Ms. Delphine says, “But you’re safe with us. No one will ever harm you again, darling.”
How can she ever understand what I mean? There is no amount of safety to keep you from harm. There is only the safety you can give yourself, and that type of safety is what I need for me.
“No, ma’am.” My palms are sweaty. Their requirement for me to articulate my wants has me in a near panic. “I want to be able to make myself safe. I want to learn how to protect myself, to know how to this time, to keep others safe. I want to walk around without fear.”
How do I explain my burning need to make sure no one ever touches me uninvited? To once again revisit how it felt when I plunged the chopsticks and then the scissors into Monsieur’s face and body, and the knife into those men in the alleyway, in defense of myself? How do I explain the assurance of being able to stop someone else from hurting me?
Mr. Noble nods, absorbing my words. “You want your power back.”
I look him squarely in his eyes, my heart lifting because he understands what I want, what I need to begin to heal.
He shares a knowing look with Ms. Delphine. “We can give that to you.”
51
AFTER
“Whose grill is this?” Cort growled at his longtime friend and lead detective for the Miami-Dade PD, John “Mack” McElroy. Curiously, Nena observed the two men bickering back and forth as they stood before the rectangular god Cort called a grill, which was currently emitting noxious plumes of smoke that Nena was pretty sure was the wrong kind of smoke.
It was her first time meeting Mack. Both Cort and Georgia were always talking about the sandy-haired, ruddy-faced man with warm brown eyes. He now gesticulated emphatically at the pieces of meat that ranged between charbroiled and barely singed. She immediately decided she liked him.
Nena wasn’t used to consorting with so much “goodness,” and knowing that brought about twinges of unease . . . about herself. Like, what was she doing here? What would her lifestyle bring down upon this family? But she pushed those thoughts away because the men’s continued bickering was much more entertaining.
“The temp’s uneven, man!” Mack griped as Cort stiff-armed him with one hand from coming any closer, while holding a bottle of lighter fluid in the other. Nena frowned, utterly perplexed at this display of male behavior.
Georgia pulled out her cell with a sly smile. “What do you like on your pizza?”
In the patio seat next to her, Nena gave her a quizzical look. “What about your dad grilling dinner?”
“Unfortunately, he still continues to try.” Georgia looked at the grill wistfully.
There was a flare-up, and Cort quickly shut the grill top to smother it, gray ropes of smoke streaming out of the edges.
Georgia said, “Cheese or the works?”
“The works.”
She tapped away at her phone. “That’s what I thought.”
There was a high-pitched yelp from the grill, Mack jumping backward as Cort yelled out, “God dammit!”
Mack doubled over in laughter. “We’re all right,” he called, waving a hand at Georgia and Nena. “Everything is under control. Except maybe Bax’s dignity.”
Defeated, Cort said, “Order me a meat lover’s.”
“Don’t forget the mozzarella sticks,” Mack wheezed. “And garlic knots.”
Thirty minutes later, the four of them were seated around the Baxters’ backyard wrought iron table, splitting two pizzas, the sides, and a pitcher of Country Time lemonade （a Georgia specialty） while the grill cooled in the background.
“I should take the grill back to the store. Something’s gotta be wrong with it,” Cort muttered, grabbing a third slice.
In Georgia’s cough Nena could swear she heard her mumble, Or with your grilling. Cort didn’t even notice because he was too busy glaring at Mack, who, at the same time, said very loudly, “Bullshit.”
Silence descended on them as they each replenished their paper plates with food. Nena couldn’t remember feeling as content with anyone other than her family as she did right now. She looked forward to Cort’s occasional texts asking how she was doing. Or Georgia’s flood of meme-and GIF-filled messages wanting to know when Nena was going to show her some of her fight moves.
“Shop talk?” Mack asked, breaking the silence. “Just for a second.”
Cort’s eyes flicked to Georgia, then back to Mack, before he gave in and pushed his plate away.
“Chill, Dad. I’ve seen The Wire.” Georgia propped her feet on the chair and pulled her phone and earbuds out. “Nothing scares me anymore.”