Then it wouldn’t have taken so long for him to pass out. Mama wouldn’t’ve had the pills if it wasn’t for him. That’s irony.” She smiled a little when Dave laughed. “I learned about irony in English class. She got the pills because he made her so upset and nervous. He pretended to be nice when he met her, when they started going out. But he started picking on her, and us, and pushing his weight around. He slapped her once, right across the face.”
“She had a restraining order on him.”
Phoebe nodded. “She told him she wouldn’t see him anymore and to go away. But he kept coming around, or going to her work. Following her in his car. I think more than that, but she wouldn’t tell me. He came to the house one night, too, drunk, and she called the police. They made him go away, but that’s all they did.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t do more.”
“They told her she could get that restraining order, so she did. I don’t see how it helped her any.”
“No. I’m sorry about that, too. It seems to me, Phoebe, your mother did everything right, everything she could do to protect herself and her family.”
Phoebe stared down at the paper napkin balled in her fist. “Why didn’t he just go away when she said she didn’t want him?”
“I don’t know.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, Phoebe decided. Worse, it was kin to a lie. She hated when grown-ups lied because they didn’t think you could understand.
Phoebe ate more fries and shook her head. “Maybe you don’t know exactly, but you sort of do. You just think I won’t understand ’cause I’m only twelve—almost twelve. But I understand lots of things.”
He studied her another moment, as if he could read something on her face like the words in a book. “Okay, I do sort of know, or I have an opinion. I think he’s mean, he’s a bully, and he didn’t like the idea of anyone telling him what to do, or what he could have, especially a woman like your mother. So he tried to scare her and intimidate her, and he got madder and madder because it wasn’t working the way he wanted. I think he wanted to hurt her, to show her he was the boss, and it got out of hand, even for him.”
Phoebe ate another fry. “I think he’s a son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, that, too. Now he’s going to be a son of a bitch in jail, for a long time.”
She thought about this as she sucked on the Coke he’d brought her. “On TV, they usually shoot the bad guy. The SWAT team shoots him.”
“I like it better when nobody gets shot. What you did in there? It helped it work out so nobody died. Dying’s a short end, Phoebe. I know you’re tired, and you want to see your mother.” He stood, then pulled a card out of his pocket. “I want you to know you can call me anytime. You need to talk about all this again, or ask questions, or you need help with anything, you just call me.”
She took the card and read: Detective David Mc Vee. “Carter, too? And Mama?”
“Absolutely. Anything, Phoebe, anytime.”
“Okay, thanks. Thanks for the burger and fries.”
“My pleasure, that’s a fact.” This time when he offered his hand, he shook hers. “You take care of yourself, and your family.”
“I will.”
When he left, Phoebe put his card in her pocket. She rolled up the takeout bag to help keep the food Dave had brought for Carter warm, shoved the trash in the waste bin.
She crossed to the window to look out. The sun had come up. She didn’t know when dawn had broken or how long it had been light. But she knew the dark hours were over.
When the door opened and her mother stood there, her arms open wide, Phoebe all but flew into them.
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
“My sweet girl. My baby girl.”
“Your face. Mama—”
“It’s all right. I’m all right.”
How could it be all right with that line of stitches running down her mother’s lovely cheek, marring her soft, soft skin? When her sparkling blue eyes were dull and the bruising crawled out
“She had a restraining order on him.”
Phoebe nodded. “She told him she wouldn’t see him anymore and to go away. But he kept coming around, or going to her work. Following her in his car. I think more than that, but she wouldn’t tell me. He came to the house one night, too, drunk, and she called the police. They made him go away, but that’s all they did.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t do more.”
“They told her she could get that restraining order, so she did. I don’t see how it helped her any.”
“No. I’m sorry about that, too. It seems to me, Phoebe, your mother did everything right, everything she could do to protect herself and her family.”
Phoebe stared down at the paper napkin balled in her fist. “Why didn’t he just go away when she said she didn’t want him?”
“I don’t know.”
It wasn’t the answer she wanted, Phoebe decided. Worse, it was kin to a lie. She hated when grown-ups lied because they didn’t think you could understand.
Phoebe ate more fries and shook her head. “Maybe you don’t know exactly, but you sort of do. You just think I won’t understand ’cause I’m only twelve—almost twelve. But I understand lots of things.”
He studied her another moment, as if he could read something on her face like the words in a book. “Okay, I do sort of know, or I have an opinion. I think he’s mean, he’s a bully, and he didn’t like the idea of anyone telling him what to do, or what he could have, especially a woman like your mother. So he tried to scare her and intimidate her, and he got madder and madder because it wasn’t working the way he wanted. I think he wanted to hurt her, to show her he was the boss, and it got out of hand, even for him.”
Phoebe ate another fry. “I think he’s a son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, that, too. Now he’s going to be a son of a bitch in jail, for a long time.”
She thought about this as she sucked on the Coke he’d brought her. “On TV, they usually shoot the bad guy. The SWAT team shoots him.”
“I like it better when nobody gets shot. What you did in there? It helped it work out so nobody died. Dying’s a short end, Phoebe. I know you’re tired, and you want to see your mother.” He stood, then pulled a card out of his pocket. “I want you to know you can call me anytime. You need to talk about all this again, or ask questions, or you need help with anything, you just call me.”
She took the card and read: Detective David Mc Vee. “Carter, too? And Mama?”
“Absolutely. Anything, Phoebe, anytime.”
“Okay, thanks. Thanks for the burger and fries.”
“My pleasure, that’s a fact.” This time when he offered his hand, he shook hers. “You take care of yourself, and your family.”
“I will.”
When he left, Phoebe put his card in her pocket. She rolled up the takeout bag to help keep the food Dave had brought for Carter warm, shoved the trash in the waste bin.
She crossed to the window to look out. The sun had come up. She didn’t know when dawn had broken or how long it had been light. But she knew the dark hours were over.
When the door opened and her mother stood there, her arms open wide, Phoebe all but flew into them.
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
“My sweet girl. My baby girl.”
“Your face. Mama—”
“It’s all right. I’m all right.”
How could it be all right with that line of stitches running down her mother’s lovely cheek, marring her soft, soft skin? When her sparkling blue eyes were dull and the bruising crawled out
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