The Journey Ch. 09

"The story's going to write itself," Megan said. "It has 'Pulitzer' written all over it."

For a moment, I thought the chief was going to have an aneurysm, I'd never seen a guy's face turn that color. Only my anxiety about Jane kept me from laughing.

"Wait here," he said tightly, then turned and stalked into his office, slamming the door.

"What now?" I whispered.

"We wait," Megan said.

After a few tense minutes of Megan staring at Officer Hodges, and Officer Hodges looking anywhere but at us, the chief returned.

"Well?" Megan asked.

"You can see her," the chief said.

"Why not just release her to us?" Addison asked.

"Because she's under arrest. The district attorney is in Charlotte visiting relatives and he wants to come back and review the arrest report and your... recording first. Once we've filed the charges, I can't release her without his okay."

"So, she gets to sit in there all weekend because of this bullshit?" I said, my voice raising. I felt Addison's hand tug hard on my arm again.

The chief glanced at me, then back at Megan. "No, the D.A. is going to drive back first thing tomorrow morning, review the case and if he wants her released it will happen then."

"Fine," Megan said, "Please let me see my client now."

The chief stepped over to the low swinging door and held it open. We all moved towards it, but the chief stopped us.

"Just her attorney," he said, looking at me, "No visitors. You aren't an attorney, are you?"

Addison squeezed my elbow so tightly I almost yelped in pain, cutting off the explosion of profanity I was loading up to throw at him.

"This is bullshit," I hissed at her.

"Megan will go talk to her. You and I are going to go wait outside."

"What the fuck, Addison? You're just going to let--" I started, but she dragged me out into the parking lot.

"We're not letting them do anything, Viv," Addison said patiently, "There are specific rules in play here. We just stormed in and threatened a huge lawsuit. If just lets her go right now, it's an admission that they know they messed up. They can't do that."

"So, what the fuck is the point of this?"

"The point is we got Megan in to see that she's okay, that she hasn't been harmed. And we're going to stay here and make sure she stays that way until we get her out."

"But..." I didn't like it, but I couldn't see anything else I could do besides listen to Addison and Megan. "Fine."

I spent the next fifteen minutes pacing in circles next to Addison's car while she sat in the passenger seat, pecking at her laptop. Finally, Megan came out of the station.

"How is she? What did she say? Is she okay? Did--"

"Easy Viv, take a breath," Megan said, holding up a calming hand.

I paused to do exactly that, doing my breathing exercise again. It wasn't easy, my mind was going a thousand miles an hour.

In through the nose... out through the mouth...

"She's not hurt. She's scared and she's pissed, but she hasn't been assaulted or physically abused or anything like that."

Tears flooded my eyes, and I turned away from Addison and Megan. I felt Addison's hand on my shoulder, turning me, pulling me into an embrace. I wrapped my arms tightly around her as sobs of relief wracked my body.

"--guessing the D.A. will show up tomorrow morning and kick her loose," Megan was saying when I got a grip on myself, "but it might not be until noon or so."

"O... okay," I said, clawing in my pocket for a tissue and finding none. Megan pulled a small pack of them from her jacket pocket and handed them to me. "So, what now? Can I see her?"

"No, Viv, I'm sorry but they aren't going to let you in there tonight."

"I guess we could go find a hotel nearby..." Addison ventured.

"Fuck that!" Megan snarled, white-hot anger in her voice, "I'm going back in to sit in the lobby all night staring a hole through Barney Fife behind the desk."

"What? Why? Do you think she's in danger?" I asked, alarmed.

"I seriously doubt it now that we're here. But I am pissed at what these guys did, and I'm going to make things as uncomfortable for them as possible until she walks out that door."

Addison grinned. "I like it. Let me know if you need me to come in and take a shift. We'll go find coffee then come back and camp out in the parking lot."

Megan nodded, handed Addison her briefcase then stalked back towards the station, violently tugging her shaggy hair into a ponytail like she was getting ready to throw down.

"And that's why we stopped to get Megs," Addison said, a little smile on her face.

"Holy shit. If I've ever met a woman who I'd expect to actually say the words 'hold my earrings' I'd be her. She's uh..."

"A little scary?"

"Yeah. When we picked her up, I kinda wondered what her deal was. She seemed a little flighty, but when we got here she just... transformed."

"I've gotten to be a pretty good litigator in the last few years, I can hold my own against most lawyers. I would never in a million years want to go in against Megs when she's mad. It's like going up against a Sicilian when death is on the line. Don't let the bubbly side of her personality fool you."

It was a long night. I spent most of it sitting on the trunk of Addison's car, drinking coffee from the Wawa we'd found a few blocks away and staring at the station doors, willing Jane to feel my presence.

A little before nine-thirty in the morning, a black Cadillac SUV pulled into the station and a frumpy, balding white guy in jeans and a golf shirt got out and went inside, sparing me and Addison a glance. After what seemed like forever (but was only twenty-five minutes, according to my phone) he came back out, got in his car and left. Ten minutes after that, Megan held open the door and Jane walked out. I leapt off the hood to rush to her, but I brought myself up short.

Jane's face... I'd watched video clips in her class of Vivian Jones, one of the first two black girls to enroll at the University of Alabama when it was forcibly integrated by the Justice Department in nineteen-sixty-three. I'd always remembered her because she shared my name and was the first black student to graduate from 'Bama.

The images of her being escorted by federal marshals onto campus, as the governor had announced he would never allow Alabama schools to be integrated came to my mind now. The crowds surrounding her had jeered, hurled slurs and insults. And she'd held her head high.

Jane had the same expression on her face. She was hurt. Insulted. Deeply humiliated. But, my God, the dignity on her face. It fairly radiated from her. Rushing in and sweeping her into my arms seemed... wrong.

So, I waited, as Jane walked to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked softly as she reached me.

"I will be, as soon as we put this place in the rear-view mirror," she said, her voice tight.

"The cops had a local mechanic tow your car to his garage after they took you in," Megan said, jingling a set of keys in her hand, then she handed them to Jane. "Their department isn't big enough to have an impound lot."

"What happens now?" I asked her.

"The D.A. dropped the criminal charges, suspicion of DUI and resisting arrest. The first because Jane blew a zero-point-zero when she insisted they test her last night. The second because I played him the recording. That was really quick thinking, Viv. I've helped lots of clients who wouldn't have been able to keep their head in that situation." Megan smiled at me.

"I'm just glad we were on the phone when it happened," I said. I kissed her cheek then leaned my head against hers.

"Me too," Jane said faintly.

"They're leaving the moving violations. You can either pay a fine or show up in court and contest it."

"How much is the fine?" I asked.

"Doesn't matter, I'm not coming back here," Jane said.

"If you want to fight it, I'll come back and represent you," Megan said. "Viv said you were in a traffic jam when they pulled you over? I can subpoena the GPS on your phone from your cell provider and prove they're full of shit. Bit of an overkill for a moving violation, but I'll do it in a heartbeat if you want."

"We both would," Addison agreed.

"Do I have to come?"

"Usually you have to be present, yes," Addison said.

"I'm not coming back here," Jane said. She wouldn't meet any of our eyes.

"You don't have to decide right this minute," Megan said. "Take some time."

"Yeah, we have time to figure out what to do," I said.

"All I want right now is to go home."

~~ Washington, D.C., Two weeks later ~~

When I opened the door to our apartment, I was surprised to hear music filtering down from above.

"Hello?" I called out, climbing the steps. I was just coming back from my weekly therapy appointment, and I had a bounce in my step. I felt like I'd done some good work today, talking through some doubts I'd been having. I'd started thinking more about the future rather than the day-to-day struggle of wanting to drink. It felt good.

I heard a muffled "Hmph" as I reached the living room and saw a Jane-shaped lump under the fuzzy blanket we kept on the couch. Jane had one of my mellower playlists going, and Otra Noche Sin Ti was coming from the speakers in her bookcase.

"Babe? You alright?" I was surprised to find Jane still at the apartment. She normally left for her office at Howard hours before her first class.

"I'm fine... I just... I decided I needed a mental health day. I called in sick and canceled class."

"Oh." I sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed her hip through the blanket. "What's wrong? Feeling sick or something?"

She rolled over on her side and pulled the blankets down slightly so I could see her face. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed like she might have been crying recently.

"Yeah, I'm just... tired. I didn't sleep well last night."

"You were up? I didn't hear you."

She laughed softly. "You're a champion sleeper. I was up three times. Finally came out to the couch and did some reading from three to five. I got back in bed like ten minutes before your alarm went off."

"I'm sorry babe. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"That doesn't sound very convincing."

She laid there staring at the ceiling and didn't answer.

"Hungry? I have time for lunch before my shift. I could make you something."

She looked at my face for the first time and gave me a wan smile. "That's really sweet of you, but I'm not hungry. Think I'm just going to try and get some more sleep." She pulled the blanket back up to her chin. I leaned over and kissed her.

"Want me to pull the blinds down?"

She made a noise that sounded like a negative as she rolled over to face the back of the couch.

~~ Springfield, VA ~~

"Anyway, I have no idea what to do," I whispered. "I--"

"Shh," Jack said to me, for the third time.

"I'm just worried that I--"

He turned and pressed his finger over my mouth. "Viv, shut up," he said quietly but kindly, "Unless you want to tell it to the room. Otherwise, you're being disrespectful."

I shrank back in my seat, realizing he was right. I glanced guiltily at the woman up front who was telling us about her terrible week and how she'd fallen off the wagon. Jack and I were in the back row and I don't think she noticed I'd been talking. I hoped not anyway. I tried to spend the last half hour of the meeting paying attention and listening. I made it through the meeting with Jack only putting a hand on my knee to stop it from furiously bouncing up and down twice.

"Alright, lemme hear what's grinding your gears," Jack said as we left the church basement. "And how come you didn't want to share it with the group?"

"This isn't about me. It's about Jane. I don't think I should get up and have a bitch session about my girlfriend."

"Do your problems with your girlfriend make you want to drink? By definition that's what meetings are for."

"What? No, I haven't thought about drinking all week."

"Really?" Jack said, his eyebrow raised.

"Really, man. I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about her. She's withdrawn, she won't talk to me. She hasn't worked on her book in two weeks. Hell, three times this week I've come home from my nightdriving shift and she's been in bed with all the dishes from her dinner in the sink."

"So that's... annoying for you?" Jack was trying to puzzle out what I was trying to say.

"No! Hell, she cleans up after me enough, I don't mind returning the favor. I just did the dishes before I went to bed. But she's never left dishes in the sink as long as I've known her. Not once."

"So, something's bothering her, is what you're saying."

"I mean, clearly. But I don't know what to do about it. She won't talk to me, won't tell me what's going on. I'm worried she's letting herself drift away from me and if I don't figure out what's going on between us, we'll drift so far, we won't be able to find our way back to each other. I can't... I can't let that happen."

"And this is all since those cops messed with her."

"Yeah, I mean I know this has something to do with that. I just don't know what to do."

"Tell me what else is going on with her," Jack said. He held the door for me when we got to the diner where we ate every Saturday morning after our meeting. We couldn't find two seats at the counter, so we grabbed a booth by the side window.

"She's not sleeping well. It seems like she's gotten forgetful. We have standing plans to meet for lunch twice a week someplace near Howard, and she's no-showed me twice in the last two weeks. She said she got busy at work, but I think she just straight-up forgot. She's super quick to get irritated at me about stuff that never bothered her before. Or at least she never told me it bothered her."

"Hmm," Jack intoned, noncommittally.

"What?"

"I'm not an expert, Viv. On relationships, on dealing with the cops, with racism, anything like that. I'm just an expert," he made finger quotes, "at staying sober. That's literally my entire qualification for being your sponsor."

"I'm asking you what you think as my friend, not my sponsor, I--"

"You didn't let me finish," he said, a half smile on his face.

"My bad," I said, holding my hands up in surrender.

The waitress arrived and we ordered.

"So, finish," I said after she left.

"I was going to say, she probably needs to talk to someone."

"She won't talk to me about what's going on, that's what I'm saying!"

"I mean a professional. Like I said, I'm no expert, but it sounds a little like PTSD, maybe."

"What?" I heard the alarm in my voice.

"I have a friend who was in the Army. Her helicopter got shot down in Afghanistan and she was pretty fucked up. Lost her foot, and she was in a coma for almost a month."

"Wow, that sucks."

"Yeah, it did. It took her a long time to recover physically. But I think it took longer for her to recover mentally. She was messed up for a long time. She was super irritable, forgetful, and her personality changed quite a bit."

"But Jane wasn't getting shot at and shit. This isn't the same."

"PTSD comes in many forms and violence doesn't necessarily have to play a part. And even if that weren't true, racism is a kind of violence."

I found myself yet again surprised at how insightful Jack could be. He continued.

"Imagine if you were minding your own business, walking down the street. Then ICE picks you up out of nowhere, plops you in a jail cell, accuses you of being illegal, says they were going to deport you, and keeps you from contacting a lawyer. Think you might be traumatized? Even if a day later your friends get you out?"

"Yeah I guess I would."

"PTSD is post-traumatic stress. You don't have to get shot at or beat up or be in a car crash to experience trauma."

I stared into the middle distance until the waitress brought me back to the present by setting my coffee in front of me. I took a long sip. So much better than the burned crap in the urn at the meeting room.

"You think she has PTSD."

"I have no idea. I think she went through some stuff and it would probably be helpful if she talked to someone. If she won't talk to you, she should talk to someone else. Her family, a professional. Someone who could actually diagnose PTSD, if that's what it is."

"If she won't talk to me, how do I get her to talk to someone else?"

"That I can't help you with. You know as well as I do that whether someone needs help has no bearing on if they'll accept help. Sometimes you have to hit bottom before you're ready to accept it."

A long silence stretched out between us.

"So, what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I dunno. I guess I'm thinking I've been being selfish. This whole time I've been more worried about problems with us, with me, than how she's been dealing with Wakeville. I've been more worried about her maybe breaking up with me than being worried that she's okay, which is what I should have been thinking. What someone who really cares about her girlfriend thinks."

"You can't beat yourself up about that too much. You're only a few months sober now, Viv. Alcoholics and addicts are pretty famous for being self-centered. The fact you're actually worried about what's wrong with her instead of just being mad that she's distant from you is a good sign. Just focus on the fact you know she probably needs some help and figure out how to get it for her."

"Right."

But how can I get her to get help if she won't talk to me?

I climbed up the steps of our townhome after breakfast, determined I was going to make Jane talk to me about what was going on.

I found her in the bedroom, sitting on the bed. She had her Kindle in her lap, but was staring out the window.

"Hola, mi amor. Whatcha reading?"

I guess I startled her, because her whole body jumped as she looked over at me.

"I was..." she looked down at the e-reader and saw the screen was dark. She touched it and it lit up. "It's a romance I found on Smashwords called A Stringed Instrument."

"Any good?"

"Yeah, it's great, actually. I just... keep losing my train of thought."

"Want to go for a walk?"

"No." She laid the Kindle on her nightstand, laid down and rolled away from me to face the window.

I crawled across the bed to lay down behind her.

"Whatcha thinking about?" I pressed against her from behind and wrapped my arm around her middle. Her hair smelled so good.

"Nothing," she said softly.

"It's not nothing, Jane. Talk to me."

"There's nothing I want to talk about."

I sat up. "I don't care. You need to talk to me. It's been two weeks and you haven't said one thing about Wakeville."

"There's nothing to say. I don't want to talk about it, okay?"

"But you need to talk about it! Take it from me babe, keeping shit bottled up inside you is just gonna eat at your insides." She didn't react, so I plowed ahead. "I get it, believe me. Before I went to rehab I'd have chewed my arm off rather than talk about my feelings, what was hurting me. But I've learned that never works. You need an escape valve for the pressure. And if you don't let it out voluntarily it's going to explode and get out in ways you won't like."

Jane rolled off the bed away from me and walked out of the room. I followed her.

"Talk to me, babe. What happened in Wakeville was--"

"I don't want to talk about it, Viv! Can we drop it?"

"No, we can't. You're gonna talk to me about what's going on, right now."

Jane stared at me across the kitchen island with an expression I don't think I'd ever seen on her face. Genuine anger.

"Don't. Tell me. What I'm going to do."

I crossed my arms and stared flatly back at her.