Fragile Garden | Andrew Jensen

The silence in the modest kitchen laced the air with septic agony – just as Joe Henderson liked it. With one hand clutching his beer, he poked around in his peas and mashed potatoes. His hunched six-foot frame made the kitchen seem smaller, and his wife Susan opposite him, smaller still. She had barely touched her food, and now and then darted a glance at him.

“How was your day Joe?” she asked, attempting to bring her nervous smile into her voice. No sooner had she spoken when regretting it. Henderson was trying to find a job, and how ever delicately she tried posing the question, knew how he would react. She braced herself and cursed inwardly for even talking at all, but she was one of those who always needed to fill an awkward silence – just as Joe Henderson liked it.

The stirring in the peas stopped, and with care, Henderson placed the fork onto the plate as if afraid to break it. After a moment, he looked up.

“I don’t know what I have done in my past life to deserve this,” he said. “Susan, I’m trying, I’m really trying to get this shit you call food into my mouth.” He looked past her shaking his head. “Susan, when are you going to admit you have no fucking idea of cooking? Look at this!” he said, pointing at his plate.

“But it’s what you asked for this morning-”

“Don’t fucking twist my words!” She bowed her head and folded her hands on her lap.

“I’ll make you something else,” she said softly.

“If I was a sucker for punishment,” he said with a smirk, “then yes, go right ahead. But I’m not.” With a sudden swipe Henderson sent his plate crashing to the floor, then slapped the table making his beer bottle jump. Susan straightened and looked at him with apologetic eyes as he got to his feet. When he took a step towards her, she jumped up and tried fleeing, but he caught her arm.

“Do you know what kinds of people run away Susan? Guilty ones!” She cried out when he gripped a handful of her hair. “Why Susan? Why do you go out of your way to piss me off?” She screamed when he tugged her hair.

“I’m sorry Joe, I’m sorry!” It seemed he had not heard. He lifted her head and slapped her, then pushed her away and let her collapse to the floor. As she lay whimpering and holding her cheek, Henderson towered over her.

“I’m probably, no, I am the only man who will put up with your shit. The day you start appreciating me is a day I may never experience,” he said, heaving her to her feet. She stood cowering and protected her face, but it left her abdomen vulnerable.

“Please Joe…” His punch forced the air from her lungs, and as she doubled over, he caught her throat, then held her. He watched as she struggled for breath with screaming eyes; everlasting seconds as the darkness loomed. When her body started relaxing, Henderson let her collapse to the floor near unconscious. He looked at her for a moment before digging the tip of his boot into her ribs.

“Get up!” When she did not respond he crouched down and spoke close to her face. “I’m going out to find some dinner. When I come back this mess better be cleaned up,” he said, gesturing to the shards of plate and food strewn across on the floor.

In his spacious corner office in Grocor Foods Incorporated, James Walton smiled at the elegant woman sitting across the coffee table from him. Her appointment as Human Resources Vice President at their head office in New York City came about after Grocor had launched an extensive executive search before headhunting Judith Carr. It was finalized two months earlier, and she had met with senior management the week before. Today was her first day with the company.

It raised a few eyebrows in the executive corridors. In her early thirties, Judith would be the youngest to have filled that position, and now also the first woman. Despite her trendy shoulder-length hairstyle and chic fashion sense, she was often estimated to be a few years older – that misconception based on her pensive, professional demeanor. What would have horrified most women, Judith considered a compliment.

“As Director of Human Resources,” Walton said, “I rely on those closer to the rock face to shape company culture and connect leadership with our employees. As you’re aware, our socio-economic program is stagnant and undefined, and I’m counting on you to initiate its reform and lead Grocor in the right direction.”

“It’s become an important factor in many companies’ strategic objectives. I believe in involving and investing in the community; it’s crucial for long-term success.”

“True, and we’ve left it a little late, but you’ll have executive support to get us on track.”

“Thank you. Without management’s support it will be a futile exercise.”

“Our Internal Relations is in dire need of a revamp; it currently functions as a tacked-on division with little sway or integration. Outside that, we’re proud of our record and achievements. I’m pleased you’ve joined the team and am expecting a notable contribution from you.”

“I was aware of Grocor’s exemplary HR standards; it’s the primary reason for me wanting to come on board. I can’t wait to get my hands dirty.” Walton nodded as he stood up.

“That may well be the case. So, let me not be the one holding you back.” He led her down the passage towards her office. “You’ll be spending a fair amount of time with our legal guys on our international operations. I’m certain the variance in labor law across the globe will surprise you.”

He stopped at a pool of open cubicles outside her office. A woman in her mid-twenties donning a chic tailored outfit looked up and smiled.

“Good morning Jay.”

“Hi Cat,” he said, and turned to Judith. “I’d like to introduce you to your right-hand and personal assistant, Catherine Dixon. Cat, this is Judith Carr, our new HR Vice President.”

“Hi! My friends call me Cat.”

“Hi Cat. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you Ms. Carr-”

“Please, it’s Judith.” Walton smiled.

“You’re learning fast,” he said, “there’s no Mr. or Ms. at Grocor; informality needn’t impinge on respect. Cat, all still good for the meeting at four in Boardroom 3 this afternoon?”

“Yes.” Walton nodded and turned to Judith.

“I’d like you to meet as many of your colleagues as soon as possible. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to attend. I’ve got to run,” he said checking his watch, and left them. Cat looked at Judith for a moment.

“You may be my new boss Judith,” she said with a smile, “but you’ll soon learn I’m the slave driver. You may even come to hate me.” Cat exuded an air of confidence that signaled she was not to be toyed with. Her short, jet-black hairstyle perfectly framed her sultry look.

“If it keeps me focused,” Judith said with a raised eyebrow, “and we’re on the same page, then I’m good with that.”

“OK. I can let you get your bearings until about nine-thirty. Then we need to go through a few issues that can’t be set aside. Did Jay give you the system’s login details?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get you a coffee and one hour’s peace. How do you take it?”

“Black – no sugar, thank you.”

When Judith and Cat entered Boardroom 3 just before four o’clock, those who could be there were. She showed Judith to the head of the table and introduced her; the team in turn introduced themselves. Judith asked a few questions of their roles and promised to meet with them individually in the coming days.

“I’ve joined Grocor because I was aware of the corporate culture and its candid internal communications.” She looked at them for a moment. “The last twenty minutes have confirmed I’ve made the right decision. I believe I’m going to fit right in.” After cordial clapping, serving doors slid open to a finger-snack table and bar. Cat’s attentiveness surprised Judith to the point of feeling mildly guilty, and noticed how the rest of the team gravitated to her. It was as if Cat had the same status as James Walton.

Judith was speaking to a manager discussing Grocor’s recruitment drives when Cat approached her.

“I’m sorry to barge in but do you mind if I whisk Judith away for a moment?” She led Judith to a corner of the room where a man was standing sipping a drink. “Judith, this is Peter Norris. He asked if he could make an appointment to see you some time tomorrow, but your schedule can’t accommodate it. Knowing Peter, it may be useful having an impromptu informal meeting now.” She excused herself and disappeared back into the group.

“Er, I apologize if this is out of line Judith, but Cat has a way of getting things done, and has a sense of what’s important.”

“Please Peter; I was expecting this to be how Grocor’s communication worked. You’re Head of Training, right?” He nodded. “How can I help?”

“Well firstly, I’m sorry you’ve been buttonholed, but it’s been bothering me for a while now.” He looked to her for a response, but she let him continue. “A woman has been referred to me for re-training. The name will not mean anything to you now, but it’s Susan Henderson.” Judith nodded. “Susan is a supervisor in our Procurement Division, and has been for the past nine years. The thing is, she knows her shit-, sorry, I mean, she probably has more experience than anyone in that division.” Judith smiled.

“I don’t want to digress Peter, but did you know that people tend to have greater trust in those who occasionally curse?” He looked a little flustered. “Anyway,” Judith continued, “I think I see where you’re going. With her experience, it doesn’t make sense. What’s your take on it?”

“Her manager told me she has become withdrawn and seemed distracted. This led to a few embarrassing bloopers with our suppliers.” Judith waited for the answer to her question. “By sending her for training, she was taken off the front line – reducing the company’s exposure, and perhaps even her own.” He sighed. “If I had to guess, she may have marital problems, or has contracted a terminal disease. If she can’t get it together, I’m afraid you’ll be dealing with a dismissal soon.” Judith thought for a moment.

“How long has she been in training?”

“Just over two weeks.”

“Who’s her manager?”

“Gayle Eveleigh.”

“Peter, thanks for bringing this to my attention, and remember, although it sounds clichéd, my door really is always open.”

Judith arrived home later than she had expected. True to her word, Cat had given her a few files to go through before her first meeting the following morning. When she walked into the living room, her husband, Matt, was pouring wine in the kitchen. She noticed the striking arrangement of white and yellow roses in a sleek crystal vase on the counter.

“Welcome home, my favorite HR VP!”

“Hi Matt. The flowers are beautiful; are they for me?” she teased and kissed him before accepting the glass of wine he held out to her. “They’re stunning – thank you.”

“So, tell me all about it; how was your first day?” She kicked off her heels and slumped onto the couch.

“I’ve hit the ground running. I’ve met my immediate team, and we had a little welcoming get-together organized by my firecracker personal assistant; Catherine Dixon, or Cat. I was surprised when I met her; she’ll be at home on the cover of a fashion magazine. Beauty and brains – lethal.”

“Ha! Look who’s talking.” She smiled and kissed his cheek.

“I have the option to appoint my own PA, but I like her, and she wasn’t kidding when she said she’s the slave driver. So far she’s right,” Judith said, motioning to the files on the coffee table. She held her empty glass to Matt. “Please sir, can I have some more?” While Matt was busy in the kitchen, Judith continued. “It came to my attention a female employee may be in the firing line because of marital problems. I haven’t confirmed it yet, but that saddens me.”

“Well, lucky for her, Grocor now has you,” Matt said sitting down beside her.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “However, I have a complex position in the company. I straddle the spectrum of strategic components of socio-economic reform, workforce planning and organizational development, down to dealing with issues such as sexual harassment, labor disputes, and the Henderson woman.”

“The Henderson woman?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bring my work home.”

“I can see you’re bushed,” Matt said getting to his feet, “let’s make it an early night.”

“You go ahead; I need to go over these files. I won’t be long.”

When Judith entered their bedroom two hours later, Matt had fallen asleep. She took the book off his chest, pulled up the duvet, and turned out his bedside light.

“Good night darling,” she whispered.

taking on a second job

If Judith’s first day resembled a whirlwind, it was not about to improve. Cat intercepted her coming down the passage and slipped into step beside her.

“’Morning Judith. Did you have time to review the files I gave you?”

“Hi Cat. Yes, I did.”

“Good. Your first meeting is waiting; Mr. Anders,” she said, and handed Judith a cup of coffee. By eleven o’clock, Judith had had six meetings while her coffee had gone untouched.

“You’ll need this for your eleven-thirty with Recruitment,” Cat said, placing a file on her desk. “You’re not officially required in this meeting, but I believe it will be in your interest to have a heads-up.”

When Judith returned to her office later, she was relieved Cat was not at her desk. She needed time to gather her thoughts and assimilate the avalanche of information coming her way. That almost happened. Telephone messages arranged into something resembling a game of Solitaire were spread on her desk. One with a big red cross caught her attention.

Don’t return call until we’ve spoken

Judith picked up another message and sat back before dialing. After the second call, Cat popped her head in the door.

“Ah, you’re back. How did the meeting go?”

“You were right, I’m glad I was present.”

“The messages are arranged in order. Those closest to you are more important.” Cat held out a paper bag to Judith. “I thought you may have missed lunch.” Judith smiled opening the sandwich bag when Cat left her office.

“What’s this one with the red cross; Craig Costello?” Judith asked when Cat came into her office a few minutes later.

“Craig is the union steward. He could waste your time with a string of petty issues.” Judith studied Cat for a moment.

“Tell me what you really think.”

“Well, it’s only my observation, but he may have delusions of grandeur, you know, like he’s the CEO or something. He clearly enjoys being seen interacting with top management – whether or not it’s necessary.”

“What did he want?”

“He wanted to introduce himself and said there were urgent issues that needed to be dealt with.”

“Are there?”

“Not to my knowledge. He asked to meet with you this afternoon. I said your schedule is full, but I can pencil him in towards the end of the week. He said that’s unacceptable and insisted you call him.” Judith sat pensive for a moment.

“Get him on the line.”

When Craig Costello answered, Cat put him through. Judith waved Cat into her office.

“Good afternoon Mr. Costello, this is Judith Carr returning your call; you’re on speakerphone.”

“Hi Judith. Thank you for-”

“Until we’ve met Mr. Costello, I’d appreciate if you address me as Ms. Carr.” The ensuing silence brought a smile to Cat’s face. “Mr. Costello, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. Well, Ms. Carr, there are a few urgent issues that need your attention, and I’ll-”

“If they’re urgent, we shouldn’t put it off.”

“I hoped that would be your response.”

“As you’ve been informed, my schedule is crammed, but I will make time available later today; will that suit you?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right, I look forward to seeing you at four forty-five. Goodbye Mr. Costell-”

“Four forty-five! That will only give us fifteen minutes.”

“No Mr. Costello, that’s when our meeting starts. We should not allow time to dictate when our meeting ends, especially if it relates to urgent matters; don’t you agree?” Cat smiled at Judith when another silence followed. “Goodbye Mr. Costello,” Judith said, and ended the call.

Later that day, at four-thirty, Cat walked into Judith’s office grinning.

“Craig Costello just called. I wanted to put him through, but he said it wasn’t necessary. Apparently something has come up and he cannot make the meeting.”

“Hmm, so much for urgency. Cat, from now on, I want all meetings with Craig Costello scheduled for four forty-five. He also needs to email us an agenda one day prior to the meeting.”

“Got it.”

“Now, I want to meet with Gayle Eveleigh and Susan Henderson as soon as possible. If you need to move meetings around that are not urgent, do that.”

“You probably want to see Gayle first, so I’ll set up a meeting with Susan afterwards.” Judith opened her mouth to say something, but Cat continued. “I’ll ensure they don’t run into each other.” Judith smiled and nodded.

Judith motioned Gayle Eveleigh to the more comfortable and informal lounge area in her office.

“Gayle, I’ll get straight to the point. This meeting is about Susan Henderson. I might be missing details, and I need to get that from you.”

Gayle explained the gradual slide in Susan’s performance, and although she had tried to get Susan to voice what might be the cause, Susan maintained there was nothing wrong. Eventually, she sent Susan for training.

“Was that necessary?” Judith asked.

“No, well, indirectly yes. It may not seem that way, but our area can become pressurized. I thought by removing her from it for a while might help. Susan knows what she’s doing; she didn’t need the training.”

“That’s a compassionate route you took and underscores the culture at Grocor. Did Susan know why she was being sent to training?”

“I didn’t put too fine a point on it, but she understood it had nothing to do with her abilities. I follow up with Peter – I believe you’ve met Peter Norris – on a weekly basis, because we miss Susan. Not only for who she is, but for what she’s capable of.”

“What feedback did Peter give you?”

“Sadly, that she showed little interest in anything that was presented, and that she remained distracted. He thinks there was something else wrong she did not speak about. He felt it could be marital or even health related.”

“Yes, Peter mentioned that to me.” Judith considered it for a moment. “Gayle, you’ve gone out of your way to cover for Susan. I admire that, and thank you. Perhaps I’m better equipped to take it from here.” Gayle had a questioning look on her face.

“You.., you’re not going to fire her are you?”

“On the contrary. I want you to take Susan back in her position as if nothing has happened.”

“When?”

“Starting next week. Before then, I’ll have had a talk with her. Although you’ve gone beyond what can be expected of you, I want you to exercise the same patience as in the past.”

“What if nothing changes?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, but I believe between you and me, we can turn this around.”

Susan Henderson sat taut in the reception area near Cat’s desk waiting for Judith to end her call. She tried suppressing her anxiety; at forty-eight she could not afford to lose her job. She would then have to tell her husband, Joe – the thought terrified her. Susan bit her lip and tried keeping her hands still. Judith came out a few moments later and extended her hand.

“We know each other by name, and I’m glad we can meet. I’m Judith Carr.”

“Hi, I’m Susan Henderson.” Judith led her into her lounge area where they made themselves comfortable.

“Susan, I’ve wanted to meet with you-”

“Judith, you can cut through the formalities; am I going to lose my job?”

“No Susan. Let me tell you why I wanted this meeting.” Judith relayed her conversations with Peter Norris and Gayle Eveleigh. “These people care about you Susan. They are concerned; that’s how it came to my attention. That I’m now speaking to you, I trust, shows that Grocor and I also care.” Susan fidgeted with her nails and mostly stared at the floor.

“You’ve been with the company for over nine years. There is not a blemish on your record, and your performance rating is beyond reproach. However, there is an area that concerns me.” Susan looked up.

“What?”

“In the past three years you haven’t taken any annual leave. A day here, and a day there, but no annual break. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Susan said shrugging. “I just don’t enjoy being at home, and my husband can’t see the point of a vacation. Also, our finances won’t stretch that far to have a proper holiday break anyway.”

“What do you mean you don’t enjoy being at home?”

“Well, what do you do? You sit around the house for three weeks doing nothing.”

“Well, that’s the point; clear your mind of the pressures at work and recharge your batteries. Incidentally, I don’t know how you’ve gotten away with it; Grocor’s policies state that annual leave is mandatory, unless unforeseen circumstances dictate otherwise. We can look into that another time, but for now, I need to know how I can help, and I can only do that if you allow me.” Susan adjusted her posture.

“I’m just going through a phase – I guess.”

“Susan, I’m not a psychologist, but have enough training to understand what makes people tick – or not.”

“I’m sorry; I don’t know what to say.”

“I started at Grocor on Monday. I was hired to look after its biggest asset – its people, meaning you. Today is Wednesday. If I fail in helping you, then there’s a good chance I’ll be fired by Friday.” Susan looked up at Judith with a faint smile. It did not reach her eyes, nor hide her weary and withered features, but beyond that, it was evident that Susan once was an attractive woman.

“I know you’re kidding,” Susan said.

“Yes I am, but I still see it in the same serious light.” Judith took a deep breath. “Susan, for a relationship to have a chance at succeeding, one of the cornerstones has to be trust. This is the beginning of our relationship, and at this very moment, we will decide if that is important to us or not. It’s your call.”

It started with a faint tremor in Susan’s hands, then spread to her lips. When she lifted her head, her eyes were moist and frightened.

“It, it’s domestic problems,” she managed through quivering lips. “It will blow over.”

“Domestic problems? Are we talking financial constraints or abuse?” A sob broke from Susan as her resistance gave way, and was all Judith needed for an answer. She allowed Susan a few moments to gather herself. “Susan, I can understand how hard it has been for you. Sadly, it’s more shameful to be beaten than to beat someone up.” Susan fished a tissue from her purse and dabbed her eyes.

“Do you truly understand this kind of thing Judith?”

“I wish I did, but I don’t. Sure, there’s a psychological perspective, but it aims to categorize and profile the abusers.” Judith suppressed a gasp when Susan unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the cruel bruises on her neck and torso. “I’m so, so sorry Susan.”

“I hope I can trust you with this staying confidential,” Susan said as she buttoned her blouse.

“You can. Susan, you’ve taken an important step here today – probably the toughest. The first thing a victim experiences is self-doubt and shame. To me this is an enigma, because it’s what your abuser wants. He doesn’t want you talking to anyone about it, and the shame element helps him achieve precisely that. But now you’re not alone in carrying your burden anymore; I am with you.” Silent tears flushed Susan’s eyes.

“Oh my God! It feels as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.” She dabbed her nose and looked at Judith with hopeful eyes. “What now?”

“I don’t have an immediate answer, but you must take this away with you. You are not crazy. You are not to blame, and someone else knows and cares about your burden.” Susan dropped her face into her hands. “Another thing; start working your way back to your old self. This will not happen overnight, but you need to start, and I know where.” Susan lifted her head.

“Where?”

“Your training is over. From Monday you’ll pick up where you left off.”

“And Gayle; you’ve spoken to her?”

“Yes. Gayle is your manager, but she’s also a strong ally who believes in you.”

“I owe her an apology. I know I screwed up and that she covered for me. I’m going to make it right by her.”

“Go girl!”

“Is any of this going into my personnel record?”

“No, a privacy line has to be drawn somewhere. Can you come by sometime Friday?”

“Sure.”

“I want to run an idea by you. Check with Cat to get a time slot.” Susan stood up and extended her arms to Judith.

“Do you mind; it’s been a while?” She moved closer and hugged Judith. “Thank you,” she said stepping back, then made her way to the door, but paused. “I don’t think I’m the only one in my position. I have a feeling Miriam Blake in Accounting is too.”

“Did she say anything to you?”

“No, but we can spot the silent terror in each other’s eyes – as if it were carved into our foreheads.”

During college football, Matt’s height, bulk and speed allowed him to switch between wide receiver and fullback; he was fast for a big man, and an all-American poster boy. It would have been natural, perhaps expected, for him to hook up with one of the extroverted, libertine cheerleaders, but he had turned away numerous solicitations.

On a Saturday evening, Matt met Judith in the campus library. He watched from a distance as her blond ponytail swayed to the music in her earphones. She looked up from her book when he came to stand beside her.

“Hi, I’m Matt. I just wanted to say I’ve never seen the library more deserted – nor look more appealing.” She smiled.

“I know who you are. I didn’t figure ever seeing a football star in here – especially on a Saturday evening.”

“Ouch.” He looked away for a moment. “Do you judge all books by their covers?”

“No. What can I help you with Matt?”

“For one, I’d like to know your name.”

“And then you’ll go away?”

“Perhaps.” She hesitated.

“It’s Judith,” she said, and watched him for a response.

“Judith… as in Judith Shakespeare?” he asked with a wry smile. Judith closed her book and put it face down, but it was too late; he had noticed the cover of ‘A Room of One’s Own.’ Judith Shakespeare was a fictional character in the book, and one had to have read it to know that. She could not think of any man she knew who would even know who Virginia Woolf was. Matt unsettled her; he should not have known that – it was disconcerting. Matt misinterpreted her frown and silence.

“If I’m bothering you I’ll leave, but I have a suggestion. It’s Saturday night – let’s run away.”

“Run away? Why will I want to run away, and why with you?” she asked with an amused expression.

“Because you need a break, and because I think you’re curious; you may just have judged a book by its cover.” She was still trying to place him and shrugged. “I could take you to an all-night outrageous frat foam party that’s been raging since this afternoon, but I doubt you’ll enjoy it.”

“Are you suggesting I’m a killjoy with no sense of fun?”

“No, I believe you’re just more discerning.” He checked his watch. “There’s a pastry shop not far from here – Nina’s.” Judith sat back. Matt had the looks and build of a typical jock but without the swaggering arrogance she so detested – and he knew who Judith Shakespeare was. I am curious. When she hesitated, he continued. “OK, tell me what your favorite pastry is and I’ll bring you back a slice. Then you can study unhindered – on a Saturday night – in a library of one’s own.” She failed to hide her blush.

“It’s… their red velvet cheesecake,” she said after a pause. “I’ve been to Nina’s before – a lot actually.” Matt smiled and started walking away. She sat for a moment before gathering her belongings.

“Matt, what if you don’t return,” she called after him, “I’ll have missed out on my cheesecake? I can’t risk something that important.”

“You’re right,” Judith said when she caught up with him, “I am curious. But I guess you might be too.”

“Why would I be curious?”

“You might never know if it was your offbeat charm or the lure of my favorite pastry shop that swayed me to accompany you,” she said with a mischievous smile.

They spoke deep into the evening until they were the sole patrons. A wearied waiter asked if he could please bring their tab. Matt and Judith had been an item ever since.

Judith converted their third bedroom into her home office. She sat making notes of her day when Matt walked in with a cup of coffee.

“Hey Jude, time for a break. Are you still under the whip?” She sat back, put her notes down, and sighed.

“I had a few interesting meetings today, and being new, the art is standing back and not being caught up in the details while still determining what the priorities are. Yet, as we all know, the devil’s in the detail.”

“Yep.” He was about to leave the room when she patted a chair near her desk inviting him to sit down.

“I want to run an idea by you that could impact our lives, mostly the weekends.”

“Oh-oh; this sounds ominous. Shoot.”

“You know how I feel about domestic violence – right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, just to provide some context. Grocor has 635 employees at its head office. Of those, 208 are women. Statistically, one in four women experience domestic violence, which means there are approximately fifty women at Grocor’s head office experiencing domestic abuse in one form or another.”

“Damn.”

“However, these stats vary depending on who you ask, but the fact remains; it is occurring – almost with impunity.” She reached for his hand. “I want to do something about it Matt.”

“You have a plan?”

“It’s still an idea and I believe it’s workable, but will require your support.” Matt thought for a moment.

“Tell me.”

“I want to start a support group.”

“That raises so many questions. Let’s start with where?”

“I was planning on using Grocor’s cafeteria…”

“Well, that sounds OK.”

“…on Saturday mornings.” He looked at her for a moment before looking away.

“Do you understand what that means Jude?”

“Yes, that’s why I need your support.” Matt released a long breath.

“How long do you want to do this?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t considered it being a temporary undertaking.”

“That implies you could be doing this years from now.”

“Don’t get angry Matt.”

“I’m not getting angry Jude; I’m just staggered by what you’re asking. It’s a big ask, and I don’t want to commit blithely only to tell you in a month’s time I want you to quit.” He stood up and pushed his fingers through his hair. “Do you realize we could never go away for a weekend?”

“You’ve heard of golfing widows – right? Well, this will be similar.”

“So I’ll become what; a support group widower?” When she did not respond, he sat down.

“Jude, I know this is important to you, and I won’t be much of a husband if I was unwilling to support you. It’s just a more serious decision than meets the eye. You may as well ask me to donate one of my testicles.” Judith smiled.

“That bad, huh?”

“Well, it feels that way.”

“That’s the downside. The up side is truly worthwhile and deeply rewarding. With a bit of effort we can change someone’s life. Let them experience the bliss you and I share, and it will only cost a fraction of our time.” He looked at her before shaking his head and smiled.

“Jude, some of my best sales guys have nothing on you.” She got up and snuggled onto his lap.

“Do I detect a ‘yes’ in there somewhere?” He put his arm around her.

“I don’t know – I may need more convincing,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“That would be unfair; I enjoy our lovemaking as much as you do. Tell you what; we can add a kind of verbal condition precedent.”

“Such as?”

“My involvement in the support group is conditional upon it not affecting our relationship. If it does, I’ll find a way out.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought that far ahead; I’m still trying to set it up.”

“Sounds fair. So, tell me how this is going to work.”

Judith explained the support group meetings would be disguised as cooking classes. She told him abusers tried to sever the victim from the outside world – the stigma helped the abuser achieve that. If the spouses of the victims found out they were seeking counseling, it could aggravate their circumstances. In addition, the victims were often cut off from financial resources. Although there were many professional support groups, they employed professional trauma counselors, and charged a fee many victims could not afford.

When she finished, he sat back letting it soak in.

“Are you done with your notes?” he asked after a while.

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m still not convinced,” he said taking her hand, and led her from her home office.

“Judith! I hope we haven’t succeeded in overwhelming you in your first month,” James Walton quipped when she entered his office.

“No, but the month’s not over.” Walton laughed.

“OK, what’s on your mind?” Judith took a breath.

“My request may seem strange, but here goes. I want use of our cafeteria for one hour on Saturday mornings.” Walton looked puzzled, but nodded.

“So far so good. Is it company business related?”

“Indirectly. I intend starting a support group for domestic abuse victims.” Walton sat up. “According to statistics, there could be fifty female Grocor staff members currently dealing with domestic violence.” Walton looked even more puzzled.

“How do you know this?”

“Of the fifty I mentioned, I met one but know of at least two. It turns out that the one I met was possibly going to lose her job because of it.”

“That’s a shame. How?”

“She’s been a victim of domestic violence for a while now, but I suspect it intensified over the past few months. This led to her being distracted that affected her job, and ultimately Grocor. The person in question has served Grocor well during her employ, and it would be an injustice to lose her. Not only for us, but for her as well.” Walton shook his head.

“How come I never got to hear about this?” he asked rhetorically, and was in thought for a moment. “Do you have a more detailed plan?”

“It’s fairly simple. The cafeteria will serve as a decoy where the support group will appear to be taking cooking classes.”

“Why as a decoy?”

“Abusive, violent husbands and wives would never allow their spouses to attend counseling and support. Further, although it will not have an effect on Grocor staff members wanting to attend, being able to join a support group anonymously will offer an incentive to those too ashamed to share their most intimate hell with the world.”

“Judith, I’m a little stunned, but I have to ask; what is Grocor’s exposure?”

“There isn’t any, other than making an area available to us.” Walton sat back and rubbed his chin.

“You’re aware we actually do run cooking classes on a Saturday morning,” he posed as a question.

“Yes, that’s why it would be the perfect front for a support group.”

“It seems you’ve given this a lot of thought. Perhaps we can…” Walton did not finish his sentence.

“We can do what?” she asked with a frown.

“I may be interfering and getting ahead of myself. I was going to say we could get marketing to provide product hampers to your group as they do for the cooking students.”

“That’s a great idea! That way their alibis will be foolproof. Jay, am I hearing a cautious ‘yes’ in there somewhere?”

“One more question. You seem adamant about anonymity. Will it be something comparable to Alcoholics Anonymous?”

“I believe so.”

“I have a feeling you’re not going to share the names of the two staff members with me.”

“Jay, outside the anguish a victim faces from within their midst, they also have to contend with the embarrassment and scorn from the very people who should be helping them. It’s a powerful and toxic stigma. I promised total anonymity; I know you’ll respect that. I’ll keep a record, but it will not be filed with their current personnel file.”

“I do respect their privacy. Judith, I’m touched by your selfless munificence, and wish you well in your endeavors. I know how demanding your days are, and still finding time to spearhead such a worthy cause is impressive.”

“Thank you Jay,” she said and stood up.

“I want to ask for a small concession. Will you let me know if you were able to help the woman who was about to lose her job?”

“It may already be so, but yes, it’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you. Just so you know Judith, when your star rises, and I’m in no doubt it will, I’m going to tell everyone it was I who appointed you,” he said with a grin. She laughed and shook his extended hand.

“It will be the truth.”

She had one more point on her agenda; victims had to know of the support group’s existence. She typed the copy for an advertisement until she was satisfied it was succinct, then called Cat into her office.

“Cat, can you spruce this up a bit – from a design point of view? Maybe a better layout with bold headings, a border perhaps,” she said and handed the printout to her. Cat scanned it for a moment.

“Sure. When do you want it?”

“Before end of day, and then I want you to place the ad in a local paper.” Cat nodded and left her office. She returned an hour and a half later with a printout. Judith looked over the professional layout and design and smiled.

“A girl of many talents I see. I like it.”

“There’s a popular Home Maker feature that runs in the Wednesday edition of The Mercury. On Fridays there’s a Motoring and DIY supplement. Perhaps you need to be in both sections.”

“Have you done this before?”

“No.”

“Well, your thinking makes sense to me. Let the ad run weekly for the first month. The response will determine where I go from there.”

Judith credited Cat for not asking questions about the advertisement, but knew she would be curious.

“Take a seat Cat; I want to fill you in.” She took a mobile phone from her draw and put it on the table. “The number in the ad is for this phone. No one will have this number unless responding to the ad. Now, as you’ve seen, this is about domestic abuse. I am setting up a support group to assist the victims. However, it’s stigmatized, where many do not want to be identified, and simply forego seeking assistance.” Cat nodded – her face serious. “What I’m planning will not require a victim giving their name, and they can choose a pseudonym which they can keep throughout the support sessions. In fact, I will not require any personal details from them.”

“I see. Is there a way I can be involved?”

“I’ll be facilitating the sessions, and for now it’s all that’s required, but thank you for offering. However, you have a pleasant voice, and I’d appreciate you recording a message on this phone.”

“I’d be happy to. What must it say?”

“Well, the ad already states that a victim can remain anonymous, and that the service is free. What’s not in the ad is the ‘where’ and ‘when’. At the end of the message, let the caller know they can leave a message if they want. Then I want you to make up another ad for our weekly company newsletter. It should only have the heading and the ‘where’ and ‘when’.”

“No problem. May I ask why the difference in ads?”

“This is a personal undertaking, and neither of us can spend company time on this, hence the message system for non-Grocor victims.” Cat looked at Judith for a moment.

“I, I’m, in awe. What you’re doing is so needed. I wish you success with this, and please let me know if I can help.”

“I will; thank you.”

victims anonymous – the redeemer cometh

Judith could not place Matt’s expression when she left him waving in the driveway. It appeared to be concern, but could be interpreted as resignation. Both bothered her. It stayed with her for a while until she focused on the day ahead. It was Saturday, and she was on her way to facilitate her first domestic abuse support group. She felt confident, but had a faint nagging if what she envisaged as support would be adequate. Today the group would consist of one – Susan Henderson.

Judith was moving a room divider to cordon off a more private workspace when a young man entered the cafeteria and looked around before walking over to Judith.

“Hi, I’m Jeffrey Martin from Merchandising; we’ve not met Ms. Carr, but I recognize you from your photo in the company newsletter,” he said holding out his hand.

“Hi Jeffrey; it’s Judith – nice to meet you.” He smiled and held out a few conference tote bags emblazoned with Grocor’s distinctive logo.

“I believe you may need these product hampers.”

“Thank you Jeffrey.”

At the serving counter near the front of the cafeteria, women had started gathering for their cooking class and waiting for the chef to arrive. A moment later, a thin man with a mustache walked towards them bearing little resemblance to a typical chef. Judith was just able to hear what he said when he greeted them.

“Bonjour belle dames. Today we are going to make culinary love,” he said with a French accent, and led the excited group into the kitchen.

Judith smiled and sat down. She looked up when Susan Henderson came towards her; surprised to see Miriam Blake following closely.

“Hi Judith,” Susan said. “I hope it’s all right, but I’ve asked Miriam to join me.” Miriam Blake looked nervous and extended her hand.

“Hi, I’m Miriam.”

“Hi Miriam, I’m Judith. I’m glad you’ve decided to join us.” She gestured at the table and chairs. “Well, this is it.” Once settled, Judith continued. “This is our first session, and the first step towards the light. It is not an easy step because of the unwarranted shame for being an abused victim. We’ll deal with that, but just a few preliminary notes. Firstly, I’m not a psychologist, and this is not trauma counseling. For now, just knowing you’re in the company and comfort of others in a similar position is where we’ll start.” Susan and Miriam sat expectantly before Susan spoke.

“Judith, thank you for making your time available, and for providing a haven; I appreciate it.”

“Me too,” Miriam said nodding.

“You’re welcome. I also want to mention that these sessions are confidential. It will not appear on your personnel records, and not even James Walton knows who you are. Talking about and acknowledging the problem is the start of healing – you’re not alone.” Judith pointed to the tote bags on the floor. “See those? They’re your edible alibis.” Susan and Miriam looked puzzled. “It’s a marketing hamper containing an assortment of cooking and baking ingredients, and recipes for you to take home after every session.” She smiled noting their looks. “I doubt you’ll have approval to attend these sessions, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re attending the free cookery classes hosted by Grocor.”

“I was wondering about that. I had to lie to be here today,” Miriam said. “This will definitely help.”

“OK. I want to share some thoughts on this scourge we call domestic abuse, and you can join in anytime. If you’re not comfortable talking about it, that’s all right. To start with, victims often question their role in their spouse’s behavior. They wonder if they’re to blame – if they’re the cause. ‘He was such a good man when I met him. It must be me who has made him this way’. This is bad news for you and good news for your abuser.”

“It’s exactly like that,” Miriam said.

“Well, I hope this will clear that up, so get this part right. Irrespective of your perceived or actual wrongdoing, it does not warrant abuse. Don’t forget that.”

Judith told them she intended sharing supporting information over the course of their meetings.

“Can I show you something?” Miriam asked, then pulled up her sleeves. Deep yellow and perse bruises blotted her arms; some clearly outlining finger grip marks. Susan moved over and placed her arm around Miriam. “There are more on my back and legs,” she said in a faint voice. Judith looked at the two battered women consoling each other. She had prepared herself for emotionally charged meetings, but being exposed to the brutal evidence tugged deeper than she had imagined. She took a breath.

“It’s undeserved, and I’m deeply sorry Miriam.”

“He doesn’t hit me often,” Miriam said rolling down her sleeves.

“Once is once too many,” Judith said.

“I wish I could convince him I love him, and that I would never do anything to jeopardize our relationship, but he keeps accusing me of having an affair. He forces me to hand over my phone at night to see who I’ve been calling, or has been calling me. He checks my emails, and questions who the so-called friends on my Facebook page are. I’ve now closed my account and my friends want to know why. I can’t tell them.” She sat quiet for a few moments. “He uses the vilest words to accuse me of wanting to sleep with his friends – even his brother. We don’t invite people over often, but when we do, I ensure wearing the most unflattering clothing I have. He cut up four of my dresses he said was ‘slut-gear’. He didn’t remember he bought two of them.” She put her face in her hands and quietly wept.

“Oh my God!” Susan said softly, “I thought I was having it bad.”

“That’s the point of our support group,” Judith said. Miriam suddenly looked at her watch then stood up.

“Shit, I’d better get going. I told him I had to come in to the office for an hour.”

“Well, you’ve only been here fifty minutes.”

“I know, but he hates when I’m late.” She looked at Judith with apologetic eyes. “He’s outside waiting in the car. He said he didn’t trust or believe me, so he drove me here.”

“All right,” Judith said after a moment, “let’s call it a day,” and handed each a tote bag.

“What am I going to say about this?” Miriam asked holding up her hamper.

“Tell him we arranged a surprise cooking lesson for you,” Susan said with an edge in her voice.

“We’ll walk out with you; hopefully it puts his mind at ease,” Judith said.

Miriam’s husband was standing against his car when they walked out of the building. A chill ran through Judith when she caught a glimpse of him. He wore a police badge on his belt, and she could see part of the holster strap beneath his jacket. He was tall and handsome, but the world was unaware of the evil that attractive veneer masked. When he saw them he checked his watch. Miriam smiled weakly then scampered off as he got into the idling car.

There was only one response to Judith’s advertisements during the following week; a woman named Kerry. She left a message saying she would attend the following Saturday.

Judith and Susan were pleased when Miriam showed up at their next meeting. The newcomer, Kerry, was in her mid-twenties, and her demeanor baffled them. She smiled often and seemed ready to party. Judith recognized the behavior but let it go; everyone suffered their ordeals the way they knew how. That she was there said it all – she was not happy. Judith briefly explained the support group’s primary purpose, but was not sure if Kerry was paying attention. Judith turned to Susan who appeared not to have had much sleep the night before.

“Susan, how are you doing?” Susan sighed.

“It has not been a good week. Joe has been trying to find a job and it has put pressure on our relationship, and not only financially. Yesterday was the worst. He went for an interview – he’s in construction, and they said they’d call him later. At about six o’clock, they called, but it was bad news; he didn’t make the cut. I saw his face when he slammed down his phone, and knew I needed to get out of his way.” She sat with her head bowed for a moment as tears gathered in her eyes. “I… I don’t know how it can be my fault – but he blamed me.” She paused for a longer time, and Judith noticed Kerry’s expression turn to one of concern. “He locked me out the house.”

“For the whole night?” Kerry asked. Susan nodded. “Why didn’t you call the police?” Judith, Susan, and Miriam looked at her without a word before she dropped her eyes. “I’m sorry, I know that won’t help.”

“Where did you sleep?” Judith asked as gently as she could.

“In the garden shed. There’s not much space, so I sat in the wheelbarrow.” No one had a response and stared at the floor before Judith recovered.

“Susan, is there anything we can do for you?”

“No, but thank you. Just being here helps.” Kerry kept staring at Susan as guilt overwhelmed her.

“I have a confession to make,” Kerry said in a soft voice. “I came along today because I was inquisitive; to see how this works. I guess we all have problems, but mine are nothing like this.”

“Can you share any of your experiences with us,” Judith asked. Kerry sat back and thought it over.

“I’m not sure you’re ready for this; it’s intimate…”

“It’s all right Kerry, if you’re not ready then-”

“Would it matter that I’m a lesbian?”

“Of course not.” Kerry nodded and sat up.

“My partner has started introducing some weird shit into our bedroom. At first it was fun – even liberating. But over the past year it’s as if I’m with someone I don’t know. I’m actually frightened as to how far she’ll go.” Kerry sat back and cupped her hands over her mouth.

“Are you in any danger Kerry?” Judith asked.

“I think so. Do you know what a gasper is?” They did not. “She loves that I’m a gasper. It’s erotic asphyxiation, and part of her sadism play. She’d choke me during foreplay until I passed out; she revels in making love to me when I’m unconscious.” Kerry needed a moment to steady herself. “She’s now advanced to a new toy; a vacuum bag.” She looked at them seeing the question – they did not know about these fetishes. “The bag is like those used for long-term storage – like clothes. I… I have to get into it, then she gets the vacuum cleaner…” The group were on the edge of their seats and not sure how to respond. Kerry studied the ring on her finger and did not notice the shock on their faces. “911 has been called twice to resuscitate me; one day they’ll be too late…”

“Kerry, our group is not one which offers advice, but I have to assume you’ve spoken to your partner about this.”

“Of course. The thing is, it makes her happy. I once threatened not to do it anymore, and her response was she’ll then find someone who will – I can fuck off if I choose.” She took a breath and looked at them in turn. “I know what’s going through your minds; why don’t I just leave her – right? Well, I can ask you the same question. Whatever the answer, it will only make sense to the one stuck in their circumstances. In my case, I love her, I simply love her.” She smirked. “Perhaps until death us do part.”

For a few moments, Susan and Miriam forgot their own plight; this was an abuse they had never even contemplated. For them, bad sex was having to endure a sweaty, mostly drunk body pounding away at them before rolling away and falling asleep. That now seemed sufferable.

“I’m disturbed by your circumstances Kerry, but hope that by sharing it may bring some perspective,” Judith said. “I understand how powerful the bond of love can be, but it’s reciprocal. All I can add is that if someone truly loved me, I would expect them not to expose me to danger; they’ll look out for me and protect me.” Kerry stared at her hands as Judith spoke, then looked up.

“What should I do?” she asked.

“I honestly can’t say; it’s a decision you’ll have to make. However, you’re in the prime of your life, and one part of that decision will need to determine how much more to life there might be without your abusive partner. Let me put it this way; if your partner is the only person in the world who can bring you happiness, then I’m afraid you’re stuck. Yet, that has never been true for anyone.” Kerry nodded.

“I’d like to come back next week; that OK?”

“I think I speak for all of us that we’d love having you back.”

Judith was at the breakfast nook updating her notes while Matt watched a football game. During a break, he came into the kitchen for a drink.

“Hey Jude, can I get you something?”

“You can top up my wine please.”

“I have to ask; is everything all right at the support group? You’ve become a little quiet lately.” She sat back and took a sip of wine.

“There’s just a lot on my plate, but I’m managing.”

“You’re talking about work; I’m asking about the support group.”

“You know I don’t want to discuss that, but I can tell you it saddens me. It’s sobering to know there’s so much heartache in the world.” He nodded and went back to his game.

“There used to be a time not too long ago you used to watch a game with me,” he said over his shoulder.

“Yes, I know, but I just need to get through these notes.”

“OK.”

“Shit!”

“What?” Matt asked swinging around.

“I forgot my phone at the office.”

“No you haven’t, it’s right there next to your notes.”

“No, I have another phone.”

“Another phone?”

“Yeah. It’s a private line for victims who are not Grocor employees.”

“Shouldn’t I at least be aware of that?”

“No, it doesn’t affect you.” Matt got up and walked to her.

“Jude, listen to yourself. You’re making decisions on my behalf; that’s not how relationships work.”

“Matt, it really is nothing. I can’t have people calling my office during work hours, and I don’t want to give out my personal number. I don’t know why you’re getting worked up about this. It’s a private line for victims for god’s sake. It doesn’t affect you.” Matt looked at her for a moment before returning to his game. Judith grabbed her car keys, pecked Matt on the cheek, and left the house.

The game was still underway but Matt had stopped watching, and sat staring at the drink in his hand. He got up to fetch a snack from the kitchen, but stopped at Judith’s notes. He picked up a page, became interested, and pulled out a stool. Judith had written a detailed account of Susan Henderson’s ordeal at the hands of her husband, Joe. As Matt read about the beating in the kitchen, he cursed. “What an asshole!” He kept reading, and when he got to the part where Susan Henderson had to sleep in the garden shed, he jumped up. “Why didn’t you call the police? This bastard needs to be behind bars!” He shook his head. Why are you still staying with him? The notes on Kerry were incomplete, but there was enough to shock him. Oh my God! What is Judith dealing with? “This is not good.” He wondered how she was helping these victims, if she was at least alerting the authorities. He flipped through a few other pages. Miriam Blake. Judith’s notes mentioned her husband being attractive – why? He looked up when he heard the garage door roll up, and put the pages back the way he found them before returning to the couch.

“Hey Matt,” Judith said entering the house. “What do you feel like for dinner?” He was still shocked and angry, and found it difficult to respond naturally.

“I’m easy.”

“That’s good; I picked up pizza on the way – that OK?”

“Yep.”

“How’s the game?” He did not know and changed the subject.

“Jude, I’m sorry about earlier. It just feels as if something is slipping away from us.” She went into his arms and held his face.

“Nah, we’re good.” He dropped his hands and fiddled with the button of her pants. She stood away smiling.

“Really? Now?” He drew her closer.

“Yes, really,” he said, and nuzzled her ear, but felt her resistance. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, it’s just bad timing.” Matt held her away and looked at her with a frown.

“It’s never bothered you before. In fact, I know you enjoy the unexpected advances.”

“I do, but can we take a raincheck?” He released her.

“What is it Jude; are you afraid the pizza is getting cold, or do you have more notes to write?”

“Matt, right now I just need a little understanding. Also, I’d like to take a shower first.” When he turned and walked away, she followed him. “Matt, don’t do this, please.”

“Do what Jude? What am I doing?” She sighed.

“My darling, you nearly bit my head off over the private phone, and now you’re acting all hurt and dejected. I love you, and enjoy making love to you. Just not right now.”

“Jude, I can’t recall ever hearing those words from you. I have to assume it has something to do with your support group. Is that it?”

“Matt, what do you want me to do? Am I being unreasonable?” Matt sat down, picked up the remote and started flicking through the TV channels. Judith bit her lip trying to stem her anger, but it did not help. She stood between him and the television, and pulled off her blouse. “OK, let’s do this,” she said, kicking off her sneakers and unbuttoned her pants. When he had not moved, she prompted him. “Well?” He looked at her as his eyes narrowed. She ignored him, and undressed until she stood naked. He regretted saying it, but it was out before he could catch himself.

“You’re blocking my view.” She stood in front of him for what seemed like minutes before snatching her clothes.

“Make up your damned mind Matt,” she said, and stormed off to the bedroom. She returned a few minutes later in her robe, warmed the pizza, and without a word, placed a helping on the side table next to Matt.

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“Suit yourself.”

She gathered her notes and went to her home office. Fifteen minutes passed before Matt stuck his head into the room.

“Jude, we need to talk.” She swiveled around and looked at him. “Do you realize this has never happened to us? I don’t even know what to do or say.” When she did not respond, he continued. “In this very room you introduced the term ‘condition precedent’. You said that if the support group interfered with our relationship, you’d find a way out – remember?” She nodded. “Well, I believe that time has come.”

“You’re justifying your behavior by fingering the support group – making it responsible for tonight.”

“Justifying my behavior? Jude, you’ve got to back off; I’m not one of your staff.”

“OK Matt, then tell me what’s happening here.” He walked into the room and sat down.

“It’s clear to me that the support group has not just taken up a lot of your time, but that it has somehow, I don’t know, affected you. You’re almost unapproachable – like now.”

“It’s an assumption Matt. That I have sympathy for the members in the group is a given. You’d need to be a monster to feel otherwise. Let me say this; if there was no support group and I was under work pressure and needed time to find my feet, would you then ask me to resign?”

“Jude, you’re twisting my words, implying I’m callous for not having compassion. I’m offended by the insinuation.”

“Matt, I’ve just started a demanding job. Don’t you think it might have an effect on me?”

“Jude, I’m not equipped to have a dual of words with you, so here are the facts. Since starting your new job and the support group, you’ve become distracted and distant. If it’s solely due to the support group, I don’t know. I can only express how it makes me feel. Jude, you’re not super woman. I don’t think you can do both.” Judith studied him for a while.

“Are you asking me to choose?”

“If you can’t do both Jude, it will come to that.”

“OK Matt. I can see you feel strongly about this, and believe your concern is for the welfare of our relationship. I can’t argue with that, and will resign from Grocor on Monday.” Matt sat stunned as she turned and continued her notes. When he realized she had closed all avenues of discussion, he stood up.

“Jude, if you know facilitating the support group is detrimental to our relationship and neglect doing anything about it, you’re reneging on our agreement. It then calls into question your sincerity in suggesting the condition in the first place, which comes down to deception. That hurts. And just because you’re better at debate than I am, does not make you right – remember that Jude.”

The frost in their relationship carried though the following day with curt ‘good mornings’ and ‘good nights’. It was their first unresolved argument, and they were lost as how to deal with it.

Matt was unsure of the exact focus of his anger; was it Judith’s obstinacy or was he also angry with the ruthless husbands he had read about in her notes? He and Judith would resolve their squabble, and that left the abusive husbands as the primary target for the outlet of his anger. While Judith was in the shower, he went through her notes to check on the names; Joe and Susan Henderson. His hands trembled as he placed them back into her file knowing if she ever found out, it would cause a far greater rift in their relationship than what they were currently experiencing.

It did not take long for Matt to find the Henderson’s address, and started staking out Joe Henderson’s movements. It became clear Joe Henderson was without a job, and for a moment, his sympathy almost had him abandon his plan. That passed when he recalled Susan Henderson sleeping in the garden shed.

With little forethought, Matt decided to confront Joe Henderson in his house. He thought an early Friday afternoon would be best; Henderson would be alone and most people still at work. He considered a disguise, but what he had in mind would not give Joe Henderson time to recognize him.

He drove by Henderson’s house, and as he approached, a tall, sturdy man came out and got into the truck parked in the driveway. Matt stopped and watched as Henderson pulled out and drove off, and followed from a distance. It was a short trip as Henderson pulled into the parking lot of a local bar.

If Henderson had not fiddled with his jacket, his attack would have been postponed, but it allowed Matt time to yank open the truck’s door and launch a merciless punch into Henderson’s surprised face. It shifted Henderson onto the passenger side, and when a stunned Henderson tried coming upright, another blow behind his ear laid him out cold. Another punch, for good measure, cracked a rib, which Henderson would painfully become aware of later. Within eight seconds, it was over. Matt pulled Henderson’s wallet from his scrubby pair of jeans, then closed the truck door. No one had entered or left the parking area; no one had witnessed the incident. Matt got back into his car and drove away.

It was Saturday morning just before ten o’clock. Judith, Miriam, and Susan were standing in their secluded area in the cafeteria.

“Do you think Kerry will come back?” Miriam asked.

“I think she will,” Judith said.

“I don’t understand why she looked so upbeat on her first time with us. What do you make of it Judith?” Judith would have preferred not discussing a member if she was not present, but it was an innocent question.

“I believe it’s her way of concealing her bruises.” Miriam and Susan nodded just as Kerry joined them. She was not as perky as before.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Miriam went to Kerry and hugged her.

“I’m so glad to see you Kerry, I’ve been worried sick.”

“Really?”

“It’s all I’ve been thinking about; I’m so glad you’re OK.” The brightening in Kerry’s eyes betrayed her attempt to hide her emotions.

“It’s very kind of you Miriam, I appreciate it – needed it. How are you doing?”

“Well, I’m here, and I drove myself.” She smiled and looked at Judith. “I think that hamper bag did the trick.”

“What’s with all these chairs?” Susan asked looking at the circular arrangement. Judith checked her watch.

“We have eight new members, and they should be here any minute. They may be in Reception – let me go check.” No sooner had she spoken when three women cautiously entered the cafeteria. One could not have been twenty, the oldest in her early fifties.

“Hi, I’m Judith Carr,” she said walking up to them.

“Hello Judith. I’m… I left a message saying I’m Gladys, but I’m not. I’m too old to care if anyone knows my name. I’m Angela, Angela Talbot.”

“Hi Angela, I’m sad you’re here, but welcome.”

“I’m Sierra – really,” the youngest of them said. Judith laughed.

“Hi Sierra, I love your name. Welcome.”

“’Morning Judith. I’d prefer using a pseudonym. You can call me Susan.”

“Oh-oh, we already have a Susan.”

“OK. I’m… Brenda.”

“Hi Brenda, welcome. Was there anyone else in Reception?”

“Yes, we’re just the scouting party,” Angela said.

“Let me go get them,” Judith said. “Please join the others over there,” she said pointing, “and introduce yourselves – I’ll be right back.”

Judith returned with a group of five women, and was pleased when they began introducing themselves to one another. Once they were seated, Judith stood up.

“For those new to our group, welcome. I wish we could have met in happier circumstances. My name is Judith and I facilitate our meetings. If I could have my way, none of you would be here; it should not have been necessary. There is no pressure for any of you to share your experiences. However, if you do feel comfortable with that, you’ll realize how empowering it can be. Here you are safe, and among friends confronted with similar burdens. Here is no judgement – how could there be? Giving advice has no real value; everyone has unique circumstances. That said, what is the significance of you being here? Firstly, there’s strength in numbers, and confirmation of knowing you’re not alone. Will it magically change your circumstances? No, but it will provide insight into what’s happening in your world. You’ll discover you’re not crazy, not unworthy, are not to blame, and definitely undeserving of the abuse you endure. You are your abuser’s supply – who’s likely a narcissist. We’ll talk more about that, but for now it’s important to know that understanding a problem, is halfway to solving it.”

She explained the hamper bags they could use as alibis if needed, and the reason she had allowed pseudonyms.

“OK. I’ll kick off by telling you something you may have heard of. Recently, a Russian woman was taken into custody for lashing out at her husband with a knife. He was abusing her, and had banged her head against the kitchen wall until she was near unconscious. She grabbed a knife to defend herself. The man sustained minor cuts to his hands and arms, who then called the police and emergency services. He was taken away in an ambulance; she in the back of a police vehicle. Ring a bell?” The group listened with concerned expressions and nodded. “The woman is now under investigation, and faces a possible ten-year jail term. How the fuck can that happen?” Judith smiled inwardly knowing her profanity would close their divide.

“That’s what we’re facing,” one of the new members said.

“I understand the woman is now awaiting trial for premeditated aggression. In a television interview she said; ‘it’s more shameful to be beaten than to beat someone up.’ That’s one of the reasons why I believe this support group is vital; we have to get rid of the stigma and unfounded shame.”

“Is the case still ongoing?” Angela asked.

“I believe so.”

“While her husband sits at home nursing his Band-Aids,” someone added with loathing in her voice.

“He has not been convicted – probably never will be,” Judith said. “Medical reports confirmed the woman’s story and her diagnoses of traumatic brain injury. They’re wondering what will come first; her surgery or her trial. She pleaded self-defense, but in Russia that only applies if a pistol is held to your head.”

“This is so fucked up. The worst thing that can happen to you is being born a woman!” Sierra said. The rest of them turned to her; they had not expected such a gutsy outpouring from the youngest in their midst.

“Sorry sweetie, I can’t recall your name, but you have a point,” one of the women said.

“It’s Sierra – really.” Their smiles surprised Judith. Even in dire moments, humor found a way.

“I thought you may have come across that article, but here’s what you may not be aware of. Russia is proposing to decriminalize domestic violence that does not have serious consequences.”

“What the hell does that mean?” someone asked.

“Good question,” Judith said. “When asked about this, the legislators explained it was being drafted as a desire to preserve the family.” The women stared at Judith with incredulous expressions. “That will include permissible corporal punishment of children – sometimes referred to as the ‘slapping law’.”

“Judith, if you’re trying to cheer us up, you’re doing a terrible job,” one of them said.

“I’m sorry, but these are facts, and the cornerstone for us to understand our problem. But let me drop the real shocker. This proposed law is being endorsed by… whom do you think? A man? No, it’s a woman, a senator in the Russian Federal Council.”

“I’m feeling sick,” Susan said breaking the silence.

“When it’s all said and done,” Judith continued, “irrespective in which country you live, it comes down to you looking out for yourself,” she said softly. “It starts with you – and being here means you’ve started.”

A woman in her late forties cleared her throat and stood up.

“I’m Linda Bell. I want to share my story, but before I do, I do not recommend my approach to anyone. I was prepared to risk my life, and looking back it was stupid, but it was borne of desperation.” She took a deep breath. “I’m a recovered abused wife, and am here to offer moral support.”

“Did you leave your husband?” Angela asked.

“No, I cured him.” The group gave Linda their full attention. Here was a woman who had beaten the odds, and they needed to know how.

“It’s a long story, but I’ll try keeping it brief. My husband never lifted a hand when the kids were around. Unfortunately, sometimes they weren’t. The smallest thing would set him off; the towels not hanging straight, minutes late with his dinner, forgetting to pick up his dry-cleaning.” She paused and smiled. “You may think forgetting to pick up his suit was my fault, but the drycleaner is a block from his office, and twelve miles from our house.”

“Anyway, the kids never knew; they still don’t. Had my eldest son known, he would have confronted his father, and I didn’t want to make my problem theirs. Last year my youngest child, Donnie, went off to college. I was alone with my husband, and the beatings intensified. He said he’s glad the kids are out of the house; no one should have to endure living with such a worthless mother. I don’t know if he realized how deep those words cut. What shocked me even more was that I actually considered what he had said. Was he right? Was I a bad mother? I couldn’t tell what was worse, the beatings or the shredding of my heart.”

“I reached such a low point in my life that I didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. With the children gone, it felt as if my life had little meaning or purpose, and it eventually drove me over the edge.” Linda delved into her handbag for a tissue.

During the pause, Judith had a sense where Linda’s story was heading, and wondered if she should intervene. The last recourse Judith would suggest was confrontation – it would always end badly.

“Mostly he slapped me,” Linda continued, “and I’ll never understand how painful that can be. He only kicked me once. I was on the floor and didn’t want to get up.” She took a deep breath. “Anyway, I had reached the point of no return, and as they say in poker, I was all in. One night when he was asleep, I went to the garage and fetched a baseball bat. I don’t know how many blows I delivered before he realized what was happening. When he jumped up, I hit him again. I’ll never forget his scream, but then he got hold of me. After he punched my face, I fell down. He lifted me, threw me onto the bed, and punched me repeatedly. Then he stopped and held his arm where I had hit him. I was able to get to my feet, and stood in front of him in my bloodied nightgown, shaking. I picked up the baseball bat and threw it at his feet. I felt strangely calm. ‘Go ahead’, I said, ‘kill me. This is the only way this is going to end. Don’t let a little blood stop you.’

‘Are you fucking mad! Do you have a death wish?’ he yelled. He took the baseball bat and went to the garage. I cleaned myself up as best I could – my body ached all over and my face and lips swollen – then got into bed and fell asleep through my tears. We didn’t say a word to each other the next morning. When he came home that evening, I had purposely not made dinner. He screamed at me, then slapped me so hard that I feared he had cracked my cheekbone. ‘If you try that shit of last night again it will be the last thing you do,’ he warned me. Later, I sat in the lounge and watched television until I thought he was asleep. I went to the garage to find the baseball bat, but he had hidden it. The next best thing was a broom handle.” Linda stared at the floor a few moments recalling the frightful experience.

“I did not intended hitting him in his face,” she said sighing, “but after my first blow he shot up, and the handle glanced off his forearm and opened a cut below his eye. He got me into a stranglehold and I felt the life draining from me. I passed out but regained consciousness some time later, and struggled into bed. He was not there. When he came home the following night, he had a plaster under his swollen eye. I again had not made dinner.

‘Linda, this shit stops now – do you understand?’ I asked him what he was going to do – kill me? I took a large carving knife and placed it on the counter before him, then told him to go ahead. ‘You’ve lost your fucking mind! Fuck you!’ he said, and left the kitchen. That night he slept in the spare bedroom, and I heard him lock the door.” Linda smiled wryly and looked around the group.

“When he came home the next evening, I had made dinner. We ate in silence and shared the same bed. It’s just on a year now, and we’ve never spoken about that incident again. He has not laid a hand on me since.”

An awkward silence lingered after Linda took her seat. The group glanced at one another, unsure if they should cheer, but their faint smiles were expression enough.

“Thanks for sharing Linda, and I’m pleased you’re in a better place,” Judith said, “but I want to reiterate what you said; this approach is not for everyone – if anyone. Frankly, I hope it’s not given you any ideas, because it will undoubtedly end tragically. Linda, you were fortunate.”

“I’ve had a similar experience this week,” Susan Henderson said, “but someone else did the heavy lifting. Joe was involved in a bar fight, and came away with cracked ribs. He’s a little subdued and has behaved since then.”

“I guess we need to take any relief that comes our way,” Judith said smiling, “but it doesn’t address the cause.”

“I hope my guy gets into a bar fight,” one of them said.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Amen!”

one down, more to go

It was a trying time for Matt and Judith. Only minor tiffs sprinkled their eight-year marriage, but the latest did not want to blow over, and distilled into an uncomfortable stasis. Both concluded they had valid positions. Matt perhaps more so, believing Judith unable to see past her fierce dedication to environments beyond the boundaries of their home and relationship. On the surface, all appeared sound, but their words were guarded, and treated each other with kid gloves.

If Judith was aware of it or not, her altruism was transforming her into a ‘white knight’ – someone eager to assist others often to their own detriment. Matt believed his patience was on trial, but begrudgingly accepted it as a sacrifice he needed to make in the interest of their relationship. His conciliatory approach repressed two barbs; it was a form of resignation, and, it did not provide a vent for his frustration. He had found a solution to the latter; someone was responsible for his predicament, and he knew how to find the perpetrators.

The only time he could dare to go through Judith’s notes was when she was in the shower. He waited a few minutes after he heard the water running before going into her home office. He flipped through the pages in her file. All he wanted was names, and he found two of them; Frank Owens and Harry Talbot. He made a note before closing the file and went into the kitchen. Judith joined him a few minutes later in her robe with her hair wrapped in a towel.

“More coffee?” Judith asked.

“Thanks, but I’ve got to run.”

It was not difficult finding Franks Owens. Klein Waterman & Wells, a prominent accounting firm, listed him as senior partner, and its website displayed images of their management team. Harry Talbot was even easier; Dr. H. M. Talbot to be precise. Talbot was a respected and celebrity plastic surgeon, and no stranger to publicity. He also had a Facebook page, which among other interests, listed playing golf on Saturday mornings as one of his passions. He had even posted a photo of his club; Willow Ridge GC.

The evening before, Matt had loitered near the exit of Klein Waterman & Wells’ underground parking garage. When he spotted Owens, he took note of the Lexis – that was all he needed. The following evening Matt shadowed Owens home, and had an address.

Matt parked his Mercedes a block away from the Owens’ home. From his previous reconnaissance, he knew he would only have a few seconds as Owens waited for the sturdy electric gate to draw back, but a few seconds was all he needed.

It was early evening when Owens pulled up to his gate as it started opening. Matt slipped from the shadows and strode across the street towards the car. Owens appeared to be on the phone, speaking and gesturing with his hands. The axe shattered Owens’ side window. When he jerked around in shock, Matt’s fist broke his nose. He shouted when another blow crashed onto the side of his jaw, then slumped over towards the passenger side and lay still. Matt opened the door and reached for Owens’ wallet.

“Hey! Hey! What are you doing?” a woman shouted running from the house towards the gate. Matt abandoned the wallet and ran off towards his car. He heard Lilly Owens yell after him again before she went to her husband’s aid.

Judith and a few of the group were talking as they waited for the others to arrive. Jeffrey from Merchandising walked up carrying a large box.

“Hi Judith,” he said, “here are another twenty-five hampers.” He took out his wallet and handed her his business card. “If you run low, let me know.”

“Hi everyone. I’m not glad you’re here,” Judith said, noting Lilly Owens’ absence. “Today I want to talk about ‘gaslighting’. Have any of you come across this term?” A few nodded. “All right, then for those who haven’t, I believe it will be helpful understanding the methods used to make you feel small, inadequate, useless, and crazy. The term was adopted from Gas Light, a 1939 stage play. In it, a husband attempts driving his wife crazy by dimming the lights – which were powered by gas back then – and then denies the lights had changed when his wife points it out. Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse, and is aimed at destabilizing you to the point where you’ll question your sanity.” The group members nodded. “Before we get into that, I want to tell you about a prank I was part of in college, and not so proud of. You’ve probably heard of autosuggestion – it’s related to the placebo effect. It’s a self-induced suggestion in which individuals guide their own thoughts, feelings, or behavior. For instance; ‘I can do this! This pill will make me feel better.’ Heterosuggestion is the opposite where one person tries to influence another, like; ‘you can do it!’ They’re both positive examples, but heterosuggestion can be employed in dark ways. Anyway, back to my college prank. A group of us decided to try out our newfound knowledge and targeted a guy we didn’t like. We agreed that whenever anyone of us saw him, we would say; ‘Are you feeling OK? You don’t look so good.’ This happened frequently. At first he got annoyed, but it wasn’t long before he went home – he had become ill!” Some in the group laughed.

“That’s a terrible thing to do Judith,” one of them said with a smile on her face.

“I agree, and as I’ve said, I’m not proud of it. However, it illustrates the power of heterosuggestion.” They nodded. “If you’re constantly told you’re crazy, something never happened – and you know it did, you’re constantly asked if you’re sure about something, you’re told you have a bad memory or that it’s all in your head, then you’re likely a victim of gaslighting. There are too many examples to mention here, but I think you get the gist of what’s going on. So, how do you know you’re a victim?” Judith looked at Susan. “Victims of gaslighting feel as though they can’t do anything right, eventually losing their confidence. Take this away with you today; start recognizing the signs and learn to trust yourself again. If you know you’re being gaslighted, it’s much easier maintaining your sanity and self-worth.”

They looked past Judith when Lilly Owens walked into the group.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Judith.”

“It’s all right. Are you OK?”

“Yes. I had to pick Frank up from hospital this morning.”

“What happened?”

“He was attacked at our gate two nights ago. I heard shouting and went outside to find Frank lying unconscious slumped over onto the passenger seat.”

“Oh my God!” Judith said putting her hand on Lilly’s shoulder.

“Did you see the attacker?” someone asked. Lilly fiddled with her hands and shook her head.

“No, I didn’t see anyone; it must have happened a few moments earlier.” Lilly looked up and sighed. “Frank’s nose had to be set and his fractured jaw needed wiring.” She looked over the group with a sad smile. “Be careful what you wish for…”

The narrow escape with Frank Owens quelled Matt’s urge to vent his anger further, but after a week he reasoned it would be unjust to punish one and not the other. He had one more man to deal with – Dr. Harry Talbot.

On a sunny Saturday morning, Judith and Matt drove off to their respective destinations. On his way to Willow Ridge Golf Club, Matt considered what lay ahead and smirked; while Judith poured oil onto troubled waters, he inflicted retribution on its cause. He parked two houses away from the entrance to the club, pulled his peak down and walked into the parking lot. The club captain and executive members had a cordoned off area to the side of the parking lot, and he did not have to wait long before Talbot drove into his reserved parking space.

While Talbot retrieved his golf bag from the trunk of his car, Matt walked up behind him and drove a vicious punch into his kidneys. Talbot collapsed headlong into his trunk with a groan. He tried coming up, but two further brutal blows rendered him a deadweight. Matt removed Talbot’s watch and took the notes from his wallet. He looked around as golfers drove into the parking lot, but the incident had gone unnoticed. He walked off the club’s premises, got into his car and drove away. Ten minutes later, he threw Talbot’s gold Rolex out the window.

Matt and Judith were watching television that evening when the news came on.

A respected plastic surgeon, Dr. Harry Talbot, was found dead stooped in the trunk of his car earlier today. The police are investigating what appears to be a vicious mugging. We spoke to Detective Malcolm Jackson earlier.

Judith was busy with her notes but looked up at the mention of the name. The scene cut to the visual insert of Jackson.

‘Is there anything further you can tell us about what may have happened here Detective?’

‘It’s too early to tell. It could have been a mugging, but I can’t speculate. We’re looking into it.’

‘Do you have anything to go on?’ Detective Jackson looked exasperated.

‘No, not yet; we’re waiting on the coroner’s report.’

Matt sat frozen; his face ashen. Judith turned down the volume.

“He was the husband of one of the woman in my group,” she said softly. “This is terrible.” Matt was still recovering from shock, and shrugged.

“Perhaps it’s karma,” he said.

When Judith walked into their area, a few of the group who had arrived early came to her.

“Judith, have you heard about Angela’s husband?” Miriam asked.

“Yes, I saw it on the news. It’s a tragedy.”

“The poor woman, what she must be going through,” someone else said.

“Maybe she’s relieved,” Kerry said with a faint smile.

When everyone had arrived, they assumed Angela would not be present, but were surprised when a teary-eyed Angela joined them. They hugged her and expressed their condolences.

“Is there something we can do for you Angela?” Judith asked. Angela shook her head.

“No, but thank you.” No one spoke, sensing there was more. When Angela lifted her blouse, the group gasped. Unsightly welts and bruises covered her torso – she could have passed for a human canvas of a sighted, deranged tattooist. In a sense, she was.

“Oh my God Angela! Why have you not shared this with us before?” Judith asked. Angela did not answer, then turned around to show her back. It appeared as if she had lain down on a bed of overripe mulberries; cruel blotches ruthlessly stained by a precise hand. Miriam started crying – setting off a few others. They came together in a huddle around Angela.

“I… I’m going to miss him,” she stammered to the disbelief of the group. “I really loved him…”

Talbot’s death affected Judith and Matt for different reasons. Matt was not a murderer, and that he had been the direct cause of another’s demise gnawed at his conscience. It was with blithe bravado that Matt persecuted the husbands of the women in Judith’s support group, but Talbot’s unexpected death thrust him into a surreal world where he stood alone and afraid. His sudden change in demeanor was not lost on Judith.

They sat eating dinner – each busy with their own thoughts. Their unresolved squabble had dampened their typically spirited conversation, but it had decayed further since Talbot’s death. At one point, Judith believed Matt had taken to sulking, but she knew her husband better than that.

She stopped chewing when a thought entered her mind that shocked her for even having it. Is there a correlation between Matt’s behavior and Dr. Talbot’s death? Why does it appear to have affected him? She could have asked him outright, but unwittingly decided on an approach that trapped him.

She took a sip of her wine, pushed her plate away and sat back.

“So, do you want to talk about Dr. Talbot’s death?” Matt stopped chewing and stared at his plate before looking up. Her question stunned him – as if she knew the answer. They held each other’s eyes for a moment before he looked away.

“It was unintentional,” he said above a whisper. The blood drained from Judith’s face as she clenched her fists. She wanted to shout but shock muted her. Matt was saying something, but all she heard was the high-pitched screech of claws tearing across her heart. Her chair toppled over when she jumped up.

“What have you done? What have you done!” she screamed as tears filled her eyes. When he came to hold her, she retreated. “What have you done?” she shouted. He returned to his chair and refilled his wineglass. Judith stood riveted and shaking.

“He was a bad man Judith, you know that,” he said without taking his eyes from his glass. “I told you, it was an accident, I didn’t intend killing him.” Judith stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

“What the fuck Matt, have you lost your mind?”

“Judith, calm down. Let’s discuss this like adults.”

“Like adults? Like Bonny and Clyde? You killed a man Matt, and now want to calmly discuss it?”

“If you don’t want to listen Judith, there’s no point in me talking.” She glared at him before picking up her chair and sat down. Her shock had made way for anger.

“I don’t know what you’re going to say, but it better be good.”

Matt realized this was the moment he crossed the Rubicon, and held the key to the rest of his life. The legal consequences of his actions seemed bearable considered alongside a life without Judith. She called him back from his somber thoughts.

“So?”

“Judith, Dr. Talbot was a bad man. I only-”

“So you took it upon yourself to punish him?”

“Yes,” he said nodding.

“Who do you think you are; Jesus Christ?” He decided to remain quiet. “What about Joe Henderson and Frank Owens?” When he nodded, she jumped up toppling the chair again. She paced the dining room trying to find words.

“Do you have the faintest idea of what you’ve done? Joe Henderson was going for an interview for a job he can actually do, and believe me, the Henderson’s need it. But with broken ribs he couldn’t make it!” Judith appeared exhausted. “That’s bad enough Matt, but then you go kill a man! What were you thinking?” she said raising her voice. His lack of response fanned her fury. “Matt, you said let’s talk; what’s holding you back?” He took a deep breath.

“Judith, can you for a moment imagine how I feel?” She looked at him with an incredulous glare.

“What do you want me to do; hold you and tell you everything’s going to be all right?” It was not what she had said that tipped him over the edge, but rather his perception of her siding with the despicable men accountable for her support group, which in turn was responsible for the rift in their relationship. He stood up slowly.

“Judith, I had expected a little understanding, irrespective of what I had done,” he said keeping his voice calm. “But instead, you’ve lashed out at me while conveniently overlooking what these men have done to the members in your group.” She studied him for a moment.

“They’re not murderers Matt.”

“Aren’t they? Dr. Talbot died in seconds; the women in your support group are just being killed at a slower pace.”

Matt opened the linen cupboard in the passage, took out a duvet and pillow, and retired to the lounge.

unintended consequence

The deterioration of their relationship revealed deeper insights into Judith’s academic view of her work with the support group, even though what she and Matt were experiencing was uncomparable to the misery the enervated members in the group endured. Without having experienced the cruel world they lived in, she was divorced from the reality of their situations. They had her deepest sympathy, but felt she required a deeper empathy to facilitate the group. Yet, when she considered it from a clinical perspective, she understood a certain degree of detachment was crucial. She found it difficult suppressing the pangs of guilt when group meetings ended; they would return to their hell while she looked forward to seeing Matt again – until recently at least.

The thoughts churned through her mind as she sat in her car reflecting on the meeting ahead. That the group had grown to eighteen women did not help confirming the value she hoped she was adding. Matt had never lifted a finger at her, had never verbally abused her, and yet, here she was posturing with insulated theoretical perception. She realized she had become the cornerstone of their sanctuary, but it came with a burden that restricted her throat. She sighed coming to a decision, then got out of her car, and made her way to the cafeteria.

The group noticed Judith’s reserved demeanor when she joined them.

“Everything all right Judith?” Kerry asked.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. However, I need to get some feedback from you,” she said looking over the group. “What do these meetings mean to you?” They were not sure what she asking; they believed it was obvious. “Anyone?”

“Judith, to me this is a haven – an oasis where I can come to have my sanity restored. I’m virtually living week to week,” Susan said. The group murmured in agreement.

“I think the biggest thing for me is knowing I’m not alone,” someone added. Judith nodded.

“I’m glad it has had value for you, and that makes it even more difficult to tell you this; I don’t think I’ll be able to continue facilitating our group…” After a few moments of stunned silence, Linda Bell spoke up.

“You have created an environment we now wonder how we coped without.” She looked at the group for support. “Please reconsider Judith; don’t take this away from us.”

“Is it something we’ve done?” Sierra asked in a weak voice.

“No, no it’s nothing like that Sierra,” Judith said. “You all have a special place in my heart, and I get closer to you with every meeting.”

“Then why do you want to abandon us?” Linda asked. Judith did not have an answer she could share.

“I’m sorry,” she said struggling to keep the emotion from her voice, “I truly am. However, I’ll not leave you in the lurch. I’ll make arrangements for the meetings to continue, but someone else will facilitate it. Someone better qualified.”

“Are you kidding? You know how we feel – what we’re going through. What is someone else going to add?” Susan asked. Judith took a breath to answer when Margaret, the oldest and most reserved in the group, spoke.

“Judith, you have instilled openness in our group. We cannot stop you if want to leave, but I think you owe us a better explanation – an honest one.” Their heads turned from Margaret to Judith.

“You are right,” Judith said after a moment. “I also said you can share your experiences if you’re comfortable – there is no pressure. Right now, I can share that things at home have been better. However, it pales in comparison to your lives. This is the first time I’ve done this, and I believe you will benefit from professional counseling.” They sat dejected.

“You offer a free and anonymous support environment Judith; not all of us can afford professional counseling,” Lilly said, speaking up for those in the group who, unlike her, were cut off from finances.

“Nothing will change – except your facilitator,” Judith said swallowing the tightening in her throat.

“You want to hand us over to a professional counselor believing it’s in our best interest,” Margaret said. “I appreciate that, but I speak for myself when I say; I don’t want a professional – I want a friend.” Margaret looked at Judith as if coming to a realization. “Judith, are you a victim?” It caught Judith off guard, and she weighed her answer.

“Only by association.”

Judith could not recall a time when she had felt more vulnerable or miserable. She sat on the couch with her legs tucked under her studying the glass of wine in her hand. She was beginning to miss Matt, but a quick kiss and make up was not in the cards. Their rift had exposed fundamental trust concerns not easily brushed aside. She looked up when he came in from the garage.

“Hi Judith,” he said and sat down on the chair opposite her. He never called her ‘Judith’ unless something was wrong, and she correctly deduced he was as tender as she was. “We need to talk.” She nodded.

“Matt, I know we’re hurting and in uncharted waters, but I want you to know I value our mutual respect and friendship.”

“Judith, I know who you are. I know who we are. We’ll get through this.”

“I’m hopeful, but to give you some perspective, I’d rather you have slept with a whore than what you’ve done.” Her words winded him. “The damage would have been contained,” she said.

“What are you saying?”

“Setting the manslaughter and assault aside for the moment, you desecrated my privacy Matt. You got the names of the husbands from my notes.” She stood up, walked to the kitchen and refilled her glass, poured another for Matt, and returned to the couch. “How can I trust you in the future?” He felt the anger build at the base of his neck.

“Judith, I can’t defend that, but it was an extraordinary situation. I was fighting for us.”

“Did you also check my phones?”

“Judith stop! Just stop! Have you even considered that there may be mitigating circumstances?”

“I have, but none would give you the right to go through my personal items. Outside that, you also breached the confidentiality I promised my group members. Have you considered that?”

“Judith, if we can’t move past that then yes, it will become a stain I’ll have to live with. I regret going through your file, but it was merely to get to the names of those men.”

“OK Matt. I believe you – I really do. However, my next concern holds dire consequences for both of us. Knowing of your involvement in Dr. Talbot’s death places me in a precarious position. If I remain silent, I become complicit in your deed. If I go to the authorities, you’ll go to jail.” Matt sat forward and massaged his temples.

“This is so fucked up,” he said as if to himself.

“I never would have imagined you being capable of such violence. Matt, your actions have scared me.” He looked up.

“What are you saying Judith? Are you afraid of me?” When she did not respond, he jumped up. “Judith, please tell me you’re kidding.”

“No Matt, I’m serious. I’ve never seen this side of you. It’s as if I don’t know who you are.” Matt slumped back into his chair.

“Do you want me to hand myself over?”

“No Matt, it will not bring Dr. Talbot back and I feel Angela Talbot prefers it that way. So, if it ever comes to light, we’ll both be going to prison.”

“My God Judith, what have I got us into? I’m so sorry,” he said.

“You’ve indirectly accused me of siding with my group’s abusive husbands, but I hope that’s now put to rest.”

This is the end of Fragile Garden’s 5 sample chapters; hope you’ve enjoyed them. If you’d like to learn how it all turns out, the book is available from Amazon.

Why not..?

the rolex / mercedes
connection

Detective Malcolm Jackson sat at his desk staring at a file in his hand. He looked up when an officer poked his head in the door.

“My faith in humanity has been restored,” he said grinning. “An old man brought this in this morning,” he said holding out a small plastic bag. Jackson inspected the gold Rolex watch. “Wasn’t that doctor robbed of his watch recently?”

Jackson would have checked if the Rolex’s serial number had been registered, and if so, to whom, but there was a simpler approach. He flipped through his notes and called Angela Talbot.

“Good morning Ms. Talbot,” Jackson said when she answered. He told her of the watch, and asked if she would be able to confirm if it belonged to Dr. Talbot.

“I think so. I had his initials engraved on the clasp before giving it to him. It said ‘HMT’.”

“In that case, it’s Dr. Talbot’s watch.”

“Can I have it back?” Jackson knew the only clues it could possibly hold were fingerprints, but it had been handled too many times.

“Of course. I will have it returned to you shortly.”

Matt was already in bed when Judith came out of the bathroom.

“I told the group I couldn’t facilitate the meetings anymore,” she said sliding in beside him.

“How did they take it?” he asked after a moment.

“The word ‘abandon’ came up and I felt terrible. One asked what the reason was, but I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?”

“I’m sorry Judith.”

“Anyway, I’ve changed my mind.” Matt turned to her in surprise. “They’re already victims, and I can’t let them become further victims because of your interference; they don’t deserve that.”

“Judith don’t you think it will-”

“Matt, I’m making a major concession by concealing your criminal activities. I’m risking imprisonment that will bring an end to my career and my life as I know it. You need to come to the party, and a little understanding will go a long way together with your promise to end your vigilante interference.” All he could do was nod. “Did you ever say anything to the men when you assaulted them?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know; perhaps asking them how it feels being beaten, or, that it’s with compliments of their battered wives…”

“No.”

“Are you sure Matt?”

“Judith please, I’ve just told you I didn’t.”

“If those men get the faintest hint that their beatings were a retribution, you will have placed their wives in great danger – do you understand that?”

“I know,” he said sounding defeated.

Detective Jackson got out of his car and looked around Willow Ridge Golf Club’s parking area. He had been there before, but wondered if he had missed something. He walked over to the reserved parking bays Dr. Talbot used, and looked back at the guardhouse near the entrance. It would be difficult for anyone to notice anything unless paying particular attention.

He questioned the guard again who confirmed not seeing anything. All the cars that had entered the club on the day of Dr. Talbot’s attack were accounted for. It left a reasonable deduction; Dr. Talbot’s attacker had been on foot, or, was one of the club’s members.

Jackson walked out of the area and up the road leading into the club. Two houses from the entrance a man stood watering his garden. Jackson approached him.

“Good morning, I’m Detective Malcolm Jackson,” he said flashing his badge.

“Good morning Detective. How can I help?”

“I’m investigating the death of Dr. Talbot-”

“I heard. What a terrible thing,” the man said.

“Did you perhaps notice anything out of the ordinary that day?” The man shook his head.

“There are many cars coming this way on a Saturday morning. I don’t really pay attention.” Jackson was about to thank him when the man continued. “I don’t know if this means anything, but a car was parked outside near the entrance of my driveway that annoyed me; there is ample parking for the golfers inside their grounds. I thought that perhaps it was a guest of one of my neighbors, but then he would have parked outside their house or in their driveway.”

“Did you see the driver?”

“No.”

“And when the car left?”

“I’m not sure when it left. When I looked again it was gone.”

“What car was it?”

“A white Mercedes Benz – a late model I’d say.”

“Can you recall if it had any particular makings – decals, dents?”

“I only saw the car from inside the house, but didn’t notice anything along the lines of markings.” Jackson did not bother asking about the car’s registration.

“I see you have a security camera,” Jackson said looking at the front porch.

“Yes, but that won’t be of much use; it only captures the front part of the garden.”

When Jackson drove out of Willow Ridge Golf Club’s parking lot he was puzzled. The white Mercedes could mean anything, but that the perpetrator discarded Dr. Talbot’s watch further up the road did not make sense. Perhaps a felon with a Mercedes had no need for a Rolex, but then why take it in the first place? Jackson thought.

I believe this essay was originally published in a 1986 edition of The Writer magazine and republished in the 1988 edition of The Writer’s Handbook. I have reproduced it here as a matter of interest, and a must-read for aspiring writers.

Stephen King’s

“Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully – in Ten Minutes”

I. The First Introduction

THAT’S RIGHT. I know it sounds like an ad for some sleazy writers’ school, but I really am going to tell you everything you need to pursue a successful and financially rewarding career writing fiction, and I really am going to do it in ten minutes, which is exactly how long it took me to learn. It will actually take you twenty minutes or so to read this essay, however, because I have to tell you a story, and then I have to write a second introduction. But these, I argue, should not count in the ten minutes.

II. The Story, or, How Stephen King Learned to Write

When I was a sophomore in high school, I did a sophomoric thing which got me in a pot of fairly hot water, as sophomoric didoes often do. I wrote and published a small satiric newspaper called The Village Vomit. In this little paper I lampooned a number of teachers at Lisbon (Maine) High School, where I was under instruction. These were not very gentle lampoons; they ranged from the scatological to the downright cruel.

Eventually, a copy of this little newspaper found its way into the hands of a faculty member, and since I had been unwise enough to put my name on it (a fault, some critics argue, of which I have still not been entirely cured), I was brought into the office. The sophisticated satirist had by that time reverted to what he really was: a fourteen-year-old kid who was shaking in his boots and wondering if he was going to get a suspension … what we called “a three-day vacation” in those dim days of 1964.

I wasn’t suspended. I was forced to make a number of apologies – they were warranted, but they still tasted like dog-dirt in my mouth – and spent a week in detention hall. And the guidance counselor arranged what he no doubt thought of as a more constructive channel for my talents. This was a job – contingent upon the editor’s approval – writing sports for the Lisbon Enterprise, a twelve-page weekly of the sort with which any small-town resident will be familiar. This editor was the man who taught me everything I know about writing in ten minutes. His name was John Gould – not the famed New England humorist or the novelist who wrote The Greenleaf Fires, but a relative of both, I believe.
He told me he needed a sports writer and we could “try each other out” if I wanted.

I told him I knew more about advanced algebra than I did sports.

Gould nodded and said, “You’ll learn.”

I said I would at least try to learn. Gould gave me a huge roll of yellow paper and promised me a wage of 1/2 cent per word. The first two pieces I wrote had to do with a high school basketball game in which a member of my school team broke the Lisbon High scoring record. One of these pieces was straight reportage. The second was a feature article.

I brought them to Gould the day after the game, so he’d have them for the paper, which came out Fridays. He read the straight piece, made two minor corrections, and spiked it. Then he started in on the feature piece with a large black pen and taught me all I ever needed to know about my craft. I wish I still had the piece – it deserves to be framed, editorial corrections and all – but I can remember pretty well how it looked when he had finished with it. Here’s an example:

(note: this is before the edit marks indicated on King’s original copy)

Last night, in the well-loved gymnasium of Lisbon High School, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom, known as “Bullet” Bob for both his size and accuracy, scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his knight-like quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon thinclads since 1953….

(after edit marks)

Last night, in the Lisbon High School gymnasium, partisans and Jay Hills fans alike were stunned by an athletic performance unequaled in school history: Bob Ransom scored thirty-seven points. He did it with grace and speed … and he did it with an odd courtesy as well, committing only two personal fouls in his quest for a record which has eluded Lisbon’s basketball team since 1953….

When Gould finished marking up my copy in the manner I have indicated above, he looked up and must have seen something on my face. I think he must have thought it was horror, but it was not: it was revelation.

“I only took out the bad parts, you know,” he said. “Most of it’s pretty good.”

“I know,” I said, meaning both things: yes, most of it was good, and yes, he had only taken out the bad parts. “I won’t do it again.”

“If that’s true,” he said, “you’ll never have to work again. You can do this for a living.” Then he threw back his head and laughed.

And he was right; I am doing this for a living, and as long as I can keep on, I don’t expect ever to have to work again.

III. The Second Introduction

All of what follows has been said before. If you are interested enough in writing to be a purchaser of this magazine, you will have either heard or read all (or almost all) of it before. Thousands of writing courses are taught across the United States each year; seminars are convened; guest lecturers talk, then answer questions, then drink as many gin and tonics as their expense-fees will allow, and it all boils down to what follows.

I am going to tell you these things again because often people will only listen – really listen – to someone who makes a lot of money doing the thing he’s talking about. This is sad but true. And I told you the story above not to make myself sound like a character out of a Horatio Alger novel but to make a point: I saw, I listened, and I learned. Until that day in John Gould’s little office, I had been writing first drafts of stories which might run 2,500 words. The second drafts were apt to run 3,300 words. Following that day, my 2,500-word first drafts became 2,200-word second drafts. And two years after that, I sold the first one.

So here it is, with all the bark stripped off. It’ll take ten minutes to read, and you can apply it right away … if you listen.

IV. Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully

1. Be talented

This, of course, is the killer. What is talent? I can hear someone shouting, and here we are, ready to get into a discussion right up there with “what is the meaning of life?” for weighty pronouncements and total uselessness. For the purposes of the beginning writer, talent may as well be defined as eventual success – publication and money. If you wrote something for which someone sent you a check, if you cashed the check and it didn’t bounce, and if you then paid the light bill with the money, I consider you talented. Now some of you are really hollering. Some of you are calling me one crass money-fixated creep. And some of you are calling me bad names. Are you calling Harold Robbins talented? someone in one of the Great English Departments of America is screeching. V.C. Andrews? Theodore Dreiser? Or what about you, you dyslexic moron?

Nonsense. Worse than nonsense, off the subject. We’re not talking about good or bad here. I’m interested in telling you how to get your stuff published, not in critical judgments of who’s good or bad. As a rule the critical judgments come after the check’s been spent, anyway. I have my own opinions, but most times I keep them to myself. People who are published steadily and are paid for what they are writing may be either saints or trollops, but they are clearly reaching a great many someones who want what they have. Ergo, they are communicating. Ergo, they are talented. The biggest part of writing successfully is being talented, and in the context of marketing, the only bad writer is one who doesn’t get paid. If you’re not talented, you won’t succeed. And if you’re not succeeding, you should know when to quit. When is that? I don’t know. It’s different for each writer. Not after six rejection slips, certainly, nor after sixty. But after six hundred? Maybe. After six thousand? My friend, after six thousand pinks, it’s time you tried painting or computer programming. Further, almost every aspiring writer knows when he is getting warmer – you start getting little jotted notes on your rejection slips, or personal letters . . . maybe a commiserating phone call. It’s lonely out there in the cold, but there are encouraging voices … unless there is nothing in your words which warrants encouragement. I think you owe it to yourself to skip as much of the self-illusion as possible. If your eyes are open, you’ll know which way to go … or when to turn back.

2. Be neat

Type. Double-space. Use a nice heavy white paper, never that erasable onion-skin stuff. If you’ve marked up your manuscript a lot, do another draft.

3. Be self-critical

If you haven’t marked up your manuscript a lot, you did a lazy job. Only God gets things right the first time. Don’t be a slob.

4. Remove every extraneous word

You want to get up on a soapbox and preach? Fine. Get one and try your local park. You want to write for money? Get to the point. And if you remove all the excess garbage and discover you can’t find the point, tear up what you wrote and start all over again . . . or try something new.

5. Never look at a reference book while doing a first draft

You want to write a story? Fine. Put away your dictionary, your encyclopedias, your World Almanac, and your thesaurus. Better yet, throw your thesaurus into the wastebasket. The only things creepier than a thesaurus are those little paperbacks college students too lazy to read the assigned novels buy around exam time. Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule. You think you might have misspelled a word? O.K., so here is your choice: either look it up in the dictionary, thereby making sure you have it right – and breaking your train of thought and the writer’s trance in the bargain – or just spell it phonetically and correct it later. Why not? Did you think it was going to go somewhere? And if you need to know the largest city in Brazil and you find you don’t have it in your head, why not write in Miami, or Cleveland? You can check it … but later. When you sit down to write, write. Don’t do anything else except go to the bathroom, and only do that if it absolutely cannot be put off.

6. Know the markets

Only a dimwit would send a story about giant vampire bats surrounding a high school to McCall’s. Only a dimwit would send a tender story about a mother and daughter making up their differences on Christmas Eve to Playboy … but people do it all the time. I’m not exaggerating; I have seen such stories in the slush piles of the actual magazines. If you write a good story, why send it out in an ignorant fashion? Would you send your kid out in a snowstorm dressed in Bermuda shorts and a tank top? If you like science fiction, read the magazines. If you want to write confession stories, read the magazines. And so on. It isn’t just a matter of knowing what’s right for the present story; you can begin to catch on, after awhile, to overall rhythms, editorial likes and dislikes, a magazine’s entire slant. Sometimes your reading can influence the next story, and create a sale.

7. Write to entertain

Does this mean you can’t write “serious fiction”? It does not. Somewhere along the line pernicious critics have invested the American reading and writing public with the idea that entertaining fiction and serious ideas do not overlap. This would have surprised Charles Dickens, not to mention Jane Austen, John Steinbeck, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, and hundreds of others. But your serious ideas must always serve your story, not the other way around. I repeat: if you want to preach, get a soapbox.

8. Ask yourself frequently, “Am I having fun?”

The answer needn’t always be yes. But if it’s always no, it’s time for a new project or a new career.

9. How to evaluate criticism

Show your piece to a number of people – ten, let us say. Listen carefully to what they tell you. Smile and nod a lot. Then review what was said very carefully. If your critics are all telling you the same thing about some facet of your story – a plot twist that doesn’t work, a character who rings false, stilted narrative, or half a dozen other possibles – change that facet. It doesn’t matter if you really liked that twist of that character; if a lot of people are telling you something is wrong with your piece, it is. If seven or eight of them are hitting on that same thing, I’d still suggest changing it. But if everyone – or even most everyone – is criticizing something different, you can safely disregard what all of them say.

10. Observe all rules for proper submission

Return postage, self-addressed envelope, all of that.

11. An agent? Forget it. For now

Agents get 10% of monies earned by their clients. 10% of nothing is nothing. Agents also have to pay the rent. Beginning writers do not contribute to that or any other necessity of life. Flog your stories around yourself. If you’ve done a novel, send around query letters to publishers, one by one, and follow up with sample chapters and/or the manuscript complete. And remember Stephen King’s First Rule of Writers and Agents, learned by bitter personal experience: You don’t need one until you’re making enough for someone to steal … and if you’re making that much, you’ll be able to take your pick of good agents.

12. If it’s bad, kill it

When it comes to people, mercy killing is against the law. When it comes to fiction, it is the law.

That’s everything you need to know. And if you listened, you can write everything and anything you want. Now I believe I will wish you a pleasant day and sign off.

My ten minutes are up.

Contents

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Write what you know. Really?

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“Everything You Need to Know About Writing Successfully – in Ten Minutes”

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