Me: I’m stopping at the store. Be home soon. We’ll talk then.
I feel positively ill. Facing the mother of the man I killed could never be easy. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life, but Eunice deserves this. I owe it to her.
When I reach the edge of Eunice’s neighborhood, my heart rate picks up. I’m not exactly panicking, but I wouldn’t say I’m cool either. The concept of talking to Eunice and apologizing sounded great when I played it out in my head, but now that I’m just a few driveways away from her front door, it’s all getting bigger and scarier in my mind. I’m almost ready to turn around and race the hell out of there when I see a car approaching from the other direction, which then pulls into her driveway.
It’s her. Eunice is home, and I’ve timed my arrival perfectly, or so it seems. I speed up before any of my doubts work to dissuade me, and roll up to the curb in front of her house.
She pauses as she walks up her front porch steps and squints at my car over her shoulder. This is not the same vehicle I was driving when I knew Charlie, so she doesn’t know it’s me yet.
I turn off the engine and undo my seatbelt, taking a couple deep breaths before throwing the door open. Seeing her standing there reminds me strongly of Charlie . . . more than I imagined it would. Charlie will never be truly gone for me, but for Eunice, he always will be. And that’s why I’m here.
I get out of the car and smooth down my pants, resisting the urge to pull up the elastic pouch over the babies. I wore a big shirt today so she wouldn’t see that I’m pregnant. The last thing I want to do is rub the idea of a baby in her face. She’s already been hurt enough by me.
As I walk across her lawn, I see recognition blooming in her eyes. First her lids widen and then they narrow. She turns to face me more fully, her purse sliding off her shoulder down to the crook of her elbow. She’s wearing purple polyester pants and an orange, purple, and black top.
I stop ten feet away, ankle-deep in her thick, loamy-smelling crabgrass lawn.
“What’re you doing here?” she asks, her voice sounding frog-like from all the cigarette smoke she’s inhaled over the years.
It’s a fair question. I don’t take offense at her tone of disgust. At least I know now how she’ll react to seeing me. Not well.
“I came by to talk to you.”
She sneers at me. “I ain’t got nothing to say to you.”
I take another tentative step forward. “I know you don’t, and I don’t expect you to say anything to me. I was just hoping that you’d hear me out, that’s all.”
She cocks her hip and jabs a finger out at me. “You got a lot of nerve, hussy, comin’ here to my house after what you did.”
I nod. “I know. I know this is bold and probably really stupid, but I had to do it.”
“Why?”
I can’t look at her face anymore. The pure unadulterated hate in her expression is making me feel like something is shriveling up inside me. The babies flip around like they’re doing gymnastics. I focus on her shoulder as I speak.
“I’ve felt terrible about what I did for a long time, but I realized that I never did the right thing after; I never apologized directly to you. I should’ve done that before now, and I’m really sorry I waited. I’m sorry for everything . . . for taking Charlie from you and for not understanding what that meant to you as his mother.”
“Charlie’s dead because you killed him,” she nearly growls. “You can’t change that fact, no matter what you say.”
“I know. I wish I could undo what I did, but I can’t. But I’m sorry, regardless. I wanted you to know that. And I wanted you to know that I get it. I know why you can’t forgive me. I took a piece of you away, and that wasn’t fair to you or to Charlie or to the rest of the family, either.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing: you can’t change anything. And you’re sayin’ you’re sorry now?” She spits on the ground. “Get outta here before I make you sorry you ever lived.”
I look up at her, surprised by the tone in her voice and how eerily familiar it is. Charlie talked to me this way sometimes, right before he punched me in the face. A trickle of fear leaks into my heart.
“I just came by to apologize, Eunice. I’m sorry I upset you; that was not my intention. I’ll go now.” I take a step back.
She closes the distance between us to just five feet. “Oh, you’re sorry about that too, are you? Sorry?” She takes another step. “Let me tell you how much your sorries are worth to me.” She pauses before continuing with a snarl in her voice. “Nothing. Less than nothing. I’d like to take that sorry and smash you in the teeth with it.”
The hatred rolling off her in waves is so strong I have to step back away from it. I hold up my hands in surrender. “I don’t want any trouble from you, Eunice. I just came to apologize, and now I’m going to leave.”
She shakes her head, pressing her already thin lips together until they disappear. Her double chin waggles on her neck as spittle gathers in the corners of her mouth. She reaches into her purse and pulls something out.
“Nah, you ain’t leaving yet. I got a little something special for you right here in my purse.” She mumbles her last words. “Sorry, my ass . . .”
My heart flips over and spasms painfully when I imagine she’s getting ready to point a gun at me. But when her hand emerges from her bag, all I see is a short black stick.
She shakes her fist once and the bar extends itself.
Oh shit. My brain short-circuits. She’s got an extendable steel baton in her hand, and she looks like she’s going to enjoy using it. This wasn’t part of my plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m in so much trouble. I swore to Charlie’s ghost and myself that I wouldn’t hurt this woman. I came to apologize and that’s it. I can’t fight back.
My jaw drops open as I realize I’m about to get my ass kicked by a double-chinned granny. In all of my training sessions with Dev and the other guys, I was fighting off a man. Never once was I presented with a senior citizen as an opponent, nor a situation where I had to hold back. A crazy part of my brain is telling me that she’s the mother of the man I killed and I pretty much owe her my life in exchange for the one I took. It keeps my feet rooted to the ground when they should probably be pumping like hell, sprinting me into the next county.
She raises the stick above her head at the same time that she drops her purse on the ground. “I’ve been dreaming about this day for years. I’m gonna give you a little taste of what you gave my boy. You thought you felt sorry before? Just wait. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
She shortens the distance between us a lot faster than I would’ve expected her to. One second she’s four feet away and the next, she’s on me.
I used to be more agile before I had two babies in me. I try to duck, but I’m not fast enough. The steel stick comes around swiftly and whacks me in the side of the head.
I scream and bend over from the pain, my hand flying up to my ear. My head feels like there’s a giant bell ringing inside it. Something warm and sticky oozes through my fingers. Blood. I’ve never been afraid of bleeding before, but I am now. I share this blood with my children; I can’t afford to lose any of it.
I try to run away and get back to my car, desperate to reach safety, but she whacks me in the middle of the spine with her heavy baton before I can take more than two steps. I arch over backward as the pain rockets through me, and I stumble, falling to the ground.
I’m stunned, my mind whirling as I try to figure out what I’m going to do to save the situation and myself. I can’t fight back. It wouldn’t be right. I promised Charlie I wasn’t here to do any harm. And besides, I took this woman’s son from her. Is it wrong to let her take something from me? I don’t know the answer to these questions and my body is wracked with pain.
Suddenly Dev is in my head, yelling, ‘Block, block, block!’
I twist onto my side and hold my forearms up over me, kicking out with my legs feebly, hoping I’ll catch her in t
he shin and maybe slow her down. As more blows rain down on me, Dev’s voice is drowned out by another’s.
Not the babies, Lucky’s saying. Don’t let her hurt our babies.
I can’t block her blows and protect them too, so there’s only one thing for me to do: I curl up into a ball as tightly as I can to protect my unborn children, praying it’ll all be over soon.
She pauses and then yells at me, her voice coming out as a screech. “What’s that . . . ? Are you pregnant? You bitch! My son never got to have any babies! I ain’t never gonna get no grandbabies from Charlie because of you!”
I’m in a desperate panic now, thinking the Devil let her read my mind. She knows. She’s going to try to kill the peas in the pod, Milli and Vanilli . . . take them from me like I took Charlie from her.
I try to look up at her so I can block the next blows, but there’s blood in my eyes and it stings, blinding me. I scream as loud as I can, hoping somebody will hear me and come to my children’s rescue. My legs are numb and don’t seem to want to work, making me fear she’s bruised my spine.
This is not generally the type of neighborhood where Good Samaritans hang out, but after five or six more whacks with the baton, most of them to my ribs and arm, I hear voices and then somebody yelling.
“Quit, Eunice, quit!” It’s a man, but I don’t know who he is.
“I’m-a kill this bitch,” she yells as another crack comes, this time against my skull.
I’m woozy, sliding in and out of consciousness. I feel euphoric, though, over the fact that despite the decent shots she’s laid on my body, she hasn’t gotten a single hit in on my abdomen yet and there are witnesses here now. There’s hope my babies will survive this.
I don’t trust Eunice is done trying to hit my belly, even with witnesses standing around, so I stay in the fetal position and pray that the scuffling noises I hear around my head are my rescuers getting her away from me.
Onion breath hits me in the face. “Are you okay? What’s going on? Why’s she hitting you like that?”
I try to answer, but my jaw doesn’t seem to want to work. All I can mumble out is a single, unintelligible syllable. “Uhhhhnn . . .”
Someone’s shouting over my head. “Go check her car. See if she has a phone or somethin’. Somebody we can call.”
“I think you better jus’ dial nine-one-one,” says a female voice.
Eunice is screaming. I can’t quite make out what she’s saying . . . something about a murdering bitch. Oh. That’s me she’s talking about. I hope her neighbors don’t take up the stick and finish the job for her. I’m too worried about the babies to think about getting up. I continue to huddle in on myself, waiting for the sounds of sirens to signal my rescue. They sure do take a long time to come.
Through the haze of pain I’m suffering and during a very long ambulance ride, I think about my friends and family. Lucky’s going to be so upset. Ozzie’s going to be very disappointed. Thibault’s going to be pissed. May and Jenny will never understand.
Hell, nobody’s going to understand, because what I’ve done defies reason. But I get why I thought it was good before, and regardless how it ended, I’m not going to back away from that. Sometimes a person just has to stand up and do what she thinks is right and live with the consequences.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I’m on some sort of mild painkiller that’s not doing much for me. The nurse told me there’s a concern of narcotics traveling across the placental barrier and feeding the babies things they shouldn’t be eating, so I’m stuck with something about as strong as Tylenol.
I look at the clock, begging it to slow down. My phone rests on my hospital bed next to my hand. There are about ten text messages there, all of them from the team. Everyone wants to see me, but I’ve been holding them off, telling them the doctor doesn’t want me to have company yet. Now that the mission-accomplished euphoria has faded, I find myself embarrassed over what I’ve done. I can’t face them and the recriminations and scoldings they’re sure to lay on me. I took a risk with the babies I shouldn’t have. I should have discussed it with Lucky before I went to Eunice’s house and given him a chance to talk me out of it.
The sound of people shouting comes from the hallway. For a moment I panic, thinking that Eunice has followed me here and she’s come to finish the job. But then the door bursts open and Lucky’s standing there. A male nurse has him by the front of his shirt and is trying to yank him out of the room.
“Get off me! I need to see her! Those are my children she’s carrying!” He struggles against the wall, pushing with all of his strength to get past the big guy.
I sit up, wincing at the discomfort it brings me. My entire body aches. “It’s okay. Let him in.” I have to hold my ribs as barbs of pain lance through my chest.
The nurse loosens his hold on Lucky but shakes him once, hard, before letting him go. “You need to listen to us when we tell you to wait.” He shoves Lucky away and looks over at me, smoothing down his scrubs. “Talk to him about how to act in a hospital. We don’t have time for this kind of behavior in here.”
I nod. “I will. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
Lucky frowns at me. He straightens his leather jacket and walks over, stopping at the foot of my bed with his hands balled into fists at his sides. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for other people’s behavior?”
I look at him, confused about his attitude. It’s not what I expected. “When are you going to stop acting like that?”
“Acting like what?”
I pause, wondering what I was getting at. “I don’t know. I’m totally confused now.” I reach up and touch my forehead gingerly, quickly learning there are bruises there. “I’m sorry. I’m on painkillers right now but they’re not really working.”
Lucky leans in closer, his fists opening as he rests his hands on the bed’s footboard. “Is that okay for the babies?”
I shrug. “No worse than getting my ass kicked, I guess.”
His expression softens and he walks over to rest a butt cheek on the mattress next to me. “Babe, what were you thinking going over there?”
Tears come to my eyes, much as I would like them to stay away. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking that if I could apologize and get her to see that I mean it, that I really regret what I did, I could figure out how to move on.” I look up at him, my lips and chin trembling. My entire face is having a seizure. “For the babies. For us.”
He shakes his head, his own chin shaking with emotion now, too. Taking my hand, he lifts it so he can kiss my fingers. “You don’t need her forgiveness to move on, babe. You just need to forgive yourself.”
“I know.” My voice hitches. “But it’s really hard. I killed him. I can’t take that back.” The tears will not stop streaming down my face.
Lucky nods, swallowing a few times and battling emotion before he responds. “Yes, you did do that, and it was a regrettable thing for sure. But Charlie wasn’t even close to innocent or blameless, and everyone but you can see that.”
“It doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse.”
He sighs, shaking his head at me. “You have it so bad.”
“I have what so bad?” I use the back of my hand to wipe tears away, careful not to disturb my IV.
“I forget what it’s called. It’s when the victim blames herself for the abuse. You do it all the time.”
Now he’s making me mad. “No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do. I was out there causing trouble with the nurse and you blamed yourself.”
“Of course I did. I was ignoring your texts. I was telling them to keep you away from me, and your babies are in here. I get it. I would’ve done the same thing you did.”
He points a finger at me. “Exactly. That’s what I’m saying. You allow other people to react with violence in a situation where they should be reacting with violence but you don’t allow it for yourself.”
“It’s one thing to blame myself for somebody getting
cranky with a nurse. It’s another thing when you’re talking about killing someone.”
He sighs. “There’s nothing I can say that’s going to make you understand, is there?”
I shake my head. “Sorry, but no. I don’t think so. Plenty of other people have already tried, believe me.”
Lucky puts his hands on either side of me and leans in closely, staring into my eyes. “Can you do me just one favor?”
I nod. “I think I can. Maybe. What is it?”
“Could you try to forgive yourself?”
“I’ve tried, but I can’t.”
Lucky looks at my belly and reaches down to rub it through my hospital gown. “Can you try to do it for the peas?”
“Do you mean Milli and Vanilli?”
Lucky’s eyes brighten as he looks up at me. “Really? Can we call them Milli and Vanilli?”
I laugh, resting my hand on his arm. “Only when they’re in utero. After they’re born, no way in hell.”
Lucky holds out a hand. “Deal.”
I shake his hand, letting him pull my fingers up to kiss them again.
I let out a long breath before speaking the words that are in my mind and my heart. “I’m going to try to figure out this forgiveness thing, but only if you will too. We both need to find a way to live with the tragedies in our past so we can move on to our future.”
He stares at me for a long time before nodding. “I can do that. For you and the babies. Milli and Vanilli.”
I grin, feeling for the first time that it might actually be possible to learn to live with my mistakes. I might never be able to completely forgive myself, but with Lucky’s support, who knows?
“What are we going to do now?” he asks, his voice and expression lighter.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I need to go face the music.”
“What do you mean, face the music?”
“I have to talk to May about her wedding and the bachelorette party I won’t be attending.”
Lucky cringes. “Yeah . . . you’re not going to make a very pretty bridesmaid.”