by J. V. Speyer
The other residents were allowed back into the building. The crisis was over, at least for them.
Abby texted Paige from the car as they drove down to the Nashua Street Jail. She wouldn’t rest until she knew Jack was locked away, but Paige deserved to know. She could leave the house. She could walk the streets as a free woman. She could get on with her life. She could find someone good and normal, not a screwed up cop with nothing to offer.
Booking the pair into Nashua Street was a process. Technically neither Abby nor Mark needed to be there to witness the procedure, but Abby wasn’t comfortable until she knew this guy was locked away. Most of the time she was content to let the Sheriff’s Office do their jobs, but Jack was special.
He reveled in it too. His face was gray with pain and he swayed on his feet, but he still managed to curl his lip at Abby as he got his fingerprints taken. “Does it burn you up inside, that I had her before you?”
Abby snorted. “Nope. You do understand everything you’re saying now is going to be entered at trial, right?”
Jack scoffed. “I’m not worried. I’ll take my chances with a jury. It’s not like you don’t have a bias.”
The officer taking Jack’s fingerprints looked up at him and shook his head. “Dude. Just shut up.”
Abby chuckled quietly to herself. She would miss Paige, more than she wanted to admit, but she had to laugh at this fool who kept shooting himself in the foot.
Once Jack and Brad were safely locked away, she headed home. Just as Abby had expected, Paige was gone. She’d left a note. Mom needed help. Thank you for everything. I’ll call soon.
Abby put the note down. She knew Paige wouldn’t call. Still, she filed the note away. She didn’t want to forget this case.
* * * *
When Paige got Abby’s text, a shudder of relief went through her body. It’s over. She’d been so scared, for so long. She’d been terrified Jack would manage to kill Abby too. She’d been afraid Jack would find a way to get to her, force her back into his orbit, keep her a prisoner to his obsession if not his desires. For the most part, though, she’d been afraid for Abby. All that was gone now.
She looked around the apartment and met the eyes of the cop who’d been left there with her. “It looks like they’ve got him.” She wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. This probably wasn’t it, but it was a start.
“Right?” Jenkins, or Jennings, or whatever his name was, tapped his ear. Apparently, he had an earpiece or something. How had Paige missed that? “Awesome work, really. And no one got hurt. It’s great when things work out that way.” He tugged at his collar. “Did you want to hang around here, or did you want me to give you a ride somewhere?”
Right. Paige couldn’t go back to her own apartment because it was still being repaired. She could crash with her mother, she guessed. She scrawled a quick note for Abby. It didn’t feel quite right to lie and say her mother needed her, but maybe a “lie” wasn’t the right word here. Channary usually did need her in some way, and at the end of the day Paige didn’t want to impose.
“If you could bring me to my mom’s place that would be great.” She cleared her throat. “It’s up in Allston.”
“Sure thing.” Jennings managed a little smile. Paige managed to grab a few things and they were on their way.
Channary, as it turned out, did need help. She was having trouble getting around the house after her long shift at the hotel, and Paige stepped in to pick up the slack like the good daughter she never had been before. If Channary remembered about Paige’s murderous stalker, she didn’t say anything. She just let Paige bustle around the apartment and get dinner on the table for the younger kids.
And Paige lost herself in the rhythm of housework quickly. She wouldn’t pretend she hadn’t. She couldn’t say she enjoyed cleaning, cooking, or chasing after her little brothers to do their homework, but it gave her structure and actions she could take. She couldn’t focus on everything that had just happened, only on the task in front of her.
Only later, when the kids had all gone to bed, did Channary turn to Paige. “So. The police are gone.”
Paige blushed. She couldn’t help it. She was ashamed of having screwed her life up to such an extent that the police had to get involved, and she was ashamed she couldn’t soothe her mother’s fears about the police here. She had too much baggage, but who didn’t?
“Yeah, Mom. The police are gone. I still can’t get into my apartment, so if you wouldn’t mind letting me stay on your couch for a little while, I’d appreciate it.”
Channary sniffed. “Your landlord should pay for a hotel, for all the money you’ve paid him. Where have you been staying all this time?”
Paige squirmed. It wasn’t like Channary to be overly concerned with where Paige spent her time. She had too many other concerns of her own to worry about Paige. “Um, one of the detectives on the case has been letting me stay with her.”
Channary fixed her with a piercing gaze. All too often Channary’s gaze seemed tired or unclear. Right now, though, Paige felt like a bug pinned to a mat. “And what, she turned you out just like that?”
“No.” Paige shook her head with vigor. How could her mother just assume something like that about Abby? “I didn’t want to be presumptuous. Abby has been amazing. She’s been generous, and she got hurt because of me—”
“Hurt?”
“Jack shot her.” Paige swallowed past the lump in her throat and pressed on. “She’s fine now, but she got hurt trying to save me. She’s—she’s just everything, Mom. I couldn’t just stay there.”
“Of course you could have. It would have been easy.” Channary waved her good hand. “She wouldn’t have brought you into her home if she didn’t like you.”
“We were pretending to date. To draw Jack out,” she added quickly.
“And if she wanted to keep things separate, she would have brought you to another house. Police have those. I watch television.” Channary narrowed her eyes. “What’s the real reason you didn’t want to stay? Did she hurt you?”
“God, Mom! No! She was perfect.” Paige lowered her gaze and thought back to Abby. “I just didn’t want her to let me stay just because I was already there. And I didn’t want her to feel pressured or anything. If she decides she wants to keep things going, I want it to be because we’re really…because we really have a chance to make something work.”
Paige didn’t know if other Cambodian-American kids could be this open with their parents. A couple of people had said something at the Center, but for the most part people didn’t give her a hard time about her sexuality. She knew it was different back in the old country, but the same could be said for a lot of first-generation Americans. Thankfully, it wasn’t a concern. Channary hadn’t ever cared that her oldest daughter was a lesbian. She’d just been concerned about the safety of her younger children once Paige left Jack, and those concerns were well-founded.
“Do you think she wants to make something work?” Channary sat back and folded her hands in her lap.
“I don’t have any reason to think she doesn’t.” Paige moistened her lips.
“Then you should pursue her.” Channary sighed. “Your father and I had an arranged marriage. After the war, after everything, our parents just wanted everything to go back to normal. We tried to make everything as normal as we could. And we did care for each other, but it wasn’t enough.
“This isn’t the way we did things in the old country, but we aren’t there. You deserve to be happy, Paige. I’m not comfortable with police but I’m very comfortable with people who love and protect my daughter. You should call her. Tomorrow.”
Paige didn’t call the next day. What was she going to say? Thanks for nabbing my evil homicidal stalker? It hardly seemed like she was being serious enough. She figured she would call the next day, when she had some more rest and time to think of something. In the meantime, she went back to The Gin Barrel. She had rent to pay, and so did her family.
She’d on
ly been working for about an hour when Abby walked in, flanked by Mark and some guy in a suit that cost as much as a month’s rent. Abby wasn’t dressed for work. She was dressed casually, and she had her hands stuffed into her pockets.
Mike, Paige’s boss, stepped up. His face was as white as a sheet. “Wait a minute. I thought you caught the guy, the one killing people.”
Abby’s cheeks turned pink. “We did. He’s still at Nashua Street. I checked before I came down here. I took a few hours’ personal time.”
“Then why the escort?” He looked at Mark and the other guy.
“They’re here for moral support.” She took a deep breath and met Paige’s eyes, like she couldn’t see everyone in the bar staring at her. “Paige, I um, I didn’t want to make a public scene out of this.”
The guy Paige didn’t know took a seat. “Who’s making a scene? We’re just here to have a drink.” He looked up and gave Paige a quick grin. “A round of gin gimlets please.”
Paige raised an eyebrow at him. “Most gimlets are gin, buddy.”
“True. But some poor benighted souls feel compelled to make them with vodka, and it’s just better to avoid confusion.” He held out his hand as other patrons went back to their business. “I’m Steve-o.”
Paige struggled to hide her surprise. Steve-o was Abby’s stepbrother. Paige and Abby hadn’t talked about introducing their families, but it was happening. “Paige Lim. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“And I’m thrilled to meet the lady who’s got my sister all aflutter.” He grinned as she got to mixing the three drinks. “Now Abby here has something she wants to say to you in a low-pressure non-coercive fashion.”
Paige almost dropped the cocktail shaker. No one who started a sentence off like that could possibly mean anything good.
She finished mixing the drinks and served them up. “What’s going on?” She kept her voice as cheerful and as neutral as she could. She didn’t want get her hopes up, and she didn’t want to put more pressure on Abby to perform than she already seemed to be feeling.
Abby ducked her head and gave a tiny little smile. “You know.” She bit her lip and thought about things for a moment. “I don’t want to make you feel forced or anything. That’s why I came here, to say it on your turf, around your friends and your co-workers.” She toyed with the little cocktail mat in front of her. “I like you. I enjoyed pretending to be your girlfriend during this case. I know I don’t have a whole lot to offer, but I wanted to say something just in case you felt it too.” She pushed the box across the bar.
Paige couldn’t keep the smile from springing to her face, any more than she could stop the tides. “Abby.” She swayed a little on her feet. “You’re so much more than you know. You’re everything.”
“Paige, I’m scared. I don’t know if you’ll still want me when no one’s trying to kill us.” Abby looked down at the ground again, but just for a moment. “I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”
Paige reached out and took her hand. “I’m pretty sure we’ll find something to keep us together, Abby. You’re resourceful like that.”
Abby grinned. “Well, I do have an incentive.”
“All right. Three cheers for the lovely ladies!” Steve-o raised his glass in a kind of toast. “Now that that’s done, let’s celebrate that bastard being where he belongs.”
Paige felt lighter than she had in years. As cheers erupted around the bar, she leaned over and touched her lips to Abby’s. “Here’s to a new beginning.”
Chapter 9
Abby accepted a flute of something that looked like champagne and smelled like spring. “French 75.” Paige whispered the words as she sipped from her own glass. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“How come you guys don’t serve this down at The Gin Barrel?” Abby took Paige’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
“We can, but we don’t suggest it because champagne isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.” Paige smirked. “I’ll make you as many of these as you want when we get home.”
Home. Paige had finally moved into Abby’s apartment, only a few weeks ago. They’d been together for a year now, but they’d made a conscious choice to take things slow and steady. Neither of them wanted to rush things, considering that their love had started under fire. Abby still got a little thrill every time Paige referred to the place as theirs.
Paige still worked at The Gin Barrel. Abby picked up a few shifts there as security on the weekends, not because she needed the money, but to have more time with Paige. Considering how busy they both were, they would take all the help they could get.
Tonight was an anomaly. They were at the Institute for Contemporary Art for the opening of a new exhibit. Free—Art by Survivors of Gender Based Violence was a new project by the Institute and Paige was one of their featured artists. Abby hung back a little, scanning the crowd and speculating about what each person might be guilty of.
The event manager, who was almost certainly a fraudster and guilty of using terribly cheap hair dye, approached them. “Ms. Lim, are you ready to speak?”
Paige took a deep breath and turned to Abby. “You bet.” She handed her drink off to Abby, because even at an event like this a woman couldn’t be too careful, and disappeared with the event manager.
Abby found a seat and waited while the manager got the room quieted down. “Ladies, gentlemen, and honored guests. Thank you for joining us as we open this exhibit. We’re very grateful to our sponsors, including the National Hockey League and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.
“Our keynote speaker tonight is Paige Lim, who is the youngest exhibitor tonight. She was born and raised in Allston, and she is one of the rising stars of her field. Paige, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Paige walked out onto the stage, and Abby’s heart almost stopped. She got to see Paige in all kinds of situations, from bedhead and burned dinners to all dressed up for a night on the town. Tonight, up on that stage, she looked regal.
“Thank you,” Paige said as polite applause died down. “As you all know, everyone exhibiting here tonight is a survivor. I spoke with someone while we were setting up who survived human trafficking. I myself survived being stalked by a man who couldn’t handle rejection, and who is now serving a life sentence for murder related to his stalking. There is a woman here who has survived crimes I cannot even name. There are so many stories here, stories that will break your heart.
“And yes, what we’ve endured has left its mark on all of us. Everything people undergo changes them, no matter who they are or what that experience may be. My parents both suffered from post-traumatic stress due to their experiences in their home country, before coming here. Many of you know people who have survived war, or a mass shooting, or a life-threatening illness. It probably left a huge mark on them, too.
“That isn’t what we’re here to see. We’re here to see and celebrate survival, and the beauty all of us continue to find even after we think our lives are over. The woman I spoke of who survived human trafficking is now in law school, as well as creating paintings that celebrate light and freedom. The other survivor I mentioned isn’t just producing art at a high enough level to be shown here, she’s started an arts-based community center to help others in the same way art helped her.
“I won’t pretend I didn’t suffer. I won’t pretend I wasn’t afraid, or that I don’t still get scared sometimes. I also met the love of my life while getting free of my stalker, and she helps and encourages me every day.
“We aren’t here tonight to focus on violence, on pain, or on loss. We’re here tonight to focus on survival, and on the ability of people to thrive even when someone else may have tried to choke off everything good in their lives. I thank you for joining us here tonight. I invite you to consider the ways you’ve thrived, in your life, and how you can continue to do so.”
The crowd applauded with somewhat more enthusiasm than before, and Paige left the stage to return to Abby’s side. Abby wrapped her arms around her and met her eyes. �
�I don’t need to think about what makes me thrive.”
“No?” Paige relaxed completely into Abby’s arms, tension melting into the ground.
“It’s you.” She kissed Paige, the taste of gin and elderflower on her lips like a warm glow.
THE END
ABOUT J.V. SPEYER
J.V. Speyer has lived in upstate New York and rural Catalonia before making the greater Boston, Massachusetts, area her permanent home. She has worked in archaeology, security, accountancy, finance, and non-profit management. She currently lives just south of Boston in a house with more animals than people.
J.V. finds most of her inspiration from music. Her tastes run the gamut from traditional to industrial and back again. When not writing, she can usually be found enjoying a baseball game. She’s learning to crochet so she can make blankets to fortify herself against the cold.
For more information, visit @JVSpeyer on Twitter or JVSpeyer on Facebook.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
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