That's What Friends Are For
by Edith Crowe 8/89
Originally published in Tunnels 2
Catherine scowled at the brief in front of her. The first draft had been prepared by a recent addition to the staff, fresh out of law school and with an extremely high opinion of himself. The opinion was not shared at that moment by Catherine. Devin had done ten times better than this mess, and without benefit of such minor details as an official legal education.
Catherine sighed. Making even a polyester purse out of this sow's ear would take up most of the afternoon. She didn't need this--November was depressing enough all by itself. Samhain was past and Thanksgiving was over a week away. Vincent had been away for days; the heavy rains threatened to flood the lower Tunnels and all hands that could be spared were dealing with the problem.
"Cathy?"
Catherine looked up to see the face of salvation. "Jenny! Am I glad to see you! Please tell me you want to go to lunch and rescue me from this mess."
"Can you? I'm sorry to pop in without warning like this; I know it's hard for you to get away. I just took a chance."
"Jenny--something's wrong, isn't it? Are you all right? Is there something I can do?"
"I'm fine, Cathy, honestly. But I do need to talk to you about something. It's important."
"Jenny, getting me out of this place right now is your good deed for the week. I can't face this pitiful excuse for a brief on an empty stomach. Let's go."
Catherine was surprised at Jenny's choice of restaurant. Knowing Jenny's budget was much more limited than her own, Catherine was always careful to pick inexpensive places when it was her turn to choose. Jenny always insisted on going Dutch, frustrating Catherine's schemes to take her to places like this. Quiet spaciousness of this sort didn't come cheap.
"I supposed you're wondering why we came to a place like this."
Catherine started. "After all these years, I should be used to that intuition of yours," she smiled, "but it still startles me when you say just what I'm thinking."
Jenny jabbed at her salad as if she were more interested in punishing it than eating it. "I wanted to make sure we couldn't be overheard. What I need to talk to you about is confidential." Jenny gave Catherine a pleading look. "I hate to even ask you, Cathy. Your life has been complicated enough lately without me dumping something else on you. But I couldn't think of anyone else who could help. It's because of what you told me last summer--remember?" Catherine tensed. She remembered only too well ...
* * *
The heat and humidity of late August turned New York into something it would take a Dante to describe. Catherine Chandler, however, was cool and comfortable. The Tunnels were wonderfully pleasant, even better than an air-conditioned apartment on the eighteenth floor. Besides, darkness came too late in the summer; she couldn't bear to wait that long to see Vincent. The sound of the waterfall in the background only reinforced the aura of coolness and peace. So different from Above, where a hot and surly citizenry made New York more unappealing than usual.
"Catherine?" Vincent broke into her somnolent reverie. "You seem very content at present ... but I detected some concern in you earlier. Is there anything I can do?"
Catherine sighed. "It's no big thing, Vincent, really. I just did something impulsively I may come to regret, that's all."
"Tell me," he encouraged.
Catherine shifted around to face him. "It was after you told me you'd be away for a few days doing inspections. I was talking to Jenny on the phone, and she sounded so hot and uncomfortable. Her place is a lot less fancy and a lot warmer than mine. Before I knew it, I'd invited her to come with me to the Connecticut house for the weekend. It's so nice there, and I almost never go there anymore. I really should sell it, now that Dad ... "
At the sudden catch in her voice, Vincent put his arm around Catherine's shoulders and pulled her close. "That was a very generous impulse on your part. Why should you regret it?"
Catherine lifted her head from Vincent's shoulder. "Because it means I'll be trapped for two whole days with a person who's so intuitive she would have burned as a witch a few hundred years ago. A person who's known I have someone special in my life ever since the night you saved me from drowning." Catherine shook her head. "If prevarication and evasiveness were Olympic events I'd have two gold medals, I've gotten that good. But what can I do with someone who sees behind words? Those dreams Jenny had about me being in danger--I wonder what else she dreams about me that she hasn't told me? It makes me nervous."
"Keeping our secret places a great burden on you," Vincent said unhappily. "You are so alone in this ..."
"It's worth it, Vincent," Catherine replied emphatically. "It's no more than any Helper has to do, after all. At least I have Peter now."
"I'm sure it will be all right, Catherine. From what you have told me, Jenny is a true friend to you. Surely you have nothing to fear from her."
Catherine was congratulating herself at how well the weekend was going, after all. Jenny seemed delighted to escape the city, and they had spent the whole day swimming in the lake, eating things that weren't good for them, and generally behaving like they were back in college. Now they sat contentedly on the porch, working on monster glasses of iced tea.
"So, Cath, when are you gonna tell me about this special guy you're keeping under wraps? What's the big secret?"
Catherine had become adept at fielding verbal missiles like that without flinching. Perhaps, if she hadn't had a mouthful of iced tea at the time, she would have been able to turn away Jenny's questions with the same adroit and meaningless phrases she had used with so many others. Perhaps.
"Cathy, are you OK?" Jenny pounded her on the back as she choked dramatically. " Gosh, I'm sorry, Cath, I didn't think it was that big a deal. What's going on, anyway?"
Gradually getting her breath back, Catherine began to capitulate. Clearly, keeping Jenny in the dark was only making things worse. Surely she could tell her something ...
"Is this the same guy that made you hightail it out of Nancy Tucker's in the middle of the night? Has it really been going on for over a year?" Jenny ran a hand through her hair, agitated. "I'm not just being nosy, Cathy, honestly--I care about you. And I've been having these dreams about you ..."
Oh, God. "What dreams?" Catherine asked warily.
"Actually," Jenny admitted sheepishly, "I've been having really weird dreams about you ever since you disappeared that time. I even thought of calling your dad then, but I was afraid they'd put me in the loony bin. Darn! I wish my dreams were more ... literal. Like last spring--it wasn't much help dreaming about flowers, and you choking. It would have been a lot more useful if I could've dreamed that weirdo's name and address."
"Jenny--your dreams really did help. They made me take the whole thing very seriously, and Joe too. It means a lot to me that you care that much. I'll never forget what you did for me then."
"Well, I'm still glad I didn't call your dad when you disappeared and tell him I thought you'd been taken to Egypt."
"What?" Whatever Catherine expected to hear, it wasn't that. "Why did you think I was in Egypt?"
"Because I dreamed you were in an underground room with an Egyptian god."
"An Egyptian god?"
"Well, he looked like a man with a lion's head ... isn't there some Egyptian god like that? I thought maybe all that stone I saw meant you were in a pyramid." Jenny sounded increasingly embarassed. "Dumb, right? Unless ... I don't suppose you were in Egypt?"
"No," Catherine admitted. Oh, Jenny, she thought. If only you knew how literal your dreams can be, after all. Jenny sighed. "I didn't think so. I figured I must have been totally off base when I kept dreaming about you in that place afterward, when I knew for sure you were in New York, not in Egypt. Rats. Totally useless symbolism again. Batting zilch."
Catherine took a deep breath. "Jenny, I haven't told anyone about this because I've made promises to people who depend on me to keep their secret. I'll tell you what I can, but I can't give you specifics."
"Cathy ..." Jenny's voice turned very serious. "My mother wouldn't have gotten out of Germany if there hadn't been people willing to help and willing to keep secrets. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
Catherine reached across to take her friend's hand. "I do want to, Jenny. You're my best friend, you deserve to know something ..." Catherine smiled briefly. "Even if it's just to keep you from imagining something worse."
Leaning back in her chair, Catherine organized her words carefully. "When I was attacked and dumped in the park, I was found by a man whose father is a doctor. This man was afraid I'd die if I didn't get help immediately, so he took me home, and the two of them took care of me."
"But, Cathy ..." Jenny sounded confused. "Why did you disappear for ten days? Why didn't these people notify the police right away?"
"The two people that saved me are part of a larger community who all take care of each other. Most of them slipped through the cracks of our whole system of justice and social services. They've done nothing wrong; they're very careful about who they accept into their community. It's just that ... well, the letter of the law and the spirit of it aren't necessarily the same thing, are they?"
"My people know that only too well," Jenny replied seriously. "So ... I guess they were taking a big risk in helping you, without knowing if you'd keep their secret. That says something pretty important about them right there."
Catherine was overcome with gratitude at her friend's quick understanding. "They've given a refuge to so many deserving people, Jenny--especially children." Catherine's love for those who had become her family shone in her words. "They've made something wonderful, something that works. If the authorities found out about them, they'd be crushed by a well-meaning bureaucracy that would ruin everything."
Jenny was quiet for a minute, digesting Catherine's revelations. "OK, I understand so far--but how does Mr. Right fit into this? That's what he is, isn't he?"
"If I said no, you wouldn't believe it for a minute, would you?"
"Nope. You might as well wear a sign."
"His name is Vincent." It was the verbal equivalent of a caress, and not lost on Jenny. "He's the one who found me in the park. For months afterward, he stayed away and I didn't know how to find him. He finally came back to see how I was, and I was determined I wouldn't let him disappear from my life again. He didn't just save my life, Jenny, he gave me the courage to live it like it should be lived."
"So, was this love at first sight?" Jenny asked.
"Not exactly," Catherine said ruefully, remembering. "I cared about him from the beginning, but it took awhile to for me to realize I was in love with him ... or maybe to admit it."
"Cathy, there's more to it than that. Why is this guy such a mystery? You're not the kind of person that would be ashamed of somebody because they were from the wrong side of the tracks instead of a Yuppie clone. Nobody knows that better than I do."
Catherine looked out over the water for a long moment. This was the hardest part to explain. "You're right, there's more to it than that. For one thing, Vincent has no legal existence, and he's safer that way. He was a foundling, raised in that community since he was an infant. His liberty, if not his safety would be in jeopardy outside it. You see, he looks ... different."
"Different? You mean, different enough so that he'd be a curiosity? Like the Elephant Man or something?"
Catherine could not keep the bitterness out of her voice. "Different enough so that some people would be frightened enough or cruel enough to hurt him. Different enough so that the ones who didn't want to kill him would treat him like a freak or an experiment. Jenny, he's the most loving, sensitive man I've ever known. I'd die before I'd let that happen to him!"
As Catherine's voice broke, Jenny closed the gap between them, holding her friend as she cried tears of anger and pain mixed with relief. When the storm subsided, Jenny spoke again, still hugging Catherine tightly.
"Cathy, I can't believe you've been keeping all this in for so long! I swear I won't say a word of this to anybody, and you don't have to tell me another thing. Just remember you're not alone, OK? Talk to me when you need to, even if you can only talk in riddles. Promise?"
Catherine could only nod, not trusting herself to speak. Promise.
* * *
"Cathy?"
"Sorry, Jenny. I was remembering Connecticut. Vividly. Tell me what's wrong."
Jenny frowned as she continued to attack her salad. "There's this woman who works at the publishing house as a secretary. She's got a terrible problem that made me think of what you said about the law, and people falling between the cracks."
"What happened?"
"It's her ex-husband. He has visitation rights with the kids ... Cathy, she has evidence that he's sexually abusing them during those visits. God, they're only eight and ten years old."
"Oh, Jenny ... I wish I could say your friend is paranoid, but it's all too possible. What kind of evidence does she have?"
"She took the kids to one of those low-cost mental health clinics when they started acting strange whenever they came back from visits with their father. There's a doctor there who found medical evidence of abuse, and a shrink who agrees."
"Why hasn't she gone to the police?" Catherine asked. "That sounds like pretty good evidence."
"Because," Jenny replied bitterly, "the ex in question is a cop. A model citizen. Besides, she's from Chile originally. To her, police weren't people who helped you, they were the ones who 'disappeared' you. She thought things were supposed to be different in this country, but her ex hasn't exactly done anything to give her a good opinion of New York's Finest."
"Damn," Catherine exclaimed emphatically. "What about taking it to court?"
"She has. Her court date is in two weeks--with one Judge Bradley Worthington."
"Oh, my God." Catherine put her head in her hands. "Not 'Worthless' Worthington."
"Yeah. What do you know about him?" Jenny shook her head. "He can't be as bad as I've heard, can he?"
"He's worse!" Catherine replied, distress evident in her voice. "He distrusts expert witnesses, and he thinks all women are hysterical liars. I've seen him dismiss cases against child abusers that I would have staked my life were airtight. Your friend is right to be concerned. People have been trying to get him kicked off the bench for years. We may eventually succeed, but not soon enough to help."
"Well, Rosa--that's my friend's name--has heard those stories too. She loves those kids too much to risk losing this case. She's also heard about women who've sent their kids into hiding rather than turn them over to abusive fathers, and gone to jail because they won't say where they are. Or women who've just taken the kids and run away with them. I know she'll do it, Cathy. It took a lot of convincing to get her to wait until I talked to you."
"Jenny--what do you want me to do?"
"What I don't want you to do is get yourself in trouble. I know you're an officer of the court, and what Rosa intends to do isn't legal--even though it's right."
"Don't worry about ..."
"Not another word, Cathy. I don't want you to risk any trouble at work over this. I'm not talking to you because you're in the DA's office. I know this is a lot to ask, Cathy, but ... do you think Vincent's people would be willing to help? I don't want you involved any more, but if you could just ask them to meet me or something, maybe they could give us a place to start at least, a contact ..."
Moved by the desperation in Jenny's tone, Catherine made her decision. "I'll do what I can, Jenny. I can't give you any guarantees; they usually take a long time to decide to take someone in. But there are ... precedents for this, in cases of emergency. Let me talk to them; I'm sure they can help somehow."
"Oh, Cathy, I can't tell you what this would mean to Rosa! Believe me, she's a great person who deserves a lot better life than she's had."
"Jenny, I'll help, but on one condition." Catherine told her sternly.
"What? Anything," Jenny agreed fervently.
"Please," Catherine begged, "eat that salad while you can still recognize it."
* * *
"Catherine, your friend's story has touched us, but you ask a great deal--we would risk much, taking this unknown woman on faith. Can you be sure her story is true?"
"Father, I know I'm asking a lot; I'm grateful that the Council was willing to meet with me on such short notice and listen to me. You know that for for almost six months I've been working mainly with child and spouse abuse cases. " Catherine looked him directly in the eye. Father nodded, a look of understanding passing between them. He knew, and he knew why Catherine had chosen to remove herself from the dangers of investigation into the safer, if more emotionally trying environs of the courtroom and law library. She would not put herself in danger, because that put Vincent in danger. This past Spring Vincent had been forced to resort to violence too often. The anguish of that, fueled by Vincent's self-doubts and Paracelsus' madness, had almost destroyed the man Catherine loved above all. Never again would she risk getting into situations that would trigger Vincent's protective rage. The consequences were too painful, too dangerous.
"I know something about the people involved," Catherine continued. "I know that judge only too well, and I know the reputation of the clinic. I know this sort of thing happens all too often. And I know Jenny. I believe Rosa's version of events, and I trust Jenny's judgment of people."
"Catherine ..." Rebecca regarded Catherine speculatively. "Perhaps it would help us if you told us something about this friend of yours. How long have you known her?"
"It's a long story, but if you're willing ..." A murmur of assent moved around the table, and she continued. "Jenny and I became friends our freshman year in college. She was a scholarship student at Radcliffe, and a lot of my fellow students wouldn't have anything to do with her. Not only was she Jewish, she wasn't rich. Her parents run a deli in Brooklyn, and not the upscale kind, either. Not a croissant in sight, but bagels to die for."
As Catherine looked around the table, she decided William was in her camp already. Anyone who preferred bagels to croissants elicited his undying respect. "Actually, Jenny comes from a long line of scholars and poets on her mother's side. Jenny's mother Leah barely escaped the Holocaust. Her parents saw it coming, and got her out of Germany when she was an adolescent. It was a near thing, at that ... if plenty of people, Jew and Gentile alike, hadn't been willing to keep secrets at the risk their lives, Leah never would have made it." Catherine steeled herself to continue. "The rest of her family wasn't so lucky. Not a single one of Jenny's relatives left in Germany survived the camps. Not one."
"Dear God," Mary whispered. "The poor child."
Catherine felt Vincent's hand take hers, and clung to it gratefully. "Leah eventually made it to New York, and met Jenny's father after the war. They're good people, hard-working and generous, even though they don't have much themselves. They remind me a lot of many of our Helpers."
"I can see why your friend was sympathetic, Catherine," Father said gently. "How much do you trust her judgment?"
Catherine searched for the right words. "Jenny's not easy to fool, Father. She has a degree of intuition that almost scares me sometimes; she judges people more by what's inside than what's outside."
Father swept his glance around the table. "Does anyone have further questions? No? Catherine, is there anything more you'd like to say?"
"Only that Jenny's life, and her mother's, have taught her some important things. She knows that evil is real, and how important it is for good people to help each other. She knows that people's lives can depend on keeping secrets."
* * *
Part Two
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