Page 16 of Kill For Me Kill For You
Wendy noisily blew a plume of smoke into the air, and Amanda followed its trail as it kissed the ceiling light and whirled around it.
‘I wish you wouldn’t smoke in here,’ said Matt.
‘Why?’ said Wendy. ‘The Lordisn’t dragging his ass intothisroom, that’s for damn sure,’ she said.
‘Wendy, please,’ said Matt.
She shook her head, looked at Betty and said, ‘I heard your story before. We all heard it before. It’s good you’ve gotten some peace, but some of us don’t want to forgive. Can’t forgive. And that doesn’t make us bad people. It’s just the way it is. Some bastards don’t deserve forgiveness. Ever.’
Matt launched into a long placatory diatribe about forgiveness, why no one was judging anyone’s reaction to grief in this room. He was placating both Wendy and Betty, and making sure the session didn’t turn into a fight. Amanda sat quietly and listened, watched Wendy light up another smoke.
She was beginning to like Wendy.
Some of the other members gave a brief rundown of where they were in their ‘personal journey’ as Matt called it. As each of them began to talk, they prefaced their stories by giving a macabre introduction.
‘Hi, I’m Lucy. Lost my husband and little girl in a car wreck . . .’
‘John here, my son was killed in a bar fight . . .’
‘Terry, my daughter, was in the North Tower on 9/11 . . .’
And so on. Amanda imagined that it would almost be better for them to wear name badges saying stabbing, terrorism, hate crime, drunk driver . . .
Their lives were defined by the children who had been taken from them.
‘There’s meaning in every life,’ said Matt. ‘Your children were loved. And their love is still here – right here, with us, in this very room. That’s enough for tonight. See you all next week.’
The circle of people broke slowly, with some staying in the seats to talk, and others making a last visit to the coffee station before hitting the street. Amanda beat it out of there fast. She heard the front door slamming shut just as she began to descend the stairs. She went outside, looked right, and then left. To her left, the slight but unmistakable figure of Wendy walked away leaving trails of smoke in her wake.
Amanda tucked her hands into her pockets and strolled after her. She didn’t get far. There was a bar on the corner, and Wendy flicked the butt of her cigarette into the traffic and ducked inside. Slowing her pace, Amanda gazed through the window. Wendy sat at the bar, a cold Miller in front of her already, and no one else within ten feet. It didn’t look like the kind of place you’d arrange to meet someone. It was a dive bar with heavy-metal music and stains on the carpet – visible even from the street. As she reached the crosswalk, Amanda stopped to wait for the light.
She could feel that familiar itch.
‘Fuck it,’ said Amanda, and she went inside. There was a stool beside Wendy. She stood beside it and said, ‘Do you mind if I sit here? I could use a drink.’
Wendy looked slightly uncomfortable without a cigarette in her lips. It looked as though her face had nothing to do without it. Yet it was expressive enough to tell Amanda that Wendy recognized her.
‘You’re the new girl, Jane. The one Matt embarrassed,’ she said.
‘Thanks for reminding me. Is this seat taken?’
Glancing at the seat, and then Amanda’s face, Wendy hesitated before answering, ‘You can take it as long as I see a driver’s license.’
‘A driver’s license?’ asked Amanda. ‘What? Do you work here? I know I don’t look a day over sixteen, but, trust me, I’m way past thirty. Anyway, I thought this whole group thing was supposed to be anonymous. Matt told me about the rules.’
‘We’re not in the group any more. You see a set of rules above this here bar? It’s nothing to do with your age, honey. I just want to make sure you’re not a journalist. Some of them infiltrate groups like this, trying to worm a story out of a victim. It happens. It almost happened to me and now I’mextracareful. So, what’ll it be?’ said Wendy.
Amanda drew out her driver’s license from her purse, slapped it on the counter.
Wendy took it, studied it and then entered Amanda’s name into the Google app on her phone.
‘No, don’t do that,’ said Amanda.
‘You afraid I’m going to find out you work for theNew York Postor . . .’
Amanda took her ID, put it in the back pocket of her jeans, looked away. She didn’t want to risk seeing some of those search results. The photos of her, Luis and Jess. Especially that one taken last year during their hike upstate. Jess’s cheeks were rosy red from the cold and she looked so full of life and happiness.
‘Oh, fuck. I’m sorry,’ said Wendy. ‘I had to check. I didn’t mean to—’
