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my ground and gritted my teeth.
    I was still fuming during lunch. I needed to blow off some steam, but playing violent video games wasn’t doing the trick anymore.
    When we were finished, I was the first to jump up from the table. “How about we go to the ranch and race our monster trucks?”
    The guys all agreed, and then Bia, Gabi, Lauren, and Iris announced they would join us for the game. Ten minutes later, we were driving to the ranch.

Chapter Three
     
     
    After Hannah left to go to the Fernandeses’ ranch for a monster truck race—the Fernandeses loved their monster trucks—my mother and I drove all the way to Santa Barbara and stopped by the women’s center. I came once a month, but my mother was here at least once a week, and most of the time, Hannah was with her.
    Helping other women who had gone through much more dramatic events than what Hannah and I had gone through was part of the healing process, my mother always said, and my therapist agreed.
    There were days I was glad I came, like the days I saw women stand up and fight for their freedom, to be respected, to be loved. Then there were the days I wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. Those were the days when a new woman—or two—arrived at the center. They came because they didn’t know where else to go, but they were so battered, so broken, so hurt, they had to be sent to the hospital first. Sometimes they came back; sometimes they didn’t.
    Today was one of the good days, thank goodness. I couldn’t handle more drama here after what happened at the party last night.
    “Is Evie here?” I asked Leila, the receptionist.
    “She should be in the garden out back,” she answered. “You know the way, right?”
    With a smile, I nodded and then waved at my mother as I went to meet Evie.
    The garden was a special place. Each woman was invited to plant a new flower when she first came here and to tend it. To see so many flowers in bloom was inspiring. The staff didn’t let the non-cared-for flowers alone for long. They took care of them, as if they were a sign of hope, or they weeded them out, leaving space for someone else to plant her flower.
    Evie was kneeling beside a pot, tending her flowers.
    “Hey, there,” I said, sitting on the wooden bench a couple of feet behind her.
    “Hilary!” She stood and smiled at me. “How nice to see you! How are you?”
    “I’m good, and you?”
    She pointed to her flowers. They were tall, bright, and strong. “Do they answer your question?”
    “They do.” I was glad she was having a good day. In the year I had known Evie, I had only seen her smile twice.
    Her name was Evangeline, but she preferred Evie.
    Evie had gotten pregnant when she was eighteen. Her father and mother wanted her to have an abortion, but she couldn’t. So, after a big fight with her parents, Evie left and went to live with Mike. However, she lost the baby, and for quite some time, she was depressed and alone.
    As far as I knew, Mike had been a sweetheart then and helped her through it. She slowly got better, but then Mike started changing. He became jealous, possessive, and aggressive. His harsh words transformed into slaps and punches. Now, at twenty-three, Evie was again depressed and alone, and she was still with Mike.
    She knew better. The therapists and staff here at the center talked to her about leaving him for good. I talked to her about it a lot too, but she never did. She couldn’t. It was as if Mike held an invisible and unbreakable collar around her neck.
    I understood. My sister had been through something similar, and it had taken her a long time to stand up and do something about it. I didn’t agree with it, but I understood.
    What I wanted though was to see her win. Even if it took years, I would be here to help her be free of her terrible husband, one way or another.
     
    ***
    With one earbud on playing a new pop song and a large to-go coffee cup, I focused on my drawing pad and my pencil at the small table in the