On the way there, Miriam Moon thought about what she would say. A life, after all, might hang in the balance. Poor Evangeline. So young and unwise in the ways of men, and Ashford Cowell was as bad as they came. It just goes to show, thought Miriam Moon, you can not trust a man who would wear an ascot.
Will they need a description, Miriam Moon wondered. To say she was “pretty” would not do her justice. Evangeline had golden hair that fell down her back in long, gentle curls and her blue-green eyes had a sleepy expression. As if she’d awakened from a beautiful dream. Ashford Cowell had piercing eyes and dark brown hair with a bit of a wave. A handsome man, in a roguish way.
Uncertain what she could do for her friend, Miriam Moon had gone to the library. She found books that described the patterns of domestic abuse in detail. Miriam Moon learned it usually began with what experts called a “tension-building” phase. Mostly emotional and verbal abuse, with attempts by the woman to placate the abuser.
This was followed, inevitably, by the “acute-battering” phase and characterized by a serious assault, like the scene Miriam Moon had been witness to. Then came the “loving-contrition” phase, where the abuser basically begged for forgiveness. The cycle was repeated over and over, and the woman was left feeling helpless, confused.
Miriam Moon opened the heavy glass door, and prayed it wasn’t already too late. A uniformed officer sat at a desk. Good morning, she said to the fresh-faced young man. I’d like to report...a friend of mine—a dear friend in fact—I’m afraid she may be in terrible trouble.
She told the uniformed officer all about her friend, how Evangeline suffered at Ashford Cowell's hand. Only yesterday, Miriam Moon explained, she witnessed a heated exchange and the girl had been struck—couldn't something be done, asked Miriam Moon. What is it called—a wellness check.
The uniformed officer told Miriam Moon they would send someone over. He was clean-cut and kind, and he smelled like Old Spice. She was certain she’d done the right thing for her friend.
Still Miriam Moon worried all the way home. She hoped that Evangeline wouldn’t be angry. She hoped an officer might call or come by. To let her know her friend was alright.
In her basement apartment, Miriam Moon had a small TV. A mattress and box springs she kept on the floor. She had library books on domestic abuse, and magazines with soap opera gossip. The latest one featured “The Gathering Storm."
The stars smiled at Miriam Moon from the cover. He had brown wavy locks and was roguishly handsome. And she was a beauty. Her blue-green eyes had a sleepy expression, and Miriam Moon waited, as if in a dream, for a knock on the door of her windowless room.