Between Never and Forever by Brit Benson

4

“Aren’t you hungry, honey?”Mom asks from across the dining table. “Pork chops are your favorite.”

I shrug, but I don’t answer. She’s kissing up to me because she knows I’m mad at her, but I don’t care.

“Levi,” my dad says on an irritated exhale, “you’re acting like a child. Show your mother some respect.”

I sit up straight and look from him to my mom and back.

“Helping Savannah would be the right thing to do,” I say, and my mom’s pleading face switches to something more menacing.

I know bringing it up again will make her angry. She threatened to whoop me this morning when I wouldn’t let up, but I don’t care. I don’t care how many verses she makes me copy or how many whacks I get with the belt. Savannah needs to get out of that house.

She needs to get someplace safe. I won’t stop until she does.

“Would you cool it about that girl?” Mom snaps. “What happens in that house is none of our business—”

“He is hitting her!”

“Do not raise your voice at me,” she yells, then stands quickly and starts clearing dishes from the table. I take a breath and try again without shouting.

“He hits her, and he hits her mom, too.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you choose that kind of lifestyle,” Mom says dismissively.

It’s the same thing she told me this morning. Along with a bunch of crap about God’s Will and how Savannah should learn to pray.

“Savannah didn’t choose that lifestyle, Mom. It’s not her fault.” I look toward my father. He’s cutting into his pork chop with his eyes fixed on his plate.

“Dad,” I plead, “isn’t it our job to look out for each other? Isn’t it your job?”

“It is not our place to meddle in the affairs of others,” my dad says slowly. He brings a forkful to his mouth, chews, and swallows. “Proverbs 26:17. A person who is passing by and meddles in a quarrel that's not his is like one who grabs a dog by the ears.”

He never once looks up from his dinner, and I clench my fists at my sides.

“This isn’t meddling in a random quarrel,” I argue. “It’s doing what’s right. It’s protecting Savannah. He’s going to kill—"

My mom slams a plate onto the table, cutting me off.

“That. Is. Enough.”

Her words are clipped and angry, and her neck and face have turned a bright red.

“That is the last I will hear you speak of Savannah Shaw, Levi. Your father and I are doing our best to raise you to be a godly man, and I will not let that girl ruin it. She’s rotten and wicked. That whole family is no good, and if I so much as hear you whisper her name, there will be consequences. Do you understand me, Levi? You will be punished.”

There are a thousand things I want to say to my mother in this moment, but I bite my tongue. I swallow every single one of my protests. My throat literally burns with frustration, but Matthew 15:4 starts on a loop in my mind, and it renders me speechless. My defense of Savannah chokes me, and all I can do is jerk out a reluctant nod.

I hate myself for that nod.

Satisfied with my response, my mom smiles then reaches up and cups my cheek.

“You’re a good boy, Levi. Your heart is in the right place, but some people aren’t worth the trouble.”

She pats my face softly, then walks into the kitchen.

All of this is bull.

I look at my dad, but he’s still focused on his plate, eating slowly. None of this aligns with what I was taught in Sunday school, or the things we talk about in youth group. Some people aren’t worth the trouble? How can she even say that? Aren’t we all made in God’s image? Aren’t we all worthy of love and kindness? Yet my father, the pastor of our little church, says nothing. He sits back and eats his dinner like everything is fine, while my mom says hateful, hateful things.

I scowl at him. For the first time ever, I feel angry with him. I feel betrayed.

For the first time ever, I question my parents’ judgment. They’re wrong, and if they won’t help me save Savannah, then tomorrow I’ll go to someone who will.

It’s a little past midnight when my window opens and Sav crawls through it.

“Are you okay?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.

I climb out of bed to get her some pajamas, and when I hand them to her, my stomach sinks. Her face is blank. Her cheek is bruised, and her eye is swollen. She looks haunted. She’s not crying, but my fear spikes.

“Savannah, what’s happened?”

“I hit him with a liquor bottle,” she says flatly. “Gashed his head up pretty bad. Lot of blood.”

My jaw drops. “Is he dead?”

She shrugs. “Don’t think so. He was still standin’ when I ran out.”

“Did he hurt you again?”

She doesn’t answer, so without thinking, I reach out and run my hands over her, searching. I brush her hair out of her face and inspect the fresh bruise on her cheek. I sweep my fingers down her shoulders and arms, feeling a few new scratches that weren’t there earlier. I want to lift her shirt and inspect her stomach, but I stop myself.

“When did this happen?”

“After school.”

“That was hours ago,” I say, panicked. “Where the heck have you been?”

“The park. In the bathroom.”

I don’t ask anything else, even though I want to know everything. What was she doing in the park bathroom for eight hours? Is she scared? Sad? I can’t tell what she’s feeling, and it worries me more than anything. I almost wish she was crying, instead.

I put my clothes in her hands and turn around while she changes. After a few minutes, she taps my shoulder. When I turn back to her, she hands me her shirt.

“Can you throw this away? It has his blood on it.”

My face pales and my eyes go wide, but I nod silently and tiptoe to the kitchen without looking at it. As quietly as I can, I dig to the bottom of the trash can and shove the shirt under balled up paper towels and the food scraps from dinner. Then I scrub my hands with scalding hot water and dish soap in the kitchen sink.

When I get back to my room, Savannah is already curled up in my bed, so I climb in behind her.

“Tomorrow, we can go talk to the someone. The police,” I whisper as I tuck her into my chest. I expect her to agree, but instead, she shakes her head violently.

“No. No, he just needs to cool down. I’ll stay out of the house for a few days. It’ll be fine.”

“Savannah, you bashed him over the head with a liquor bottle. Half your face is swollen. You can’t go back there.”

“Drop it, Levi,” she says. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her voice crack, and my heart cracks with it. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine in a few days.”

I don’t say anything else. I don’t argue because it’s obvious she will never agree. Sav needs sleep, so I stay quiet until her breathing evens out. I’ll let her rest, let her mind settle, but tomorrow, I’m getting help.

This isn’t happening again.

When I wake up, Sav is gone. I never even heard her leave.

I get dressed quickly and head into the kitchen, but I stop short when I see my mom, my dad, and Officer Denton from church sitting at the kitchen table. He’s not in uniform, but the hairs on my arms still stand and my neck still prickles with unease.

“What’s going on?” I ask, and my stomach falls to my feet when Officer Denton sets Savannah’s shirt on the table. The one I threw away last night. The one covered in her mom’s boyfriend’s blood.

“You tell us.”