Rage: A Love Story (21 page)

T
he sign in front of the building reads:
SAMARITAN HOUSE. I
s this a homeless shelter?
Oh, Reeve
. It looks nice, though, like an old converted Victorian, with three floors and balconies.

The door has a double lock and security cameras. I ring the buzzer and a woman says, “May I help you?”

I don’t see a microphone to speak into. “I’m looking for Reeve Hartt?”

“What’s your name?”

“Johanna Lynch,” I tell her.

“And you are …?”

What am I? “A … friend.”

“Please wait.”

I wait an eternity, standing there feeling like I’m being scanned with metal detectors. I check my watch. Ten to ten. Cheap watch from Target. I have to be at the cineplex by eleven.

An older couple across the street are out pruning hedges. They remind me of Mr. and Mrs. Mockrie and my heart aches for that loss.

The front door whooshes open.

My stomach catches.

Reeve flies out the door and throws herself into my arms. “She told me not to call you or see you ever again. She said if I loved you, I’d leave you alone.” Reeve crushes me so hard I can’t breathe.

Or maybe I can’t breathe because she’s in my arms, stealing my breath away. Reeve kisses me and the world spins out of control.

Behind us the door opens wider and this formidable woman steps onto the porch. She says, “Honey, are you okay?”

Reeve goes, “Yeah. This is my girlfriend, Johanna.” Reeve smiles at me as she intertwines our fingers. The woman gives me a visual shakedown.

Reeve says to her, “Would you sign me out?”

She asks, “Where are you going?”

Reeve looks at me.

Fallon Falls, I think.

“To the park,” Reeve says. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

The woman folds her arms.

“If I’m not, call the cops. God.” Reeve rolls her eyes at me.

“One hour.” The woman steps back inside.

Reeve pushes me down the steps. “Fucking warden.”

“What is this place?” I glance up to see eyes watching us through the front security screen.

Reeve hops on me piggyback, wrapping her legs around my
waist. “A women’s shelter. Tessa got me in.” Reeve bites my ear and nuzzles into my neck.

At the car, I let her down and go to unlock the door, but Reeve pulls my hand away. “I can’t,” she says. “I’m not allowed to get in anyone’s car. House rules.”

I arch my eyebrows. “Since when do you play by the rules?”

A grin sneaks across her face. “Really.” Then her eyes get serious.

“It’s okay,” I say quickly. “How far’s the park?”

“We can walk.” She loops both arms around my waist and my arm naturally crosses her shoulders. She smells like Ivory soap. Her hair’s been cut recently and I can actually feel meat on her bones. Her eyes are beautiful, of course. Blue mascara, three shades of eye shadow.

“I’ve missed you so much,” she says.

I rest my head on hers. “Me too.” All the nights I lay awake worrying, wondering about her.

Behind the trees at the end of the block is a sculpture garden. Reeve leads me to a concrete hexagon, which is smeared with pigeon poop. We don’t sit on it. We stretch out on the cool grass, facing each other.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” Reeve says.

My heart explodes.

She jabs my shoulder. “You didn’t say ‘what?’“

I don’t want to know who either.

She pinches my arm playfully. “Not like that. A counselor. Or psychologist, I guess she is.”

“You have? Me too.”

Reeve frowns. “Why?”

I can’t look at her without wanting to kiss and touch her, run my hand up her hip and under her shirt. But we
need
to have this conversation.

I roll onto my back. “You know. Abandonment issues. Self-worth stuff, blah blah.” I gaze into the sky.

Reeve’s eyes graze the side of my face, then she rolls over onto her back too. “Abuse. Repressed anger. My mother and brother getting murdered in front of me.”

She makes it sound like a competition. You win, Reeve. Hands down.

A puffy cloud floats in front of the sun and I shiver. “Are you okay?” Reeve asks.

The word “yes” sticks in my throat. “Are you?” I twist my head and look at her.

“Oh yeah. I’m fly.”

Her pain is palpable.

“I don’t miss her,” Reeve says. “She was sick and twisted. Her whole fucking life was using. I don’t even know if I ever loved her. That’s so wrong, not to love your own mother.”

Reeve …

“But damn. What did he do? All he ever wanted was to be left alone. Stupid asstard.” She balls her fists at her sides.

I push up to an elbow and pull her into me.

“I don’t cry,” she says in a hiccup.

“I know.”

She holds me hard. She kisses my neck, my jawbone, my face. She’s soft and sweet in my arms. She kisses my lips.

God, help me.

She stops and says, “Let’s get a place together. I have a job now, at Chili’s. Where are you working? I assume you are.”

Yeah, and I need my job. “I’m still looking.”

“You could work with me. Think of it, Johanna. Living together, being together all the time. We could make it; I know we could. We’d get married and have kids. Since they run in my family, maybe we’d have twins.” She grins. “Doublemint gum.”

“I’m moving to Minnesota,” I say.

At the sudden shift in mood, a chill fills the air.

“When?” Reeve asks.

“Soon.”

She climbs off me.

“Tessa and I are selling the house. She wants me to go to college in Minnesota and she’s going to have a baby. I want to be there for her. You know?”

“What about me?” Reeve’s voice is flat. “Were you going to ask me to come?”

My silence is my answer. She scrambles to stand and I clench her wrist. The rage inside her still surges; I can feel it in her muscles and bones. “I just don’t think we’re ready.”

She slit-eyes me.
“You’re
not. Speak for yourself.”

“Okay, I will. I’m not.”

She goes limp and her head drops back. I stand, still holding on to her wrist. “I love you. I do. But we both need to be in a better place, Reeve.”

She raises her face to the sky. Oh, Reeve.
I want you so much. But it’s not a good love. It’s cruel
.

She says, “What time is it?”

I look at my watch. Shit. I’m going to be late for work. “Ten fifty-five.”

“We should get back,” she says.

“Reeve—”

She presses a finger to my lips. “You’re smart, Johanna.”

Am I? I want to ask. Or just scared.

“I like that in a girl.” Her finger trails down my front.

I take her hand and kiss it. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Me?” Reeve points to herself. “You talkin’ about me? Shit, I’m a survivor.”

She’s stronger than anyone I know. In some ways.

We walk back to Samaritan House together, yet apart. At the curb by the gate, Reeve turns and says, “I have something for you. Wait here.” She sprints to the porch and disappears inside.

I unlock the car door and lean against it, waiting. Thinking how I’m going to drive away from here and probably never see her again. Wondering if I have the strength to leave.

She hurries back, out of breath, and hands me an object. My gold watch.

“I took it,” Reeve says. “I’m not a nice person.”

I click my tongue. “Yes, you are.” Sometimes.

“I can’t give you back everything I took.”

Our eyes meet and hold. She understands.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. Some things I have to take back for myself. “I have something for you too.” I open the car door and reach into the back.

“No.” Reeve steps away.

“You’re going to want it.”

Reeve pushes out with both arms.

I extend the case. “It’s all he had.”

“No,” she says. “Get rid of it.”

“He’d want you to have it, Reeve,” I say softly. “To keep it safe for him.”

She loosely hugs herself. “You know what it was? His safe place. That’s what he called it.”

“Maybe it can be yours too.”

She just looks at me. “That’d be retarded.”

I crack up. So does she. But she reaches across and takes the case. “He didn’t bust your window. I did. He’d never hurt you.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be taking my car to Minnesota,” I say. We both hold our breath, like we can’t say goodbye to him or each other.

“Johanna.” Her eyes sweep up to my face. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” I say. Not for knowing love, loving her.

She backs up, away, hugging the case to her, walking, trotting toward the porch. Through the door, into the building. I look at the watch in my hand and latch it onto my left wrist. Two watches, too heavy, as if I’m weighted down by time. I remove the cheap watch.

“Hey! Johanna.”

I glance up. On the third-floor balcony, Reeve leans over the railing. “I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?”

She smiles. “Firsts are overrated.”

Thank you, Reeve. Thank you for that
.

I get into my car and crank the ignition. Another place, Reeve, another time. I pull away from the curb and say softly, “See you in Joyland.”