And yet, with other boyfriends, she had been confident. Had taken control and shown them what she wanted. And punk rock Liz, Sideways Smile Liz … well, she hadn’t taken any shit from anyone. Where had that gone? It was as though Liz had had the potential to be someone else entirely. Then Marc had come along and locked into place in her life, in her mind, as if he belonged there. But in so many ways he was a piece from out of the wrong jigsaw.
“I think I wore you out,” Beebee said into the lengthening silence. “I’m gonna leave it there for now, and maybe come back to you with another round of questions after I’ve put your statement up next to your ex-husband’s and measured the gaps. Not that I think his story will make a difference to the legal situation, but you know. We have to talk to all sides.”
“I understand.”
“I’m happy to stick around a while longer if you want me to. I mean, if it would make you feel safer.”
“No,” Liz said. “I’m fine, Officer Brophy. Thank you for everything.”
Beebee tore off a sheet of paper from somewhere, wrote a number on it and handed it to Liz. “It’s Beebee,” she reminded her. “The first number there is my personal cell and the other one is the number for the precinct. If your husband comes back around, just give us a call. If you even see him in the neighborhood, call me or call the department—either way works. He’ll make bail, I have no doubt, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got to be scared the whole time in case he turns up for round two.”
“Thanks,” Liz said, meaning it. “Thank you, Beebee.”
Officer Brophy took her leave. Liz was hoping to get away herself now, but there was another long hiatus while the hospital’s pharmacy rustled up the meds she had been prescribed, which were mostly painkillers and anti-inflammatories plus a foil pack of temazepam in case either physical discomfort or stress gave her insomnia. She took the opportunity to call Zac, with a pang of guilt because she’d left it so late.
He was fine, he told her, and so was Molly. They had spent the evening upstairs, first of all having dinner with Vesh and Pete and then watching what Zac called “a really, really super-old movie” with them. It turned out to be Strike Up the Band.
“Well, you know, gay guys and Judy Garland …” Liz commented.
“Who’s Judy Garland?”
“I never felt like I neglected you until now, Zachary. We’ll have a Judy Garland season next week. Wizard of Oz. Babes on Broadway. Meet Me in St. Louis. We can eat dinner in front of the TV for a few nights for the sake of culture. Is Molly still awake?”
“No. I put her to bed at ten. That’s way late for her. She’s gonna be wiped in the morning.”
“I know. If she’s too tired to get out of bed, I’ll take her into school a little later. I’m not starting my shift until noon. What about you?”
“I’m fine.” A pause. “Mom, we can’t keep doing this. Dad’s an asshole and I don’t want to stay with him anymore.”
Liz hesitated, somewhat conflicted. She had tried hard never to criticize Marc in front of the kids, separately or together. But it felt like that ship had finally sailed. “I don’t want that either, Zac,” she said. “Whenever you’re over there I count the minutes until you’re back with me. I’m worried the whole time in case he …” She tried to find a way of saying it that didn’t sound melodramatic.
“He never touches us. It’s just the things he says. The way he is. Even Jamie sees it. She spends half the time apologizing for him and the other half telling him to shut up.”
Liz contemplated that sentence, amazed and chagrined. Her own conversations with Marc had never gotten close to such a frank exchange of views. Jamie must have something she didn’t. Balls, maybe. Or self-respect.
“We’ll have to see what happens in court,” she said. “Maybe you’ll see less of him now.”
Especially if he does time for assault.
“Can I talk? In court, I mean? Can I say what I think of him?”
Her instincts recoiled from that proposition. Even if Marc’s rights of access were curtailed, there was no way of cutting him out of their lives altogether. And say what I think of him sounded kind of irrevocable.
“I don’t know,” she temporized. “I’ll ask. But most likely it will just be about what happened tonight.”
“It should be about everything. It should be about us as a family.”
She could tell by Zac’s tone that the us in that sentence took in himself, his sister and her and left Marc and Jamie off somewhere else. She was a little ashamed of how happy that made her. Whatever Marc had done to her, Jamie seemed to be a sweet girl and it sounded like she was fighting the kids’ corner when it needed to be fought. She didn’t deserve to be landed in the middle of all this.
“We’ll be a family no matter what happens,” she promised. “I love you, Zac.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“I’ll be home soon. But don’t stay up.”
“I am definitely staying up,” he told her.
But when she finally got in at around 11:30—having taken two buses, because it turned out they only let you ride in an ambulance if you actually needed one and not having the cab fare didn’t count as a reason—he was asleep on the sofa in the family room. She tiptoed past without waking him, then tiptoed back to put a blanket over him and woke him anyway.
“Hey, Mom,” he murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes in a way that made him look much younger than his sixteen years.
“Hey. You look like mice made a nest in your hair then moved to a better neighborhood.”
Zac grinned reluctantly. He had never been able to resist the challenge of a yo mama contest with his actual mom. “You look like someone scooped out your face with an ice cream scoop, turned it upside down and put it back in,” he riposted. Then he said, “I want to know what happened. All of it.”
So she told him, speaking very low so as not to wake Molly. He held her hand while she talked, and after she’d finished they hugged for a long time, their foreheads touching.
“You remember that story you told us?” he asked her. “About when you were in the band, and you bought that crazy effects unit?”
Liz had to think for a moment. More recent memories loomed large enough to blot out everything else. She laughed when she remembered. “The Strange Device,” she said. “Sure.”
What made that a story was that the Strange Device had been given to her by a devoted fan who said it would revolutionize her playing. It was suitcase-sized and opened like a cupboard. Inside it were four foot-pedals that could be locked down by stepping on them once and released again with another tap of the foot. There were also lights around the edge of the case that pulsed rhythmically whenever the damn thing was turned on. The effects were awful, but Liz had carted the stupid thing from venue to venue and displayed it prominently onstage because the guy who gave it to her was sure to come and see the Sideways Smile play at least one gig in three. She just couldn’t bear to break his heart.
“You said you nearly got a hernia carrying that box around,” Zac reminded her.
“It’s true. It weighed a ton. Are you drawing an analogy here, Zac?”