Lexi
I was cold and wet with perspiration but momentarily ignored the vicious need to shower. The second I walked into the house, I called out, “Hey, anyone home?”
To my absolute delight, no one answered, and with a light sigh, my feet took me into the kitchen. Grabbing a chair from the table, I dragged it, ignoring the low screech that vibrated throughout my ear, and then stood on it. Opening the highest cabinet on the left, I reached in and pulled out a strategically hidden chocolate bar. With a happy smile, I climbed off the chair, sat on it, opened the wrapper, and took a huge bite.
Eyes closed in sheer bliss, I chewed slowly, savoring the sweet, rich taste.
I looked down at the chocolate bar, feeling mildly guilty about eating the delicious treat almost immediately after finishing a workout.
With a light shrug, I took another bite, and uttered, “Meh. Screw it.”
This was why I worked out, wasn’t it? So I could eat what I wanted to? And right now, I wanted chocolate, so.... “Yum,” I garbled as I threw the rest of the bar into my mouth.
The front door opened and my eyes widened. I took the foil wrapper and shoved it into my bra, chewing quicker.
“Okay, little dude,” Molly said. “Take your shoes off and put your bag away.”
As A.J. rushed past the open doorway, he yelled, “Hi, Mum!”
Putting a hand to my mouth, I continued to chew, swallowed hard, and then called back, “Hey, honey.”
Molly walked into the kitchen and looked closely at me. She grinned and asked, “Have you been eating chocolate?”
How did she know? “What? No,” I said a little too quickly.
When she frowned, smiling, and brought her finger to the corner of my lips, she pulled back and sniffed her finger, smirking. “Chocolate.” Then her brow narrowed. “Where’d you get chocolate? I want chocolate.”
Shit.
Busted.
The twenty-two-year-old had fast become a member of this family. Yes, it was small and broken, but Molly fit with us. When Julius recommended her as a part-time nanny for A.J., I was hesitant. I should’ve known anyone that Julius recommended would have been checked thrice over.
He was not a man to take chances. Neither was his wife, Alejandra.
I missed them both quite a bit.
They lived with us for six months when they first moved to Sydney, and at their time of arrival, Alejandra had not been in a good state. Having been attacked and held for days, she was more than just physically damaged. Mentally, she was so fragile that she seemed almost brittle, to be knocked down at the slightest touch or sound or breeze, and after her ordeal, she barely spoke anymore. It didn’t matter how many times I went over it in my head; I couldn’t begin to understand what that poor woman had gone through.
In mere days, she’d lost a finger, had multiple bones broken, been repeatedly raped, and suffered permanent eye damage at the hands of a maniac with a hunting knife. She was now badly scarred and utterly petrified of doctors. However, Julius loved her just the same. In the time they lived with us, I got a firsthand view of just how wounded she was.
At times, the memory still haunts me.
I remember waking to the sounds of terrified screams and wailing cries, panting and gasping for air, and by the time I was out of bed and rushing down the hall, Julius was attempting to regain control inside their room.
“Wake up, baby,” he uttered, then more frantic, “Fuck. Wake up!” Then, louder, “Ana!”
But the screams continued, and I stood at the end of the hall with a hand pressed to my chest in a weak attempt to calm my racing heart. When the yelps and panicked shrieks finally subsided and were replaced with the sounds of low keening cries, I grudgingly went back to my room, but sleep never came.
At one point, I heard shuffling out in the hall, so I put on my robe and stepped out of my room, and what I saw broke my heart.
Julius carried a pile of sheets into the laundry. The smell of urine was faint, but it was definitely there.
I moved into the open doorway, and feeling my presence, he twisted back to look at me, dressed only in pajama pants, looking dazed and sleep worn. I didn’t miss the marks at his neck and scratches that marred his chest, his mocha skin partially reddened. “Hey,” he whispered, then went back to stuffing the sheets into the washing machine. “Sorry we woke you.”
Julius, I was coming to realize, had the patience of a saint. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. After a short hesitation, I asked, “Is she okay?” With his back to me, he shook his head, and I stepped into the laundry room. “Another memory?”
“She, uh—” He cleared his throat. “She got tangled in the sheets. Woke up terrified.” He sighed softly, tiredly. “Had an accident.”
It was utterly depressing that this sweet woman had gone through so much in her short life that becoming tangled in sheets posed a threat, to frighten her enough into wetting herself. It killed me to watch her refuse help.
I was a qualified social worker. I had resources, if she would only reach out and take what was offered. At my fingertips, I held the best of the Australian mental health system. But I understood fear better than anyone, and what it could do to a person was truly destructive.
“Maybe we can try again with the therapy,” I spoke quietly.
Julius let out a faint bark of laughter. “Yeah. Good luck with that. She barely speaks to me anymore. How you gonna get her to talk?”
My reply was honest and bleak at that. “I don’t know.”
He breathed in deeply, then let it out slowly on an exhale. As he passed me, he pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. “Sorry we woke you.”
The next morning, I found Ana sitting at the kitchen table, opposite A.J., and when I shuffled in half asleep, she smiled. Sure, she didn’t talk much anymore, but she was still as kind to me as she could allow herself to be, and if a smile was all she could spare, I’d gladly take it.
I squeezed her shoulder gently. “Morning, Ana.” Pausing by my son, I bent at the waist and wrapped an arm around him, pressing kisses to the side of his neck. “Morning, honey. Are you hungry?”
He made a face before wiping at his neck. He was a little boy, after all. “No. Ana made me toast.”
My eyes smiled at her when I straightened. “Thanks. Can I fix you something?” In response, she returned my smile but held up her mug, telling me she had all she needed. I checked the fridge, and muttered, “Okay, well, I’m thinking bacon and eggs.”
At that, Julius stepped into the kitchen, looking sleepy and just woken. “I’m down for that.”
I snuffled out a laugh before turning back to Ana. “Do you notice he’s nowhere to be found until someone’s cooking?”
She turned to her husband, her eyes full of mirth, but simply sipped at her coffee. He sat by her, and with a harsh grunt and shrill squeak, her chair was dragged over to him. She put down her mug as he began to whisper into her ear. I discreetly watched them as I started to cook. Whatever he said had an effect. She began to nod slowly, closing her eyes, and when he pulled back, she lovingly framed his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. When she spotted the dark circles beneath them, her face fell and she leaned in, pressing soft kisses to his full lips.
Regardless of what Ana had gone through, one thing was clear. She loved her husband more than words could describe. A love like theirs was rare, rarer still to survive all they had. I adored them both, and even though they had their problems, I was rooting for them.
As I fried eggs in one pan and bacon in another, I threw some bread into the toaster, and when it popped, Julius stood, lending a hand and pulling out two plates.
That was when A.J. struck. “Why do you have nightmares?”
My entire being stilled. I know he was just a child, but we had spoken about this and he knew he had no business asking Ana such a personal question.
So when she responded, I was stunned.