bond between her and Johnny. “You poor thing, and the children! How bad is the hitting, I mean, is it hospital-bad?”
Lola’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away. Annie had clearly been tactless, grilling her about something very painful like this must have felt like the Inquisition. “Frankly, I’m here to try and not think about Mark for a while, get a fresh start and...” Annie had to ask. She had no choice. “Just promise me you’re not doing anything illegal coming here.” Lola thought for a long moment. “I...I told him I was moving to New York. I’m not doing anything wrong by moving to France instead.”
“Was there ever a restraining order against him?”
Lola looked at Annie. “Oh, definitely. I can do anything I need to protect the kids. I’m allowed.”
They sat in silence. Annie felt the weight come off. There was a restraining order. The husband was a bad guy. This was not illegal. She was doing a wonderful deed, helping a woman start over.
“I love him, you know,” Lola said.
Annie knew exactly what Lola meant; she knew the ache. She could feel it in her throat, so she made a joke out of it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what part of him is so lovable?”
“Well, he’s gorgeous, mainly!” Lola said, and she had such a contagious laugh that Annie had to laugh too. It was in that instant of silliness that an imaginary veil lifted and Annie’s preconceived ideas about Lola were thrown out the window.
That night, Annie lay in bed not sleeping, but not exactly anxious either. Maybe this could work. Maybe this would work.
Chapter 8
Warm water was slowly filling the bathtub. Naked in front of the mirror, Althea watched her emaciated shoulders, her hollow stomach, her hipbones, her legs like tortuous sticks, her knees like giant knuckles. What had happened to her? She had only wanted to be thin. Her mother had told her again, as she was saying goodbye, that she looked like a concentration camp victim. But if she did look so terrible and sick, then why would her mother do nothing about it but insult her? Of course, it would not be fair to blame her mother for what she was about to do.
Her dad had given her that check to go to France and this was as close to communication as they were going to get. He was encouraging her to go away, but did he not mean it figuratively as well? Did he possibly want her to run for his own sake rather than hers? Her parents were not equipped to save someone like her from herself.
She looked at her studio apartment through the open door of the bathroom where she stood; the curtains, the refrigerator, the mirror, the computer, the neat stacks of files and papers, the bowl full of apples that said, “Eat me, eat me,” but never, ever, fed her. She felt no physical pain besides hunger.
It would be like going to sleep. There would be no real pain there either. In fact, all she could imagine was relief. She would slowly become weaker, and then fall asleep. The tub was nearly full. In a few minutes, life would sweetly drain out of her. On the side of the tub was the sharp knife she used to peel apples, the knife sharp enough to make this effortless. She considered the knife for a minute, touched the blade gently and felt its power. She turned off the faucet, the bath now full, and stepped in the warm water. She lay in the water and looked at her wrists. If only there was someone she could ask one last question. If only there was someone, somewhere who would be able to tell her how to get out of this skin. Someone who could tell her that things could be different.
She let go of the knife, jumped out of the water, wrapped herself in a towel and got out of the bathroom. Her whole body shivered now with cold and fear. She turned the pages of the paper, searching for the ad. She finally found it, her fingers shaking out of control, and dialed the number of that woman in France.
Annie felt herself pulled out of the womb of slumber with forceps. For an
Lola’s eyes filled with tears and she looked away. Annie had clearly been tactless, grilling her about something very painful like this must have felt like the Inquisition. “Frankly, I’m here to try and not think about Mark for a while, get a fresh start and...” Annie had to ask. She had no choice. “Just promise me you’re not doing anything illegal coming here.” Lola thought for a long moment. “I...I told him I was moving to New York. I’m not doing anything wrong by moving to France instead.”
“Was there ever a restraining order against him?”
Lola looked at Annie. “Oh, definitely. I can do anything I need to protect the kids. I’m allowed.”
They sat in silence. Annie felt the weight come off. There was a restraining order. The husband was a bad guy. This was not illegal. She was doing a wonderful deed, helping a woman start over.
“I love him, you know,” Lola said.
Annie knew exactly what Lola meant; she knew the ache. She could feel it in her throat, so she made a joke out of it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what part of him is so lovable?”
“Well, he’s gorgeous, mainly!” Lola said, and she had such a contagious laugh that Annie had to laugh too. It was in that instant of silliness that an imaginary veil lifted and Annie’s preconceived ideas about Lola were thrown out the window.
That night, Annie lay in bed not sleeping, but not exactly anxious either. Maybe this could work. Maybe this would work.
Chapter 8
Warm water was slowly filling the bathtub. Naked in front of the mirror, Althea watched her emaciated shoulders, her hollow stomach, her hipbones, her legs like tortuous sticks, her knees like giant knuckles. What had happened to her? She had only wanted to be thin. Her mother had told her again, as she was saying goodbye, that she looked like a concentration camp victim. But if she did look so terrible and sick, then why would her mother do nothing about it but insult her? Of course, it would not be fair to blame her mother for what she was about to do.
Her dad had given her that check to go to France and this was as close to communication as they were going to get. He was encouraging her to go away, but did he not mean it figuratively as well? Did he possibly want her to run for his own sake rather than hers? Her parents were not equipped to save someone like her from herself.
She looked at her studio apartment through the open door of the bathroom where she stood; the curtains, the refrigerator, the mirror, the computer, the neat stacks of files and papers, the bowl full of apples that said, “Eat me, eat me,” but never, ever, fed her. She felt no physical pain besides hunger.
It would be like going to sleep. There would be no real pain there either. In fact, all she could imagine was relief. She would slowly become weaker, and then fall asleep. The tub was nearly full. In a few minutes, life would sweetly drain out of her. On the side of the tub was the sharp knife she used to peel apples, the knife sharp enough to make this effortless. She considered the knife for a minute, touched the blade gently and felt its power. She turned off the faucet, the bath now full, and stepped in the warm water. She lay in the water and looked at her wrists. If only there was someone she could ask one last question. If only there was someone, somewhere who would be able to tell her how to get out of this skin. Someone who could tell her that things could be different.
She let go of the knife, jumped out of the water, wrapped herself in a towel and got out of the bathroom. Her whole body shivered now with cold and fear. She turned the pages of the paper, searching for the ad. She finally found it, her fingers shaking out of control, and dialed the number of that woman in France.
Annie felt herself pulled out of the womb of slumber with forceps. For an
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