“Yes,” said Celeste. “I could actually do anything right now because he still feels so bad about what happened the last time. With the Legos. So right now everything is great. Better than great. That’s the problem, see. It’s so good right now, it’s almost . . .”
She stopped.
“Worth it,” finished Susi. “It’s almost worth it.”
Celeste met Susi’s raccoon eyes. “Yes.”
The blandness of Susi’s gaze said nothing at all except, Got it. She wasn’t being kind and maternal, and she wasn’t reveling in the delicious superiority of her own kindness. She was just getting the job done. She was like that brisk, efficient lady at the bank or the telephone company who just wants to do her job and untangle that knotty problem for you.
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside the office door, Celeste could hear the murmur of voices, the ringing of a telephone and the distant sounds of traffic passing on the street outside. A sense of peace washed over her. The sweat on her face cooled. For five years, ever since it had begun, she’d been living her life with this secret shame draped so heavily over her shoulders, and for just a moment it lifted and she remembered the person she used to be. She still had no solution, no way out, but for just this moment she was sitting opposite someone who understood.
“He will hit you again,” said Susi. That detached professionalism again. No pity. No judgment. It wasn’t a question. She was stating a fact to move the conversation forward.
“Yes,” said Celeste. “It will happen again. He’ll hit me. I’ll hit him.”
It will rain again. I will get sick again. I will have bad days. But can’t I enjoy the good times while they last?
But then why am I here at all?
“So what I’d like to talk about is coming up with a plan,” said Susi. She flipped over a page on her clipboard.
“A plan,” said Celeste.
“A plan,” said Susi. “A plan for next time.”
34.
Have you ever wanted to experiment with that, what’s it called, erotic asphyxiation?” said Madeline to Ed as they lay in bed. He had his book. She had the iPad.
It was the night after she’d taken the cardboard over to Jane’s place. She’d been thinking about Jane’s story all day.
“Sure. I’m up for it. Let’s give it a shot.” Ed took off his glasses and put down his book, turning to her with enthusiasm.
“What? No! Are you kidding?” said Madeline. “Anyway, I don’t want sex. I ate too much risotto for dinner.”
“Right. Of course. Silly of me.” Ed put his glasses back on.
“And people accidentally kill themselves doing that! They die all the time! It’s a very dangerous practice, Ed.”
Ed looked at her over the top of his glasses.
“I can’t believe you wanted to choke me,” said Madeline.
He shook his head. “I was just trying to show my willingness to accommodate.” He glanced at her iPad. “Are you looking up ways to spice up our sex life or something?”
“Oh God no,” said Madeline, with perhaps too much feeling.
Ed snorted.
She looked at the Wikipedia entry for erotic asphyxiation. “So apparently when the arteries on either side of the neck are compressed, you get a sudden loss of oxygen to the brain so you go into a semi-hallucinogenic state.” She considered it. “I’ve noticed whenever I’ve got a head cold, I often feel quite amorous. That might be why.”
“Madeline,” said Ed. “You have never been amorous when you had a head cold.”
“Really?” said Madeline. “Maybe I just forgot to mention it.”
“Yeah, maybe you did.” He went back to reading his book again. “I had a girlfriend who was into it.”
“Seriously? Which one?”
“Well, maybe she wasn’t theoretically a girlfriend. More like a random girl.”
“And this random girl wanted you to . . .” Madeline put her hands around her own throat, stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth and made choking noises.
“Goddamn, that looks sexy when you do that,” said Ed.
“Thanks.” Madeline dropped her hands. “So did you do it?”
“Sort of halfheartedly,” said Ed as he took off his glasses. He grinned to himself, remembering. “I was a bit drunk. I was having trouble following instructions. I remember she was disappointed with me, which I know you probably find impossible to fathom, but I didn’t always thrill and delight—”
“Yes, yes.” Madeline waved him quiet and looked back at her iPad.
“So why the sudden interest in erotic asphyxiation?” said Ed.
She told him Jane’s story and watched the tiny muscles around his jaw flicker and his eyes narrow, the way they did when he heard a story on the news about a child being hurt.
“Bastard,” he said finally.
“I know,” said Madeline. “And he just gets away with it.”
Ed shook his head. “Silly, silly girl.” He sighed. “These sort of men just prey on—”
“Don’t call her a silly girl!” Madeline sat up so fast, the iPad slipped off her legs. “That sounds like you’re blaming her!”
Ed held up his hand as if to ward her off. “Of course I’m not. I just meant—”
“What if it were Abigail or Chloe?” cried Madeline.
“I actually was thinking of Abigail and Chloe,” said Ed.
“So you’d blame them, would you? Would you say, ‘You silly girl, you got what you deserved’?”
“Madeline,” said Ed calmly.
Their arguments always went like this. The angrier Madeline got, the more freakishly calm Ed became, until he reached a point where he sounded like a hostage negotiator dealing with a lunatic and a ticking bomb. It was infuriating.
“You’re blaming the victim!” She was thinking of Jane sitting in her cold, bare little apartment, the expressions that had crossed her face as she shared her sad, sordid little story, the shame she so obviously still felt all these years later. “I have to take responsibility,” she’d said. “It wasn’t that big a deal.” She thought of the photo Jane had showed her. The open, carefree expression on her face. The red dress. Jane once wore bright colors! Jane once had cle**age! Now Jane dressed her bony body apologetically, humbly, like she wanted to disappear, like she was trying to be invisible, to make herself nothing. That man had done that to her.