Her Perfect Life

by Hinze, Vicki

  He stroked her face, his eyes glistening. “Okay, Angel. Whatever you want.”

  It was a short drive, south of the base to Highway 90, which paralleled the Gulf of Mexico. They passed the pier where Katie had parked so many times. The waning sunlight glinting off the cars in the parking lot mocked her, warning her that while she might have made up her mind to reclaim her life, actually doing it wasn’t going to be easy. Determined, she didn’t look away.

  C.D. braked at a red light. “Do you want to grab a burger?”

  He was sorely sick of them, but they were her comfort food, and he rightly felt she needed comforting. Yet the truth was if she dared to swallow a bite of anything, she’d be sick as spit all over the Hummer. That would not be a pleasing thing to her or to the man. “No, thanks. Is there any food in the house?”

  “Always.” He reached for her hand.

  She clasped it, telling herself not to squeeze too hard, not to hold on too tight. She could do this. She really could.

  He drove past little knots of pastel-colored houses, hotels and tourist traps, until he reached the water tower. There, he turned left and drove down three streets to a private road. He turned right onto it. His house was on the gulf. She swallowed hard.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She nodded. Her insides were a tangled mass of knots in full spasm. She did some deep breathing, trying to ease the uproar. “There are no houses on this street.”

  “There’s one,” he said. “Mine.” He turned a curve and the house rose up and into view. It was two story, a soft gray brick trimmed in white with windows that stretched high into the steep pitch of the roof. The front yard looked like any other, with neat and crisp landscaping and a pretty three-tier fountain in the center of the sidewalk to the front door. “I like it.”

  He smiled. “I’ve been doing a little renovating.”

  “You told me Jake was helping. What have you been doing?”

  “Converting it from a single male household to a family home.”

  Her heart warmed, and Katie smiled. “That’s special, C.D.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He pushed the opener on the visor and the garage door swung up. “I figured it’d be another year until you were ready to come out here.”

  “That long?”

  He pulled into the garage and cut the engine. It ticked. “I didn’t know,” he said. “I wanted it ready when you were.”

  “So is it?”

  “Ready enough.” He opened the door.

  Getting out of the Hummer inside the garage was just like getting out of any car and walking into any house in any neighborhood she’d ever lived in. Yet knowing that beyond the back door was sand and beach and gulf, she had to force herself to do it. Her knees shook, her palms sweat, but she opened the door, swiveled out of the seat and shut it behind her. So far, so good.

  C.D. opened the door. “I’ll show you around.”

  She swallowed hard and forced her feet to move, stepped into a little hallway that led to the kitchen.

  It was huge, with tons of pale teak cabinets, a gourmet center and every appliance known to God and man. “Wow, C.D. Did you take up cooking?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “With this kitchen? No, I’m not.”

  “Molly likes to cook.”

  He’d done this for Molly? Moved, Katie looked at the granite countertops, the dual dishwashers and chef’s stove and warming drawers. “Wow, this is something.”

  He smiled, pleased that she liked it. “Come look at this.”

  Katie followed him through a masculine den done in navy leather, past two rooms with closed doors, a bath that was about the size of the cottage, and down to the end of a secondary hallway.

  He paused outside the door. “I wanted this away from the rest of the house.”

  “Why?”

  “Noise, Katie.” He opened the door. “It’s a music studio.” Pride beamed in his tone. “The walls are soundproof, but I put in an intercom so that if you want Jake, he’ll be able to hear you.” C.D. grinned. “No playing like he didn’t.”

  “Bet he loved that addition.” She grinned.

  “He was a good sport about it.”

  “C.D.,” Katie gushed. “Jake must love this.”

  “Yeah, he’s pretty happy with it. He brought Mark over a couple weeks ago. They’re going to do band practice here—once you’re ready. Until then, they’re staying put in Mark’s garage.”

  “You’re amazing, honey.” She walked up to him, hugged him, and then kissed him lovingly. “You really are amazing. I pinch myself all the time wondering how I got so lucky. Out of all the women in the world, you chose to love me. I can’t figure out why, but I’m so glad you do.”

  “That’s part of your charm.” He walked back into the hallway. “You have no idea how unique and remarkable you are.”

  He deliberately stayed away from the back of the house, steering her from room to room on the front, where she wouldn’t see sand or water, only lovely landscaping. But when they’d seen everything else, he paused. “More? Or have you seen enough for now?”

  “I think I need to venture a little on my own.”

  He looked worried, but he didn’t refuse. “I’ll be in the kitchen, scrounging up some dinner.”

  “Okay.” She watched him go, sensed his wariness and, with every step he took away from her, her fear increased. Taking in a deep, steadying breath, she headed across the tiled hallway to the back of the house.

  She stopped in the middle of the family room. It stretched nearly the full length of the house. Cream and sun-washed teal and splashes of yellow; huge rugs on the hardwood floors, enormous canvases with intricate designs stretching fifteen, twenty feet up on the inside walls. The outer walls were enormous panels of glass. Tinted to protect against the glare of the sun. Beyond the windows, there were levels of decking that went off in different directions. To the left, there was a walkway pier. A large boat with a canopy top was tied to the pier and rocked back and forth in the water. To the right was another walkway that ended in an observation deck. Its floor was brick and on the near end was a huge barbeque pit. The center level dropped down and steps led down to a stretch of white sandy beach to the water.

  The sun hung low in the sky, a glowing orange orb that streaked the sky pink and lavender and spangled glistening diamonds on the surface of the water. Still and quiet, she could hear the soft lull of the surf, see the water curl and creep ashore then wash out again. Constant. Serene. Soothing. And this window was a perfect place to watch the sunset each night.

  Or from outside.

  Her insides chilled. Maybe one day, she told herself. But not today. For today, the sunset from this side of the window was enough.

  After dinner, C.D. asked, “Do you want to stay here tonight, or go back to the cottage?”

  “Let’s stay here.” He’d worked so hard to make this house a home for them and the kids. She didn’t want to disappoint him. “I love this house, C.D.”

  “I’m glad.” He was genuinely pleased. And she was happy that she’d made the decision to stay. He hadn’t acted as if it was important, but it clearly mattered a great deal to him.

  “Movie or backgammon?”

  “Movie,” she said. “A sappy chick flick.”

  He grunted. “Okay, but we sit on the sofa and make out.”

  Katie giggled. “Deal.”

  The bedroom faced the water.

  Katie loved the huge canopy bed and filmy white sheers looping its shanks and draping from it; the hand-carved oak furniture with intricate rosettes and leaves; the soft, soothing green walls and warm cream linens. There were soft, cushy pillows, silky sheets, a lovely sitting area, where she could see herself curling up with a good book and a luxuriously sinful master bath with a tub that resembled a swimming pool.

  She’d looked at it, and as tempted as she was to sleep and awaken in the room, she couldn’t let her guard down that far and opted to drift off after th
e movie on the sofa, close to C.D. The sand was right outside the door. . .

  In the still night, curled against C.D. on the buttery warm leather, Katie glanced over. C.D. had fallen asleep before the second act in the movie. She clicked off the TV with the remote, closed her eyes and listened to the soft, steady sounds of his breathing, of the lazy waves kissing the shore.

  She willed herself to sleep, vowing she wouldn’t dream. In her mind, she imaged Molly planting seeds in the greenhouse, envisioned Jake and Mark in the studio, sitting on stools; Jake strumming his guitar, Mark playing his drums. She imagined C.D. sitting on the porch at the cottage, sprawled out on the sofa in the den with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, laughing at her for crying during a movie that touched her heart. She pictured good things. Pleasant things. Happy moments and snapshots of her life with those she loved.

  The tension slowly eased from her body, and the grip of fear loosened on her heart. She drifted deeper and deeper into sleep, holding on to good thoughts, onto to snippets of happy times, onto all the good things in her life. The treasures… The treasured…

  Katie. Katie.

  She closed her mind, ignored his voice.

  Katie, come. You cannot hide from me. I control you.

  Ustead. She was dreaming; knew she was dreaming. You’re dead. Go away. You don’t control me anymore.

  He laughed. Deep and cynical, it grated at her ears. You cannot hide. I’m a part of you. I will always own you.

  She cringed, whimpered, fearing he was right, praying he was wrong. No. No, not anymore. Not anymore.

  He whispered on a sigh. Always.

  She fell to her knees in the dream.

  He hovered over her, shoulders back, chest swelled. Always.

  She stepped outside herself, as she had during the rape, watched him reach down and lift her off her knees.

  Even now, you run from me. You say I am dead, but I live in you, Katie. I will always live in you.

  As she stood separate and apart, watching him touching her, she shuddered and cringed. He did live in her. Through her. And as long as she ran from him, he would.

  Oh, God. I can’t endure this, too. I can’t endure and conquer this, too.

  He slung her from him. Her shoulder banged into the wall. Pain surely shot through her shoulder and down her arm but, separate, she didn’t feel it. Yet even separate, anger exploded inside her. It churned and boiled and erupted, filling all of her; every limb, muscle and nerve, every cell. No. No, Ustead. No more.

  She stepped into herself, no longer separate or apart.

  No longer an untouchable observer.

  He slapped her.

  She felt the sting, the burn on her face.

  He punched her in the ribs.

  Pain shot through her side, knocked the wind from her lungs. She doubled over, felt the throb pulse through her, pounding and pounding. Sweat gathered on her skin, slid down her face, down her chest in rivulets, and finally weakened to a dull ache. She dragged in a shallow breath, stiffened against the wave of pain that washed through her and stood upright.

  Summoning the courage now she had lacked then, she looked directly into his eyes, let him see her outrage and her disgust. “I didn’t talk to the doctors or even to C.D. about what you did to me because I didn’t want to remember it. I refused to remember it. But bits and pieces came back to me. Horrific bits and pieces now, then, here and there. And every time I remembered, I ran from you. I left myself to you, moved away, where you couldn’t reach me. I thought I was a coward, so I didn’t want to remember it. Was the dream—the memory—real or imagined? If I didn’t know, then I didn’t have to be ashamed because I ran, deserting me. If I didn’t feel it, then you never touched me.”

  Ustead stood facing her, arms folded, chest swelled, but voice silenced.

  “But you did touch me, Ustead. You touched my body, mind and soul. I know now what I did. I remember now why I did it. And I’m not running anymore.” Tears blurred her eyes, and she cracked open a shutter in her mind. “I remember everything—do you hear me? I feel every single thing you ever did to me, you sorry excuse for a human being, and I’m still not running. Not from you. Not ever again. I’m right here, you sick, perverted maniac. I endured your worst and I won. I’m standing right here.”

  Ustead’s image faded.

  Faded and disappeared right before her eyes.

  Katie sat straight up. Her heart raced, her mind reeled. The dream was still vivid—every image, every sight and smell and sound. She dragged her hands over her face, willed herself to slow her breathing down or she was going to hyperventilate. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and she was sweat-soaked, hot and clammy.

  C.D. snored softly beside her.

  She eased up off the sofa. Walked over to the French doors that led out onto a private deck. She opened them, felt the cool breeze blow in off the water.

  Breathing deeply, she looked outside. Moonlight, soft and gentle played on the calm water. The soft lulling sounds of the steady surf coming ashore and washing out soothed her frayed nerves.

  It’s over, Katie. He doesn’t own you anymore.

  She stepped outside onto the deck, and paused, hesitant, fearful the panic would strike her and she wouldn’t be able to move.

  It didn’t come.

  She walked to the railing, looked out and let the flow of the surf, the gentle roar seep through her, and with it came memories, one by one. Ustead raping her. Ustead torturing her. Ustead urinating in her water. Him giving her to his men. Starving her… Beating her… Tormenting her…

  She remembered every gory detail. Every degradation, every humiliation, every lie. So much pain, more pain than than she could hold. She’d had to separate to survive. To feel nothing, remember nothing, exist in a place in her mind where she could hide.

  General Amid. Her captor, her rescuer. Respectful and kind. He had allowed her to reclaim part of herself—enough to hold on to so that she wasn’t lost completely to the poor woman who had endured it all. Katie remembered well General Amid killing Ustead, his blood splattering her. He’d protected her as much as he could. He had put her in a position to be rescued. He was the enemy, but a compassionate man.

  She stepped down the steps, leading to the water’s edge. One at a time, and as she descended, the images of her in the prison cell grew more and more faint.

  Images of C.D., loving and supportive; of Molly and Jake and Blair, squealing her delight at her and Sam’s honeymoon trip. Images of Ashley and her kindnesses and Katie’s parents and the Slaters, offering to chip in with the rest of those she loved to help her get her garden center and build a new life. C.D. living in the tiny apartment above the bar because he feared going from cell to his mansion on the gulf would be too big an adjustment for her. So many thoughtful gestures. So many loving deeds.

  It had taken them all to bring her home.

  And they had.

  C.D. stood on the sand before her. “Angel?”

  “How did you get there?” Katie tilted her head. “You were inside asleep.”

  “It’s over, isn’t it, Katie?” Hands in his pockets, he stood six feet across the sand from her, the wind blowing his hair. And he was without his cane. “You remember now.”

  Surprise rippled through her. “How did you know?” She’d told no one. Scarcely dared to think of all she couldn’t recall herself.

  “That which is endured is conquered,” he said softly. “Blocking out what happened is how you endured.”

  A wind gust blew her hair over her eyes. She swept it back from her face. “You’ve known this for a long time?”

  “Since the picnic,” he said.

  “The picnic at the garden center,” she guessed. “Which is why you put water in all the cars.” And he’d never said a word to bring it to her attention, never pushed her to realize what she’d been doing to cope, just waiting until she was ready to face it on her own. “When I overreacted at not having water.”

  He nodded. “So is it over, Katie?
”

  “It’s over,” she told him, knowing it was true. She had endured and conquered. She’d survived and adjusted and now she was healing. The scars would always be with her, but she no longer feared them, no longer felt weak because she had been a victim. The scars were proof of her victory.

  They’d done their worst.

  She had taken it and survived.

  She still stood upright. Was still sane, and still determined to live a full, rich life.

  Proof that she had conquered and won.

  Proof that this was her perfect life.

  C.D. looked up at her, his eyes searching. “Love won.”

  “Yes, C.D.” Battle-worn and scarred, but still capable of loving and being loved, Katie smiled. “Love won.” Love for her family, for C.D., and finally love for herself.

  C.D. held out his hand. “Now, Angel, you’re ready.”

  “Yes.” Joyful tears brimmed in her eyes.

  And she stepped down, into the sand.

  Epilogue

  Ten years later

  I was wrong.

  It took me five years to admit it to myself, and I didn’t confess it to C.D. until the night of our fifth wedding anniversary.

  When I began this journey, I believed that life should come with warning labels. That if it did, then I could avoid all the nastiness of failures and hard times in my life. I could steer clear of my mistakes and avoid responsibility for the consequences. So much of what we do impacts others, and when we blow it, they pay the price. I really liked the idea of flying in under the radar on that one.

  With warning labels, I thought, life would be perfect. My whole family could live and grow and be spared from pain and suffering. There’d be no regrets to keep anyone up nights, and no knots in stomachs from saying and doing the wrong things, and no being torn between sides on making decisions.