Chapter 5 #2
She takes the bag and motions for me to come in. Little Aurora is lying on a colorful rug, playing with new toys. When she sees me, she gurgles, which is about the only noises the kid can make.
Claire smiles, and the warmth and love that I see on her face is so immense, I honestly do feel like I’ve saved a life.
Maybe two. And based on the way I feel with them—protective, intrigued—I know now for sure I did the right thing.
I can’t believe that the same woman who would hardly whisper, could hardly get out of the truck yesterday, is now beside me looking over her daughter with such pride.
“She can’t crawl yet, but I blame myself for that,” Claire explains, kicking off her flip-flops and lowering herself to sit on the floor beside her daughter.
She crosses her legs under her, takes a bright pink and purple toy train, and pushes it along the road that is inked into the play mat.
“I’ve carried her just about everywhere her entire life.
I discouraged her from exploring and crawling.
There wasn’t a lot in our room with the Hellfires that was kid-friendly. ”
I can’t believe she’s opening up to me, and I debate what to do. Kick off my boots and sit down with her? Sit on the bed? The couch? It all feels so personal. Like I’m in her space, even though she’s our guest. I settle for sitting back on the couch and watching from a safe distance.
“She’s smart,” I say, because I believe it with my whole heart. “She’ll catch up.”
Claire nods. “I think it’s the food too. Her coloring looks better to me. Babies are so resilient.”
She goes quiet then, and I have to fight my entire body. I want to go to her. To reassure her that adults are resilient too. That I’m sorry she and her daughter have to be strong like they are. That they can now breathe and just heal. They deserve it after all they’ve been through.
As much as I want to comfort Claire, I’m not sure what I believe. If I believe that we can fully get over the shit that kicked us down and beat us bloody in our pasts. But if there is anyone on this earth I want that healing for, it’s Claire.
She peeks at the bag I brought. “What are these?” she asks.
I clear my throat against the clot of emotion that feels lodged in my sternum.
“A baby monitor,” I tell her. “So, you can keep an eye on your girl if you want to cook in the kitchen or even just leave the room to hang out with the assholes.” I chuckle.
“Or Stella. She’ll introduce you to the other girls, but getting any of them to play babysitter…
” I shake my head. “If you’re comfortable, use it. ”
Claire’s eyes—even the bruised one—widen when she pulls the slim box holding the brand-new laptop from the bag. “Savage… I can’t…”
“You can,” I tell her. “You got family, use the phone. I’ll re-up the plan if you use all the minutes. You want to email anybody, read the news, I don’t know…” I gesture toward the device. “It’s a low-end model, but I figured something’s better than nothing.”
I motion for her to hand me the box, and I peel the plastic wrapper off it. “I run the security system here, so I can help you get it set up, get on the Wi-Fi. You can create all your passwords for privacy, but I can fire this up if you’d like.”
She nods and holds Aurora’s toy between her fingers while she stares off into the distance.
“I’d like to start looking for jobs,” she says quietly.
“I haven’t worked in a while, though. I don’t know what I’d do for day care.
I’m not ready to leave Aurora, but I’d like to find a way to pay you back. ”
I shake my head. “Fuck that,” I say. “Sorry, Aurora. You want a job because you want a job, you go for it. There’s no debt here, Claire. I’m not keeping a tally.”
“But I am,” she says. She bites her lower lip and looks at me.
“I used to be someone, Savage. A whole person. I had a family and a career. I have an education and hobbies.” A silent tear streaks down her cheek, and it takes everything I have in me not to lean forward, drop to my knees, and wipe it away.
“You’re not seeing the whole story. Just a really, really shitty chapter. ”
Anger and sadness start a bare-knuckle fight in my chest. “I know that,” I croak out. “You don’t have to explain it. I know.”
She lifts her face to me, an unasked question so clear on her face it’s like I can read her mind. How do I know?
“I’ve had more than one shitty chapter,” I tell her as I turn on the laptop and punch in the Wi-Fi, then hand the device back to her. “The only reason I want to do so much for you is because this club, this place, did so much for me when I was at my most fucked up.”
I’m starting to wonder if that’s not the only reason I want to help Claire. But again, I can’t think those thoughts. “She’s all yours,” I tell her.
Claire stands cautiously and sits beside me on the couch. “I used to work at a law firm, but I haven’t used a computer in almost two years.”
I turn to look at her. What the hell has she been through that she hasn’t had a computer or access to one in two years?
I don’t ask because I do not want to know. I just thank my lucky stars that Anthony is already dead. If he were still around, I don’t know that helping Claire would be enough to satisfy me.
If my history is any indication, I won’t see justice served until the abuser is made to pay. But he’s out of the picture, and I’m going to have to channel my anger someplace else.
Claire is leaning close to me, looking at the laptop screen, when we both hear Aurora say very, very quietly, “Ma-ma.”
Claire leaps off the couch, a stunned and deliriously happy look on her face.
She swoops down, picks up her baby, and lifts her high in the air.
“Did you just say that? Did my big girl just say Mama? Aurora.” She taps the bright sunshine on the new T-shirt that covers her daughter’s chest and then taps her own chest. “Mama. Aurora said Mama.”
Aurora blows a spittle-covered raspberry and giggles quietly. Claire turns to me. “You heard her, didn’t you? Tell me you heard her say Mama.”
“She sure did,” I say, grinning. “Was that her first time?”
“The first time she did it so clearly. You said Mama.” Claire is beaming at her daughter, then looking back at me, radiant with joy, sharing this event with me.
I want to celebrate this moment with them.
To savor every second of happiness, love, and progress that these milestones represent.
But I can’t. This hurts too much. I can’t watch her be a good mother, to love on her daughter, despite all they have been through together.
I start to wonder where Claire and Aurora would be now if Anthony hadn’t died.
If Mad Dog hadn’t been willing to sell them like used car parts.
I’m not angry that she didn’t leave sooner.
I know why she couldn’t. Why she didn’t.
At least, I’m damned sure I think I understand.
I’ve spent years processing why women like Claire get trapped.
How they get stuck in a situation that starts as love and ends in violence.
How they keep their babies in horrible circumstances while taking the worst of it with their faces, their hearts, and their souls.
I’m just not able to deal with the fact that this goodness, freedom, and hope…
That’s what’s ahead for Claire and Aurora.
They deserve it, that’s for fucking sure.
But not everybody gets that. I want it for her, for them, I do.
But goddamn, I want it for me. I want it for the kid who got the black eyes.
Who hid his face, his voice, his needs—until he couldn’t.
My mama was proud of me once…just once. And then I threw it all in a dumpster, doused it with gas, and tossed a match right on top. I did it because it was the right thing to do, but goddamn if it doesn’t still hurt.
I thought I got through all this years ago, buried the past once and for all and moved the fuck on. But clearly, being around Claire and Aurora has me dredging up shit I thought I had buried.
It all hurts more than I can take. Watching Claire right now is like a beautiful dagger through my heart. I’m not over what happened to me. What I lost. What I gave up.
I can’t be here, can’t see this.
I’ve got to fucking go.
I leap up from the couch. “Right. You’re all good here, so I’m going to go. Stella will take care of your dinner tonight,” I tell her. Then I yank open the door and get my ass out of that room as fast as my boots will take me.