I began to make sounds. And they were about coming, but weren’t only that. They were filled with that howling thing too, and unmistakably. So much so she nearly quit what she was doing until I told her, “Please…” And the sound of my voice was halting and haunting. I’d meant to say more but couldn’t, not if it would sound this same way.
She finished me, then drew herself up beside me and I clutched her and held on. She whispered these soothing things to me that weren’t quite like words. She held me tightly. I didn’t know which thing was breaking me, only knew I was broken.
And she knew too, but misplaced it. She’d seen I was torn, seen that tear from the gun. She said, “Sweetheart, what’s happened? How’d this happen?” And her finger was there, fondling lightly, and so Burt was there too. And me trying to push him away but keep her. This made harder with them both calling me the same thing.
Her calling me that now, saying, “Sweetheart, tell me. Tell me who did this?”
Of course, I couldn’t. So I tried to go back to the way I would’ve handled this before. I said, “Just some trick getting nasty.”
But my voice sounded wrong, still came from too far inside me. Letting her too far inside me. And letting that baying thing loose again. Letting it out where she might maybe see it. And maybe she had seen it, or sensed it, because she took her hand away from that tear and put it on to my chest. Began to fondle me there. Did this so slowly, and kept on that way even once my tears came again.
And she still stayed steady and slow when I couldn’t keep hold of myself anymore. When that howling thing took me over. When it had me at bay, or she did. When she was laying down with it. Laying me down with it, in it. Until it was all of me, or she was.
Twenty-Seven
I spent the night with her. I nearly did. She woke me up before it was light out and this felt superstitious to me. That someway if we never woke up together in the morning, in the light, it kept this thing between us not quite real, or in some separate place.
She drove me home in the half-light of dawn and I thought, what will we do as the days get longer, how will we keep our meetings always at twilight? How will it change things? And so from this dead space that was still winter I asked, “Where’s your husband?”
I surprised myself with this question and also with where it had come from. She looked stunned by it. I actually believed she was weighing the ethics of telling me her problems. That this slowed her answer. It seemed both ridiculous and sweet.
“He’s moved out for a while. We needed some time apart.”
She said this as if it had nothing to do with me and maybe it didn’t. At least I could believe this. I wondered whether she could, or even was trying to.
Once I was home – in my own bed by myself – I couldn’t believe it at all. I could only see I’d busted another marriage. To even imagine this felt dangerous. Like this hole in me getting bigger and more torn at the edges would just keep growing until it’d taken me over. And I could see it making holes in other people, in Beth. Tearing at her life as well.
I thought of calling Burt because, for the moment, drugs seemed the answer. That one drug did. Calling him wasn’t possible though, not having his number or a clue to his last name. And this meant facing Beth again, with this new knowledge and nothing to bolster me.
I began drinking soon after. It didn’t work very well. It only reminded me I needed so much more in order to cope. The one thing it did accomplish was to keep me at home. It placed me where I thought I should stay – in my bathtub, surrounded by warm water and with a glass propped on the edge of the tub, the bottle on the floor beside me.
I’d even brought the phone in and doing this reminded me Beth had said nothing about talking to Burt. And nearly on cue the phone rang and I felt afraid to answer it.
I let it ring a long time and when I picked it up different voices sloshed around in my head. Made the voice actually there hard to make out.
“Nina? Nina, he knows you called. I’ve been phoning for two days but you never answer.”
“Ingrid,” I said as some sort of horror crept in beside, or through all the booze.
“Listen to me, now. It’s not safe anymore.”
“Did you call last night?” I asked, then realizing I had the day wrong.
“I’ve been calling. Have you been there?”
“What?”
“Who was that? That man? I thought I knew him. I know his voice.”
Gradually I understood she’d been the one to call that other night. And instead of concerning me, this saddened me – that it hadn’t been Beth after all. I sat there thinking, well maybe she called later. I puzzled this while Ingrid kept saying, “Nina. Nina, it’s important you listen to me now.”
I didn’t really listen. I couldn’t. Though some part of me had gone into motion. I was getting out of the tub. Knocked the glass on the floor, then picked it up. I carried it, and the bottle and the phone and a robe, into the living room because the bedroom seemed too dark and ugly.
I sat on the couch and tried very hard to grasp what she was saying. But all I kept hearing was that name I’d given her to call me, her saying it over and over. And then I stopped struggling to hear anything else because what could I do? And once I stopped trying, I began understanding her, accomplishing this all too well.
“Nina, he might come for you. I don’t know what he’ll do.”
“He doesn’t know where I am.”
She was slow to say anything to this. And I knew he could’ve found me without her. This didn’t trouble me, even him coming after me didn’t. What troubled me was knowing she’d given him the map.
I realized this wasn’t new knowledge, so it hurting so much surprised me. The wrong things always seemed to be hurting me. Stealing too much of my attention so I could never focus on protection.
Finally she said, “Nina, if he wants to he’ll find you.”
And with you there to help him – this was what I felt like saying but what actually came from my mouth turned me full circle. I said, “I want to see you. Ingrid, I need to see you.”
“Darling, that’s the worst thing we could do.”
“I could come there,” I said. “He wouldn’t expect that.”
I didn’t know why I was saying these things. I didn’t know where they were coming from except that maybe these days nothing could scare me more than the things Beth gave rise to. And if those things lived inside me all the time anyway, how could anything else ever actually hurt me?
“It’s too dangerous,” she said flatly. “It’d only make things so much worse.”
“But…” I started and then trailed off. I knew I’d likely never see her again. That if I was too dumb or desperate to protect myself she didn’t share this. She’d protect herself. She’d always been better at that than me.
I pulled the robe closer around me. I said, “Don’t worry. I know you’re right.” Then, without saying anything more, without saying goodbye, I hung up.
The phone didn’t ring again and I didn’t know why I wanted it to. I went into the bedroom, into the drawer with her money. There was still plenty there, enough maybe even to leave, except I knew I wouldn’t do this.
What I did instead was get dressed. If I left soon, I could go by the bar before I saw Beth. I did this but I didn’t find Burt and Jeremy. I settled for buying a bag off a guy at the bar and smoking it there in the bathroom. I thought this might get me further than snorting. It didn’t. Not very. Though it did get me to Beth’s. Late again and not exactly well put together.