He thinks he’s being so fucking noble and strong. Instead he’s torn my heart in two.
But he’s right about one thing. It will do no good to argue. For today, at least, Jonah can’t hear anything I have to say.
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“We’ll talk about this some other time. ” That’s about the best I can do. “When you’re thinking more clearly. ”
“I’m thinking clearly right—” Jonah at least has the decency to fall silent when I hold up my hand. I can’t take any more of this at the moment. If I hear him give his reasons one more time, I might start to believe him.
Wiping at my eyes, I pick up my purse. I never got around to taking off my jacket. I haven’t been in his apartment fifteen minutes.
When I look back at Jonah, I don’t say good-bye. The only words I speak are, “I love you. ”
“I love you too,” Jonah says. His voice breaks, and that nearly destroys me. But he doesn’t falter. Not even this moment will change his mind.
Behind him in its heavy frame is my etching, the one he won at the charity auction a few months ago. Jonah didn’t understand what the image meant until I told him. He thought the man with his hands around the captive bird was keeping it only to protect it. I explained that the man was about to set it free for good. At the time, I had no idea that image was prophecy.
The elevator doors slide shut behind me. Leaning against the metal wall, tears hot on my face, I remember my resolution to come up with a new etching, one that would symbolize everything Jonah meant to me. But I never found the right image. As hard as I tried, I never figured him out.
Twenty-seven
The entire city of Austin seems to fall under a dark cloud. Normally we’re friendly here—the type to wave or say hello to a stranger on the sidewalk. Laid-back, easygoing. Sunshine and warmth figure largely in both our weather reports and our outlook. Most people in the world would find a bat colony vaguely creepy; we cheer them on.
In late February, though, the bats have migrated elsewhere for the winter. A cold front blows in and stays put, bringing temperatures lower than any Texas has seen in a long while.
But that’s not the main reason for the chill.
Women stop walking the sidewalks alone after about three P. M. Displays go up beside gas station and grocery cash registers, hawking pepper spray, retractable batons, and those keychains that look like a cute kitty face until you use the pointed metal ears to gouge out an attacker’s eyes. At homes and apartment complexes around the city, workmen can be seen installing security cameras and motion-sensitive lights. This being Texas, gun stores and firing ranges are already plentiful, but they step up their advertising. Their billboards and flyers now sometimes have pink borders, because that’s what we ladies think about when we consider buying a gun: Which store has the most pink?
I’ve never bothered with a gun. The way I see it, a firearm could just as easily be turned against me. But I’m newly aware of the pepper spray in my purse, and the path from where I park to my door seems longer than it did before.
My landlords install some extra lights without my even asking.
Arturo insists on taking precautions too, as I discover when I come over for dinner one week after Jonah and I . . .
(I won’t say broke up. That means forever, and I still refuse to believe that. )
. . . after he pushed me away.
For the first few days, all I did was work and bawl. Once I scarfed an entire pint of chocolate ice cream while watching Empire and getting overly emotional about the rift between Cookie and Hakeem. That’s the closest I’ve come to fun since I left Jonah’s building last Sunday. But now Saturday night has come around again, and I’m determined to pull myself together. I arrive at Arturo and Shay’s town house with a six-pack of 7-Up in hand to see Arturo and Mack at work in the yard.
“This is stupid,” Mack says as he thrusts the point of a solar-powered yard light into the ground. “Nobody’s breaking in here. ”
“You don’t know that. ” Arturo’s on his knees too, spading the earth where the next light will go. “Nobody can know. I have to work nights, sometimes, but I don’t like leaving Shay on her own with the baby, not like this. ”
Mack rolls his eyes, then sees me. He gives me his usual smarmy grin, which I acknowledge only with a nod before turning to Arturo. “Hiya. The landlord said you could put these in?”
“I didn’t ask her,” Arturo says as he jams in the last of the lights, then peers at the slowly darkening sky. “My guess is she’ll be cool with it. If not? I’ve lost security deposits for worse reasons. ”
My mouth twitches, like it wants to smile but hasn’t fully remembered how yet. “Like that time you tried to hang a picture in your dorm room and put a hammer straight through the wall?”
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Arturo laughs. “Damn, that dorm was crappy. ”
Inside, I find another few friends milling around, Shay readying the plates and napkins for when the pizza arrives, and Geordie and Carmen sitting on the floor with Nicolas. In the past couple of weeks, it’s as if he’s transformed from this sweet pink blob into an actual baby; Nicolas can lift his head and chest, and he’ll hang on to the toys we give him, shaking them forever if they rattle or chime. And today, it seems, he finally got the hang of babbling.
“Ba ba ba BA BA!” goes Nicolas, smiling in delight at his own loudness.
“Yes, that’s the core issue Brussels has to deal with,” Geordie answers in all seriousness, as he play-walks a toy giraffe toward Nicolas’s eager hand. “But if Greece leaves the eurozone, what does that do to their long-term economic recovery?”
Nicolas yells “BA!” again, and Geordie nods thoughtfully. This entire performance reduces Carmen to giggles. Hmmm.
When food arrives, the gathering finally swings into party mode. They turn up the radio, people start joking and laughing, and soda cans are cracked open with a pop and a hiss. Although I’m still not really in the mood, I can at least listen to other people having fun. Being with friends is always one of the best sources of comfort.
A few times I see Arturo or Shay stealing a glance at me. They’re worried, even if they won’t say so. I know I look like hell, with my hair pulled into a messy bun and no makeup. I’m wearing my oldest jeans and an even older plaid shirt. Wryly I think I might as well have hung a sandwich board around my neck. Recently Dumped. Prone to Weeping. Do Not Taunt.
I’m okay, though. I feel like hell, and every time I think about Jonah I want to cry—but I refuse to let myself slide any lower than this. After what I’ve been through in my life, it takes more than a breakup to destroy me. I’ll keep going no matter how long my lonely heart keeps repeating Jonah’s name.
The party breaks up early, mostly because Mack and his friends want to head out to a bar. Carmen takes Nicolas upstairs to take care of his stinky diaper while Geordie and I clean up. As I stuff the latest pizza box into the cardboard-recycling can, Geordie says, “Hey, mind if I catch a ride back with you? Shay picked me up so I could help her with the heavier stuff at the grocery. ”
“Uh, heavy stuff?” I’m just stalling. Wouldn’t it be better if Carmen gave him a ride home?
But this idea doesn’t seem to have occurred to Geordie. “You know. Hefting those twelve-packs of Coca-Cola and ginger ale—it’s a man’s job. ”
The slight vibration in the pipes reveals that Carmen’s running Nicolas’s bath now, so she won’t be coming downstairs anytime soon. “Okay, sure. I’ll give you a lift. ”
In the car, Geordie again syncs his phone with the sound system, this time bringing up Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings. She sings about how it takes a hundred days to know a man’s heart, and against my will I feel myself getting emotional again.
Did Jonah and I have even a hundred days?
Geordie clears his throat. “As long as we’re talking about subjects that are none of my business—”
“We weren’t. ”
“I take i
t you and Jonah Marks are still on the outs. ”
Oh, shit, the last topic I want to talk about. “My love life is not your concern anymore. ”
“Ouch. ” Geordie makes the sound you hear from most people when they see a really bad sunburn. “I’m only asking as a friend. Okay? No grabby hands will be stealing toward your knee at any point this evening. ”
This guy always gets me to smile at some point. “I realize you’re not trying to—that you’re only looking out for me. And I appreciate it. But I’m really not ready to have a conversation about this with you or with anyone. ” Not even Doreen: Our last therapy session was mostly me crying, and Doreen handing out Kleenex after Kleenex.
Geordie nods, and for almost a minute more, we drive along without speaking, accompanied only by the music. As I turn onto the road that leads to his apartment complex, however, he blurts out, “I’ve got to ask you another question about Jonah. Last one ever, probably. ”
I wince. “I’d rather not. ”
“Sorry, Vivienne. This one’s a must. ” His tone is unexpectedly firm.
Whatever this is, he expects it to upset me. So I pull over into a lot for the shopping center a few blocks from Geordie’s place, put my Civic in park, and say, “Fine. Ask. ”
“You don’t have to give me any details. I understand if you don’t know anything for sure, and you don’t want anyone to take action based on—on a suspicion, or a fear—but—” His eyes meet mine, stricken. “Did you split up with Jonah Marks because you thought he might be guilty?”
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Fuck. Is this what all my friends are thinking?
Geordie continues, the words spilling out of him. “Because if you’re afraid of this man, on any level, we can switch apartments, switch cars, whatever you’d need to feel safe. ”
“No. No, Geordie, that’s not it. I know Jonah’s not guilty, absolutely. What I said about being with him during the Stalker’s first two attacks—that’s one hundred percent true. Please, you have to tell people that Jonah didn’t do this. ”
“All right. ” He only looks more worried. “But one question’s been worrying at me. If Jonah’s innocent, and it appears he is—then why the hell are the police after him? He’s a bloody professor. A millionaire. That’s the sort of person they usually suspect last. ”
“I know. It’s this ex-girlfriend of his—she named him to the police back in December—”
“What, like, for revenge?” Geordie’s jaw drops. “That’s awful. What kind of a bitch does something like that?”
“She’s not a bitch. I mean, I guess she isn’t. I never met her. ” I’m stumbling over my own words now, becoming emotional again. “She had her reasons for worrying about Jonah, okay? But she’s wrong. Can we leave it at that?”
The dashboard lights illuminate Geordie’s frown. “Her reasons? Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound good. ”
“It’s not what you’re thinking. ”
“Then what is it, Vivienne?”
I’m not the type to tell one lover too many details about my sex life with another. This subject is too intensely personal to share with anyone but my therapist. Given how far over the line Geordie is here, I’d be well within my rights to tell him to shut up and let it go.
But Geordie’s one of the only other people in the world who knows about my rape fetish. He is my friend, and he genuinely cares about my safety and happiness. And more than anything else, the sheer force of these unspoken fears has been pent up inside me so long that I can’t hold it back any longer. The dam finally breaks.
Which is why, half an hour later, I’m sitting on the floor of Geordie’s apartment, still spilling the whole damn story.
“And he says we’ll never get over this fixation if we keep acting it out together. But I felt like acting it out was the only way I ever got any better. ” I blow my nose in the wad of toilet paper he fetched for me a few minutes ago. “It was my choice to get tied up! My choice to be blindfolded! My choice to—”
“Slow down,” Geordie says faintly. He’s leaning back on his sofa, one hand on his forehead like it hurts. “Fewer details. ”
Whatever. My personal dignity is already pretty much shot. “You understand now, right? There’s no way Jonah would ever rape anyone. That’s not how he dealt with the shit that happened to him. ” I’ve remained vague about Jonah’s past—that part isn’t mine to tell. But that’s all I’ve held back. “We were working through that together, until he broke up with me ‘for my own good. ’ Now he’s alone during all of this, and I feel like—both like I’m some kind of monster sicko for wanting this, and like I’m going to die because I’ve lost it forever. ”
“You’re not a sicko,” Geordie says.
I give him a look. “Earlier you said your ears were bleeding. ”
“I apologize. Bad joke. ” He manages to sit up and meet my eyes. “Listen. First of all, okay. I believe you about Jonah. The story makes sense now, somehow. Poor bastard’s caught in the perfect storm of kink and suspicion. ”
“Yeah. ” If nothing else, at least I’ve completely cleared Jonah to one person’s satisfaction. It’s not much comfort, but it’s all I’ve got.
“Second—this part is hard. Vivienne, you never said this outright, but what I’m hearing is . . . you were raped once, long ago. By your sister’s husband?”
I’d always felt like I’d die if any of my friends knew. But now it’s almost a relief. “When I was fourteen. They were only dating then. ”
“And she married him anyway. Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry. ”
No one else has ever said that before. Not even Jonah. I’m sorry. I needed to hear that simple empathy more than I’d ever realized. The only answer I can give is a nod.
Geordie leans forward, forearms on his knees. “You know you could’ve told me. Either to explain why you wanted—or just, you know, to tell. ”
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“Almost nobody knows. Not Carmen, not Arturo and Shay, not even my own dad. ” I brush back the strands of honey-brown hair that have escaped from my bun. “It’s not that I don’t trust you guys. But I never wanted anybody to look at me and see a victim. It felt like—like I’d be dragging my rape with me into my future, when all I wanted to do was leave it in the past. Do you understand?”
He nods too fast, unabashedly concerned. “Right. Sure. You get to choose who you tell and when. Only you. ”
In the past, Geordie hasn’t been so great about keeping my secrets, but that was before he was sober. His mistakes were never intentional. Now I feel like he’d keep this safe for me forever.
So I can tell him the rest too. “The fantasy was only one thing Jonah and I shared. We’re compatible in so many other ways too; I think we would’ve been drawn to each other no matter what. But admitting this to each other, sharing it, that’s why we became so close so quickly. We only started going out six months ago, but the relationship we have goes so much deeper than the time makes it seem. Losing him is killing me. I don’t want to think it’s permanent, but if he thinks it’s permanent, then we’re done. ”
“Give the man some time. He’s in the middle of some serious insanity right now, yeah? Might take him a while to get his head together. ”
“I know that. I do. Still, I keep wondering—what if he’s right? What if we prevent each other from ever getting better? If we live this out together over and over, how do we ever move past it?”
Geordie does the last thing I expected; he laughs. “You don’t. ” I frown in confusion, and with a sigh, he comes to sit on the floor beside me. His smile is crooked. “Usually you’re the wise one. Not hard, if I’m the competition. But these past few months, in treatment—I finally learned something that it sounds like you should learn too. ”
“What?”
“Nobody ever gets all better. Ever. No one. ” He takes my hand. “In the past, whenever I’d think I was drinking too much, I’d say—well, I’ll taper off for a bit. Clear my head. Make new friends,
new habits. Then I can go hang out at the pub again like before. But now I know I can never do that. I’m an addict. An alcoholic. I don’t get to hang out at the pub. No civilized glasses of wine with dinner. No New Year’s champagne. Doesn’t matter how long I live, or how many years I stay sober. I will never be able to have those things. Sobriety is partly about learning to accept that fact. ”
The serenity to accept the things I cannot change—isn’t that how it goes? “I’m not an addict. Not in that way, I don’t think. ”
“No, you’re not. But the principle’s the same. We don’t get all better; we don’t fix everything that’s broken. We just learn how to work around the broken bits. How to do the best we can with what we have, and who we are. ”
This is something Doreen’s tried to say to me a few times, though I only fully understand it now. Always, before, I’ve careened between feeling as if I had to put the past behind me completely, or surrender to it and accept defeat. But there’s a middle path too. One where I own what happened to me and do the best I can anyway.
And finally I realize how close I got to that, with Jonah, only to have it snatched away.
“Thank you,” I say to Geordie. “I’ve needed to hear that for so long. ”
He shrugs, embarrassed by own his earnestness. “Guess I jumped ahead to step nine. ” When I look at him in confusion, he elaborates: “The one where we make amends. ”
“You never had anything to make amends for. Not with me. ” One time he blabbed my secret—but if he hadn’t, Jonah and I would never have found each other.
We clasp hands, fully friends in a way we never were before, but always will be from now on. This doesn’t fill the void left by Jonah’s absence; maybe nothing ever can. But for this night, this hour, it’s enough.
Twenty-eight
Geordie insists on following me home in his car, and asks me to text once I’m sure everything’s safe inside. No sooner do I send it than I get a message from Carmen saying, Hey, just got home, wanted to check in!
I sigh. Every woman in the city is on red alert, as is any guy worth a damn.
But I dedicate myself to my friends as well, because it’s something constructive to do. Keiko and I arrange to carpool to the studio, taking turns driving. She’s struggling to master raku glazing, and I need to fill the empty hours, so we wind up going virtually every day. Creating new images feels beyond me right now—the unfinished Jonah project still haunts me. Instead I devote myself to printmaking, experimenting with different inks and surfaces. I reprint the man’s hands around the dove at least three dozen times on everything from cardboard to concrete. I print them in black glittery ink, and a gray almost too pale to be seen against white, in shining gold, and in a red as deep as blood. Maybe I’ll hang them all together in one enormous installation that would show how many interpretations of one image there can be.