can’t hide the truth. Look them in the eye, and tell your story. You’ve already got the temporary order. All we have to do today is show that Blake’s behavior is problematic enough to deserve an official protective order. Those last a full year.”
“Don’t I have to prove all these things ‘beyond reasonable doubt’?”
“When you press charges in the criminal case, yes. But this is a civil hearing. The judge decides what evidence is acceptable, and after hearing both sides, he’ll decide whether or not you need the order.”
She explained courtroom protocol, discussed the order of the witnesses, and said they’d have to wait in the lobby until they were called. Mama and Tatuś could come in right away.
“What about Lenka? I want her in there with me for the whole thing.”
“She’s one of your witnesses,” Lydia stated.
“Does she have to be? I mean, if everyone will tell the same stories?”
“If you have three or four other witnesses at each of the events, I suppose her testimony isn’t necessary.”
Kasia’s dad studied her face. “To you, Kasiu. Which is more important? Lenka as a witness or support?”
“I want her in there.”
“Then I’m confident the others can handle the testimony,” he said.
Kasia squeezed his hand.
Lydia marked Lenka off her list.
~*~
“Alexander.”
Zan snapped to attention. Why was his father at the courthouse?
“Mrs. Johansen made it, I hear.”
“Yes, sir. You didn’t come up here just for the hearing.”
“No, I’m in Greenville for business this weekend, but Bailey seemed to think Lydia’s services were required. Tell me about this young woman, son. How serious are you about her?”
What? Kyle and Jayce were within earshot, and he didn’t want his dad vocalizing any assumptions. He knew how Zan used to be. “Can we go outside and talk?”
They stepped into the biting chill. “What are you asking, Dad?”
“Why did Bailey ask me to take care of this?”
“I didn’t realize you were paying for the representation. Thank you.” He leaned back on a pillar. “Kasia and I aren’t together, but she’s—I’ve never felt like this about anyone.”
“You like her as much as you did Tasha?”
Zan shoved a hand into his hair. “She’s different—my priorities have changed.”
There was the Great Eyebrow again. “Bailey said as much. You’re not getting mixed up in all this religion, are you? Bailey—I understand. But you’re practical, son. I need to ask: Is Kasia a Christian too?”
Zan’s heart was a war zone. “She is. But she’s not the reason I am. This wasn’t a quick decision for me. I wrestled with it and weighed the facts. I—”
“The facts? Please.” The disdain stung.
His father’s condescension trampled him.
Help me.
A street sweeper rolled past.
Zan lifted his head and met his father’s eyes. “I know you’re disappointed, Dad. I get that.”
“You’re an incredible ball player, son. You’ve got a future ahead of you. Don’t risk everything—”
“I need you to hold off on the judgment. I’m not walking away from a single worthwhile part of my life.”
Dad’s mouth formed a grim line, and Zan could hear him breathing through his nose as he turned to look out at the street. “You were fine without all the confusion.”
“I’m not confused, Dad. I feel more sure of this than anything—ever. You’ve go
t to trust me enough to let me find my own way.”
“I hope things go well for your friend in there.” The disappointment in his voice was a bucket of icy water on Zan’s fire. His dad turned and walked down the steps.
~*~
No one said much as they waited, the air charged with unease.
Kasia stayed close to Tatuś, looped her arm through his. Zan stood over by Jayce and A.J., and his shoulders seemed slumped with burden, but every time his eyes connected with hers, he filled her with encouragement. She could do this.
Lydia checked her watch and suggested the family find seats in the courtroom. The Bernolaks followed her into the large hall and sat down. Kasia studied the room intently—every chair, every alcove, every plant, each light fixture—memorized their placement and characteristics as if her life depended on it.
Tatuś tapped a silent I. Love. You. on her knee, and she tried to smile at him.
Her mouth tasted sour.
The court officer stood and called out, began the session for the day. Then she heard her name. “Miss Kasia Bernolak.” Lydia stood, briefcase in hand, and nodded to Kasia. The two of them—without Tatuś—stepped up and took seats at the plaintiff’s table. On the other side of the room, the defendant’s table was empty.
Then the side door opened, and Blake—head high—strode in between two officers. A well-dressed man followed him in and sat beside him at the table. Blake cast a fleeting glance at Kasia, his eyes full of derision. She felt sick.
“All rise for the Honorable Daniel Wilson,” the bailiff called.
A sixty-ish gentleman in a judicial robe entered the courtroom and walked to the bench. Though he had a grandfatherly face, the expression was absolute authority. Kasia swallowed. Please let there be some grandpa in there somewhere.
“You may be seated,” the judge stated. “We need to be clear on a few things today. Although this civil hearing is, by definition, more informal than a criminal trial, I will tolerate no insolence from anyone. If you can’t behave respectfully, you’ll be asked to leave the courtroom. Do I make myself clear?”
Kasia nodded.
“Plaintiff? You may begin.”
Strains of Silence Page 30
