Los Angeles, Henry, 2014
She takes us to a restaurant that is very LA. There is no other way to describe it. Grey scale décor, and a healthy menu, with non-ironic vegan and gluten free options. A full bar, with craft cocktails and noticeable mocktails. I can't picture her here, willingly eating salad over a burger. Sipping on a drink of mixed juices. But she's a regular. I know that because the hostess greeted her by name and the waitress asked if she wanted her usual to drink. When she said yes, and she ordered me one too.
"I know what you're thinking." She pulls me out of my thoughts. And I give her a questioning look.
"You wouldn't think it, but they have a great bacon cheeseburger." And she laughs, genuine laughter and my heart stops. Her laugh changed my world once, when I told a joke that isn't that funny.
"That's what I'll get." I tell her setting my menu back on the table.
"I was thinking last night." She starts, her mood sifting to nervous. Her hands going back to her bag to pull out an envelope.
Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014
I wrote a letter last night. I don't know if it's oversharing, I don't know if oversharing exists, between us. But I wrote the letter. I was never one for the entirety of the Narcotics Anonymous program. I don't believe in God, I don't like to share ion meetings, I don't think I am powerless against my addiction. Those being all key tenants of the program. But I do think they got a couple of things right, like taking an account of your wrongdoings, and then apologizing for them. No matter what happens form here, whether Henry lets me see the kids. Whether I make the move back to the east coast. Whether he and I find our way back to each other. Whether I win my fight against the President. I know one thing. There is a journey I must go on. I don't want to live in victimhood anymore. I need to find survivorship.
"I wrote you this, and I don't want you to read it now." He flinches, "It's not bad!" I assure him, quickly. "It's my amends, and I don't want to be there when you read it."
He nods, taking the envelope, and folds it in half and slips it in his back pocket.
"Thank you for trusting me with this." His voices borders on tears.
"I'm going to be in DC soon, I have George's service. I, um reached out to POTUS, and was assured that I could come and lay him to rest. It would be a small, private service." That's not the whole truth. I have more plans for time in DC. Plans that border on dangerous, but at least I don't believe them to be reckless.
"You talked to Conrad?" He says, his eyes wide making and incredulous face.
"Yes." I keep it simple. Trying to keep my face impartial.
"Elizabeth, what are you planning?" And I forgot. Forgot that I can't hide from him, that he knows me, all of me.
Los Angeles, Henry, 2014
Her silence at my question is starting to border on creepy. I can see her trying to retreat, trying to pull back from me. She trying to cover her emotion, her thoughts, expertly controlling even her micro expressions, like any good spy would. But I can feel her energy. It's the kind of energy a dog gets when they have a really good chewing bone. It's restless, and almost feral. The cop on a case, the woman scored ready to fight.
The waitress pulls us away from our heavy eye contact by setting our drinks in front of us. Elizabeth looks at her and smiles, and then orders for both of us.
"I have some loose ends to tie up." She looks back at me.
"You can't, he's the President" And suddenly I understand her prior fear, the fear I almost mocked last night. My heart speeding up at the thought of her being in danger. Of our kids being hurt. Because that's who he threatened on that tape, our kids.
"He is." Her voice is a little shaky, her fear of him still present. "But I can't live like this anymore, living in fear is not a life." And I understand that too. She hasn't stayed away because she wanted to. She stayed away for us, to protect us.
Los Angeles, Elizabeth, 2014
"I've lived in constant fear for eleven years." I tell him. It's true.
"I was sold to a sociopathic rapist, and when I saved myself from that, one of my closest friends reveled themselves to be even worse than the man that raped me every day for a year." It's a harsh whisper that comes out of my mouth. Pure anger and rage that I have not let myself feel about the situation. But now that I have, how am I supposed to do nothing.
"I didn't deserve it, any of it. And neither did you, or our precious little babies." He reaches across the table and wipes away a tear that must have found its way out of my eye.
"No, we didn't." He says quietly.
"I have to do this Henry. I have to fight for myself, for us, for our kids." He nods.
Los Angeles, Henry, 2014
I understand her need to fight. But I can't lose her, not again.
"I'll never get to live a real life, and our kids will never be safe if I don't do this." She says. And I know she's right.
"Okay. What do you need form me?" It's an offer of help. One I know that I am making in vain. She won't take my help, it would be too suspicious.
"To go back to Pittsburgh and take care of our kids. I want to wait to take real action until thanksgiving, when Stevie will be home with you, instead of in Georgetown" and I realize that she has thought this out. That maybe she has made plans for this in vain for years. Has plotted his demise over and over again in her head, trying to reach for the will to act. And now that she has it, I'm afraid that there will be no way of stopping her.