Table

by ML Mystrom

  I decided to ignore the possessive words for now and shook my head. “You don’t understand. He’s rich and his family has a lot of power.”

  I sucked in a breath at what I’d just revealed. It didn’t seem to bother Table.

  “Rich men bleed just the same as poor ones. How ’bout we sit down for a bit and you tell me what’s going on.”

  I gave up. Table was patient but relentless. We sat on the bed, disrupting the money. Both of us ignored it.

  “You’re going to hate me,” I said. I was surprised how steady I sounded. “You’re going to hate me for bringing this danger to your family.”

  “Hate is a strong word, baby girl. I can’t tell you I won’t get mad, but I can tell you I’ll hear you out and I will not let loose. You already know I will never raise a hand against you no matter what. I told you I had your back and I meant it.”

  He placed a finger under my chin and tipped my head back. The sincerity in his face was almost unbearable. “You’re a smart woman, Lori. You know there’s something between us and it’s good. Real good. So good I’m willing to fight for it, and that includes fightin’ you to keep it. We’ve been going slow, but I think it’s time we put our cards down. I just laid claim to you and that’s all of you, includin’ the bad stuff, and I gotta know what’s comin’ our way. Can you do that for me, baby girl? Can you find it in your heart to trust me?”

  My heart was pounding out of my chest. Was it time? Should I take this chance? My head churned with agonizing thoughts, but it had come to sink or swim. Table was the best man I’d ever known and if I was ever going to get my life back, I had to start somewhere. I took a deep breath and dove off the cliff.

  “My name is not Lori Mathews. It’s Vivian Townsend. The same Vivian you’ve heard about on the news that is supposed to be in South Africa working to build schools for the Townsend Foundation. The same Vivian that is still married to Jeffrey Townsend Jr., son of Senator Townsend.”

  Table didn’t move or speak. He just looked at me steadily, waiting until I opened up and told him my story. I closed my eyes, took another deep, ragged breath, and lanced that festering wound.

  Seventeen

  I heard the front door slam and he yelled at his bodyguard to get the fuck out. My stomach clenched and fingers of cold dread drifted across my neck. He was upset over something. It was not good when he was upset.

  I was sitting in my robe, in front of my vanity, making my preparations for the evening’s event and had tied my favorite gold scarf around my neck instead of wearing one of the ornate necklaces I owned. We were supposed to go to a fundraiser at one of the art galleries in a couple of hours, and I prayed that having a public appearance would keep him under control this time. I ran a brush through my long blonde hair and pretended to preen even as I heard him coming up the stairs.

  “Vivian!” His yell was harsh. I flinched and cleared my throat.

  “I’m in the bedroom.” My light voice didn’t reflect the fear in my gut. I saw his reflection in the vanity mirror. His face was calm and tight. This was bad. If he were yelling and screaming at me, it would be better. He would get all his anger out, and even if I was bleeding from his words, I wouldn’t be bleeding anywhere else. I glanced at the clock.

  “I’ll be ready to go soon if you want to get to the gallery earlier than you originally planned.” I swiped on some mascara and willed my hand to stay steady. He came up behind me and stroked a hand over my hair, and lightly pulled at the scarf.

  “Vivian, what did you do today?”

  My mind raced through the day’s activities, trying to pinpoint what it was that I’d done wrong.

  “I got the housework and dinner schedule set up for next week. I took care of replying to the charity invitation you wanted to attend, and I got tickets to the opera, but I couldn’t get the box seats you wanted. Senator Bishop already had them, but I know you’re trying to win his favor so I thought you’d be okay with it. I—”

  “Shut up.”

  My mouth snapped closed as his grip tightened on my hair.

  “The spa, Vivian. You went to the fucking spa.”

  I had gone to the spa. Before these big meet-and-greet dinner fundraisers, he wanted me to look as pristine and perfect as I could. The spa meant waxing, polishing, facial, hair, nails, eyebrows, the works. Occasionally I got a massage to help me relax and hopefully get through whatever event I had to attend. I dropped the mascara wand. I had gotten a massage today. My regular person was out sick and the spa only had one other massage therapist there at the time.

  “You let a man touch you today. Mimi Carson was at the spa and saw it.”

  I swallowed. Sherman was a small, thin man and one of the sweetest people at the spa. He was also very gay and very open about being gay. He had come bouncing into the room announcing himself with a drawn-out “Hellooooooo, precious!” He wasn’t a quiet person as he pounded and worked on my shoulders and back, spending the forty-five-minute session talking about the latest crisis in his life with his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s cat. I was thoroughly entertained by his attitude and detailed drama.

  “Marianna was out and Sherman—”

  “A fuckin’ black man!”

  That was it. Pain bit into my throat as he jerked me from the vanity stool using the scarf and threw me to the floor. I didn’t have time to curl into a ball before his foot landed in my belly. Air whooshed from my lungs and I gasped for any air I could get. He grabbed the scarf again and yanked me up, drawing the cloth tight and choking me. He smashed a fist in my face, knocking me back to the floor. I felt my lip split and my mouth fill with blood as I gasped for air.

  “Goddamn slut! How long have you been cheating on me?”

  “I haven’t. Sherman is gay.” My words were garbled by my swelling mouth, but it didn’t matter what I said. I’d already been judged... again.

  “Liar!” He kicked me again in the back and I held back from crying out. I’d learned that making any pained noises only made it worse. As the beating continued, he yelled over and over again, calling me names, calling out every imagined slight or wrong I had done. I begged. I apologized. I prayed someone in the house would hear and care enough to come help me. I felt something in my ribs give when he gave me one particularly vicious kick. This time I did scream. My arm broke when he stomped on it as I was trying to crawl away. My nose broke as well when he slammed my face into the floor.

  He didn’t stop there. What he did next was far worse than I’d ever thought he would do. He jerked me onto my back, and I screamed again in agony. He tore open my robe and forced my legs apart. I didn’t know which pain was worse: the one of him ripping into my body or the one in my brain of not being able to stop him.

  When he was done, he got off me. He pulled his pants up and ran his hands over his hair to put it in some sense of order. His rage was burned out and he winced as he looked down on me, maybe realizing he’d gone too far this time.

  “I’ll tell the hosts you were feeling unwell and decided not to come. There’s a virus going around, so that’s plausible.”

  He went into the bathroom and I heard the shower come on. The action of closing my legs was agonizing, and I knew there was blood. A lot of it. I lay there in one big ball of pain until I heard the shower go off. I spurred myself to move, rolling over to my good side and pushing myself up with one arm. My ribs throbbed and I couldn’t take a breath without pain stabbing me. I managed to pull myself up and right the fallen vanity stool as he came through the bedroom and headed into the closet. The scent of his spicy aftershave followed him. At one time, I’d loved smelling the masculine cologne. Now it made me want to gag. I sat on the low stool and leaned on my vanity, trying to breathe steadily. My arm was useless, my lip was hurting and still bleeding, and there was a burning between my legs that topped it all. I lifted my blackening eyes to the mirror and saw his reflection as he emerged from the closet, dressed in his tuxedo and tails. He was a devastatingly handsome man, but all I could see was th
e monster inside.

  My throat was raw and I swallowed the copper-tasting saliva that gathered in my mouth. “I need a hospital.” My mouth wasn’t working right so my words came out garbled.

  He came over and stood behind me, his fingers working the black bow tie at his neck. “Not tonight. It wouldn’t look right. I’ll have Bobby run your car into a tree or something tomorrow afternoon. I’m busy in the morning. We’ll time it for after lunch so I can be with you in the emergency room. It will make a pretty good photo op with me at the side of my lovely wife after she carelessly wrecked. You’ll need to clean this mess up before tomorrow morning. I’ll stay somewhere else tonight, and that will give you plenty of time to get yourself together.”

  He leaned over and pressed his lips to my head, and it took everything I had left not to flinch away and set him off again.

  I didn’t move until I heard the front door close after he left. The silence was heavy. There was no other movement or sound in the house. If any workers were left, they would stay out of the way and avoid this part of the house for fear of seeing something they didn’t want to get involved in. I was alone and no one would stop me.

  There was still light outside, and people in the affluent neighborhood would be walking their dogs, or jogging, or strolling along the neatly kept sidewalks. I had time, but I was fading fast. I forced myself upright and staggered to the bedroom door. Just that bit of effort had me seeing black spots in front of my eyes. I heard a noise in the upper hallway, but it was footsteps quickly moving away. I didn’t bother to call for help, as I knew I wouldn’t get it. Somehow I got down the staircase without falling. Each step jarred my ribs and I could barely move my legs in more than a shuffle.

  I made it halfway down the drive before my legs gave out. I dropped to my knees, adding more scrapes and bruises to my collection. I did the only thing I could do.

  I crawled.

  The asphalt was rough and took more skin from my one good hand and knees, but that pain simply blended into all the rest. The scarf fell away from my neck and I left it there. I briefly thought about the security cameras and if someone was in the house monitoring them, watching my slow progress and calling my husband to come deal with his errant wife. I was close. I got to the gates and stared up at the control that would open them, wondering how I was going to pull myself up to get to it. Apparently, someone was watching from inside the house and decided to be merciful. I heard the click and they swung open. I halfway expected my husband to come through, but all I heard was chirping birds and the hum of automatic sprinklers coming on.

  I crawled onward, dragging my broken arm, my body in agonizing pain. I finally collapsed into the fragrant grass of the wide median strip between the sidewalk and the street. It was cool and smelled so clean. My eyes were nearly swollen shut, but I saw the clover. It was right in front of my face, four bright green leaves attached to a thin stem. It shone at me like a beacon. I reached out my good hand and stroked the round discs, hoping this was a sign that my luck was about to change. I noticed the pristine white of the sidewalk and the cerulean blue of the early evening sky. A strange sense of peace came over me as I stared at the tiny plant. Blackness was swirling in front of my eyes and I was fading fast. If I was going to die here on the sidewalk, at least I would die free.

  I heard a voice shouting, “Oh my God!” and then sirens in the distance.

  I might have laughed if I’d had the breath to do so. I knew the sirens were for me and whoever opened the gates had had enough integrity to call emergency services. I stroked the clover over and over again, hoping to glean more of its luck. The sirens got louder and pulled up next to me, and I heard the slam of doors and rattle of other equipment being gathered. I took one last look at my clover, still standing tall, and let the blackness take me.

  Tears rolled from my eyes as I finished the rest of my story.

  “I was sent to a private clinic in a small town in northern West Virginia, along with two bodyguards to ‘keep me safe.’ I think it was more to keep me isolated and under control. The doctors fixed me up, and I stayed there until I healed. My father-in-law came to visit me once. I can still remember him standing over me, lecturing me on what was going to happen next. He’d spent a huge amount of money to keep the news of the ‘incident’ out of the papers and to purge the police and hospital records.

  “Jeffrey Jr. had been sent to South America and he concocted the story for the press that Jeff and I were on a humanitarian mission for the foundation and would be out of the country for a while. After I was back on my feet, I was expected to return to Washington and continue my role in the foundation and Jeff’s career. I think he had visions of Jeff becoming the next Senator Townsend, and being charged with domestic violence and rape wouldn’t go over well with voters. He said divorce was not an option. His instructions were I was to stay married to Jeff, smile, and play my part like a good little wife. Obviously, I disagreed. A few days before I was supposed to be discharged, I came back to my room after breakfast and found a flash drive, pictures of my injuries in a big envelope, copies of the police’s reports, and five hundred dollars. There was a set of car keys too. I’m guessing one of the guards did it, but I really don’t know. What I did know was I couldn’t stomach the idea of going back to that life. I didn’t know what else to do so I took everything and ran.”

  Table grunted behind me and his arms tightened again. “What was on the flash drive? I’m guessin’ you took a look at it?”

  “Yes, I did. I opened it only once at an online café. I expected to see digital copies of the papers I had in hand, but it was about the foundation’s finances. Lists of account numbers to projects I’d never heard of and rivers of money running through them. I think I was looking at a massive money laundering scam or maybe tax fraud, but I don’t know for sure. All I know is, what I had was powerful and dangerous.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. There was a lot to unpack and once I started, it kept running like a broken faucet. With each sentence, freedom filled me and the sense of impending dread I’d carried with me for the last year lightened.

  “I’m not rich like Jeff’s family, but I do have a small trust fund my parents left me that he can’t get to. I can’t get to it now either. If I tried to access that money, the Senator or Jeffrey might be able to have it traced. I was scared what they would be capable of if they found me. Maybe I’ve seen too many spy movies, but I didn’t want to take any chances of leaving a paper trail. I sold the car and started working under the table jobs for cash only. As far as my marriage was concerned, it was over, but I still wanted to get an official divorce. I needed it for my own peace. My dad’s attorney has been with my family for years and he’s been the only person I could trust up until now. All our communication has been through burner phones, and I sent him copies of everything but the flash drive. He was only to use the pictures and reports, letting the Senator know I only wanted a quiet divorce from Jeffrey and that was all.

  “I was afraid if my lawyer had a copy of the flash drive that would put him and his family in danger. Essentially, I was blackmailing the Senator for my divorce. He didn’t like it and still doesn’t, but it’s happening. I can’t imagine the money he’s spent to keep it out of the news. I’m sure that if he found me, somehow he’d find a way to make me go back or kill me. If he knew I had this flash drive, I’d be dead already. He may suspect it anyway. This is another reason I’ve gone as far off the grid as possible and done whatever I could to stay that way. It’s taken so many months for the divorce to happen. Delays, protests from the senator, signatures and arguments that took forever due to Jeff being out of the country, but finally it’s happening. My lawyer is getting the final divorce papers next week. He has proxy to sign and I’ll be free or at least I hope I’m free.”

  Table stayed silent the entire time I spoke. The only indication he was listening was when his arm tightened around my middle and he made a sharp inhale. Sometime during my recounting, he maneuvered us so we were laying on t
he bed, on our sides with him against my back. His heavy arms encircled me, and he was snugged up tight, his legs crooked and molded to mine. The enveloping security I felt was overwhelming.

  “Table?”

  “Gimme a minute, Lori.” He growled the words, as if he held rocks in his mouth. I didn’t know if this was good or bad. I could feel his breath against the back of my neck and tingles ran down my spine from the warmth. I sniffed, determined to hold back more tears that threatened to fall.

  “I’m not sure, but I think someone has been chasing me. That stuff that’s been happening around the farm? I think maybe Jeff or the senator paid someone to harass me and make me run again. It’s happened a few times before. I was in Canton, working as a dishwasher in a diner that was broken into one night, like the tattoo parlor. I left before the police and press could find and question me. I swept floors and was cleaning for cash at a bar in Bluefield when someone keyed a bunch of cars in the parking lot. The ones that were damaged were all around my car, but it was the only one that was untouched. I left from there and kept moving, never staying in one place for more than a few weeks until I came here. No one has ever been hurt before, but the incident with the van came very close. I think because the divorce is all but official, he’s getting worse. I still may just be paranoid. Maybe once the papers are filed, I can disappear, and he’ll stop bothering me.”

  Table’s breath tickled my ear. “Then what? You can’t go back to bein’ Vivian Townsend again. And the news about the divorce is bound to come out sooner or later.”

  “Maybe they would spin the story as me being unfaithful and Jeffrey divorced me instead of the other way around. I didn’t really think that far ahead. I just wanted to get away and get my life back.” I stopped trying to check them and let the tears flow freely down my face and puddle under my cheeks. “I’m so sorry I brought this trouble to you and your family. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”