be there.” She grinned happily.
A high-pitched, desperate voice wept through the phone loudly enough to attract both Sherrie and me.
“Easy, Tina,” Stephanie said calmly. “Tell me the place you’ve chosen to go in times of trouble.”
“Poor Tina.” Sherrie shook her head. “She’s a nice person, but she’s a waffler.”
“A waffler?”
“She can’t decide whether to get out or not. One minute she’s leaving him, the next she’s going back because he loves her.” Sherrie snorted. “He doesn’t love her. He likes to control her.”
Tina’s terrified voice cut across the room again, her apprehension clear even if her words were not.
“How will you get to your parents?” Stephanie said into the phone.
I was now openly listening and thinking like mad. I had Stephanie’s personal story. I had the facts about Freedom House and the services provided. I might even have a sidebar article from Sherrie aimed at kids. But an interview with an abused wife! And right in the middle of a crisis! Wow.
I leaned toward Stephanie. “Can I help Tina? Drive her somewhere?”
Stephanie looked at me thoughtfully. “Just a minute, Tina. I need to check something.”
“I mean it. I’ll be glad to help.”
“She’s not just fodder for an article,” Stephanie said bluntly.
I flushed, caught. “I know that.”
“Promise you won’t write about her without her permission, and promise you’ll flatten her story so she can’t be identified.”
That wasn’t a hard promise to make. I certainly didn’t want Tina to suffer any more harm or hurt. “I promise.”
Stephanie nodded, satisfied. “She needs a ride to Phoenixville. Public transportation isn’t a possibility. And for financial reasons neither’s a cab.”
“Phoenixville’s not that far,” I said. “About a half hour up Route 113.”
“It’ll be very messy emotionally,” Stephanie warned. “And that’s the best possible scenario.”
“That doesn’t bother me.” Anything for story color. “Has her husband come home? Is that why the sudden panic?”
“He called from work and is full of fury. Apparently things have gone badly today, and she and the kids are about to bear the brunt of his frustration if we don’t get her out.”
“Where does she live?”
Stephanie returned to the phone. “Tina, I have someone here who can take you to your mother’s. I want you to tell her how to get to your house.”
I took the phone. “Hi, Tina. I’m Merry. I’ll be glad to drive you where you need to go.”
“I’m scared,” she said, her voice a mere whisper.
“I know. Now tell me how to get to your house.”
She gave me directions hesitantly, pausing several times to yell at a crying child who responded by wailing louder.
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” I assured her.
She sniffed. “The kids and I will be waiting. And please, please hurry!”
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