The Measure of Love

Paul looked into the rear view mirror at the woman in the back seat. The bruise on her right eye was dark purple. Her eyes were down cast and her smile had long faded into history. He felt a pang in his heart that was rarely present. He was supposed to take her home to get some things and then take her back to the battered women's shelter. It wasn't the first time he had an assignment like this, but this woman was different.

He pulled into the drive of a blue sided, single story home with white trim around the windows. The yard was well kept, and a colorful array of flowers around the house was in full bloom. He parked his cruiser at the entrance to the garage, which stood open.

"Wait here," he said to the woman in the back seat. He could see her eyes staring at the house, but he was sure she saw something in her memory. He longed to know what it was.

He shook himself to reality, reminded himself that she was just another assignment, and walked into the open garage. The door to the house was unlocked like most in that neighborhood. He pulled his gun preparing for the worst and swung the door open. He entered a kitchen lit only by light coming through the windows. The oatmeal colored, laminated countertop was clean and empty. He smelled lemon. From where he stood, he could see into the living room; it, also, was neat and showed no sign of life. He walked from room to room looking for any sign of the woman's husband. The house was as empty as he imagined she felt.

He returned to his cruiser and let her out of the back. "It's safe, ma'am," was all he said, but that was not all he wanted to say. He wanted to say, "I'm sorry your husband is an idiot and didn't realize what a wonderful woman he had in front of him. I'm sorry he didn't take care of you like he should have, like I would have. I'm sorry I hadn't met you before he did. I'm sorry you married him instead of me…" He escorted her into the house and stood at her bedroom door as she gathered a few belongings. She deserved everything, and he hoped he had the chance to throw her husband into a deep black hole where he belonged and hand her the keys to freedom.

He noticed a picture on the wall of her and her husband taken at some studio that is paid to make every family look like a happy one. He pictured himself in that picture with her. It was his hand around her waist and his eyes looking into hers. He shook himself to reality again as he heard a dresser drawer close. He realized then that a tear was running down his cheek. For some reason, he cared for her, and this was not like him.

"Is it ok if I change?" her voice was soft but shaky. Paul wanted desperately to console her.

"Yes ma'am," he replied turning to watch her walk into the bathroom just steps away from her bed. The door was open just far enough that he could see her reflection in the mirror. He turned his head quickly, but could not resist the second glance. Her new shirt, a dark blue with a hood, was already pulled down to her waist. He turned back to the hallway and looked into the eyes of her abuser.

Slowly, Paul pulled his gun out of its holster, careful not to let the man notice his movement.

"What are you doing in my house? Rebecca?" the man's angry voice thundered. He could hear the woman in the bathroom gasp at the sound of her husband's voice.

"Richard Johnson," Paul said with his strongest authoritative voice, "a restraining order has been issued against you. You must leave this house immediately or you will be arrested."

"I can go anywhere I damn well please in my own house," the man boomed taking a step forward. Paul raised his gun. "What are you gonna do? Shoot me in my own house?" Richard stepped forward throwing out his hands to the side. Paul could hear sobs in the room behind him causing him to want to shoot. Richard continued to approach, but Paul stood ready.

"Stop where you are." Paul warned. "Do not take a step further." Richard rushed for Paul's gun. Paul countered his rush with a shot to the leg. Richard fell on the floor screaming.

"I can't believe you shot me. I can't believe you shot me." Paul radioed for backup and handcuffed Richard. Within minutes, the house was swarming with police and EMS. Paul returned to the woman clearly shaken and sitting on her bed.

"I'm sorry," Paul said as gently as he could with his heart still pounding but his voice showing no sign of distress, "I don't remember your name." He lied. He would never forget her name. Paul sat on the bed next to her and she leaned over and wept in his arms. Paul used all of his inner strength to hold back his tears. He held her tightly and kissed the dark brown hair on top of her head. He saw his fellow officers come in and out of the bedroom, but they left with the wave of his hand. Soon her sobs subsided. She sat up and composed herself.

"Rebecca," she said looking down at her hands. She looked up into Paul's eyes. "Thank you." Paul nearly lost himself in her eyes but she looked away before he drowned.

"It’s time to go," he said and he escorted her back to his cruiser. After dropping her off at the shelter again, Paul continued with his everyday life. He responded to calls, pulled cars over, and did his paperwork. Every woman's face he saw was Rebecca's face. The day came for Richard's hearing, and Paul sat in the hall until he had to testify. He entered the courtroom and saw Rebecca. Her face was fair, her make-up hardly noticeable, and no bruises on her perfectly shaped cheeks. He looked at her only for a moment, but he knew that picture would never leave his mind. He sat in the hall again after it was over.

"Two and a half years," he said to Rebecca sitting next to him.

"Then what?" she looked softly at his face.

"Then..." he trailed off not knowing what to say to console her. He knew the chances of her husband staying away when he was released, and it didn't look good. He pulled out a card and wrote his home and cell numbers on the back, then handed it to her. "I'm available whenever you need me." Their gaze met briefly but Rebecca had to look away. Her face flushed.

"Thank you," she replied. "I could use some help moving out of the shelter and back home if you are not busy right now." She studied the sun spots on her hands.

"I'd be happy to help." He stood and waited for her to stand as well. "I'll meet you at the shelter."

"Thank you," Rebecca said. They walked out of the building without another word and parted in the parking lot. Paul studied the way Rebecca walked beside him. For the first time since they had met, she seemed almost at ease, a bit confident, and secure. Paul was happy for her. He couldn't help but notice how the wind blew strands of her hair in her face when they walked out of the doors. He had to walk away from her to keep from reaching out and moving it back into place.

Paul stood in Rebecca's kitchen with a screwdriver in hand. He had just finished tightening a loose cabinet door. Over the past eighteen months, he answered many calls asking for his help. From unplugging drains, to changing tires, to various handy man jobs, he did them all without complaint and without expecting anything in return. He could see her healing, and that was enough.

He thought of the first time he saw her smile, the first time he heard her laugh without hesitation, and the first time he saw her fall asleep with him still there working on a project for her. He knew she felt peace and safety with him there, but could there ever be anything more?

"I know I owe you an explanation," she began.

"None necessary," he said knowing she was talking about the previous night. He had arrested a man for drinking and driving and saw her at the jail talking to her husband in the visitors’ room. He was surprised to see her with him, but knew it was not uncommon for battered wives to return to their husbands. She deserved better. She deserved him.

"I told him to expect divorce papers," she looked down at her hands. It was a sign Paul has become accustomed to, and he knew that it meant that she was unsure, nervous, and heavy hearted.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" The brief look in her eyes told him no. He wanted to cry.

"He asked me to wait until he got out. He begged me to wait. I...." She did not have to continue. Paul already knew she would wait. He set the screwdriver on the counter and stood before her. He put his hand on her shoulder and wiped a tear from her cheek. He wanted desperately to tell her that she deserved better, that there was greater love out there, that he loved her dearly and would do anything for her...

"I know you still love him," he forced the words out with so much effort that he was sure she would notice. He was relieved that she did not. He stepped away telling her it was time for him to go, all the while struggling with wanting to hold her until he was sure she was alright, and until sleep fell upon her like a sweet blessing instead of a curse.

Rebecca continued to visit Richard in jail over the next twelve months, and Paul continued to watch over Rebecca, making sure she was all right. The day of Richard's release came, and Richard moved back home.

Paul sat in his cruiser watching until every light in the house went black, and then he cried.

Paul was stopped by Rebecca’s neighbor just a week later while he was patrolling the area.

“She has bruises. She looked so frightened I didn’t know what to do,” the neighbor told Paul. “I can hear them late at night, you have to help her.”

Paul sat on the street in his cruiser waiting to hear a noise come from the house. He heard the sound he wanted to hear and he burst through the front door. Backup was already on its way. Paul could not hide his emotions when he saw Rebecca crouched on the floor in the living room with bruises all over her exposed skin. Richard picked up a hammer that was on the coffee table and held it in the air aiming at Rebecca.

“Drop it,” Paul demanded. He gun was aimed at Richard’s heart. Tears flowed from his eyes. Sirens filled the street behind him.
“Come any closer and I’ll kill her,” Richard’s eyes danced with anger.

“I said drop it,” Paul demanded again. He aimed his gun at Richard’s head. An eerie smile crossed Richard’s lips and he swung the hammer down. Paul pulled the trigger. Rebecca screamed and covered her eyes as blood splattered her dress and skin.

Paul rushed in and threw his arms around Rebecca holding her as tightly as he could. His fellow officers were speaking to him, but he did not hear them. As Rebecca wept in his arms, he whispered, “I love you.”


word count 1,997