Promises to Keep (6 page)

Laura
closed her eyes, remembering that day long ago, when her mother tried to sell
her to her dealer for a fix. That man's breath stunk, too
—the
familiar stench of an addict.

It
was more than just rotten teeth.

It
was as if they'd died and they didn't know it yet. The rot was taking them from
the inside out.

Laura
knew what she had to do now, just as she had then. This time she'd use her
head. She'd plan it out and do it properly. She wound herself up like a spring,
ready to shove her knee into his groin once more, as hard as she could.

This
time, she had to take him by surprise.

Laura
knew that she’d better be quick, and the blow had better knock him down long
enough for her to get past him in the small corridor.

A
blast of real fear rolled through her. If she hit him, but he got a hold of her
before she got down the stairs and out the door, he'd tear into her.

I’d probably
never be the same again.

Lots
of bad things had happened to her over the years, but rape had never been one
of them. Laura didn’t plan on breaking her track record.

One
,
she thought.
Two—

"Is
everything OK out here?"

Laura
recognized the voice instantly. Ron Phillips, apartment 2C. He was a nice older
man and lived alone. Laura opened her eyes wide, giving him a pleading look. A
dandelion tuff of white hair framed a mocha face full of concern.

"Mind
your own damned business, nigger!" Jonah shouted at the man.

Ron's
look of concern turned into one of cold determination and he set his jaw.
"Son, I think that it'd be best if you shut your mouth and move along now.
Nobody need get hurt."

Keeping
Laura's breast in his grip, Jonah faced Ron. "What are you going to do
about it, old man?"

Ron
lifted his shirttail; just enough to let Jonah and Laura see the butt of a
revolver tucked in the waist of his pants.

"Let
her go and leave.
Now.
"

Jonah
let Laura go, but he didn't leave. He took a step toward Ron, his fists
clenched. Laura saw him glance up the hallway, as if measuring the distance
between them.

"You
think you can pull out that gun before I get to you?"

Ron
shrugged. "You willing to bet your life on whether I can or not? I haven't
killed a man since Vietnam. Don't matter none. Once you've killed your first,
killing gets mighty easy—too easy. You want to find out; you just come on over
here. If you're wrong, you'll be leaving in a bag."

Jonah
took a step toward Ron and then hesitated.

Ron
stared at him with a deep and penetrating look, as if he was taking the measure
of the man. They sized each other up. Jonah’s body stiffened, bracing to
attack.

Laura
felt certain he was going to rush the old man.

She'd
already decided to tackle Jonah around the knees if he went after Ron.
Hopefully, that would give Ron the time he needed to take aim and blow his
drug-addled brains out once and for all.

Jonah
took another tentative step. Ron stood stock-still and stared into the younger
man's eyes.

"Walk
away, old man," said Jonah, a slight tremor in his voice. "Walk away
and go back into your house like a good little coon."

Ron
didn't move.

Laura
wasn't sure if he was even breathing.

Jonah
raised his foot, as if to take yet another step towards Ron. Laura tensed,
ready to jump. Jonah slowly brought his foot down on one of her spilled apples,
deliberately crushing it underfoot into a gooey mass of pulp and skin.

He
turned suddenly, as if whatever courage he had, vanished like a thief into darkness.
It was gone just as fast and as completely as an irresponsible, unwed father
might disappear the moment his girlfriend got pregnant.

Jonah
fled, running down the stairs, through the doorway and out into the night.

With
a relieved sob, Laura slumped against the door. Legs weak, she slid down into a
crouch.

Ron
walked over and squatted down beside her. "My, my, my, what a mess."

"Thanks
so much for your help, Mr. Phillips," She wiped her eyes with her
trembling hand. Now that Jonah was gone, she could feel the adrenaline leave
her body as she began to shake. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry
for what?"

She
sighed deeply. "I dunno. Everything, I guess."

Ron
picked up an un-smashed apple and put it into her hand. "Assholes will be assholes,
sure as the sun comes up. You stand up to them and they scurry away. If they
don't, you just shoot 'em in the face."

Laura
gave a faint little laugh that was part relief, and partly the last little bit
of fear in the pit of her stomach letting itself out into the world.

"You
really would have shot him?"

"Damned
straight I would. Why the Hell else would I have a gun? The assholes can be the
Klan or Charlie or whatever the Hell that son of a bitch was. I've always found
that a good gun in the right hands keeps them away."

Laura
surprised herself and smiled

He
smiled back. "The Bible says that a soft answer turns away wrath, but I
say that a .357 runs it clear out of town. Why don't you come with me? I've got
some whiskey. You can have some to calm your nerves while I call the
police."

Laura
shook her head. "No police."

"No
police?
Are you crazy?
"

"I
just...I just want to forget about it, OK?"

"A
man like that, he's gonna come back for you," Ron put his hand on her
shoulder. "He's that mean, he's not gonna forget and he's gonna find a way
to pay you back. That's what's in the mind of folks like that—that it's your
fault and you done him wrong. You call the police, and get him locked up, right
now."

Laura
fished out her keys. "No, no. Thanks for your help, but just forget
it."

Ron
gave her a sad look filled with worldly disappointment. "I can't forget it
and neither should you. At least go down and make a report. Get a restraining
order. It usually don't do any good at keeping him away, but at least it'll
give the cops somewhere to go looking if you turn up missing."

"I'll
be fine, Mr. Phillips. I just want to go in and sit down for a little
bit."

Laura
wouldn’t willingly put herself into the hands of the police again. She avoided
them like the plague. Before she'd made her final get away from her mother's
trailer, the police had been the ones to bring her back, time after time. She'd
try to sneak out, to run, and she'd never get very far.

The
sheriff had been mean to her. He was scary, inappropriately touching her and
making sleazy remarks.

Laura
often wondered if her mother had some sort of understanding with the sheriff
and his deputies. Perhaps she supplied them with drugs or...other things.

Her
mother would do anything to score, as far as Laura knew. If she could sell her
only daughter, she sure as heck wouldn’t have a problem selling herself.

Regardless,
to Laura, the cops were not there to help. They were there to keep her down and
locked away, just as her mother had. There was no way she'd call the police.
Even if they believed her, they'd likely exact some terrible price for their
help.

She
couldn’t trust them.

Feeling
better, Laura stood up. Ron’s knees cracked loudly as he came out of his
squatting position.

He
grinned. “Not getting any younger, am I? You'll go to the police in the morning,
at least?" Ron didn't look too sure that she would.

"Maybe."

Ron
glanced up and down the corridor and then pulled the revolver from his
waistband. "I don't think you will. Too many girls like you let bad men
go, time and time again. I've seen it. You're afraid or you think he really
loves you and you don't want him to go to jail. Whatever. It always ends
badly.”

“He
doesn’t love me—
he once tried to sell me to his dealer for a
fix!” Despite trying to maintain her calm, her voice was jagged, high-pitched
and shrill. Strong emotion had affected her, but this time not from fear.

From
rage.

There
was a short silence as both Ron and Laura took a moment to absorb the
implications of her proclamation.

Laura
took a deep, steadying breath. “He wasn’t always like this—
it’s
the drugs.” Her tone, which began in forced composure, ended in a
half-hysterical giggle. “They brought out his real personality, I guess—now
he’s a selfish, dangerous asshole. I don’t trust him, but I don’t trust cops,
either.”

Ron
frowned and shook his grizzled head. “Well then. If you're not going to do
anything about him, I guarantee he'll be back, with something even worse
brewing in his twisted, tiny mind. You take this. When he comes back you're
gonna need something more than a paper bag full of apples to put between you
an' him."

Laura
glanced down at the gun. Its frame was of shiny and cold stainless steel. Its
grip was contrastingly made from warm looking polished hardwood. "I can't,
I don't..."

"Sure
you can. It's easy. You point it at him and pull the trigger. If he's close to
you like he was tonight, you jam it into his belly and pull the trigger over
and over again until it's empty. Put him down like the animal he is—right away.
Don't think about it, 'cause then you won't be able to do it."

"I
don't know if I could..."

"I
didn't think I could either," Ron glanced up as if in search of a God that
he wasn't sure was there. He looked back at Laura, his dark eyes locking with
her blue ones. "When you've got somebody in close, ready to kill you—you
kill him first. No hesitation."

Laura
took the revolver. It was cold but she liked the weight of it. "Thanks, I
guess." She tucked it into her jacket pocket. "But what about
you?"

"Don't
worry about me. If Charlie couldn't get me and the Klan couldn't get me, no
piss-ant redneck who beats on little girls gonna touch me. Screw him. You just
keep that piece close—as long as he's around town."

"Thank-you."
Laura unlocked her door and stepped in. She turned back to see Ron, still in
the hallway looking at her. "I'll be fine. Thanks for helping."

He
nodded.

She
closed and locked the door.

Laura
slid to the hardwood floor of her apartment and put her head in her hands. This
was too much to deal with right now. She didn't need yet another thing to worry
about.

Thoughtfully,
she slid her hands to her stomach. At least she didn't have to worry about
having a baby anymore. As painful as it was, the miscarriage had actually been
a relief—a relief she felt incredibly guilty to feel.

The
cramps started within an hour of the Navy men coming to her door to tell her
that Bob was never, ever coming back home. Did the news trigger it? Did Bob’s
son or daughter instinctively know that its father was gone and didn't want to
come into a world with a single, messed up mother to take care of it?

Was
it just a coincidence?

Laura
didn't know. What she did know is that
shit happens
. It doesn't excuse
itself, it doesn't give any warning, it just happens. And it seemed to be
happening to her an awful lot lately.

Maybe
what her mother said was true—that she couldn't escape herself. Maybe she was
and always would be trailer trash with trailer trash problems. Maybe there was
no hope for Laura Wynn at all.

Laura
shifted her leg and felt paper crinkle under her. She reached down and found
that she was sitting on her mail. The letters were crumpled. Bill, bill, bill
and one that made her heart jump, banging against her chest.

She
recognized the envelope and the writing. Desperately seeking something to give
her hope, she opened it immediately.

Dear
Laura;

Thanks
for your letter. It came to me at the end of a hard day. It took weeks to get
here, of course, but it really cheered me up to hear from you.

It
looks like you like the ocean, too. I don't know what the water is like where
you are. I'm from a place not too far from LA. I always go to water when I'm
stressed or worried. I find that I can let myself go when I'm out in the
Pacific. Even when the water's cold, it's still comforting to me.

I
think it's almost like going back to the womb. We spend the first nine months
of our lives under water. It makes sense that it would be the place we feel
safest, right? It does to me.

We
came from the sea and we will go back to the sea.

Have
you ever heard of the green flash? You can only see it in the Pacific Ocean at
sunset—at just the right moment. So many times, I've gone out on my board and
paddled out as far as I could. I sat with my legs dangling over the sides where
I watched and waited.

The
sun sets in the west. You watch it until it starts to dip below the horizon. If
you keep watching, just as the top of the sun hits the edge of the sea, a
brilliant, emerald green flash comes off the very tiptop of the sun. It's gone
in an instant. If you blink at the wrong moment, you'll miss it.

Now
scientists say it's caused by the atmosphere at the curve of the earth. It
refracts the light rays of the green spectrum up and around while the rays in
the yellow and red spectrums are absorbed, so you just see the green rays at
that moment.

I
think that sometimes if you try to explain a miracle with science, it ceases to
be a miracle—it stops being a sight of wonder. I don't try to explain things
like this. I don't ask how. I just accept them and appreciate them.

The
flash is like magic. It recharges me. No matter how many explanations I read
about it, it never ceases to fill me with wonder. It reminds me of the beautiful
and miraculous things that are still out there, in a world that can seem so
crappy at times.

When
I was sad, lonely, frustrated or angry, I'd go out there and watch for the
flash. It would… I don't know. It's hard to put into words. It let me know that
everything is going to be all right and a lot of the stuff that happens just
doesn't matter.

The
world still spins, the sun still rises and sets and you are still alive.

Laura,
you need to find your green flash, whatever it is.

I
guess, since we're becoming pen pals, you should call me Jack.

Respectfully;

Jack.

Laura
gently put the letter down on the floor. She wiped her eyes and felt the weight
of the revolver in her pocket.

Jack
was right, of course. She needed to find a way to lift herself up, to stop
being a doormat and stand up for herself. Hope is what she needed. Hope is what
she needed to find for herself—nobody would just give it to her.

Nobody
could
give it to her.

She
thought she’d found it in Bob but she didn't, not really. Laura admitted to
herself that she hardly even knew him.

Her
husband had been a symbol of escape to her. She'd hoped when she married him
that he'd take her away from it all, when the Navy decided to send him
somewhere else. Bob was a life ring to clutch at, as if she was drowning.

You
can't drown if you know how to swim
, she thought.

Laura
decided to write Jack back that very night, but first she had a mess to clean
up. She got to her feet, went to her small kitchen, found a dustpan, a garbage
bag and a broom then went back to her front door.

Cautiously,
she opened it and peered out into the hallway. It was empty—except for her
food, which was neatly stacked in front of her door. The spilt milk had been
neatly wiped up without a trace left behind.

"Thanks,
Ron," she called out, as she scooped up her groceries and went back into
her apartment where she started to write.