“Yes.” He sighs, sounding relieved that I’m finally catching up.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to run into bars to save people.” It’s out of my mouth before I can swallow it down.
Disgust flits over his face, but I spot it. Jude tenses visibly, his shoulders drawing up. He doesn’t look at me when he finally speaks through gritted teeth. “I used to think that, too. So I didn’t run and I didn’t save her. I’ve regretted it every day since.”
“Jude, I…”
“Go,” he commands, his voice scratchy. “I didn’t ask you to be here and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to judge me.”
He’s not saving anyone tonight. He’s chasing ghosts. Maybe Anne will get home safely, but he can’t fix her. He knows that. I know that. I should go. Instead I take a step toward the bar and wait for him to follow. Tonight he won’t face his demons alone. When we reach Anne, I don’t know what to say. I push away the memories trying to surface—memories of bars and lost time and worse. So much worse.
Jude takes the lead. She looks up as he places a hand on her shoulder, but his consoling effect disappears when she sees me.
“You called her.” She doesn’t speak so much as form words and breath, but it’s clear what she means.
“I can go.”
“No.” There’s a finality to Jude’s edict that I don’t dare question. “Faith wants to make sure you get home.”
“Home?” Anne croaks, reaching for her drink. I consider taking it away, but decide she’ll probably throw it at my head. “I’m living in a motel. Did he tell you that? Did he tell you that my husband didn’t leave me? He kicked me out. My own children aren’t allowed to see me.”
I’m stuck, backed into a corner. I’ve underestimated Anne. Mostly because my perception of her and who she is in this moment are on opposite ends of the personality spectrum. I’m not talking to Anne, I remind myself. I’m talking to the booze and the ugliness it’s unleashed inside her.
“He didn’t tell me anything.” But my attempt to soothe falls flat.
“Then you’re fucking him?” she guesses. “Careful there. You’ve got a kid? A husband? That’s what mine nailed me on. He caught me cheating, but he couldn’t leave it there. He told my girls that I had relapsed. He couldn’t deal with the idea that I might just want to fuck someone else.”
“I’m not…sleeping with him, and I’m not married.” The clarification rushes out of me.
Her eyes narrow, the lids drooping under the lethargic effects of the alcohol. “If you aren’t married, why aren’t you fucking him?”
“Let’s get you out of here,” Jude interrupts before she can continue her line of questioning. He tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the bar and pushes the empty glass out of her hand. It takes both of us to get her on her feet. By the time, we reach the Jeep, she’s crashed. I cram myself into the back seat, shooting off a quick apology to Amie for being late.
Amie: No worries. Little man was already fast asleep when I got here.
I thank her and promise to be home soon, but guilt tugs at me. I wasn’t there to tuck him in or kiss him goodnight. Instead I’m here with two people I hardly know. I may have been wrong about why Jude was here, but I can’t deny that the man has my priorities seriously out of whack.
The motel is on the outskirts of the city, away from the cute, tourist-friendly downtown. Like so much of the town, it’s run down. There are no quaint, brick streets only pot holes and crumbling asphalt. The highway leads directly into downtown so that visitors don’t have to see poverty and struggle. A neon sign buzzes as mist begins to pebble on the windows, the light reflects off Jude’s dark hair.
Anne might worry that I’ll judge her if she even remembers tomorrow, but if she knew the places I’ve been and the floors I’ve slept on, she wouldn’t. After we get her inside and lock the door, we drop the key with the manager, who acts like this is routine. I guess it might be here.
When we reach the Jeep, we stand in the rain, fog curling around us, and wait for the other to speak.
“Thank you.” It’s sincere, but I don’t know why he’s grateful to me.
I accused him, questioned him, and basically scoffed at the idea that I would fuck him to his face. I’m not entirely certain which one of those things he would thank me before. I don’t know what to say, so I shrug. “No big deal.”
And somehow I know that isn’t true. Being here is a big deal. I can’t quite ignore my racing heartbeat or how, even in the wet night, I’m not cold.
“Now the important question.” He’s suddenly solemn and I hold my breath. “Do I need a restraining order?”