Page 37 of Just Between Us

Heading to the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face. Hopefully feeling a bit more human will stave off this hangover. My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and the name Aunt Ashley flashes onto my screen.

Although she calls often, an instinct some might call a sixthsense, sends a sudden wave of panic climbing up my throat, nearly strangling me. My heart beats so hard inside my chest I feel it in my temples, and my hands go clammy. I grab my phone, and with shaky fingers, jab the answer button.

“Hello?” My voice is barely a whisper, and when I hear my aunt crying quietly, everything in me goes still.

Something has happened to my mom.

It’s a fear I’ve lived with as far back as I can remember. Quiet and persistent sitting heavy in my heart, that one day my father would go too far, and no one would be there to stop him. Just my mom, helpless to his rage. Now it wraps around me like a boa constrictor. I’m almost too scared to ask what has happened, terrified the damage is worse than I have the strength to face.

“Cassie,” my aunt says, voice trembling. “It’s your mom.”

Over the years I’ve received calls about my mom. But never has my aunt’s voice wavered like this. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the metallic tang of copper. “Is she…” The question dies on my lips. I refuse to speak the word for fear it’s true.

“She’s alive,” my aunt rushes out. “But it’s bad.”

The relief I feel is so violent, my vision blurs around the edges. I have to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the nausea at bay. My mom is alive. It’s bad, but she’s alive.

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.Those words are the only thing I cling to for a series of heartbeats.

In a fog, I stumble through the apartment until I reach the couch, collapsing onto the cushion. I know I need to ask how bad, but part of me wants to sit in this fragile bubble of the unknown. My aunt is a straight shooter, never exaggerating, never sugarcoating things. If she says it’s bad, then I have to brace for the worst.

“How bad?” I manage to force out.

Aunt Ashley lets out a long breath before speaking, her voice stronger, probably for my benefit. “Beth’s face has extensive bruising and swelling. One eye is completely swollen shut with afracture to the orbital bone. Her lip was split, requiring stitches. There are bruised ribs. Several gashes to her head.” There’s a catch in her voice before she continues. “The doctors did everything they could to patch her up, but you and I both know it’s the invisible wounds that are harder to heal from.”

A sickening image of my mom, beat up and bruised, rises to the surface of my mind, like a photo slowly processing. Once it’s fully developed, the image that sits at the forefront of my mind is so heartbreaking I have to push it back down. Instead, I summon images of the mom who has my eyes and braided my hair into pigtails. The mother who loved Austin and me the best she knew how, which meant not fighting to keep us when we were taken from that house.

Standing, I find the envelope of photos I gathered before I followed my brother to Singing River. Dropping to the edge of the bed, I rifle through them until I come to my favorite. Mom was so young and beautiful. I sat, propped on her hip, my mouth open in laughter. Austin’s profile is to the camera. He’s holding a push-up popsicle, orange sherbet dripping down his hand. The look she’s giving him is complete, unfiltered joy.

“Cassie, are you there?”

My aunt’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and I blink, realizing I’ve been silent for several seconds.

“I’m here. This is just a lot.” My aunt hums in agreement. “What abouthim?” I can’t force the word Dad. I might share his DNA but that monster lost the title of Dad.

Aunt Ashley seems to understand who I mean. “From what I understand, this is much bigger than what he’s put Beth through. I’m getting conflicting information but while your mom was at the hospital, he disappeared. Nobody can find him.”

Cold terror crawls up my spine like icy fingertips and I take in a sharp inhale. People like him are more dangerous when they think they’re being cornered.

“But listen to me, Cassie,” she continues, slipping into the calm, steady voice she used on me when I was a child on theedge of panic. “They have an officer stationed at our house round the clock. They’ll stay until your father is found.”

“She’s staying with you?” I ask, mild relief settling in.

“She’s here and she’s safe. I have her set up in your old bedroom. I don’t plan on leaving her alone until they have your father in custody.”

“I’m coming. I’ll pack a bag now. I can be there first thing in the morning.” I’m already standing and moving to the suitcase in the closet.

“Honey,” she says gently. “Your mama isn’t ready to see anyone. Not yet. She’s embarrassed and ashamed.”

And that’s the thing my education has taught me. More times than not, the abused feel like they’re somehow at fault. The thought makes my heart twist painfully. Mom lived through unimaginable torment, and still shesurvived. If anyone should feel shame, it’s my father. But still, my aunt’s words are a dull knife, a deep cut to my heart, because I want to see my mom who I haven’t seen in far too long.

“My heart hurts, Aunt Ashley,” I whisper.

“Oh, love. I know,” she agrees. “My heart does, too. But we’ll all get through this together, yeah?”

I make a sound of agreement and then a thought hits me. “You know Austin will be there tonight? He’s packing up more of his things.”

“I do. Though I don’t know why he’d stop in here when he’ll probably be exhausted and ready for his own bed. It’ll be late when he arrives.”