Breakable

She leaned into my chest and nodded, looking down at herself in revulsion.

She was a warrior, covered in the blood of her enemy. I wanted to beat my chest in pride, and so should she. ‘Good girl. God, you’re so f**king amazing.’

She pulled at the shirt, panicked. ‘I want it off. I want it off.’

‘Yes. Soon,’ I promised, touching her face, avoiding the bruised spot.

I begged her forgiveness for sending her away, my heart still thrashing under her ear. I could barely hear myself speak. If she never absolved me, I couldn’t blame her.

‘I’m sorry for looking her up,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know –’

‘Shh, baby … not now. Just let me hold you.’ She shivered. My jacket lay nearby in the grass. I wrapped her in it and held her closer, letting my body settle.

The police had come, and an ambulance. They loaded Buck into the back on a stretcher, which meant he wasn’t dead. Charles called us to give a statement to the officer he’d been speaking with, and I rose slowly, drawing Jacqueline to her feet. We were both unsteady, holding on to each other.

Cindy, Carlie and Caleb huddled by the corner of the house in coats and blankets over pyjamas. Neighbours were standing in their yards or staring from windows containing lit Christmas trees. Cheerful holiday lights flashed along with squad car and ambulance lights.

Charles told the police about Jacqueline’s restraining order against Buck, and called me her boyfriend without a single hesitation. Backing up everything he’d said, including the boyfriend remark, Jacqueline leaned her back to my chest, held my arms in place round her midriff, and gave her account – how Buck had shoved her into the truck and shut the door behind them. How she used the moves she’d learned in the self-defence class to escape the truck.

My arms tightened round her, and I felt sick. I couldn’t listen to the details. I wanted to pull Buck off that stretcher and finish the job.

When the police and EMTs left, we were surrounded by the Hellers. They offered first-aid supplies, cups of tea, food – but I assured them I had all those things, and I would take good care of her. Charles and Cindy hugged me unabashedly, enveloping Jacqueline as well, maybe because I wasn’t letting her get further than inches away from me.

When we opened the apartment door, Francis exited, pausing on the landing. ‘Thanks,’ I murmured, patting him once before he wandered down the steps and back to his nightly prowl.

In the bathroom, I inspected Jacqueline’s face, stared into her eyes, and asked if he’d hit her. I could hardly get the words out. She shook her head and said he’d just grabbed her really hard.

‘The spot where I head-butted him hurts more.’ Her fingers skimmed across her forehead.

‘I’m so proud of you. I want you to tell me about it, when you can … and when I can stand to hear it. I’m still too angry right now.’ I’d been right there when she’d given her account, but couldn’t handle listening to the details. His hands on her body. The pain he’d inflicted.

I undressed her carefully, gently, a different kind of slow than hours prior. Her shirt and bra and my shirt all went into the trash, and I lifted her into the warm shower. She was perfectly capable of doing these things herself, but she seemed to understand that I needed to do them for her. I soaped and kissed every bruise and abraded spot, hating that she’d been hurt. I braced my arms on the tiles and closed my eyes when she did the same for me.

The muscles of her arms were sore, so I wrapped her in a bath sheet and set her on the side of the tub. As I dried her hair, combing tangles away with my fingers and soaking the water from each strand with a towel, she told me the last time anyone dried her hair for her was when she’d broken her arm in sixth grade, falling out of a tree. She smiled and I laughed – two things wonderfully incongruent with this night.

‘I think there was a boy and a dare involved,’ she said.

Lucky boy.

But not as lucky as me.

I squatted in front of her and asked her to stay with me, at least for tonight. She touched my face, gazing into my eyes. Hers were worried, and full of compassion. She knew what had happened to my mother, but I needed to confess what she didn’t know. I couldn’t keep her under false pretences any longer. I needed her to know everything.

‘The last thing my father said to me, before he left, was, “You’re the man of the house while I’m gone. Take care of your mother.” ’ I swallowed, or tried to. My throat ached, striving to hold back tears that weren’t going to stay dammed. I felt them rising as hers spilled over and ran down her face. ‘I didn’t protect her. I couldn’t save her.’

She pulled me close and held me, and I lost it, my face buried against her heart.

Minutes later, she said, ‘I’ll stay tonight. Will you do something for me, too?’

I took a deep breath, unable to deny her anything. ‘Yes. Whatever you need.’

‘Go with me to Harrison’s concert tomorrow night? He’s my favourite eighth-grader, and I promised him I’d go.’

I agreed to her request, too fatigued to wonder what she was up to – because I knew her well enough now to look into those eyes and see when she was up to something. I didn’t care. I would do whatever she asked of me.

It had been a long time since I’d been inside a middle-school auditorium.

The orchestra kids were all roughly Caleb’s size, although he would have been at the small end of the scale. The boys were humorously insufferable, swaggering around in their black tuxedos, leaning over auditorium seats to flirt with the girls – all in floor-length, matching purple dresses.