While Ari naps and Jasper works, I ply my homemaking skills. Cleaning. Looking through his selection of cookbooks. Hauling boxes of Christmas decorations down. I get the idea that he only used the box at the front of the pile. The others are dusty.
Christmas alone must suck, especially in a big house like this. A big, beautiful house meant for a family.
I know it’s early in November, but I could surprise him with most of the house decorated. I could surprise him by saying I’ll stay here for Christmas. Maybe Mom and Dad can come down, and my siblings can fly in. I haven’t even talked to Sarah and Rodney...
My thoughts don’t race; they marathon. I haul and unpack with my phone clutched against my cheek, my shoulder holding it in place.
My brother wants to fly home and beat Matt to a pulp. My sister-in-law, Zara, volunteers to hold him down so Rodney can do the job right.
My sister wants to fly home and rip off his testicles, dehydrate them, grind them into a powder, and put them in his salt shaker.
This is why my sister has a minor in creative writing.
When I tell them about Jasper, they both tell me to hit the brakes, but they’re happy there’s a nice guy looking out for Ari and me. Of course, Sarah also says I need to take a self-defense class, and if Matt ever shows his face again, I should call the police, then give him back every bruise tenfold.
“Sarah,” I sigh, “I’m not like that. I don’t want to hurt him; I just don’t want him to hurt us. He needs help. I still care about him.”
“Needing help is a fact! But, Lore, when a guy hits you or anything, you leave the first time.”
“Don’t lecture me. I know I should have stopped it.”
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. People like that don’t change unless something drastic happens. The first time he hurt you, Matt should have been on the phone to a therapist, looking for help to manage his anger, or his ‘stress,’ or whatever his excuse was.”
“I know that, Sarah.” I bite my lip. I love my sister, but this is why we butt heads. Sometimes her encouragement comes off like a lecture or a critique.
“I’m sorry, I’m just so mad. And I’m so effing far away. Hey! I know. When I’m done with my contract in Stuttgart, I’m thinking about taking a position in Australia. Or there’s a chance I could transfer to Madrid. How about you spend a year with me? Chance of scenery, fresh start—half a world between you and that bastard..." She wheedles.
“I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Australians speak English.”
“I would have to get Ari a passport. And I’m pretty sure Matt would have some objection to my taking her out of the country.”
“He lost his right to object when he drove you out of your own home. I know! What if I trick him into meeting me at your house, and I wait at the top of the stairs, and then—”
“Sarah! Stop,” I have to laugh. “We are not in one of those action movies you love. The only way I would ever hurt Matt is if he was trying to hurt Arianna, and I know he’d never do that.”
Sarah is quiet. “You know that, huh?”
“Well, yes. She’s his daughter!”
“You’re his wife.”
“She’s an innocent baby!” I say the words, but I remember that the fear of him hurting her was what finally pushed me out the door, of coming in and finding him beating up the nursery, of him kicking the solid wood crib so hard that it jumped across the floor.
“And what, are you guilty of some crime punishable by violence?” Sarah demands.
My voice shrinks. “No.”
“YouaremyArianna,” Sarah’s voice thickens and distorts with a half-sob. “I still remember when you came home from the hospital. I was nine. Rodney was five. There you were, our surprise, and Daddy put you in my arms on the couch and took a picture. I know I went away to college by the time you were nine, and I’ve been traveling forever, but I still think of you as that little baby, the sister I hoped for.”
“Sarah, stop, you’re making me cry, and I’ve cried every day for... God, for weeks. For various reasons. My tear ducts need a vacation.”
“If you were with me, I’d protect you. Everyone in Germany speaks English. Heck, when they say, ‘I have a little English,’ itis code for ‘My English is better than yours, but I’m too polite to say so.’”
Sarah is strong and independent, thirty-two, and has no desire to marry, no desire to put down roots. “We’d drive each other nuts. You’re 1980’s Shoulder-Pads Barbie, and I’mLittle House on the PrairieBarbie. I get excited about sourdough starters.” I wince, realizing mine is probably ruined now. Matt won’t have remembered to feed it. “If I asked you to bake bread—”
“I’d say, ‘Why? I live in Germany.’ They have over three thousand kinds of bread. I’m serious. It’s part of the local ‘stump the dumb American’ trivia at my office.”
