His Perfect Wife Strikes Back

195 Asking For Help

A middle-aged woman in a plain grey T-shirt and light blue jeans sat on the living room sofa, her hands on her closed knees, her eyes downcast. The coffee in front of her was steaming, and it was obvious that she hadn't touched it.

"Hey!" I whispered. "I'm Eva."

"Hi!" The woman stood up at once. She looked at me a little stiffly. "My name is Joe. I'm a friend of Joan's. We're all in the same union."

"How did you find me?" I motioned for her to sit down.

"Joan gave me your number," said Joe, "And we found your place. I'm sorry to bother you so late. Joan needs your help."

"You didn't come alone?" I asked curiously.

"I have another colleague with me," Joe said truthfully. "He's waiting for me outside."

"Is he here to ensure your safety?" I looked at her. "Since your friend is worried about your safety, why are you looking for me? So, what's the matter?"

"We just..." Joe looked down sheepishly. "Just in case. But Joan says you're a trustworthy person. You're not like your father."

"I helped her last time," I said bluntly, "If she remembers."

"Joan was taken by the police." Joe looked up at me. "The police don't allow bail. So we came to you for help."

"I helped you last time, but it doesn't mean I'll always help you," I said. "I don't owe Joan, and I don't owe you."

"I'm sorry, Eva," Joe said. "We don't have a choice. You're the President's daughter, and if you bail Joan out, the police won't stop you."

"Please don't make me the President's daughter," I said coldly, "I'm just an ordinary person like you. I don't think I can bail her out just by showing up. I don't have that right. If she didn't break the law, I believe the police would release her soon."

"Joan is an important member of our union, and we can't do a lot of our work without her," Joe said. "We're begging you to help her."

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do." I hardened my heart. I couldn't let myself get into any more unrelated trouble. Besides, I was in deep trouble myself. How could I help her?

"I see." Joe looked disappointed. "I think I should go. I'm sorry to disturb you."

"I'll walk you out." Out of courtesy, I walked Joe out of the door.

A white Volkswagen was parked outside the manor, and its lights lit up as Joe walked out the gate. Then the car slowly pulled up next to her, and I saw a dark-skinned man sitting in the driver's seat. Joe made eye contact with him, and the man was silent, his dark brown eyes flashing with a quick sense of helplessness.

He didn't have to say anything. He knew I had turned Joe down.

Joe opened the door and got into the passenger seat. I happened to see a sleeping boy in the back seat. He looked familiar.

He's Joan's kid. I remember now.

"Poor boy," said the man in the driver's seat, "He's been clamouring to see his mother every day since she was put in the police station. Joan's ex-husband doesn't give a damn about the boy, so we have to keep him with us."

I didn't say anything, but my peace of mind was starting to take a turn for the worse. The man looked back at the sleeping boy and stammered, "Joan only objected to your father's decision so that more people wouldn't lose their jobs. She told us she didn't want her children and her food on the dole every day. She didn't want any more mothers like her. You're a mother, and I'm sure you know how Joan feels."

When I came to my senses, the car had gone far away. I watched the tail lights fade into the darkness and stand outside for a long time.

The man's words lingered in my mind, and when I turned around, I made an impulsive decision.

Well, I always get myself into trouble.

The next day, I handed the baby over to the nanny and went to the police station with Liv, and after I posted bail for Joan and her colleagues, they were released. Of course, before I went, I found a very capable lawyer and Liv and Mark acted as my chauffeur and bodyguard.

The whole process was smooth, the police knew I was the President's daughter, and this time no one dared to make trouble for me. The officer in charge of receiving me was Eric, the old sheriff who had arrested me, and he was as deferential as when he had first met me.

It was all the convenience and respect of my identity that I felt both grateful and helpless.

I was going to bail Joan and her colleagues out and leave, but as I was getting into my car, Joan stopped me outside the police station.

"Eva."

"I should go home and get some rest," I turned to her. "Your boy is waiting for you at home."

I wanted to hint that I was helping her because of her child.

"I'd like to buy you a cup of coffee," said Joan, glancing at the nearby cafe. "To thank you for your help."

"Okay."

So I let Mark and Liv have a look around, and I'll call them back in 30 minutes.

There weren't many people in the cafe this morning. Joan ordered me a latte and she chose the iced n. When the coffee arrived, we were both silent.

"I didn't want to trouble you any more." Joan lowered her head slightly, her voice filled with a trace of guilt. "But I didn't know who to ask for help."

"Maybe next time you're in trouble, you can try and forget about me." I took a sip of my latte.

"I will continue to work on behalf of the workers," Joan said without thinking. "They know I know you, so they think I can persuade you to side with the Union."

"I've never been involved in politics," I said bluntly.

"That's because you never know how important you are to the people," Joan continued, "The girls who came back from pudding formed a support group called Iron Rose, and they look up to you. Everyone sees you as a heroine."

"You know them?" I wondered, because I had never heard of the Iron Rose.

"We're sisters." Joan looked at me in the eye. "We talk about you all the time."

"That's not necessary."

"This is the age of the female awakening," says Joan, "We have to stand up for ourselves. Women should have the same social status as men. It is always the men in power who advocate war, and it is always the mothers who oppose it. Because we know that war doesn't bring honour, and it brings death. The war in the Middle East is just the beginning, and your father will continue to use force against other countries. Only politicians and businessmen benefit from war, and we ordinary people have to bear all the costs. With heavy taxes, limited jobs and food, more and more people will be on the streets. We have to stop this."

"You can't," I said calmly. "Only those in power have decision-making power. Whatever he wants to do, you can only bear it."

I hate to shatter her hopes, but it is what it is.

"You've changed," Joan said. "You're not the soldier I knew."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you," I said and stood up. "Goodbye, Joan."

"You could have done more, but you chose to ignore it." Joan's tone was sad, "Goodbye, Eva."

As I walked out of the cafe, a cold wind was blowing in my face. Young people were rushing to work on the streets, and homeless people were rummaging through trash cans looking for food.

I looked up at the blue sky and thought. How long will it take for me to see such a sky?

Mark drove across the street to my side. He rolled down the window. "Frade and Vickie are back."

Oh, I hope they can bring good news.