My mother slaps me across the mouth, leaving a mild sting. Fair enough, I suppose, but it was worth it.
“I’m leaving.” I pull my keys from my pocket.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
I head outside, climb into my truck, and drive around town for what feels like hours. The shop is closed on Sundays, so I can’t go to work. Liberty is probably hung over as hell, so I can’t go there.
So I just drive.
And think.
This is just a minor hiccup. I’ll see pay one of the twins to slip a note to Waverly at breakfast, and we’ll figure everything out. A lot can happen in forty-eight hours. I can figure everything out for the both of us.
I return to Kath’s several hours later, a black Audi with Arizona plates rests in her driveway.
“No fucking way,” I mutter when I climb out. Approaching the vehicle with careful steps, I’m floored the second I notice it’s Juliette sitting in the driver’s seat. I rap on her window, startling her, and when she turns to face me, my stomach drops.
With black and blue eyes so swollen it’s a wonder she can see, she begins to sob. She climbs out, throwing her arms around me like I’m some kind of lifeline. The bump on her nose tells me he broke it again, and dried blood resides in the gash across her bottom lip.
“You should’ve left him.” I brush her hair from her eyes. I forgot how small she is, how delicate. “I’ve been telling you that for years.”
“I never wanted to leave you,” she says, wiping away tears carefully. She protected me from him when she could, but I know I would’ve been fine without her. “I thought he loved me.” She laughs, dabbing tears. “I’m a stupid woman.”
“Don’t say that.”
“You look good, Jensen.” She licks the dried blood from her lips. “You look healthy, strong.”
What she’s saying is she’s not used to seeing me without so much as a bump or bruise.
“You doing okay?” she asks.
I don’t have time to get into it with her. “More or less.”
“Good for you.” She cups her hand above her eyes, shielding the morning sun.
“What are you doing here, anyway? You know you could get in a lot of trouble coming here.”
“I had nowhere to go, Jensen. I finally left him. For good.” She holds my gaze with those helpless, puppy dog eyes, the ones that lured me in each time. We were both broken and fucked up in our own ways, suffering years of abuse at the hands of the men who were supposed to protect us. She’d mentioned one night that her daddy used to touch her when she was little, and I’m certain that Josiah knew damn well how to give her just enough of his bullshit-flavored love to fill the void that left her emotionally stunted.
“There’s got to be a women’s shelter around here,” I say.
“I don’t want to go to one of those,” she says without hesitation.
I want to help her. I do. “You can’t stay here. Kath wouldn’t allow it. Plus, there’s no room.”
And I’m not in a position to be asking personal favors at the moment…
“What about your sister in Provo?” I ask.
“She won’t speak to me.” Juliette hangs her head. I know she had a falling out with her sister years ago, though she never went into detail. I get the feeling she’s been a disappointment to a lot of people over the years, but she’s a product of the cards she’s been dealt. No one should blame her for that. Underneath her fake boobs, stripper-blonde hair, and layers of caked up makeup, she’s got a heart of gold. People prey on women like her because they’re easy targets.
“Why don’t I help you?” It’s the best I can do. “I’ll go with you, kind of help explain the situation. Mediate a little. Once she sees you, once she hears what you’ve endured over the years, she won’t be able to turn you away.”
Juliette’s shoulders rise and fall as she sucks in a long breath. She hangs her head, her shoes scuffing against the pavement of the driveway.
“But first, let’s go file a police report. Josiah Mackey might own the Charter Springs police department, but he doesn’t have any weight up here.”
We head to the police where they take Juliette’s statement, give her a fresh change of clothes, and photograph damn near every square inch of her bruised and battered body.
It’s a long process involving tears and retellings of harsh memories neither one of us wanted to recall, but there’s a spring in her step when we walk out, and I know we did the right thing.
“I don’t think I could’ve done that alone.” She flicks the business card of her assigned caseworker as I walk her to her car. She’s going to meet with her first thing Monday, and she’s been told this lady will help her find housing and hook her up with other resources to help get her on her feet.