“I’m sorry, Jacob.”A sob rises in my throat without my permission. I turn away so he doesn’t have to see my tears.
Part of me wants to take back everything I said and beg him for forgiveness, but I know he’s right. I’m not strong enough to be the woman he needs. I’m not strong enough to be a warrior’s wife.
“I’m sorry too,” he says. He slides the earrings into the bag he came with and walks out the door.
seventy-two
Jess: Self-Preservation
July 2007
The police officer looks over the little stack of cards. She's some kind of domestic violence specialist. We've already gone through the texts and emails from Brad. Her expression is sympathetic, but not encouraging. It took all the strength I had left to come here. For the first couple of weeks after Jacob walked out, I folded in on myself again. Worse than before. This time, I didn’t even pretend to function. I barely got through my classes, my stellar grades for the rest of the term were the only thing that saved me.
Ironically, the sudden deluge of messages brought me back to myself. Some sense of self-preservation caused me to push past my guilt and pain, bypass my unhelpful lawyer and try the police again.
"I'm sorry, but there isn't much I can do for you. He's still in jail and, as far as I can gather, he's been a model prisoner. There’s no proof that he sent any of these messages.”
"Someone could have been helping him. The messages seem harmless unless you know the context. Brad knows how to work the system. He's very good-looking, and he can be charming when he wants to be."
She nods. "They usually are. That's what makes them so dangerous. No one knows what kind of person a guy like Brad really is until—" She sighs. "The law isn’t always on your side in this. Domestic stuff…is tricky. Frankly, you were lucky that he served any time at all. You'll be notified when he gets out. Other than that, he's pretty much free to do whatever he wants."
"So I’m supposed to just wait around for him to come for me?" I ask.
Her mouth is set in a firm line. "No. I wouldn't recommend that. I’ve seen too many domestic violence victims get hurt or worse after their attackers have served their meager debt to society. Are you by yourself? Do you have a husband or a boyfriend or even a dog?” She looks down at her notes. “What about the man who helped you before?”
I swallow the lump of pain that comes every time someone mentions Jacob. “He’s gone.”
“Right. Then, I recommend you do everything you can to protect yourself. Change your number, get a big dog, move out-of-state if at all possible, don't make it easy for him to find you."
I nod as the weight of what she's saying sinks in. I can do all of that except leave the state. I’m going to finish my degree; that much I’ve promised myself. After that, I’ll go somewhere far away.
She stands up and closes the door to her office. “Do you have a gun?"
"No. But I know how to shoot."
"Whether you know how to shoot a gun or not is a moot point if you aren’t willing to use it. Could you shoot to kill if you had to?"
I think about the conversation I had with Michael about being afraid to kill someone. Then I think about what happened last time. Jacob isn't around to come to my rescue this time. If Brad comes again. It's all up to me.
“I could do it.”
She nods somberly. “Legally cover your bases as much as possible. Get a restraining order. Document every attempt at contact. Get a concealed carry permit and watch your back.”
“I will.” I promise.
seventy-three
Jacob: Goodbye
It’s not the goodbye I’d hoped for or one I ever wanted, but it’s one I know I need to give. The little box is heavy in my pocket. No one knows I kept it, that it was too hard to return, that even now, it feels like it belongs to Jess. Even if she doesn’t belong to me.
I wonder if I was too harsh on her. She’s young. She’s been through a lot. We could still–
No. I stop my thoughts from going down that path. I’m pretty sure that in the course of our tumultuous relationship we used up all the chances we had.
Tyler is waiting for me on the front porch. I won’t go inside. Neither of us is equipped for this to be a long goodbye. This conversation might go better if we were bent over the engine of a car, but we don’t have anything we can work on right now, and I don’t have any time left.
“Hey,” he says as I mount the front steps of the Roberts' house for what is probably the last time.
