Girl of Rage (25 page)

“I’ve never lied to you, Julia.”

“What?” she shouted. “You’ve never lied to me? What about the affairs in China? What about my sister not being my sister? What about you raping my mother? What about the fact that she was a
child
when she got pregnant with me? You’ve never lied to me?”

As she cried out the words, she saw it. Julia had been—eight years old? She had run downstairs that day, holding hands with Carrie. They had been giggling, free. It must have been a Saturday, and they both had Valentine’s candy from school. They’d been playing and laughing, but she remembered wondering why Mary, the nanny, looked so distressed.

That morning, she and Carrie had run into the family room and jumped on the couch together, then Carrie said, “Why Mommy cry? Mommy? Why Mommy sad?”

Her face had been bruised, and she’d lay curled on the couch, eyes red with tears, reading a book. Her arm was in a sling.

“I’m not sad,” their mother had said. Then she tried to smile. “I’m just a little sick.”

“Sick make you purple?” Carrie said. Then she giggled and ran to their mother and wrapped her arms around her, and Adelina winced. Carrie said, “Kiss make Mommy better,” and leaned up and kissed her.

Valentine’s,
Julia thought. She hadn’t thought about that day in years. But she’d seen the police report last night. Her mother hadn’t been sick. She’d been beaten and raped.

I’m not sad. I’m just a little sick.

Just a little sick.
That was a couple days after Valentine’s, a couple days after the police report indicated she’d had cracked ribs.

A surge of rage swept over Julia. In a low voice she whispered into the phone, “You’ve never done anything
but
lie to me.”

Then she put the phone down. Bright sunlight poured into the hotel room, but she felt dead inside.

“Babe?” Crank said in a low voice.

Julia turned to her husband. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. There were no words. Nothing. She thought of all the times she’d been at war with her mother. The cruel things her mother had said. The constant warfare.

Why? Why had her mother been so hateful? Was it all fear of her father? Why had she had the affair? Her mother had been sixteen when she became pregnant with Julia.

And fifteen years later, Julia got pregnant, and aborted the child. A child who would have been Andrea’s age now.

A child she’d never be able to hold or kiss or love.

She knew it wasn’t logical. She knew it didn’t make any sense at all. But suddenly tears were running down her face, and Julia let out a low growl. Crank instantly moved to her, putting his arms around her.

“It’s okay, babe,” he whispered.

“No,” she said. “It’s not. It’ll never be okay.” Then a wave of agony hit. Not physical pain, but spiritual agony, remorse and grief and loss for the thing she’d always wanted but never had. “I have to call Carrie,” she whispered.

He broke away from her and she dialed Carrie’s number.

“Where are you?” she asked as soon as Carrie answered. “Did you get the address?”

Carrie gave her an address. “Call me when you’re less than five minutes away. I’m not supposed to tell anyone where we are, but I’m going to wait to tell them until you’re actually driving up.”

“Perfect,” Julia said. “I’ll call. We need to talk.”

Julia turned to her husband. He had a concerned expression on his face, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. “Let’s go?” she asked.

Five minutes later they were in a rental car. Crank drove while Julia fidgeted with her phone.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“I keep thinking about Belgium. I remember being so alone. I don’t … I mean, I get it that she must have been afraid of him. She must have been crazy sometimes. But why didn’t she just leave him?”

She closed her eyes, not expecting an answer from Crank. Julia didn’t remember the flight to Belgium, but she did remember being angry they had to leave San Francisco and her friends.

The last day in San Francisco.

Her mother had been in rare form that day, trying to herd three children, get the house packed and arrange everything by herself. For several weeks Mother’s patience had been short, as she became alternately inconsolable and angry.

Where had her father been? Julia had a vague memory that he’d met them in Brussels—for most of the three years before leaving for Belgium, he’d only been home for brief visits.

Julia clearly remembered the meltdown right before they left for the airport. The cab had been waiting at the front steps for several minutes as Adelina corralled three children and half a dozen bags. Julia had already seen the signs, the stress lines appearing around her mother’s eyes, the thinning lips stretching across her mouth.

They had been standing on the front steps as her mother panicked, searching around.

“Julia, watch your sisters, I left one of my bags.” She ducked in the front door.

Julia took six-year-old Carrie’s hand in her left, and Alexandra’s in her right. Alexandra immediately began to pull away, and Carrie shouted, “Stop, you’re holding my hand too tight!”

Carrie had reached over and pinched Julia’s arm. Julia spun toward her sister, and Alexandra’s hand got loose, sending the toddler spilling down the steps.

Carrie screamed and Julia felt her heart in her throat. Alexandra had been—maybe fourteen months? She hadn’t been walking long, and when she fell it was like watching a limp doll just fall end over end.

Her tiny face instantly turned bright red and she began to scream. The cab driver got out of the car and shouted, “Is she okay?” just as their mother came back outside.

Adelina had let out a cry and rushed to Alexandra, yanking her out of Julia’s arms. “I can’t trust you alone for
five seconds
!”

Julia remembered feeling—injured? Hurt? Her mother’s words dug deep.

“Is okay, Mommy,” Carrie said. “She not broken.”

Adelina had sniffed. “No, she’s not broken.”

“I want to go see
Daddy,”
Julia had said.

Her mother had looked at her with weary, incredibly sad eyes, and said, “Well, you’re going to get your wish, Julia. Go get in the car.”

The bitterness made her choke. Thinking back now, Julia found herself questioning everything she’d ever believed about her mother and father.

She said to Crank in a broken, strained voice, “Everything I’ve ever believed is upside down.”

Crank nodded, but didn’t say anything. He reached over with his right hand and intertwined his fingers with hers.

“Things were good in San Francisco. I remember that. Mostly. Not always—I remember my mom being sick and hurt after Valentine’s the year Alexandra was born. When he beat her up and … and…”

Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t say the words.

“It’s okay,” Crank said.

Julia forced the words out. “When he raped her. I remember it, but I didn’t know what it meant. I just knew she was sick, and I was mad because she couldn’t do anything for a few days and we were stuck with the nanny. And then she got so sad when we went to Belgium.” Julia moaned a little. “Oh, God, she was so sad. And I was mad at her. Because we were going to see Daddy, and I didn’t know why she was sad.”

Crank turned the car onto the highway. “No way you could have known what was going on with her.”

“True,” she said, “but still. I keep thinking about those three years in Belgium. Barry looked after Carrie and me sometimes. Alexandra had a governess. I barely remember seeing Dad. They were already sleeping in separate rooms. I guess they always did and I just didn’t think anything of it.”

“You were so lonely,” Crank murmured.

“I was,” Julia said. “But I never realized—what must it have been like for her? Did they hate each other? Dad—I don’t get … I don’t get any of it. I mean—do you know how many years of therapy I’ve gone through, thanks to her?”

It was a rhetorical question of course—he’d been right there with her through it all. He knew all about her therapists.

She closed her eyes. She remembered the day she’d confronted her mother right before leaving for Germany. Julia had spit out bitter words.
Why wouldn’t you help me? Why weren’t you there when I needed you?

Even then, during that confrontation, her mother had hidden her father’s secrets. And during the drive to the airport the next day, her father had calmly and smoothly lied to Julia. He’d lied to her about when and how he’d met her mother. He’d lied to her about his posting after that. He’d lied to her about being in therapy. He’d lied about
everything.

But so had her mother.

Julia shook her head. She didn’t understand any of it. She looked at the cars ahead of them on the highway, an empty feeling settling over her. Her company had been shut down by the IRS. Two of her sisters and her mother were missing. Nothing made sense any more.

She sat straight and slowly closed her eyes. She was not going to cry. Not now. She had too much to do, too many problems to deal with, too many people depending on her, not the least of which was Carrie and the tiny little baby who was going to need help to live.

Bear. May 2. 8 pm.

“Yeah,” Bear muttered into his phone, fighting to force his eyes open. He groaned and shifted position, sitting up, disoriented. Light flooded his eyes and he squinted them, realizing where he was.

The hospital. He’d spent the afternoon with the kids after dropping Carrie Sherman back at the safe house, then slept for two hours, then he'd come here. Leah was in intensive care, and Gary, her giant pug of a husband, was pacing at the other end of the waiting area.

Bear sat up, when he heard the voice on the phone. It was the Secretary.

“Bear, I need you to come in.”

“Yes, sir,” Bear said, desperately suppressing a burp, his entire chest rumbling. “What … sorry, sir … I’m a bit groggy.”

“Be in my office in an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit.
Bear took the phone away from his ear as Secretary Perry hung up. He looked at his phone, uncomprehendingly. It was 8 pm. He’d been asleep for two hours. Not enough to feel rested, but plenty to make him feel desperate.

He stood up, staggering a little, wishing he hadn’t quit smoking. Jesus, he needed to get some coffee. And a shower. Did he have time for a shower? Maybe, if he booked it right now. He walked to the other end of the waiting room.

“Gary,” he said.

“Motherfucker,” Gary said.

“How is she?”

“Not awake yet. But she’s in recovery.”

Bear sagged. “The kids?”

“Your mom’s with them.”

“Okay,” Bear said. He looked at his phone and said, “The Secretary just called me. I gotta go in.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Bear shrugged. He and Gary were never gonna be pals.

“Call me if anything changes.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Bear put a hand out and briefly rested it on Gary’s shoulder. Gary froze.

“Gary. She’s gonna be okay.”

Initially Gary didn’t respond. He just stood there, his entire body a jumbled mass of tensed muscles. Bear felt him shaking, all 220 pounds of packed muscle vibrating like a well-tuned instrument. For just a second, he thought Gary was going to slug him. Instead, he sagged.

“Yeah.”

Bear stepped back and let his hand drop. He didn’t want to push his luck, nor did he feel much appreciation for the irony of comforting the husband of his ex-wife. Miss Manners didn’t give out any scripts for
that
.

He left the hospital as quickly as he could. At 8 pm he could count on a long wait at the subway station, or an equally long wait for a cab. Or he could just walk or run it. It was twelve long city blocks back to his apartment, probably a fifteen-minute run. Far quicker than waiting for a cab.

He opted to run. Maybe that would help wake him up some.

Bear hadn’t counted on the heat. Washington, DC—the entire East Coast really—had just been through an unusually long and cold winter. Bear hadn’t fully adjusted to the sudden change from winter to summer with barely any transition at all. The air was soupy, thick with humidity and street smells. And, instead of sneakers, he was running in business shoes.

Asshat
. Sometimes Bear’s internal monologue was less than diplomatic.

He was soaked with sweat by the time he reached his tiny apartment. For just a second, when he walked in, he was disoriented. Twenty-six hours had passed since he’d gotten the phone call from Leah.

Bear, is there supposed to be a relief team here?

No. No relief team.

It was an ambush, an ambush by at least one person who was supposed to be on their team. A betrayal by a long time DSS agent, and Bear still had exactly nothing to go on.

Bear left a trail of dirty clothing from the door to the shower, and washed his hair and body in record time, the water turned all the way up, pounding his sore and exhausted body with the hottest water possible. He was red faced and relaxed when he stepped out and began to dry himself off, only to discover that he’d failed to wash his armpits, which still smelled pretty dodgy. Whatever. He sprayed himself with deodorant and got dressed quickly, wearing the thickest socks he had because he’d developed a blister on the back of his ankle on the run over.