The second issue is that this is my future father-in-law, whom I’m accusing of being a traitor. He can’t know I suspect anything or, instead of a wedding, there will be a war. The fucked-up thing is I would prefer a war.
I lift my head. “All right. Let’s gather the troops. Meet at the Viper Room at nine tonight.”
Time to check out another rumor one of Rocco’s soldiers brought to him.
Chapter 11
Lennon
Iwatch my new client lower herself stiffly on the sofa in my office. I take the chair next to her. I’ve already read her file. A horror story really.
She’s clutching a fistful of Kleenex in a shaky hand. There’s a yellow and purple bruise on her cheek and her posture is one of total defeat. She’s not making eye contact, instead staring at the bowl of crystals I have on the coffee table, but I know she’s not really seeing them. She’s lost in her mind, reliving whatever hell brought her here.
“Would you like some water? Tea?” I ask softly. When she doesn’t answer, I clear my throat. “Ginny?”
She jerks her head like she just noticed I’m in the room. “No. I’m fine. Thank you.”
I give her a soft smile. “You have a son?”
“Archer,” she whispers. “He’s six. He tried…” she chokes on the words. “He tried to stop it. Dale, he backhanded him into the wall.” Her eyes unfocus. Her voice is barely a whisper when she says, “The sound of his little body…” Her whole body begins to tremble.
I reach into the basket beside the sofa, pull out a blanket, and wrap it around her shoulders. “You’re safe here,” I say. “Archer is safe here.”
I scoot forward, take her hand and just sit silently, anchoring her as she falls apart. “You’re safe, Ginny. Safe to process. Safe to feel whatever you’re feeling. You’re not alone.”
She’s not unique either, unfortunately. A catalyst for a lot of women to finally leave is when the abuse extends to their children. They may not think they’re worth saving after their self-esteem is crushed during years of gaslighting, threats, physical and psychological torture. But they can believe their kids are.
My next client is a woman I haven’t seen for nine months. She has twins, a boy and a girl in middle school. I’m heartbroken that she’s back here with her arm in a cast and the determined spark no longer shining in her chestnut eyes.
After I give her a hug, she immediately begins to unburden herself, share her pain. This is what I live for. Knowing that I can take some of the weight off another woman’s shoulders, give her someone to trust unconditionally, a safe place to unravel.
“He found us. I don’t know how. Ambushed me when I got out of the car. I managed to get back in the car at one point and lock the doors. Drove with the kids to the police station. They took me to the hospital.” Tears are glistening in her bloodshot eyes. “I’mafraid to go back there for our stuff. The landlord was nice enough to grab Pepper and bring him to me.”
Pepper is her fourteen-year-old Yorkie. We had a foster family take care of him during her and the twins’ last stay here, until we got them housing.
“Director Amy was nice enough to let Jacob and Emily keep him with them in the kid's room for now. Hopefully, we won’t be here as long this time.”
I nod in agreement. “How are you feeling?”
“Numb. Tired. Pissed.” She picks at a cuticle. “Mostly tired, though I think anger and caffeine are the only things keeping me going right now.”
“You have every right to feel all of those things, Charlotte.”
And so do you, Lennon.
***
That evening, I’m sitting on my sofa having a staring contest with Pepper. Our foster homes for pets are full, so I volunteered to bring Pepper home with me until one opens up or Charlotte and her kids get a new apartment.
It took the little five-pound, black and brown dog an hour of coaxing him with treats to get him to come out of his carrier. He immediately jumped up on the sofa and parked himself in the corner to stare at me accusingly. I’m going to have to get him to go outside at some point, but the way he’s eyeing me with mistrust, and giving me little growls of warning when I try to pet him, means we’re at a standoff.
I don’t mind, though. It’s kind of nice having another living, breathing soul here. Maybe I should get a pet? I glance over at my single half-dead plant. Maybe not.
Though I’ve always wanted a cat. My mind drifts back to the little tabby kitten I wanted to keep so bad when I was fifteen. The poor thing was so sick.
Then I stiffen as another memory drifts up from the sediment.
I’m up on the rooftop of the hotel. There’s a bar there that opens at four PM, but for the moment I’m alone, stretched out in a lawn chair enjoying the morning sun with the tiny kitten curled up on my chest, sleeping.
