It’s weird. I’ve kissed Jesse, made out with Jesse, snuck out with Jesse, have fallen in love with Jesse, but I’ve never called him and have never sent him a text. I couldn’t because of the fear of my father. So when Pastor Hughes asked me if there was anyone I wanted to contact, I wasn’t able to reach out directly to Jesse as I don’t have his number.
My father has stolen so much from me—the happiness of childhood, teenage normalcy, any concept of safety.
Pastor Hughes and his wife drove Isabelle and me from the small church to the main one in town where I did my counseling. In one of the church’s children’s playrooms, I sit in a chair in the back and flip Pastor Hughes’s cell in my hand again and again. I haven’t made the call. Not yet. Something’s holding me back. Years of fear, years of being told not to, years of wondering what would happen if I did.
I watch as Isabelle plays with the Hughes children. They are adorable girls with bright smiles, and they are gracious and welcoming to my sister. No matter how friendly they are, Isabelle is shy and rarely talks. It’s tough for her to engage, and that breaks my heart. My sister holds on to her doll as if her life depends on keeping her close.
“I can’t believe I’m in a church, Tink. Two times in a year is a record for me, but I’ll admit you’re worth it.”
My heart leaps at the sound of Jesse’s voice, and I’m out of my seat. I ram into him and he doesn’t rock with the impact. Instead, he weaves his arms around me and holds me close. I bury my head into his chest and for the first time since I was dragged out of his truck, I can breathe.
A light touch on my head and then another. He’s kissing me and each one is like medicine on a wound. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say. “Are you?”
“I’m fine.”
I draw back and his green eyes are so sad that I grab both of his hands for support. For me and for him. I just lied. I’m not fine. I’m anything but fine and I need to start being honest, beginning with being honest with myself. “It happened again last night.”
“What?”
The words become lodged in my throat, but I’m done being silenced. “Dad hit Mom again.”
“Did he hit you?”
Did he? The instinct is to say no, that it was just a push and a shove, but I think of how my back is sore and of the bruise forming on my wrist. I think of how Jesse told me that being hit once was enough. I think of the sadness and sense of betrayal.
I loved my father, and I had thought that he loved me. The ends of my mouth turn down as they quiver. “He shoved me.” And because I can’t think about it anymore, I place my hand in the air to stop the flood of anger that I know is poised on the tip of his tongue. “Pastor Hughes thinks I should call the police.”
“He shoved you?” Jesse cups my face with the palm of his hand and the touch is so tender, I’m nearly undone. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“No, but I’m here and not there. That’s good, right?”
“What do you think?” he asks. “Of calling the police?”
I think Jesse shouldn’t have a large lump on his head. “Oh my God.”
I reach up, barely brush the wound, and Jesse winces. “I’m okay.”
“Did the police do that?”
“Marshall’s handling everything so don’t worry about me. We need to focus on you.”
Not wanting to discuss this where Isabelle can overhear, I walk into the hallway and Jesse follows. I lean my back against a wall and Jesse props himself up on the opposite one.
“Talk to me, Tink,” he says, and my heart melts over how much he cares.
“Mom said it was my fault Dad hit her. She also thinks it’s her fault. What happened is everyone’s fault but his.”
“Do you believe that?”
The answer should be an immediate no. I’m aware of this, but there’s this twisting in my stomach that keeps me from saying it. My foot taps the floor, and I hug myself. “He did hit her because of me. I made him mad. If I had kept my mouth shut, if I hadn’t left the house, if I hadn’t lied, if—”
“If you had never met me?” Jesse wears a sad smile.
My chest rips apart. “No. You’re part of the small amount of good in my life.”
“You aren’t responsible for what your dad did. He’s responsible for his choices.”
“But if I hadn’t caused problems it wouldn’t have happened.”
“So if you’re perfect, there will be world peace? That’s not how it works. Yeah, you lied, but for the rest of the world that means you’re grounded from using your cell for a week, not watching your mom get beat. Your dad demanded his idea of perfection, and there is no one on this planet who can live up to that expectation. You aren’t the one who messed up, he is.”
My leg bounces as I fight the urge to cry. “What if I call the police and they blame me? I can’t handle that.”
“What if you call and they go over to your house and see the bruises on your mom? What if they believe you and tell you that you aren’t to blame?”
I’m so nervous, I could peel off my own skin. “What’s going to happen to me if I do call? What’s going to happen to Isabelle? What if I make everything worse?”
Jesse drops his head, pinches the bridge of his nose, and when he lifts his head my heart cracks as his eyes hold tears. “What if you do nothing and the next time he kills her? Because that’s what happened to me. My mom was hit by so many men, and I did nothing. I expected her to save me instead of me saving her, until one day my dad killed her. And that guilt that I carry? I’m dying every damn day. You once asked if I’m cursed, and the truth is I am. I’m doomed to hear her scream every day for the rest of my life and know that I did nothing. I knew she was being treated badly, and I never told anyone. Because of that I’m to blame.”
I hold my breath, scared to breathe. Scared if I do then all the hurt, all the pain is going to come tumbling out and then I’ll be broken. So broken. The unfixable kind, the devastating kind. But Jesse’s head falls and his shoulders roll forward. He covers his face with his hands and his body shakes.
Jesse.
Carefree Jesse, strong Jesse, rebellious Jesse, Peter Pan in the flesh . . . is in pain.
I think of Jesse’s pirate smile. The one he gave me as a child the first time he tapped on my window and offered me freedom. I think of the way he’d hold my hand as we crossed the field at night and I was still scared of the dark. I think of the way he’d offer his hand when jumping from branch to branch, the way he’d hold his breath when I would go a little too high. I think of long nights of laughter, of summer days of comforting silence. I think of Jesse. A bright soul, a candle in my ever-present darkness, and I see tears rolling down his cheeks.
For years he was my rock, and now I need to be his. I dash across the hall and pour myself into him, wrapping myself around Jesse in an effort to keep his pieces from falling to the ground and shattering. To keep me from going insane.
“We’re going to be okay,” I whisper to him. “I promise we’re going to be okay.”
Jesse holds on to me, his head buried into my shoulder, and I hold on to him. Both of us seeking comfort and holding the other up.