Never Let You Go Page 10

  I pushed open the bathroom door—and stopped. My cosmetics had been dumped everywhere, powders and blushes smashed onto the floor, the colors smeared on the white tile. The cupboard doors under the counter were wide open. Shampoo bottles, soaps, mouthwash, and lotions had all been tossed out. One of the bottles had broken open. Pale blue iridescent bubble bath leaked into the mess, and the scent, “Mountain Breeze,” hung sickeningly sweet in the air.

  I knelt down and dragged my tampon box toward me with shaking hands. No, no, no.

  Boot steps behind me. They stopped at the doorway. He knocked on the frame. I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight before opening them, then slowly turned around.

  He was holding the shiny silver packet of pills out in the air.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “How come Lindsey got pregnant so easy the first time, but now it’s so hard? The doctor says it isn’t me.”

  I got to my feet, braced my back against the counter, the hard edge biting into my skin. “I wasn’t ready for another child. I tried to tell you.”

  “You let me think it was me.”

  “No! I didn’t mean—”

  “You’re a lying bitch.”

  My body recoiled at the hatred in his face. “You made me lie.” My own anger was rising. The resentment I’d been stamping down for so long fighting to come loose. “Why would I want to have another baby with you when you treat me like this?”

  “Treat you like what, Lindsey?”

  His voice was so cold and I knew I was going too far and warning bells were going off in my head, but it felt good to finally strike back.

  “Like I’m nothing. Like I’m just your maid, or some child who doesn’t get to decide anything for herself. Like you don’t really love me.”

  “It looks like you’ve decided a few things for yourself, doesn’t it? But that’s going to change.” He moved toward me and I cringed against the counter, but he brushed past.

  He stood over the toilet and popped the pills out of the package, dropping them into the water. Then he came closer, stood right in front of me, and braced his hands on the counter on either side of me. “You don’t seem to realize how fucking good you have it. No one else would want you, Lindsey. You’re not that smart, and not all that pretty anymore either.”

  “Then let me go,” I said. “Divorce me. We can share joint custody.”

  “I’ll never let that happen.”

  “It won’t be up to you,” I said, surprised by how strong I sounded. “The courts will decide.”

  “You think I’d sit around and wait for that? If you ever leave me, if you even try to leave me, Sophie will only have one parent, do you understand?”

  I couldn’t talk anymore. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I thought I might pass out, but I forced myself to nod. He was inches from my face, his eyes staring into mine. He grabbed a hunk of my hair and tugged it back painfully, then whispered into my ear. “I’m going to get Sophie from school and we’re going out for my birthday dinner. You’re not invited.”

  He released me, and I sagged against the sink. His boots were loud as he walked back through the house. I followed after him, ran through the hall. He was already outside, down the stairs. I searched the counter for my keys, rifled through my purse, turned in a slow circle and scanned the room, searched the hook by the front door. They were gone.

  * * *

  Headlights streaked across the living room wall. I met them at the front door. Andrew came in first. I checked his face, noticed the flush to his cheeks and nose. From the cold? Or had he been drinking? God, please tell me he wasn’t drinking with Sophie in the truck. Sophie trailed behind her father, dragging her school backpack. She was huddled in her pink winter coat and shivering slightly, but her eyes were bright and happy as she said, “Hi, Mommy!”

  “Baby, I was getting worried.” I dropped to my knees in front of her, rubbed her shoulders. “Why are you so cold?” Her braid was askew, and the baby-fine hairs around her forehead floated free. I smoothed some of them back. I searched her face again. She didn’t seem upset, but she was twirling one strand of hair and looking up at her father. Lately she’d started to follow him around the house on the nights he came home drunk or she’d sit beside him on the couch, until I urged her to bed or bribed her away with a promise of a new bedtime story.

  “I’m okay, Mommy.”

  “She’s fine.” Andrew’s boots hit the wall behind me with a thud as he kicked them off. I tried not to flinch, aware of my daughter’s gaze. I listened to his socked feet walking into the living room. I couldn’t tell if he was stumbling.

  “Where did you go?” I said to Sophie, trying to use a cheerful voice.

  “Leave her alone,” Andrew said from the living room. “She needs to go to bed.”

  Sophie’s small white teeth were biting at her bottom lip. “I’m cold.”

  I unbuttoned her coat. “How about a bath to warm you up?” I glanced into the living room. Andrew was staring at the TV and flipping through channels.

  “Stop babying her,” he said.

  Sophie startled, looked at me quickly. I gave her a hug. “I’ll put an extra blanket on your bed,” I said into her small, cold ear. “You can wear your fuzzy jammies.”

  I tucked her favorite Disney princess blanket tight around her, then cuddled beside her so she could feel my body heat, rubbed at her hands and feet, massaging her legs.

  “Did you have a nice time?”

  She nodded, her soft hair tickling my nose in the dark.

  “Where did Daddy take you?”

  “We went up the mountain and looked at all the stars. Daddy bought me new binoculars. They’re pink. We had pizza. Daddy kept dropping his piece. He got cheese everywhere!” She giggled, then she rolled closer to me and touched my hand. “Do you feel better, Mommy?”

  “What?”

  “Daddy said you were sick?” She sounded confused. My stomach muscles clenched. Of course he lied to her. I was definitely sick. Sick and tired of living in fear like this.

  “I’m all better now, baby. I’m glad you had fun.”

  She let out a big yawn, and her head lolled against my shoulder “Can I sleep now?”

  I stayed with her as long as I dared, until her breath evened out. I knew he was waiting in the living room. What was he going to say? That I had to have a child or he’d do something terrible? What if I refused to have sex with him? If he was drinking he was never interested in sex. When he was sober and initiated anything sexual, I’d learned to go along with it whether I was in the mood or not. I disconnected from my body until it was over. Any excuses about my being tired were met with hostility and accusations of cheating. It was easier to just let it happen.

  When I walked into the living room, I saw that Andrew had passed out on the couch, an empty whiskey bottle on the floor beside him. So he had been drinking tonight. He always liked to come home and finish his buzz off with a few whiskeys. I sat on the chair across from him, watched his sleeping form, and imagined him taking pulls from a beer as he drove my daughter up into the mountains on curvy roads. One wrong turn and I would have lost her forever.

  I looked around the living room, so similar to those in all the other houses we’d lived in. Sophie’s project was drying in front of the fireplace. She’d spent hours gluing leaves and pinecones onto the poster board and labeling everything with gold glitter glue. She couldn’t wait to show him.

  His wallet was on the coffee table. He rarely set it down anywhere. My key chain was beside it. Was this a trap? I watched his face, listened to his heavy breathing, then leaned forward and slowly picked up his wallet. I opened it and glanced down. Five one-hundred-dollar bills.

  He shifted his weight and I froze, watching. He turned his face into the back of the couch. I waited until his breath slowed. I fingered the bills, carefully slipped them out. I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I paused, then thought of my birth control pills down the toilet.

  I picked up my ke
ys, gripping them tight in my hand so they didn’t jingle, and tiptoed out. I found my suitcase in the closet, packed my clothes, my toiletries, moving methodically around our bedroom. Then I went into Sophie’s room, slid her drawers open, and packed her underwear, pajamas, jeans, and sweaters. Dresses. Right, I had to remember her princess dress.

  “What are you doing, Mommy?”

  I spun around, held my finger to my lips. “We’re going on an adventure,” I whispered.

  She sat up. “Is Daddy coming?”

  “No. He has to work tomorrow, so we have to be really, really quiet, okay?”

  She nodded, her hair floating around her face, silvery blue in the moonlight. I lifted her in my arms and she wrapped her legs around my waist, tucked her head into the crook of my neck like when she was a toddler. I felt her body go limp and heavy. She’d fallen back asleep. I carried her to the car, eased the doors open, and placed her in her booster. Her head drooped. I turned her face to the side. Then I put her blanket around her and tossed our bags in the back.

  I slid behind the wheel, flipped through my key chain. Something was wrong. I couldn’t feel the shape of my car key. I glanced at the house, nervous about turning on the interior light. I dug my cell out of my purse, my fingers fumbling through everything. Finally I felt the cold plastic, aimed the light down. There was my mail key, the house key, but no car key.

  A noise beside me, the rush of cold air, a hand gripping my arm. Andrew was pulling me out. I fought to hang on to the steering wheel, both hands clutching the rubber, but he was too strong and I fell onto the ground, my legs still inside the car. He dragged me the rest of the way out, sat astride my chest. I choked back my scream. Sophie. I couldn’t wake Sophie.

  I pushed at his chest, tried to squirm away. His body was outlined from the interior lights that had come on when he opened the door. I couldn’t see his face. It was all black.

  Hands were around my throat, squeezing. I couldn’t breathe. I clawed at his hands, his wrists. My knees bumped into his back. Everything was slowing down.

  “I warned you,” he hissed.

  Something felt like it was bursting in my eyes, blood roared into my head. I tried to gouge at his face, but he pulled away. My eyes were closing. My hands loosening.

  “Mommy?”

  Air, sudden sweet air. My head rolled to the side, cold dirt and gravel under my cheek. I had no strength, could only take gasping breaths. My throat felt as though it was broken.

  “Mommy fell out of the car,” Andrew said.

  “Mommy?” Sophie’s voice was tentative, worried. She was strapped into her booster seat, couldn’t see me on the ground. Andrew shifted his weight and climbed off me, but his hand pressed down on my stomach—a warning.

  “I’m okay,” I gasped. After a moment, I rolled onto my side, eased to my knees. Andrew was getting Sophie out of the car, lifting her up into his arms. She was holding her blanket.

  “I thought we were going on an adventure?” Sophie said.

  “The adventure is over, sweetie,” Andrew said.

  He strode toward the house, Sophie still in his arms. She was watching me over his shoulder. I could just make out the shape of her small head bobbing with each of his steps.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  SOPHIE

  DECEMBER 2016

  I’m in the cafeteria, drawing in my sketchbook. Delaney has gone back to her locker already, but I’m holding off going to my next class. I’m trying to get the wings right on a crow—I keep messing up the feathers because I’m thinking about my dad. I’m scared I’ve opened a door to something and now I can’t close it. He was asking so many questions about my mom. What if that’s why he really wanted to meet me? What if Mom finds out I’ve been lying to her?

  Jared McDowell sits down beside me. I keep working on my crow. I can feel him watching me, like he’s waiting for me to look up or say something, but I’m not going to stop just because one of the popular kids is sitting beside me. He probably wants help with his homework or thinks I’m a dope dealer because I have purple hair. Least, that’s my best guess based on nothing. We’ve never talked before, but I used to check him out sometimes when we had the same class last semester. There’s something about his face that’s interesting. His nose is long, and his lips are too big for his face, but he has nice eyes. Shiny black, almost like a crow’s. Not that it matters. I’d never hook up with him. I don’t think he’s a jerk, but we don’t hang out with the same kids or have anything in common. His family has a lot of money, a big house on the ocean, and he has a car. My mom cleans for his parents. So, there’s that.

  When I still haven’t spoken for a couple of moments, he leans a little closer to me.

  “I heard your mom had something creepy happen this weekend,” he says. Some of the kids at the table next to ours turn around and look at us. I stare at them until they look away.

  I meet his eyes. “How do you know about that?”

  “She told my mom. She wanted to make sure someone was home when she was cleaning. Do the police know who it was yet? Does she think she’s being followed or something?”

  I don’t know what to say. Mom didn’t tell me she was nervous to go to work alone or that she was warning her clients. Did she tell them about my dad? Would she lose jobs?

  “What do you care?”

  He frowns. “What’s your problem? I just wanted know if she’s all right.”

  “She’s fine,” I say, too loud. It had to have been a robber who broke into Mrs. Carlson’s house, not my dad, but I hate thinking about my mom being scared. Jared’s holding a Starbucks coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it loosely. His nails are smooth and clean-looking, and he’s wearing a silver thumb ring with this cool stitched pattern. I want to see it closer, but then I think about my dad’s rough hands and how he was wearing his wedding ring. Mom told me that he tried to choke her once. How could he do that? I stare down at my drawing.

  “You okay?” Jared says.

  “I have to finish this before class.” I shift my body to the side so my shoulder blocks his view of my face, and start working on the wings again, smudging them with my fingertip.

  He’s quiet for a moment. “Sorry I bothered you.” He gets up from the table, gathers his books, and walks out of the cafeteria. I keep working on the crow, but my face is hot. I take my pen and drag lines over and over the crow until it’s obliterated. Problem solved.

  * * *

  Sunday afternoon Andrew and I are near the edge of the river. I’m still getting used to calling him Andrew. It feels awkward, like calling a teacher by their first name or something. He’s been showing me how to cast, and I lost a couple of the lures, but he didn’t seem to mind. He’s made sandwiches. The bread is moist as though he took it out of the freezer that morning, and thick, with sliced roast beef and cheddar cheese. I’m pretty much a vegetarian (I’ll eat fish and eggs), but I can tell it’s important to him that I like mine. He keeps sneaking peeks at me. I choke one back, wash it down with the Dr Pepper he brought because he said he remembered I liked it. That was nice too. I don’t tell him that I haven’t drunk a Dr Pepper since I was probably thirteen.

  “I’m still learning to cook,” he says.

  “They’re good.”

  “Not really,” he says with a laugh, and I smile. “The meat is dry. Your mom made the best roast beef.”

  He’s circling back around again. Always back to her. I stare down at my sandwich.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would still meet me today,” he says.

  “Why not?” I glance at him, dancing my feet a little to keep warm. He’s built a fire on the beach and we’re sitting on a blanket on the log, but I’m still cold.

  “Your mom was pretty pissed that I’m moving here.” He gives me a look. “I didn’t tell her we had coffee. I kind of got the idea she didn’t know.”

  My legs stop moving. “What are you talking about?”

  “She didn’t tell you I saw her outside the bank on Wednesday?
I was going to tell you the good news about my job today, but I thought maybe she already said something.”

  “You’re moving here? Like you’re going to be here all the time?” I don’t know how I feel. I wanted to get to know him again, but what if we don’t like each other? My mom must be so upset. I think back over the last couple of days. She has seemed stressed, but I thought it was because of her business. I was happy that she was distracted. Now I feel horrible.

  “It’s a good job opportunity and I’ve missed eleven years of your life. I want to be around more this year, before you go away for university.”

  “I didn’t tell Mom I saw you. She’s still really scared of you.”

  “I know.” He looks sad, his mouth turning down. “I’m hoping that when she sees I’m not trying to mess up her life, she won’t be scared anymore.”

  “You didn’t treat her well,” I say. “You hurt her.” It’s frightening to say the words out loud, but I feel daring and bold and reckless. I feel like she would be proud of me.

  “I couldn’t control the drinking,” he says. “Every time it happened, I hated myself for days and I’d think I was never going to do it again, but the second I drank, I turned into someone else. It was like this big dark thing came in and took over and I couldn’t stop.”

  “Do you think about the woman?” I almost whisper the question, can feel the dampness of the river and the winter air seeping into my bones. I shiver. I looked her up online, saw the photos of her car, the front all smashed in. Her name was Elizabeth Sanders and she was only twenty-eight years old. They used a photo of her from when she graduated nursing school, looking so happy and proud. I read all the comments underneath. Everyone hated my dad.

  “All the time,” he says. “I couldn’t face it for years because I was in denial, but AA taught me about acceptance and forgiveness. One day I sat down and wrote her a letter.”

  “She had a family.”

  “I know. I wrote them a letter too.”