He had arrived back at their apartment to find police officers and EMTs crowding their small living room. The EMTs took Francine to the hospital, where the doctors did a rape kit. Then she gave a lengthy statement to police. Unfortunately, it had been so dark she was unable to give a good description of the guy. Even with DNA, the police had never found the guy. For months, Francine lived in terror that her attacker would return. Cash had found them another apartment, and even though she felt safer there, she was still plagued with anxiety. The entire ordeal had taken them over a year to recover from. He hadn’t been able to take it anymore—her brooding, her anger, her frigidity. When he told her that he wanted to end things, she took thirty Percocet tablets and locked herself in their bathroom.
Their mutual friends had castigated him, saying that he had abandoned her in her darkest hour, tossing her aside like garbage when she could no longer fulfill his every need, reinforcing every horrible thing she suspected about herself after the rape: that she was dirty, used up, damaged goods. Unwanted.
Cash did not want to be that guy.
So he had stayed, and they worked through it. Things had slowly gotten better. There was an incident with her niece just before their wedding, but she seemed to get past that quickly. They never even talked about it after the wedding. Then she got pregnant. He wasn’t thrilled about the pregnancy. He wasn’t ready for kids. He could barely manage himself, barely keep Francine happy, which was a full-time job. How would he deal with a child? But Francine was happier than he had seen her in years. Finally. And the sex. It was the dirtiest, kinkiest sex Cash had ever had.
Then one Sunday, when Francine was almost ten weeks along, he had gone to the Eagles game with a group of friends, tailgating at nine in the morning, drunk off his ass by the time the game started. He had arrived home late that night, thoroughly hammered, to an empty house. While he’d been out partying, his wife had miscarried. She’d taken a cab to the hospital.
It was after that that his dick stopped working. For the last several months, he had been hopelessly unable to fuck his wife. It was as if his penis was afraid of her. Afraid of hurting her—or worse—fulfilling her. Giving her another baby and sending her back onto that high, only to disappoint her again. Only to have it all come crashing back down again. Only to have to start all over—like after the rape, the suicide attempt, and the miscarriage. Cash wasn’t sure how much more of the roller coaster ride he could take. Now that she had told the biggest gossip at school that he couldn’t get it up, he’d never be able to perform.
“You’re going to leave me,” Francine wailed, bringing him back from his memories.
He shook his head, still tugging at her hands, which were clamped firmly over her right eye. “No, Fran. I’m not going to leave you. Please, just let me see your eye. I think we may need to go to the hospital.”
More tears from her other eye. “And tell them what? That you tried to kill me?”
His stomach felt hollow. He sat back on his haunches and rubbed his eyes with both hands, suppressing a sigh. Great, he thought. Wait until Terri Marvin hears about this. Now I’ll be known as the impotent wife beater.
“I’m sorry, Fran. I didn’t mean it. I would never hurt you.”
“But you did,” she sobbed, shoulders quaking. It was her ugly cry—her face knotted and beet red, snot and tears pouring down to her chin. He hated her ugly cry. Dreaded it. Would do anything to make it stop.
“I’m so sorry, Fran. Please believe me. That will never happen again. I’ll make this up to you. I will. But please let me see your eye. We need to take care of that first.”
Finally, she pulled her hands away. Cash’s whole body went loose with relief. Her eyelid and socket had already purpled and swollen, but her actual eyeball looked uninjured. No splinters, no skewers. “Oh, thank God,” he breathed. “Let me get you some ice.”
She stayed there while he ran to the kitchen and dumped a tray of ice into a towel. He sat beside her, back against the wall, as she held it to her face. He was trying to think of the best way to word his apology when she asked, “Why can’t you have sex with me?” Her tone wasn’t caustic or accusatory. It was a genuine question.
“Francine, I don’t think now is the time—”
“No,” she cut in. “I want to know what—what’s wrong with me?”
He turned and touched her cheek, trying to smile. “Oh, Fran, there’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing. All that stuff we were doing when you got pregnant—I mean, wow. That was mind-blowing. Believe me, it’s not you.”
Her lower lip quivered. “Is it because I’m not young anymore? Is it because I don’t look like those girls, those young track girls with their perfect bodies in their skimpy outfits?”
His head reared back as if she had slapped him. “What? No. Absolutely not. Fran, those girls are my students. I don’t think of them like that.”
“None of them? There’s not even one that you, you know, notice like that?”
Immediately, Sydney Adams sprang to mind. He pushed thoughts of her away. “No,” he lied. “Not even one. You’re my wife. There’s only you. I know I’ve fucked up in the past, but I’m telling you—since our wedding there has only been you. I’m not going to leave. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to . . . you know, perform. I can be better. Maybe it’s like a vascular thing. I’ll go see the doctor. Please. Give me another chance.”
She looked away from him. He noticed that her body was trembling. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he didn’t think she would let him.
“You strangled me,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. “I’m so sorry, Francine. It was a mistake. I would never hurt you—again. I mean that will never happen again. I promise. I swear to you.”
She didn’t respond. He opened his eyes and moved around to face her, sitting with his legs crossed. He stared into her face, trying to look as sincere as he could. Slowly, he placed a hand on her thigh. “Please, Fran. We’ve been through so much. Don’t leave me now. Let’s work on this. Give me one more chance.”
It seemed like hours. His lower body felt completely numb. Finally, she lowered the towel from her face, the skin around her eye an ugly, bloated mess. “Okay,” she whispered. “One more chance.”
Chapter 15
October 28, 2014
The smell of whiskey was overpowering. As Jocelyn and Kevin approached the front entrance of Knox’s three-story apartment building made of faded brick, they found the source behind a large bougainvillea. Knox lay in a heap, his cheek pressed to the concrete, nasal cannula up around his forehead. Jocelyn and Kevin stood over him, staring blankly for a long moment. They’d dealt with their share of drunks over the years, but they were unprepared to find Knox in this state.