Emilie Richards – No River Too Wide (страница 16)
She put down the menu, which hadn’t changed since her days on staff. “It’s possible you’re too good to be true.”
“I hitchhiked to San Francisco when I was sixteen to attend a Star Trek convention. I have an autographed poster of Captain Jean Luc Piccard in a safe-deposit box.”
“That’s the worst you’ve got?”
“Geekier than that? I played tuba in the academy band, mostly because I was the only one who could lift it out of the case. I went into the army because they promised me the Mideast. Then they sent me to Honolulu. I spent the whole time upgrading cabinets in officers’ housing at Schofield Barracks.” He grinned, an infectious, friendly grin. “Bad enough for you?”
She smiled, too. How could she not like Nate Winchester? Still, she had to counter.
She leaned forward. “I’m the product of a family who gives the word dysfunctional new meaning. I got pregnant despite using birth control and refused to marry the father when I realized he wanted to use our baby to impress the partners in his accounting firm. Now I work on a farm. Digging in the dirt and cleaning out the barn makes me happy in a way nothing else ever did. I want to be a lawyer, but I haven’t even started college and won’t until Lottie’s a little older.”
“Just so I know?”
She nodded. “Just so you know.”
“How about a glass of wine? And I’m good with the veggie pizza if you want to split one.”
“White wine for me, and you won’t have much choice on the brand—they’re probably still working on their wine cellar. Oh, and I don’t like Brussels sprouts.”
“Duly noted.”
She didn’t like Brussels sprouts, but she did like Nate. How could she not? As he gave their order, though, she was also aware that while she liked him just fine, sitting here with him was like sitting with a new girlfriend she’d met at the gym or the produce section of Fresh Market. He was good-looking, funny, intelligent and kind.
And she didn’t feel even one faint spark igniting between them.
From the audio journal of a forty-five-year-old woman, taped for the files of Moving On, an underground highway for abused women.
The first time the Abuser slapped me I was stunned. Three weeks after we were married in a simple ceremony, he came home to find that I had rearranged the kitchen of our new house to better suit my needs. Since I did all the cooking, I never considered that when he unpacked our new utensils and dishes he had meant for them to stay in the cabinets he had chosen. Foolishly I had even expected him to be pleased I was settling in and making our house a home.
He was sorry afterward, of course, tired from a long day at work in a job he despised because he hated taking orders from people who weren’t as smart as he was. Sorry enough that as he moved the kitchen contents back where he had first put them, he said he would have to remember to be more patient, that he knew I was learning to be a wife. But since he lived in the house, too, I should remember that all our decisions were to be made together.
Of course, as time passed I realized that there was no “together.” The Abuser decided everything, and when he did consult me, often his intention was to find out what I wanted so he could do the opposite.
Not always, though. Sometimes he surprised me with things he knew I yearned for—frequently enough, in fact, that I continued to believe he loved me and there was hope for our marriage. Sometimes, too, if I asked sweetly enough he would let me have my way, as long as I understood it was a privilege he had granted because he was a model husband.
Some things, of course, were permanently off-limits. He claimed we couldn’t afford a second car so I could do errands on my own, and on the rare occasions I had the family car to myself, I was suspicious that he checked the mileage to be sure I hadn’t gone places I hadn’t told him about. He preferred that my old friends not visit when he wasn’t at home. Wasn’t daytime set aside to clean and cook? He had his job; I had mine.
Of course, evenings and weekends were our time together and not to be shared.
The second time he hit me I had just returned from a spontaneous shopping trip with a college friend. When he demanded to know why I had ignored his wishes, I reassured him, pointing out that the night’s pot roast was simmering in the slow cooker and freshly ironed shirts were hanging in his closet.
So much time has passed I wonder now if I realized that afternoon that the trap was closing. That apologies were meant to keep me in line just as much as striking me was. That I could still find a way to be free of him with a little cunning and the help of the friends who hadn’t yet forgotten me.
I really don’t know. I do know I was determined to make our marriage a success. And wasn’t the violence rare and the Abuser sorry? Didn’t that make all the difference?
* * *
Jan had known she would have to shop for clothes since she was washing the few things she’d brought every other day. When she was making plans to escape and gathering necessities, she had even told herself shopping once she “moved on” would be fun. She could choose colors Rex had discouraged and styles that might actually look good instead of her usual drab, loose clothing that guaranteed she would fade into the background.
Of course, fading into the background might be a good thing until she knew for sure where her husband had gone. But in an odd sort of way, brightening her wardrobe might actually help her hide, since if anyone besides Rex was searching for her, they would be looking for a frumpy woman with no fashion sense and no courage.
Which, she was afraid, was sadly accurate.
“I can drop you off in town, but we’ll need to leave shortly,” Taylor said, glancing at the kitchen clock as she put away their lunch things. “My dad’s going to meet me over at the studio to see how the upstairs renovations are going. But he has another appointment at four, so I can pick you up just a little after. Will you be okay in town that long?”
Jan couldn’t imagine that much free time. And in a strange town? Where nothing was familiar, and she had no idea where to go?
Taylor seemed to sense her discomfort. “We can wait and go to the mall next time I have a few hours off. I’m just afraid if I try to drop you off there today, I’ll be late.”
“Oh, absolutely not. I’ll enjoy prowling around Asheville.” Jan put on her brightest smile. “And if I get lost, you can guide me in once you come back to pick me up.”
“The city’s small enough I think you’ll be fine.”
“Although what about Maddie?” Jan hoped she didn’t sound as if she was grasping at straws. “Shouldn’t I stay home so she’s not alone when she gets back from school?”
“She’s going over to her friend Edna’s house. You’ll meet Edna before too long. Her mom, Samantha, is one of the goddesses.”
Jan had heard all about the goddesses, an idea that hadn’t seemed too far-fetched, since her own goddesses, the truckers of Moving On, only did what they did because they wanted to help and for no other reason.
“Just let me grab my wallet,” Jan said.
Ten minutes later Taylor pulled into a space beside the curb of a hilly downtown filled—at least from what Jan could see—with restaurants and small shops with colorful, quirky merchandise displayed in their windows.
Taylor must have seen the look on her face, because she laughed. “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Jan’s gaze wandered across the street, and her eyebrows shot up. “Well, if I can’t find anything to wear, I can get a tattoo.”
“Just wander a little.” Taylor pointed. “Go up that way and you’ll run into a few stores with clothes you might like. And if you don’t, we’ll hit the mall later this week.”
For Jan this meant she had to find new things to wear today, because Taylor was already doing too much for her and didn’t need to hold her hand.
“I’ll meet you back here about four-fifteen,” Taylor said. “If you get tired, there are plenty of places to have coffee, and there’s a park just up that way with benches.” She hesitated. “I hate to ask this, but if you need cash—”
“No, no, I’m really fine. I have enough money to see me through until I can find work. It’s a long story. But I intend to pay rent, too, until I find a place.”
“Don’t you dare. Pay rent or find a place. I need you, and I’m not kidding. Maddie’s so much happier now that I’m not dragging her all over the place.”
Jan knew she had to get out of the car, but her arms and legs felt as inflexible as steel girders. She forced herself to open the door, swing her legs to the curb and stand.
“See you back here,” she said, forcing a smile that Taylor returned.
When Jan closed the door, Taylor pulled out into traffic.
And Jan was alone.
She would have been alone in New Hampshire, of course. More alone than this. Here she had Harmony just a phone call away, although she certainly couldn’t call or visit her daughter without advance preparation. Still, just knowing she was nearby helped, and Taylor had told her if anything came up, all she had to do was call her cell phone.
Getting a new phone was on her list of things to do, a phone registered to the stranger Jan Seaton, but she would have to check into what questions might be asked and how she could answer them. The very basic disposable that Moving On had provided had limited minutes remaining, and she needed to save them in case she had to contact her benefactors.