When Love's at Work Read online

  “I haven’t had the dre… memory in almost a year. It was probably triggered by his phone call.”

  “He called you? When? What did he say?”

  “He called today, while I was on my way to the fundraiser. He left a voice mail saying his mother had a stroke, who knows if she did or not. Anyway, he wanted me to call him.”

  “Did you?”

  “Hell no!”

  “Did you report the violation?”

  “Not yet. I was so busy today. I’ll send an e-mail to Brad Thompson on Monday. He’s really good about following up when I call or e-mail.” Purity was tired of documenting violation after violation. What good was a restraining order if Derek just kept ignoring it?

  “Maybe you should call your shrink.”

  “I thought about that,” Purity replied. “She said to call whenever I need to talk, but I’m feeling better. She said PTSD can be triggered by a lot of different things.”

  “Was it the same memory?”

  “Yes, identical to all the others,” Purity paused. “It feels so real in the moment. I can smell the cologne he was wearing, feel the texture of his hands, the softness of the pillow… well, until he started smothering me with it.”

  “I’m all for sexual exploration, but the whole asphyxiation thing just doesn’t make any sense to me. I mean, how can lack of oxygen make your orgasm better?”

  Purity didn’t have the answer to that question. To each their own, Pure always figured, but she had not been a consenting partner in Derek’s pre-planned theatrics. When Pure managed to shove the pillow off her face, adrenaline gave her the strength to knock Derek off balance. She scrambled from the bed and ran for the door clad only in her skin. She hadn’t thought to grab a jacket, a purse or her shoes. She had been scared, almost literally, to death.

  Her fists became bruised from pounding on the next-door-neighbor’s door wildly. Thank God the woman opened the door and let her in.

  Derek was seething when the police arrived. He tried to make it sound as if Purity was overreacting and their sexual encounter had just gotten a little out of hand.

  Purity could see the signs now, in retrospect. In the moment, though, she hadn’t noticed Derek becoming more and more controlling. He had never liked Courtney or Meg or Tapestry and had insisted that she spent way too much time with them and not enough with him.

  Derek began telling her what clothes he liked best on her and which way he liked her to wear her hair. It all happened slowly, over time.

  It reminded Pure of that old saying about putting a frog in a pot of boiling water. It’s hot and he’ll jump out. But, if you put a frog in a pot of cool water and turn the heat up slowly, he’ll boil to death. That’s what Pure felt like she had almost done -- boiled to death -- only in her case it was almost suffocated to death.

  “Pure? Are you there?” Courtney asked.

  “Sorry. My mind was wandering.”

  “You can’t live in the past. It’s over and Derek Worthington is never going to be in a position where he can hurt you again, ever.”

  “I know. My head knows. I just want these stupid flashbacks to stop. When are they going to stop, Court?”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I can bring my baseball bat and if that asshole even tries to show up while you sleep, I’ll whack him over the head with it.”

  “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”

  “Damn straight!”

  “Thanks, Court, I think I can get back to sleep now.”

  “If you wake up again, just give me a buzz. I’ve been drawing all night and I’m on a roll. I won’t hit the sack for hours yet.” Excitement laced Courtney’s words, she loved when her muse came out to play.

  “Can’t wait to see what you’re working on.”

  Purity thought Courtney was one of the most talented artists she knew. She was always coming up with amazing images, stories, or paintings that were usually shocking and a bit macabre but also haunting and beautiful.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, well actually, today,” Courtney said with an energy fueled by creativity and more than a few cans of Jolt soda.

  “Thanks, again, Court. I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Sleep well.”

  The women hung up their phones. Pure returned to her prone position in bed, noticing her heart rate had returned to normal and her skin was no longer clammy.

  Courtney returned to her drawing, choosing a medium-black charcoal pencil to sketch out the labyrinth spilling out of one side of a woman’s head. She liked the way the darker coal made the skin look dry, scraggly and torn. It made Court want to buy the woman some Vitamin E oil to rub on the area and replenish the moisture in her flesh.

  Courtney knew that some people thought her artwork was bizarre. That was fine with her. She wasn’t involved in the creative arts to please other people, she did it because she couldn’t not do it. It was in her blood.

  Sipping from her third can of Jolt, Court found herself wishing she could be of more help to Purity when those awful flashbacks hit. Right after the incident she used to get them every night. Purity would wake up screaming and panting for air. It was frightening. Court, Meg and Tapestry had taken turns staying overnight with Pure for several months. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder sucked.

  Putting the woman with the half brain aside, Courtney quickly fleshed out an image of a man’s face and body shape, then she added more details, everything except a penis and testicles. These she added to the woman’s drawing as earrings.

  Courtney worked diligently to get the contour just right. She didn’t want anyone to notice that the earrings the woman was wearing were actually a schlong on one earring and marbles on the other. It would only be noticed on critical inspection. The images turned out exactly as she wanted. No one would ever know that the man was a castrated Derek Worthington. Who said art wasn’t therapeutic?

  Purity awoke, relieved that she couldn’t remember having any more dreams after her night encounter with Derek Worthington. She glanced toward the window where the sun was painting grey leaf shadows on her blinds. The soft images were a soothing balm.

  Purity rolled over on her right side and hugged her pillow as she thought about her life. Mostly, she was right where she wanted to be, especially as far as her career went. She really wanted the events coordinator job at The Kids’ Place, but if it fell through she knew she’d find another place to work. She’d never been without a job for more than thirty days.

  She needed to jump in the shower and clear a path through the rubble in her house so Court and Meg would have a place to walk. Not that they would care. Courtney’s house was always strewn with canvases, papers, boxes, easels and heaven only knew what else. There were explosions of color everywhere and so many types of artist mediums: paint, clay, charcoal pencils, grease paint, colored pencils, watercolors, and many other items Pure couldn’t even identify.

  Meg, on the other hand, had a place for everything and everything in its place. If you asked Meg for a pair of scissors, she knew exactly where they were, every time. Meggie had a great sense of style in her decorating. She used soothing colors and everything looked like a picture from House Beautiful magazine, but guests and family members never hesitated to kick their shoes off and put their feet on the coffee table.

  Purity looked up at her ceiling fan. Was that dirt? She peered closer. It was disgusting. Pure knew once she began cleaning she wouldn’t be able to stop with the ceiling fan. Three hours later, her home was clean, organized and Pure felt the lightness in her body that always came when her surroundings weren’t full of clutter and chaos.

  After a quick shower, Pure chose white shorts and a pink tank top as her attire for the day. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a thick stretchy burgundy band.

  E-mail could no longer be put off so she logged onto the internet. She opened Meg’s e-mail first: Hey P, so glad the fundraiser went well. I knew it would. I’ll see you a bit after 2pm today. I signed up
to help clean-up after the senior dinner at church, so I’ll be a few minutes late. Did you hear that Emily Cravens is in the hospital? Apparently she fell on her back porch when she was heading out to water her roses. She couldn’t get up and no one found her for two days! Can you imagine? Ack! When I get older, I’m getting one of those things you wear around your neck and you just press the button if you need help. Anywho… see you later on. XOXO.

  Poor Emily. Mrs. Cravens refused to move into an assisted living environment, even though she really shouldn’t be living alone in that big old house any more. Her husband had a heart attack and died three years ago. He was the love of Emily’s life. If it hadn’t been for the ladies of the church, Pure didn’t think Emily would have made it through that challenging time.

  The church women had made sure Emily had activities to participate in and women who were ready and willing to listen, should she feel like talking. They also made sure to check in on her every other day or so. Pure wondered how people who didn’t have a church family got through times like that. What did people do without committed friends or family to help out and without God to lean on for strength?

  That was such a great example of the church at its best, offering support and love and hope. Too bad all the other crap went with it, too. She’d seen more than her share of hypocritical and judgmental behavior by church members. That was the part that turned Purity off about organized religion. Why they thought they were better than anyone else was beyond her.

  There was just as much infidelity, child abuse, substance abuse, and lying among “religious” people as anyone else. The whole idea that this group of people was somehow immune and set apart from the rest of the world was such a misnomer. It totally set up an “us” versus “them” mentality that Pure abhorred. We, she thought to herself, it’s all about we -- working together, building one another up, being guided along by a loving, caring Creator who has our very best interest at heart. Why was that so hard for people to understand?

  She deleted Meg’s e-mail and began opening the work-related messages. An hour later, she logged off the internet, satisfied that everyone’s questions had been answered and their needs had been met.

  Pure spent the next hour straightening out the items in her briefcase and making a to-do list for Monday morning. She was just closing her briefcase when she heard a knock on the door and Courtney’s voice.

  “It’s me, and Ben and Jerry.”

  Pure made her way to the door easily, now that there was a clear path. and welcomed her friend, eyeing the large Diet Coke from McDonalds in Court’s hand.

  “I so hope that is for me.”

  “It is. You know I hate that diet crap.” Court handed the Diet Coke to Purity and then gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  “What happened in here?!” Courtney exclaimed, surveying the clean apartment. “The last time I was here I almost wanted to start cleaning the joint myself.”

  “It started with a dirty ceiling fan. It snowballed after that.” Purity took a big swig of the Diet Coke. “Ah, good stuff. Did you hear about Emily Cravens?”.

  “Oh man, yes, Meggie e-mailed me this morning. Can you imagine laying on your porch for two days before someone found you?” Court was horrified at the thought. “She needs to get out of that house, but you know she won’t ‘cuz she and her husband lived there all their lives. Their kids grew up in that house. I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to leave either.”

  “Me, either.”

  “She needs one of those Life Alert things,” Court said, after putting the ice cream in Purity’s freezer and then making herself comfortable by removing her shoes and stretching out on the sofa.

  Court brought the drawings she made last night with her, but she wanted to wait until Meg arrived before showing them to her friends. Pure would be the first to notice the earrings. Meg would have to look for a long time to see any image other than the obvious, then she would probably burst out laughing. Meggie never knew quite what to think of her artistic creations.

  “I don’t smell pasta cooking?” Courtney observed.

  “No, you don’t,” Pure replied, letting Courtney’s mind wonder about the dish she was providing. While online, Purity had visited the Pizza Hut website and ordered a pan of their chicken fettuccini for delivery.

  “Thanks for the Diet Coke.” Purity sat on the couch opposite Courtney and spread her body out the length of the sofa.

  “No problem. Has your rug always had that swirly design in it?”

  “Yeah, you’ve just probably never seen it because there’s always junk piled up everywhere.”

  “I like it.”

  “Me, too.”

  Purity and Courtney were knee-deep in a discussion about which flavor of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream was the best, when a knock on the door interrupted their debate.

  “That’s either food or Meg,” Courtney commented. “Either way, I’ll get it.”

  “Money’s on the counter if it’s the Pizza Hut guy.”

  When Courtney opened the door, Meg came barreling through the entryway stating, “Some people should not be allowed to drive a moving vehicle!”

  “As opposed to driving a non-moving vehicle,” Court said, closing the door behind Meggie.

  Meg nudged her in the ribs with her elbow and said, “You know what I mean.”

  “Who might you be referring to?” Purity asked.

  “The jerk who ran the stop sign, for one. And, for two, the gal that decided to switch lanes on the freeway without even looking to see if a car was in the lane she was turning into,” Meg said as she placed a grocery bag on the counter and placed her purse next to it, then bent down to remove her shoes and place them neatly out of the way so no one would trip over them.

  “What’s in the bag?” Courtney asked, peering into the large paper grocery sack.

  “Oh, I grabbed a couple of munchies while I was getting the french bread. You can never have too much food.”

  “I like the way you think,” Purity responded, joining the duo and trying to see what items lay below the bread.”

  Another knock on the door delayed the investigation. This time Purity answered the door. It was Sean, the Pizza Hut guy. She wondered how she always seemed to get the same delivery driver. He was a nice young man and they had engaged in several conversations so Pure was getting to know him a bit. He was a college student and had a wife and a one and a half year old baby boy named Ricky. She always tipped him double what she thought was appropriate because she knew he could use the money.

  “Cheater!” Meg said with amusement in her voice.

  “Hey, I never said I was going to cook, I just said I was providing the pasta dish,” Purity defended.

  Meg made herself at home by turning the oven on to broil and finding a sheet pan to put the french bread on.

  “I have salad, too,” Pure stated. “I figured it would balance out the ice cream.”

  “There’s ice cream?” Meg asked.

  “Ben and Jerry’s,” Pure said.

  “I was in charge of the ice cream,” Court said proudly. “I brought four different kinds.”

  “Way to go, Court!” Meg gave her friend a high five.

  Purity had already tossed the salad ingredients together, leaving off the dressing until the last minute so the leaves wouldn’t get soggy.

  All three women were standing in the kitchen: Meg watching through the oven door to make sure the french bread didn’t burn, Courtney propped up against the wall with one leg bent with her foot against the wall, and Purity by the sink putting the dressing on the salad.

  How many times had this scene unfolded? Too many to count. Pure wasn’t sure how her apartment became the hub for their gatherings, but she loved.

  When the bread was golden, Meggie busied herself by cutting it into wedges while Courtney cleared off the coffee table in the living room and placed the chicken fettuccini on a trivet so it wouldn’t scorch the table. They always chose to sit on the floor and use the coffee t
able as their dining surface. Old habits die hard with this group, Courtney thought as she piled up the tile coasters and silk covered boxes that Purity loved and set them aside.

  Meg grabbed silverware, plates, napkins and the bread and Purity carried in bottles of Diet Peach Snapple and the salad, equipped with serving tongs.

  As was their tradition, the three women held hands and gave thanks to God for the food they were about to eat and were grateful for the nourishment for their body and spirit. They also gave thanks for the friendship they shared and included Emily Cravens’ well-being in their prayers.

  They talked, laughed and shared stories of events since their last gathering two weeks prior.

  Meg complained about her boss, which was nothing new, and vowed that she was going to quit her job if he didn’t acknowledge her contributions. Meggie threatened to quit her job at least four times a year, but no one took her seriously as she had been employed at the accounting firm for more than twelve years. Court and Purity figured she’d end up retiring before she quit.

  Courtney was working on an article for a children’s magazine about drawing your way through grief. She was well-known and respected in the community for her work with children and young adults and she had chosen art as her way to connect and communicate. It also gave her the opportunity to set her own schedule, work from home, and continue expressing her own creativity through art.

  “Hey,” Court said, jumping up from her position on the floor and grabbing the large bag she had brought with her. “Check this out.”

  Court handed Purity one of the drawings she made and handed Meg the other, then watched their faces. Meg had a look of concern for Courtney’s mental health as she looked at the hideous drawing of a woman’s head exploding and her brains spilling out. Her body was mangled and had several knives protruding from her pelvis. There was also a bloody handsaw lying on its side and the stump of the woman’s leg drenched in a pile of dark goo. Meg did not understand Courtney’s illustrations at all. Art wasn’t her thing in general, but she had a hard time even calling what Court did art.