My Temporary Life (31 page)

We sit for a few moments before she speaks. Her sentences are in fragments at first, incomplete. “He touched... He always touched me.” Her voice is small, and doesn’t sound like the confident girl that I know. She speaks slowly and carefully, watching me, sometimes looking at the door as though she thinks we’ll be interrupted any minute.

“
I know. I know that now. You could have told me. You should have told me.” As I speak, she shakes her head, saying, “No, no,” over and over again, so furiously I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself.

“
I was ashamed, ashamed. Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? I was so ashamed.” She says the word as though it is dirty, as though it hurts for it to come from her mouth.

I look away, waiting, not knowing how to react, how to comfort her. I try opening my mouth, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say.

“
You can’t talk.” She whispers it in an almost hoarse voice. “You have to let me talk, Malcolm.” It almost sounds as though she’s angry with me.

As she says my name I feel a sense of relief that she might be okay. I don’t know how much of Heather is still there, but she said my name, and that’s a good thing. I sit on the floor, leaning against the bed, waiting for her to speak again.

“
It started when I was small. He’d touch me, always at night. I hated the nights. I used to pray for morning to come. Mornings were good. Mornings were the sunshine coming in my windows, and no touching. They were the time when I’d try to block out what he did to me the night before. He never came to me in the mornings.” It takes all of her strength to get the words out. She looks down at her hands as she speaks; sometimes clenching them together so tightly that it seems to cause her pain.

“
It got worse when Mom died. It happened more and more. It was just the two of us in that house.” She stops, and then looks up suddenly, wiping the tears from her eyes. “It wasn’t Michael, it never was, you know. It was never him.” She says it urgently, forcefully. “He was just, I don’t know. I just had to tell you that it was someone, anyone.”

I whisper back to her. “I know Heather. I know that. I went to see him. I spoke to Michael.” I inch my way forward, trying to hold her, trying to take away some of the pain, but she just shakes her head again, and pushes herself back hard, against the wall.

She wipes her tears, and pulls the blanket tight around herself again, looking up at me almost shyly. “When I knew that I was pregnant, I tried to hide it, tried to keep it from him but he knew. He always knew.” Her eyes are cold again.

There’s anger in her now as she speaks. “He sent me to that hospital, the one I told you about in Alberta, with the crazy old nurse. And he was nice to me there. He stayed with me, saying that it would all work out, but of course it didn’t.”

“
I should have come back. I should have found a way, but I was just so glad that I didn’t have him...” The fear is still in her eyes, and she keeps squeezing her hands together, wincing at the pain.

“
When I met you, and we spent that time at the lake, I felt like I could do anything. I had always thought about Emily, about coming to get her, but the fear always stopped me. I always blocked it out, pretended that, maybe it never happened. And then, with you, with us, I thought I could do anything.”

She raises her eyes and looks at me, answering the question that’s hanging in the air between us. “I knew you’d come with me. I told myself you decided on your own, but that night, when I told you, I knew you’d come.”

I move closer again, and this time she doesn’t move away. I reach out to touch her hands. She lets me touch them, and I gently separate them, stopping her from hurting herself. I rub the tops of her hands, warming them up, trying to stop her from shaking.

“
I lied to you, the lies about Michael, about having a relationship with him. I lied to you over and over, but I didn’t mean for all this to happen. I just needed to see her. I needed to see if he was...I needed to make sure she was safe. I just needed to see her.”

I rub her arms, her shoulders, over the blanket, and watch her frightened eyes as they talk to me.

“
That night, the day you went to the police station, I did go to the library, but then I went to his house, to my old house. I waited until I saw him leave, and then I went in. Emily was there, and she let me in. She’s beautiful Malcolm, so beautiful.” The tears in her eyes glisten as she pushes her head forward, emphasizing the words.

“
We spoke, and she knew about me, knew that I’d left. He’s told her I left both of them. I asked her about her mother, and she says that her mother died. That’s all she knows, but she kept staring at me, noticing the resemblance. I know she doesn’t know who I am to her, who I really am.” She pauses again. “I touched her face, and she touched mine and smiled, giggled. I tried to ask her, ask her what it was like at home, but she just looked down and said it was fine. I had no way to know, no way to know if things are okay. We sat there talking for a long time and then, it happened.”

She touches the bruise on her face, and I start to feel the anger simmering in me again, as I realize how she got her bruise. There had been no door that she walked into at the library.

“
I didn’t hear him coming in. He was behind me, and all of a sudden I saw Emily’s eyes get very wide. He picked me up, and turned me around, yelling at Emily to go to her room, telling her to get away. He’s just the same, the same as before, except this time I wasn’t so afraid.”

“
I tried to talk to him, tell him that I wanted to spend some time with Emily, get to know her, but he wouldn’t listen. As I picked up my things to go, I threatened him, told him I’d tell, tell what he’d done to me. And, that’s when he slapped me.”

She stops, catching her breath, remembering. “Emily saved me. I could hear her crying upstairs, whimpering, and he could hear her too. He looked up at the stairs and I left. I walked away, ran, I suppose, frightened once again, but I knew this time I would do something about it.” She stops, and looks at me. “I knew I had to do something about it.”

I try to hold her, try to pull her close. Finally, she buries her head in my chest, and lets me put my arms all the way around her. I feel like that day at the lake again, the day I hadn’t decided whether I’d go with her or not. This time I feel like I know the truth, all of it. I think there are times in life when you’re given decisions to make, and there are times when the decision is so clear that you just have to follow it. I don’t feel like I’m making a decision as I hold onto her, on the hospital floor, I’m just following it.

“
We have to get you out of here. We need to figure out how to get to Emily.” The words come from my mouth instinctively, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to say. She whimpers in my embrace, and holds on to me tightly for the first time in days.

She speaks again, between her sobs. “At the library, I knew when I looked at her and she looked at me, I just knew. I didn’t even have to ask her to come with me. She just did. I looked at her as she walked in, and as I got up, she just took my hand and followed me. It was so easy.”

She pulls away from me, still trying to explain. “I thought of you once we were outside. I realized that I’d left you, but by then it was too late. We were in the car and driving. I didn’t know where to go, or what I was going to do. I just knew that I had to get her away from him. I thought about you, but then I would look at Emily, into her eyes, and the only thing that mattered was making her safe. I’m so sorry I left you, Malcolm. I’m so sorry.”

“
It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.” I gently pull her hair back, and kiss her forehead, burying my nose into her skin, enjoying the feel of her. I hold her tightly, feeling as though I can protect her from anything now.

“
I don’t want you to think I forgot about you. I don’t want you to think that I didn’t care what happened. I just saw my little girl, and all of a sudden, nothing else mattered.”

I hold her tightly, trying to squeeze and comfort the fear away.

The anger is back now. It fills my head, makes my whole body tense up. In my mind, I see him as he punched me with his belt, wrapped around his fist. I see him as he slapped Heather, and I see his maniacal expression, when he came into the office, and said that he’d found her. My heart pounds, as I try to focus, try to think of what our next move is, but all I can see, all I can think of is Postman. And, the only thing that I know for sure is that I have to see him again.

I help her put on her clothes. Her body is weak and limp from whatever she’s been put through the last few days. She doesn’t ask questions. She just leans over and lets me help her. I sit her on the bed, and then carefully open up the room door, to look outside. There are large overhead ‘exit’ signs at both ends of the hallway, and they all point towards the same area that I came in from. We have to pass the lounge with the policeman again, but it doesn’t matter. She’s leaving with me, and no one is going to stop us.

I shepherd her under my arms, trying to take as much of her weight as I can, leading her down the hallway. The nurse’s area is empty now. I hear some low noises, coming from the back offices behind the counter, but there’s no one in sight. I think of excuses, reasons, stories. I think of what I’ll say if we’re stopped. We quickly, steadily, make our way to the stairway, trying to pass the lounge unnoticed.

There’s no one there. The officer that was there earlier is gone, and the lounge is empty. All I hear is the normal working noises of the hospital, from down hallways and behind closed doors. There is a patient speaking loudly somewhere and a nurse answering. I keep moving her along. She’s light now, like a child.

She doesn’t have the strength for the stairs, so I her into the elevator, and it quickly moves us down to the main floor. The creaking door slides open to the lobby, and we can see that there are people there now. There’s a patient, in a white gown, sitting in a chair by the wall. There’s movement, with other patients and nurses, slowly moving around, going about their work. The same young man is standing at the front desk, but an older woman is beside him now. And another police officer is sitting in a chair by the door, reading the newspaper, with his back to us.

It’s a different man now, a different officer. I keep shuffling Heather along, trying not to look at him. She keeps her head down, oblivious to everything, other than the motion of me leading her forward. I avoid looking at the officer’s face. He doesn’t budge as we come into the lobby. All I see are his arms, holding the newspaper, head tilted down reading. Suddenly, I have a sense of panic that it might be him. It might be Postman, sitting there waiting for us. But, still I don’t look. I just keep holding onto Heather, our backs to the officer, concentrating on leading her towards the front door.

I know that the older woman will speak. Her eyes trail as soon as we walk from the elevator, into the lounge. We’re almost past her desk, when she taps on it to get our attention. “Excuse me? Can I help you with something? Where is it that you think you are going?” There’s a sense of indignation in her voice as her eyes widen and she looks at us.

“
We’re checking out. I mean she’s checking out. She hasn’t been charged with anything, and I’m her next of kin, so I’m taking her home now. We’re going home.” I keep staring at the woman, not wanting to see the face of the officer sitting just a few feet behind us, hoping that neither of them can hear the desperation in my voice. My ears are primed as I listen for any sound from him. I’m ready to turn around and face him if I hear the newspaper start to rustle. There’s nothing though, just the sounds of the fluorescent lights buzzing away in the lobby, and the occasional voice of a patient or nurse, somewhere down the hallways.

I stand my ground, and the woman and I continue to stare at each other for a moment. She seems to be searching for a reason to keep us there. The young man from earlier, stands beside her, with his hands on his hips, waiting for her direction. Finally, she breaks the stalemate and looks behind us. I know that she’s looking over at the officer. Her eyes widen, and her mouth opens in mock surprise as she seems to be asking him a question without speaking. She wants him to make the decision. She wants his approval.

I recognize his voice from my days at the police station immediately. “It’s fine. He’s right. There are no charges. They can go.”

I look over just once, as I hurriedly pull Heather towards the main door. Ellison still hasn’t looked up. He just keeps looking down, reading the paper, acting as though he hasn’t seen us at all. I push open the big, heavy door, not wanting to look back, just in case it didn’t happen at all.

As we hit the bright, cold, lights of the morning, I realize that we’ve had someone looking after us while we sat in the room, talking. Ellison must have relieved the other guard at some point, or maybe there had been two of them all the time. Either way, the young officer who wouldn’t let me call a lawyer, has let us leave the hospital.