The Removed(56)

“Everyone take it easy. Everything is fine.”

“Nobody is hurt! The owl would’ve died if we hadn’t rescued it. The fire was pushing it out. It was magic. It was all thanks to our leader, Wyatt.”

Wyatt didn’t look nearly as excited as the others. I sensed something was wrong, so I took a seat next to him on the couch and put my arm around him. “Are you okay?” I asked. “What a night. What made you want to rescue the owl?”

But he didn’t respond. His silence was an answer I came to understand. He was leaving the next day after the hearing, and everything would be different.





Sonja


SEPTEMBER 5

I SHUT MYSELF IN my bedroom all morning. This was not so much out of fear as out of a desire to remove myself from the noises, at least for a while. I took off my clothes and lay in bed, trying to read Colette. I was too nervous to sleep. When I was thirsty, I stepped into the kitchen for water. I sliced a lemon with a knife, then put the wedges into the glass of water. I chopped carrots and broccoli and put them on a plate. Vin must’ve heard my footsteps, because he started yelling again while I was in the kitchen. I took the knife with me back to the bedroom. I checked my phone for any messages.

Outside it started to lightly rain. I turned my phone off. I tried not to think about anything, but I found myself thinking about the bonfire, and whether Edgar would come home. I imagined us sitting around the fire with Edgar. I looked forward to telling him how much I missed his sense of humor, hearing him laugh, even how he would knock on the door at three in the morning, wanting to talk about nothing in particular. In bed, my body felt cool under the sheets. I imagined walking downstairs to see Vin and giving in to the pleasures of cruelty, watching him weep and huddle in the corner. It was merely a thought, nothing more, and I allowed myself to enjoy it.

A heavy silence fell throughout the house. Would he start shouting again? Breaking and throwing things? I looked out my front window at his car. Farther away, I could see the yellow sky and rain clouds, past Indian Hill Road and beyond the bridge, where chimney smoke from houses drifted in the wind like ghosts. I could see the bait and tackle shop in the distance, and how abandoned and empty it looked. The day was very calm, like looking at the face of a sleeping lover.

Vin’s phone was ringing again, but I ignored it. I heard a dragging noise from the basement, as if he were moving a mattress around down there. I powered up my phone and walked throughout the house, turning all the lights on. There was nothing to be afraid of, I told myself. I was defending myself from him. But still I was starting to panic. I felt a slow, creeping fear connected directly to Vin, though it also flowed deeper. Papa had always told me to confront fear, so I did just that. What kind of person was I, to keep him downstairs? He had hit me, but that didn’t give me a reason to keep him hostage, did it? I began to think about what I had done. Questions came to mind about what was legal and what was beyond self-defense, especially after so much time had passed. I started to feel paranoid. Maybe I would go to jail for this. Was it morally wrong to protect myself from harm? Was I still protecting myself? For a while my thoughts raced back and forth between what was moral and immoral, which made me feel pressured about what I should do next. No matter what I thought, nothing made me feel any better about the situation.

Slowly I retreated back to my bedroom and searched for a Valium, a Xanax, an edible, anything. I started reading again, looking up at the hallway every now and then. Someday I wanted to be the type of woman who could read in solitude while my lover worked outside, coming into the house to ask for my help. The type of woman whose lover waited patiently while she raised a finger and finished reading. My ideal lover was a person of patience and fortitude, which Vin was not.

Soon his phone was ringing again. The battery had not run down completely. He must’ve heard it ringing down there, because he started yelling again: “Hey, let me out of here, you crazy bitch!” I took his phone from the kitchen into my bedroom and closed the door. When I answered, I heard Luka’s voice, sweet little Luka, crying on the phone. “Are you coming home, Dad? Where are you? Are you coming to get me?” He was crying really hard, and I couldn’t bear listening to it. His crying absolutely broke my heart.

“Luka,” I said. “Luka, settle down. This is Colette, your dad’s friend.”

“I’m at my aunt’s house,” he said, and I felt overwhelmed with sadness. He kept asking where his dad was, near hysterics, and I had to work to get him to hear me. “Luka,” I was saying over and over. “Luka, your dad will be there soon. Your dad’s coming to get you, Luka, okay?” By then I was near tears myself, very upset. I felt confused, trying to sound like a mother calming her son. A mother, this is what I told myself to sound like. Show empathy, understanding. Comfort him the way a mother would.

When I hung up the phone, I felt my heart racing. I thought of poor Luka, sweet Luka. Why should he suffer for his father’s weaknesses? Overcome with guilt, I told myself I should let Vin go to him. Luka needed a dad right now. Depriving him of that only made me feel worse. So I grabbed a can of Mace, which I kept by my bed in case I ever needed it.

I stood in the hallway for a moment. I thought about my intentions with Vin. I wanted him to see me as a strong woman, not someone he could take advantage of. Not someone he could slap in the face. He needed to understand this, and I would make sure of that. I was an older woman, more experienced, one who held grudges. I was an angry woman who never learned to forgive. I sought revenge when I needed to. I’d learned to take up for myself.