Page 51 of Jealous of the Clouds
“I’ll put a kettle on, make us some tea.”
We all followed him as he led us inside and up the stairs.
Once we settled in Karl’s living room, the tension we all seemed to be feeling broke as Karl set down a tray with mugs of Earl Grey tea, ham sandwiches, and cookies on it—a sort of late-night trauma feast.
Questions hung in the air like dust motes in a shaft of sunlight, but I suspect we all wanted a break. We dug into the tea and food with a gusto that surprised me.
But at last the moment came when we set down the mugs and the paper plates. I wondered if we should clean up, but realized I was still stalling. Maybe I simply didn’t want to burst this innocent bubble.
But I had to.
“What the hell happened?” I looked first at Camille, who remained a bit shell-shocked, her hair and eyes both a little on the wild side. One thing Camille was not was quiet, but she’d yet to speak a word.
It was Shondell who spoke up. She took Camille’s hand. “I had to do it.” The women exchanged gazes for a beat and then Shondell let go of Camille’s hand and stood. We all watched as she moved to the window and stared out at the dark.
“I saved your friend.” She looked at Camille, and then me. “Josh had her, as you know. And as you probably figured out, he intended to use her as bait to get you back in his orbit, if not favor. See, my brother was a sociopath, he saw onlyhiswants and needs and no one else’s. It didn’t matter who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted in the end.
“It never worked for him, yet he never seemed to give up hope that it would.” She sat back down, this time in a chair near the TV. She plucked a throw pillow off it before sitting andnow held it to her chest, like protection and comfort, maybe a talisman.
“What do you mean, yousavedher?” Karl asked, leaning forward.
Camille covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to relive this.” Abruptly, she stood and disappeared into Karl’s bedroom, closing the door behind her.
I stood to go to her, but Shondell grabbed my hand. “Maybe let her be. She’s been through a lot.”
I sighed, worried. “Okay. For a bit. Now, what happened?”
Chapter 24
Janet
1995
Janet Kade watches as yet another man leaves the apartment, this place where she’s come to be alone, but somehow never is. He slammed the door behind him without so much as a goodbye, footfalls heavy in his steel-toed boots.
There’s a parade of men coming in and out at all hours of the day or night. Some are sweet, bringing her little gifts—costume jewelry, a bouquet of daisies, a grease-stained stack of cheeseburgers—and others are assholes, treating her like a receptacle to be used and forgotten as quickly as possible.
And she allows it.
Maybe it’s because she doesn’t respect herself. Maybe it’s because she no longer cares. But Janet thinks it’s mainly because she can no longer feelanything. And she longs to feel something, even if it’s outrage at being used like a sex toy, or being slapped across the face because she said somethinghedeemed smartass. Or maybe if it’s to touch upon a glimmer of hope when one of them is nice to her, when the conversation supersedes the physical intimacy in terms of closeness and contentment.
And yet, anymore all she can seem to muster in the way of emotion is numbness.
How had she ended up like this? She was a walking realized prophecy of her husband’s, the bastard. He’d been suspicious of her throughout their marriage, labeling her a whore, a slut, and never allowing her a moment of freedom because she “couldn’t be trusted.”
Janet shrugged and lit another Kool menthol off the butt of the last and watched as the smoked meandered up to the ceiling, highlighted by the end table lamp’s dull light. The TV was on, casting flickering light on her, the voices and laughter a low drone, unintelligible.
She’s taken a room in one of those extended-stay motels on the southside—cinder block, rusty railings, outside corridor, and dented metal doors. “I never imagined this is what my life would become,” she says to no one in particular. There’s really no one to listen, not anymore. So she might as well talk to some imaginary person, spilling out her disappointments and despair. “When I got married, I was so happy. I thought we’d ride off into the sunset together and live in this blue-sky reality with a cute little house with a white picket fence. We’d have a little dog, we’d call Buster, after Lily Tomlin’s Edith character’s dog. And kids! We’d have lots of kids and they’d bring endless pride, joy, and excitement into our lives.”
She could still imagine it, even if the scenario seemed as fantastical as a trip down Alice’s rabbit hole.
What had she done wrong? Janet asked herself the question over and over through the years, as her husband first withdrew and then become abusive—first with words and then with his hands. She had no clue from where his rage and jealousy came. She could honestly say she’d never done anything to inspire it.
And the kids—Josh and Shondell—such adorable little buggers when they were small. But as they grew, they morphedinto people she didn’t recognize. Shondell withdrew into a world of B-movie horror and gruesome paperbacks. Josh looked at her as her husband did—with disdain and contempt, something that had managed to crawl out of the gutter. She guessed he believed her husband’s lies.
And none of it made sense! Damn it!
She’d been a caring wife and a loving mother. She wasn’t perfect. Who was? But she could honestly say and know she’d always done her best by them.
