“You’re so damn selfish all the time!” he said, towering over her.
She said nothing. Couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t breathe. She bit her lip to keep from screaming andwondered if she would pee blood tomorrow. The pain was a razor, slashing at her nerves, but she wouldn’t crybecause that only made him angrier.
He continued to stand over her, then let out a disgusted sigh. He reached for his empty glass and grabbed thebottle of vodka on the way out of the kitchen.
It took her almost a minute to summon the strength to get up. When she started cutting again, her hands wereshaking. The kitchen was cold and the pain was intense in her back, pulsing with every heartbeat. The weekbefore, he’d hit her so hard in the stomach that she’d spent the rest of the night vomiting. She’d fallen to the floorand he’d grabbed her by the wrist to pull her up. The bruise on her wrist was shaped like fingers. Branches ofhell.
Tears were on her cheeks and she had to keep shifting her weight to keep the pain at bay as she finisheddicing the tomato. She diced the cucumber as well. Small pieces. Lettuce, too, diced and chopped. The way hewanted it. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and moved slowly toward the refrigerator. Shepulled out a packet of blue cheese before finding the croutons in the cupboard.
In the living room, he’d turned the volume up again.
The oven was ready and she put the baking sheet in and set the timer. When the heat hit her face, she realizedher skin was still stinging, but she doubted that he’d left a mark there. He knew exactly how hard to strike and shewondered where he’d learned that, whether it was something that all men knew, whether there were secretclasses with instructors who specialized in teaching such things. Or whether it was just Kevin.
The pain in her back had finally begun to lessen to a throb. She could breathe normally again. Wind blewthrough the seams in the window and the sky had turned a dark gray. Snow tapped gently on the glass. Shepeeked toward the living room, saw Kevin seated on the couch, and went to lean against the counter. She took offone pump and rubbed her toes, trying to get the blood flowing, trying to warm her feet. She did the same with theother foot before slipping her pumps back on.
She rinsed and cut the green beans and put some olive oil in the frying pan. She would start the beans whenthe steaks went in the broiler. She tried again not to think about the phone beneath the sink.
She was removing the baking sheet from the oven when Kevin came back in the kitchen. He was holding hisglass and it was half empty. His eyes were already glassy. Four or five drinks so far. She couldn’t tell. She put thesheet on the stove.
“Just a little bit longer,” she said, her tone neutral, pretending that nothing had happened. She’d learned that ifshe acted angry or hurt, it only enraged him. “I have to finish the steaks and then dinner will be ready.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He swayed slightly.
She smiled. “I know. It’s okay. It’s been a hard few weeks. You’ve been working a lot.”
“Are those new jeans?” The words came out slurry.
“No,” she said. “I just haven’t worn them for a while.”
“They look good.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He took a step toward her. “You’re so beautiful. You know I love you, right?”
“I know.”
“I don’t like hitting you. You just don’t thinksometimes.”
She nodded, looking away, trying to think of something to do, needing to stay busy, then remembered she hadto set the table. She moved to the cupboard near the sink.
He moved behind her as she was reaching for the plates and rotated her toward him, pulling her close. Sheinhaled before offering a contented sigh, because she knew he wanted her to make those kinds of sounds.
“You’re supposed to say that you love me, too,” he whispered. He kissed her cheek and she put her arms aroundhim. She could feel him pressed against her, knew what he wanted.
“I love you,” she said.
His hand traveled to her breast. She waited for the squeeze, but it didn’t come. Instead, he caressed it gently.
Despite herself, her nipple began to harden and she hated it but she couldn’t help it. His breath was hot. Boozy.
“God, you’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful, from the first time I saw you.” He pressed himself harderagainst her and she could feel him. “Let’s hold off on putting the steaks in,” he said. “Dinner can wait for a littlewhile.”
“I thought you were hungry.” She made it sound like a tease.
“I’m hungry for something else right now,” he whispered. He unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open beforemoving to the snap on her jeans.
“Not here,” she said, leaning her head back, letting him continue to kiss her. “In the bedroom, okay?”
“How about the table? Or on the counter instead?”
“Please, baby,” she murmured, her head back as he kissed her neck. “That’s not very romantic.”
“But it’s sexy,” he said.
“What if someone sees us through the window?”
“You’re no fun,” he said.
“Please?” she said again. “For me? You know how hot you make me in bed.”
He kissed her once more, his hands traveling to her bra. He unsnapped it from the front; he didn’t like bras thatsnapped in the back. She felt the cold air of the kitchen on her br**sts; saw the lust in his face as he stared atthem. He licked his lips before leading her to the bedroom.
He was almost frenzied as soon as they got there, working her jeans down around her hips, then to her ankles.
He squeezed her br**sts and she bit her lip to keep from crying out before they fell onto the bed. She panted andmoaned and called his name, knowing he wanted her to do those things, because she didn’t want him to be angry,because she didn’t want to be slapped or punched or kicked, because she didn’t want him to know about thephone. Her kidney was still shooting pain and she changed her cries into moans, saying the things he wanted herto say, turning him on until his body started to spasm. When it was over, she got up from the bed, dressed, andkissed him, then she went back to the kitchen and finished making dinner.
Kevin went back to the living room and drank more vodka before going to the table. He told her about work andthen went to watch television again while she cleaned the kitchen. Afterward, he wanted her to sit beside him andwatch television so she did, until it was finally time to turn in.
In the bedroom, he was snoring within minutes, oblivious to Katie’s silent tears, oblivious to her hatred of him,her hatred of herself. Oblivious to the money she’d been stashing away for almost a year or the hair dye she’dsnuck into the grocery cart a month ago and hidden in the closet, oblivious to the cell phone hidden in thecupboard beneath the kitchen sink. Oblivious to the fact that in just a few days, if all went the way she hoped, hewould never see or hit her ever again.
19
Katie sat beside Alex on the porch, the sky above them a black expanse dotted with light. For months, she’d triedto block out the specific memories, focusing only on the fear that had been left behind. She didn’t want toremember Kevin, didn’t want to think about him. She wanted to erase him entirely, to pretend he never existed. Buthe would always be there.
Alex had stayed silent throughout her story, his chair angled toward hers. She’d spoken through her tears,though he doubted she even knew she was crying. She’d told him without emotion, almost in a trance, as if theevents had happened to someone else. He felt sick to his stomach by the time she’d trailed off.
She couldn’t look at him as she told him. He’d heard versions of the same story before, but this time it wasdifferent. She wasn’t simply a victim, she was his friend, the woman he’d come to love, and he tucked a loosestrand of hair behind her ear.
At his touch, she flinched slightly before relaxing. He heard her sigh, tired now. Tired of talking. Tired of thepast.
“You did the right thing by leaving,” he said. His tone was soft. Understanding.
It took her a moment to respond. “I know,” she said.
“It had nothing to do with you.”
She stared into the darkness. “Yes,” she said, “it did. I chose him, remember? I married him. I let it happenonce and then again, and after that, it was too late. I still cooked for him and cleaned the house for him. I slept withhim whenever he wanted, did whatever he wanted. I made him think I lovedit.”
“You did what you had to do to survive,” he said, his voice steady.
She grew silent again. The crickets were chirping and locusts hummed from the trees. “I never thoughtsomething like this could happen, you know? My dad was a drunk, but he wasn’t violent. I was just so… weak. Idon’t know why I let it happen.”
His voice was soft. “Because at one time you loved him. Because you believed him when he promised itwouldn’t happen again. Because he gradually grew more violent and controlling over time, slowly enough thatyou felt like he would change until you finally realized he wouldn’t.”
With his words, she inhaled sharply and lowered her head, her shoulders heaving up and down. The sound ofher anguish made his throat clench with anger at the life she’d lived and sadness because she was still living it.
He wanted to hold her, but knew that right now, at this moment, he was doing all she wanted. She was fragile, onedge. Vulnerable.
It took a few minutes before she was finally able to stop crying. Her eyes were red and puffy. “I’m sorry I toldyou all that,” she said, her voice still choked up. “I shouldn’t have.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“The only reason I did was because you already knew.”
“I know.”
“But you didn’t need to know the details about the things I had to do.”
“It’s okay.”
“I hate him,” she said. “But I hate myself, too. I tried to tell you that I’m better off alone. I’m not who you thoughtI was. I’m not the woman you think you know.”
She was on the verge of crying again and he finally stood. He tugged at her hand, willing her to stand. She didbut wouldn’t look at him. He suppressed his anger at her husband and kept his voice soft.
“Listen to me,” he said. He used a finger to raise her chin. She resisted at first then gave in, finally looking athim. He went on. “There’s nothing you can tell me that will change how I feel about you. Nothing. Because thatisn’t you. It’s never been you. You’re the woman I’ve come to know. The woman I love.”
She studied him, wanting to believe him, knowing somehow he was telling the truth, and she felt somethinggive way inside her. Still…
“But…”
“No buts,” he said, “because there are none. You see yourself as someone who couldn’t get away. I see thecourageous woman who escaped. You see yourself as someone who should be ashamed or guilty because shelet it happen. I see a kind, beautiful woman who should feel proud because she stopped it from happening everagain. Not many women have the strength to do what you did. That’s what I see now, and that’s what I’ve alwaysseen when I look at you.”
She smiled. “I think you need glasses.”
“Don’t let the gray hair fool you. My eyes are still perfect.” He moved toward her, making sure it was okaybefore leaning in to kiss her. It was brief and soft. Caring. “I’m just sorry you had to go through it at all.”
“I’m still going through it.”
“Because you think he’s looking for you?”
“I know he’s looking for me. And he’ll never stop.” She paused. “There’s something wrong with him. He’s…
insane.”
Alex thought about that. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but did you ever think of calling the police?”
Her shoulders dropped slightly. “Yes,” she said. “I called once.”
“And they didn’t do anything?”
“They came to the house and talked to me. They convinced me not to press charges.”
Alex considered it. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It made perfect sense to me.” She shrugged. “Kevin warned me that it wouldn’t do any good to call the police.
”
“How would he know?”
She sighed, thinking she might as well tell him everything. “Because he is the police,” she finally said. Shelooked up at him. “He’s a detective with the Boston Police Department. And he didn’t call me Katie. Her eyestelegraphed despair. “He called me Erin.”
20
On Memorial Day, hundreds of miles to the north, Kevin Tierney stood in the backyard of a house in Dorchester,wearing shorts and a Hawaiian-style shirt he’d bought when he and Erin had visited Oahu on their honeymoon.
“Erin’s back in Manchester,” he said.
Bill Robinson, his captain, flipped burgers on the grill. “Again?”
“I told you that her friend has cancer, right? She feels like she’s got to be there for her friend.”
“That cancer’s bad stuff,” Bill said. “How’s Erin holding up?”
“Okay. I can tell she’s tired, though. It’s hard to keep going back and forth like she’s been doing.”
“I can imagine,” Bill said. “Emily had to do something like that when her sister got lupus. Spent two months upin Burlington in the middle of winter cooped up in a tiny apartment, just the two of them. Drove them both crazy. Inthe end, the sister packed up Em’s suitcases and set them outside the front door and said she was better offalone. Not that I could blame her, of course.”
Kevin took a pull on his beer, and because it was expected of him, he smiled. Emily was Bill’s wife and they’dbeen married almost thirty years. Bill liked to tell people they’d been the happiest six years of his life. Everyone atthe precinct had heard the joke about fifty times in the past eight years, and a big chunk of those people werehere now. Bill hosted a barbecue at his house every Memorial Day and pretty much everyone who wasn’t on dutyshowed up, not only out of obligation, but because Bill’s brother distributed beer for a living, a lot of which endedup here. Wives and husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends, and kids were clustered in groups, some in the kitchen,others on the patio. Four detectives were playing horseshoes and sand was flying around the stakes.