Page 15 of Kill For Me Kill For You
‘Call me Wendy,’ she said.
‘We already have a Wendy,’ said Matt, pointing to a small, thin woman with bright blonde hair swept up in a baseball cap and ponytail. She wore blue jeans and a bulky navy sweater in a way that made her look as though she was trying to hide her wiry frame. Her cheekbones stood out proudly on her face, and her skin looked like it hadn’t felt the sun in a long time. It was difficult to pinpoint an age. Older than Amanda, but hard to tell by how much. There was a haunted look about Wendy. But when Amanda cast her gaze around the rest of the circle, she caught the same look in some of the other faces too.
‘I suppose it doesn’t really matter what I’m called here. How about Jane?’
Matt nodded, said, ‘Jane is fine. Help yourself to coffee and take a seat.’
Amanda sat down in a chair beside a large woman with curly hair and a bubble-gum-pink cardigan who introduced herself as Betty. She had a set of rosary beads entwined in her thick, round fingers. Betty smiled at her, painfully, then the moment she looked away the smile dropped from her face as if it was tied to an anvil that had just fallen off the side of a cliff.
Some of the group were already in conversation. Two or three were talking basketball. The rest of them were discussing the mayoral elections and the news of a woman attacked in her home that had been doing the rounds on the local TV channels. That kind of story always got people talking. The thought that New Yorkers might not be safe in their own homes had people scared.
Amanda didn’t join in any of the conversations. Betty chimed in here and there with a comment or two. The only other person who sat silently was Wendy. She had tucked one leg beneath the other and turned away from the two men beside her, who were discussing last night’s game.
Matt stepped into the center of the circle of chairs and called for quiet before sitting down next to Amanda. She noticed his cologne for the first time. Rose and vanilla, maybe Calvin Klein. She hadn’t noticed it earlier and it made her wonder if he’d sneaked into a bathroom to put some on for her benefit.
‘Thank you all for coming out, folks. I know it’s a cold one out there and snow is due. We have a new member in the group tonight. Everyone, this is Jane,’ he said, and threw out his hands towards her as if she was about to walk through a set of sparkling drapes onto the stage of a crummy daytime TV game show.
Everyone mumbled a hello. Everyone except Wendy, who was staring into her coffee cup. Amanda nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing more.
Matt folded his arms, crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. His eyes still on Amanda. No one said anything. The silence began to build in her ears, like a pan of water slowly starting to bubble. She glanced up from the floor, feeling heat rising to her cheeks. People were staring at her. Smiling. Friendly. Expectant.
All except Wendy, who couldn’t seem to bring herself to look.
Was she supposed to say something? Was that it? Amanda hadn’t planned on saying anything in the first session. She’d hoped she could keep her head down and just get through it. She didn’t want to talk about Luis or Jess. Talking only made things worse.
With every passing second, she felt more eyes on her, trying to see into her heart – trying to look upon her pain. She kept that to herself. It was her grief. Her loss. Her pain. And she wanted it hot and private. So she could use it. Make it her secret weapon. It was the nerve ending that would eventually make her pull that trigger in Crone’s face.
She had to stop this. Now.
‘I’m not ready for this. Not yet,’ she said.
Betty nodded her head, said, ‘You’re stronger than you think, honey,’ and reached over, patted Amanda’s knee.
‘It’s all so raw,’ said Amanda.
She clamped her lips shut, hugged her sides and began rocking back and forth in the cold air that surrounded her statement.
‘You can get through this, Jane. With help and support, and knowing that there are others just like you who have dealt with that pain and continue to fight it every day. That’s what we do here. We’re fighters,’ said Matt.
Amanda’s eyes flicked forward. She’d sensed movement opposite her, and, sure enough, it was Wendy. She rolled her eyes at Matt, dramatically, then shook her head.
‘Wendy, perhaps you might like to share something for our new member. Show them how it’s done?’ said Matt.
Wendy reached into her pocket, drew out a soft pack of Lucky Strikes, shook it until one stood up, which she then took between her thin lips.
‘There’s no smoking in here, Wendy – you know that,’ said Matt as Wendy lit up and inhaled.
‘I’m not ready to talk tonight,’ said Wendy.
‘I don’t mind talking,’ said Betty, raising her hand, the cheap rosary beads jangling. Matt nodded, somewhat reluctantly. The rest of the group shifted in their seats, some exhaled loudly. Amanda got the impression they were readying themselves for a long night of listening to Betty and they’d been down this road more than once before.
‘I know some of you must’ve looked up my case, and I don’t blame you. I’m not judging. When my boy was shot in the street, I swore I wanted to kill the one responsible. My boy never hurt nobody. Sixteen years old and his whole life ahead of him. And to think this punk pulled a gun and shot him in the street for what? The ten bucks he had in his wallet? It nearly killed me too. But then I went to the trial, and I heard about this kid’s life. The beatings, the poverty, the abuse . . . He was treated just as bad as a half-crazed dog. If you treat a human being like that, well, what d’you expect? I went to see him in prison with my pastor, after he was sentenced. And I stood in the same room with him and the district attorney, and Pastor Joe, and I opened my arms . . .’
To emphasize her point, Betty closed her eyes and stretched out her arms as if she was waiting for a hug. There were a few more sighs, and some barking from the plastic chairs skidding on the floor as two people took the opportunity to get up and get a coffee refill.
‘. . . And I said to this young man, I believe in the Lord Jesus Christ . . .’ continued Betty. She then paused, took a sharp intake of breath, as if she was steeling herself – getting ready to reveal some miracle. ‘I am of his church, and his people, and I forgive you for your wicked sin against my family,’ said Betty. ‘And you know what he did? This punk kid? He cried. And we hugged. I found it in my heart to forgive him that day. I feltthe Lordthat day. He was right there in that room with us.’
Betty nodded, sniffed back a tear, fumbled with the rosary beads. There were some murmurs of approval among the other members of the group.
