“A plan?” I ask weakly.
She nods. “Yes. It’s this crazy thing people do where they talk out options, weigh pros and cons, and lean on their friends for advice, instead of jumping into action like a spooked horse… You should try it sometime.”
“You don’t understand.” I pull in a breath. “During my shift the other night, a call came in for me. It was my father.”
“From the look on your face, I’m guessing he wasn’t just calling to check in.”
“Let’s just say, I didn’t leave home under great circumstances, all right? And if he knows where I work…”
“You think he’s going to come after you.”
I nod.
Her hand lands on mine and squeezes. “Oh, honey.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. Honestly. But… now you get it, right? Now you see why I need to run?”
“I get it. But I still don’t think running is the answer. How is that going to solve anything?”
“You don’t know my father,” I mutter darkly.
“If he’s as determined to find you as you make it sound, that only reinforces my point.” She leans in, words emphatic. “He’ll never stop chasing; you’ll never stop running. That’s no way to live.”
“What would you have me do, Carly?” My eyes are smarting with tears. “Just let him find me? Let him drag me back to that house I grew up in? I can’t go back there. I spent my childhood counting the days till I turned eighteen, when I thought I’d be free of him.” I laugh brokenly. “I’m finally eighteen, but I’m still just as trapped as I was before.”
“No. You’re not.” Her hand clutches mine tight. “You’re an adult. If you ask for help, you aren’t going to get shoved into some foster home or wrung through the CPS system. Those days are gone. That fucker comes after you again? You call the damn police and have him arrested. You hire a lawyer and get a restraining order. You enroll in a self-defense classes so you can protect yourself, no matter what happens.You take back your life,babe. Don’t let him run it. Don’t live in fear anymore.”
“I’m scared,” I admit softly.
“I know. Trust me, I do. I’ve got my own slew of reasons for starting over in Nashville.” Her eyes are sadder than I’ve ever seen them. “People like your dad use that to their advantage. Seeing you running scared, on the ropes, terrified… that’s like fuel to them.”
I nod. “I know. But I don’t know how to shut that fear down. I hear his voice and I just…panic.”
“Abusers only get a fraction of their power from physical intimidation. Most of their influence comes from the fear they inspire without ever lifting a finger. If you refuse to be afraid… you take away a lot of their power over you.”
“How, though? How do you stop being afraid? You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not. It’s the hardest thing in the world, to have strength instead of fear.” Her voice drops lower. “Maybe there’s no stopping it. Not entirely. Maybe there’s only finding small ways to overcome it.” She looks at me and smiles softly. “A solid night’s sleep and a home-cooked meal is probably a good place to start.”
“You’re a pretty great spirit guide, you know,” I say after a while.
“I know,” she echoes, petting my hair.
* * *
We puton country music and dance around Carly’s kitchen, laughing as we cook fried chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes. The last time I can remember making something that didn’t come from a can or a box, I was seven years old, living with Gran while my parents completed a six-month court-appointed stint in rehab. After a particularly bad Oxy-spiral, they forgot to pick me up from school one Friday. I spent a weekend living with Miss Potts, my first grade teacher, while the authorities paid a visit to my parents and found them unresponsive on the living room floor.
Not exactly my fondest childhood memory.
Also not an isolated incident.
As Carly and I sit down to eat, our conversation is continually punctuated by loud shouts from the street and happy bursts of laughter from people making their way toward the festival. It’s in full swing, now. We can hear strains of whatever band is playing even from this distance.
Our eyes meet as we carry our empty plates over to the sink. She doesn’t say a word, but her thoughts are plain as day on her face: she wants to be out there, enjoying the night with the rest of the city.
“Fine,” I murmur, taking a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
“We don’t have to, if you’d rather stay here. Really.”