“Dawn?”
It’s John. My heart freezes. “Yeah?” I keep my anger down.
“Listen. Please, Dawn, don’t hang up. I promised Rosie I wouldn’t force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. She didn’t want to give me your number, but I, well, kinda promised I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah?” I know he wants more than just to talk, and I feel my heart rate rise.
“Baby. How have you been?”
“Fine, John.” I am determined not to fall for any of his sob story ploys. Not this time. I brace myself.
“Good. Good.” A long silence passes. He is crying. It’s unmistakable. The low hiss of emotional pain releases into the air. He clears his throat and continues. “Baby? Dawn? I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I know I fucked up. I know this time it’s for good. I know that. I don’t deserve you, baby. I fucked up.” His crying is loud now, and he makes no effort to hide it.
“Yeah,” I acknowledge, feeling the tug at my sympathy. Don’t, Dawn. Don’t give in. He’s full of shit! I reinforce my willpower with memories of his lies and abuse.
“I just want to ask you one thing.”
“I can’t, John. I just can’t—”
“No. No. Baby, wait, listen. Just one last favor, and I promise you… I’ll never ask you for anything ever again!”
I don’t answer.
“Dawn? Are you there?”
“Yeah.” I brace myself.
John breaks down sobbing again. “Baby… one favor please. I just need to see you, your face… one last time. I won’t talk to you… touch you… I just… need to see my beautiful Dawn… one last time. Please… Dawn?”
I picture it… in my mind, to kindle that one last romantic moment with him and then be strong enough to walk away. To get close enough to him again to be in his view. I miss him… too much… and with that knowledge, I know it is impossible. A last meeting with John should never happen, and I need to be strong… stronger than surviving the beatings… the prostitution… the arrests… strong from my heart, to turn my back on this terrible love that owns me. I know that it has to be really over… for good this time. We are never to go back to the beginning, the good times—anything.
The phone line is as still as death. I take a deep breath and brace myself. “No, John.”
“What?” He sounds truly surprised, not expecting defiance from me, the one person who has always been his personal puppet.
“I said no, John.” The words feel like perfect freedom—a crack in the agonizingly heavy chains that, for years, have burdened my heart and crippled my life. I say nothing more, expecting him to fly into a rage.
“Well, can you think about it?” There’s an edge to his voice that I don’t like as he swallows his pride.
My heart beats like thunder. I hold the receiver away from my ear. I have never meant anything as much as this, as I do right now—and gently, like a soft kiss good-bye, I hang up.
True freedom—I feel true inner freedom. There is nothing I want from John anymore. I am sure of this. All I want is to get away and wipe his name completely from mine. It is almost December, and I look back on my years with him with shame and terrible regret. I have nothing good to salvage—not even any fantasy—and I want to forget him. All of him.
Everything seems to happen quickly from this moment. Mom calls at her regular time, but I am a bit more hesitant to answer the phone.
If John managed to get my number from Rosie, he might find out my whereabouts as well. I want to get away—far away—somehow.
A few worrisome days pass. Then a welcome call comes from my brother with news to cheer me up. “Hey. How’s it going?” His voice is warm and friendly.
“Hey. Good. Well, better. I got away from John. Did Mom tell you?” I am excited. It’s so good to speak to him again… without John.
“Yeah. I heard. Cool.”
“So what are you up to, man? How’s Oregon?”
“I’m not in Oregon.”
“You’re not? Where are you?”
“Florida,” he says flatly, then adds, “Carol City.”
“You are? What are you doing down here?” I can’t believe my luck, and my eyes well up a bit. The thought of my brother being so close has me hopping, excited.
“Aww, you know. Hanging out with old friends. The Taylors from our old block… that kind of thing.”
“Well, you have to come see me! I’m not far… in North Miami. Wow! This is great! But, uh, how did you get here?”
“I got a rental car. Me and my friend, we drove.” His tone stays even.
“Drove!” Something strikes me as odd, and I worry he’s involved with something illegal. “Really?”
“Yeah. Don’t worry. It’s cool.”
“All right.” I dismiss any concern and focus on seeing him.
“So, uh, what’s your address? So I can come by… maybe, uh, tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow! Wow! Sure. I’m off tomorrow. We can hang out! I’m so glad to hear from you, Wayne. You can’t believe how good this makes me feel.”
“I know,” he says in a whisper. “Me too.”
The next day my excitement has me jumping to the window every time a car passes. I have visions of leaving for Oregon with my brother. When the plain, white rental car pulls up around noon, I run out to greet Wayne with open arms.
“Hey! Oh, I’m so glad to see you. Come in. Come in.”
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he says, “No, uh. I only got a little bit of time… uh, before I have to turn the car back in.” He seems a little disjointed, yanking on the visor, adjusting the rearview mirror.
Looking up into his warm hazel-brown eyes, I notice them glaze over with compassion for me. It’s good to see him again. I marvel at how much he has grown. Six months ago, in Oregon, he was sixteen and almost six feet tall. Now he has filled out even more. God, he just turned seventeen, I think, amazed at how much time has passed, and he’s becoming a young man… a mature one at that.
“All right. So what do you want to do?”
“I thought we could go someplace. You know, someplace like a park or something… to catch up. I got a six-pack in the backseat and, uh, I haven’t seen you in a while and thought it would be cool if we just kicked back and talked.”
“Yeah. Sure. A park? That’s cool. I don’t know where any park is around here.”
“I do. Remember, Mom and I moved to North Miami… after you went to California. There’s a park a couple blocks away. Get in.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You did. All right. I guess that’d be okay. Just a minute; I need to get my bag.”
I run to the house and grab Thor and my purse. Then the strangest sense of unease envelops me. I’d better bring the gun, I think, reacting to my fear, just in case. I stuff it in the bag and worry for a second about being out in the open, a target with a contract on my life.
The ride is short, just as Wayne promised. I find myself gushing with a very brief, edited version of what happened with John and me since I’ve last seen Wayne in Oregon. I tell him about being arrested for the murders, protective custody, our run and, finally, John’s fall back into abuse. Many of the details are left to silence, experiences without words, as Wayne turns a corner onto a lush, tree-lined road.
“Here it is.”
“What? Already? That was fast.”