by Nicola Marsh
Maybe I’m feeling charitable, maybe I’m plain lonely, but I shelve my sarcastic comeback and settle for, “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really.” Christine touches her cheek absentmindedly, where a blossoming purple bruise darkens the skin beneath her eye socket. “But I can tell you this much. I got tangled up with the wrong guy. He did this to me. And I can’t go back to Mom’s.”
She eyeballs me with surprising clarity. “I was due to check into a private rehab facility but I’ve rung them and put it off for a few days because this”—she points at her black eye—“is only going to lead to endless questions I don’t want to answer. If anyone sees me bruised in public, heading to a facility, we know what will happen to the precious family name and I’m not up to dealing with the resultant fallout from Mom.”
I can’t hide my surprise that she’s seeing professionals for her addiction. “I’m impressed you’re seeking help.”
A faint blush stains her cheeks. “I got nudged into it by Mom and a doctor, but they’re right, it’s time I take back control.”
“Good for you,” I say, wishing I could take back control of my life as decisively.
“So can she crash here for a few days?” Shamira asks. “She stayed at my place the last two nights, which was okay the first night because Trent had already gone to bed, then he left early yesterday for an overnighter in St. Louis. But he’ll be back today and Christine can’t see him because he’ll ask too many questions. So with your girls staying at May’s, and Justin not at home either, we thought this would be the best place for her?”
I want to say no. I’m not a babysitter and the last thing I need while I figure out how to move forward is my husband’s sister hanging around. But I’m not a complete bitch. I see the desperation in Christine’s eyes and the doubt in Shamira’s. They don’t think I’ll do this. Then again, I’ve never given them any reason to trust me. I’m standoffish at best, passive-aggressive at worst. I thrive on gossip and I love lording it over those it involves, like I did with Shamira. But there’s power in being needed and they must be really desperate to ask me for a favor.
“Sure, you can stay.” I try to sound welcoming but they’re not buying my demure act. I don’t blame them. I’m like a lion encouraging a lamb to enter my lair. They know I’ll demand a price at some stage and they’re unsure if they’ll be willing to pay it.
Shamira appears uncertain, like she doesn’t want to leave Christine alone with me. “You can’t discuss this with anyone in the family.”
I resist rolling my eyes at the obvious. “Your secret’s safe with me.” I mimic zipping my lips at Christine. “Though for what it’s worth, you need to choose your hobbies more carefully in future.”
“I knew this was a bad idea,” Christine mutters, her glare malevolent but scared, like she doesn’t know who to trust.
“You’re always welcome to leave.” I point to the door, my snide response something they’re more familiar with and Christine’s shoulders relax slightly.
“Phew, for a minute there you were freaking me out with your niceness.” Christine mock swipes her brow and the corners of Shamira’s mouth turn up.
“What about clothes?” My gaze sweeps her from head to foot. “Far be it from me not to be impressed with your choice of haute couture, but you could do with something better.”
“Shamira kindly lent me something clean.” Christine stares me down, daring me to make a remark. I don’t. “I need a few things to tide me over until I’m locked away.”
My eyebrows rise. “But isn’t all your stuff at May’s? Surely she’ll know something’s wrong if you avoid her completely before you check in?”
Christine waves away my concern. “Leave Mom to me.”
Gladly. The last thing I need is another run-in with the busybody matriarch.
“I’ll go get that stuff you wanted and pop back shortly.” Shamira stands, like she can’t wait to get out of here. She turns to me out of politeness. “Anything you need?”
“A killer divorce lawyer.”
There’s an awkward silence and for the first time since Justin delivered the news I feel strangely vulnerable. I’ll never be friends with these women but I’m glad they’re here. I’m lonely. I’ve always been lonely, even when married.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re better off without him,” Christine says, bitterness lacing her tone. “Justin is a selfish prick.”
I’m stunned. I thought the entire Parker clan doted on their eldest sibling and would treat me as the enemy as they always have. Shamira says nothing but her knowing expression means they’ve already discussed this.
I clutch my chest in mock shock, trying to make light of the situation in case I really stun them and start blubbering. I can feel the emotion welling in my chest, making me breathless, and the sting of tears behind my eyes. I’m turning soft and I don’t like it. This divorce has thrown me off-kilter.
“Just saying it how it is.” Christine shrugs and winces, making me wonder how far those bruises extend. “My brother thinks the world revolves around him. Always has. He’s ruthless and will do whatever it takes to ensure he wins.”
Shamira edges toward the door, obviously uncomfortable with verbally bashing Justin. She’s always hated confrontation, which is why she surprised me so much by bailing me up at the hospital.
She raises a hand in a wave. “I’ll be back soon.”
When she closes the door behind her, an uncomfortable silence descends. I don’t do small talk and Christine and I have nothing in common: other than a mutual loathing for Justin, apparently.
So that’s what I lead with. “I always thought you and Justin got along.”
“We do, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see him for what he is.” She touches her bruises, her fingertips drifting across them lightly. “He’d judge me for these, just like Mom. They’re two peas in a pod. Money’s their god, people come second.”
“We all like money.” I sound like I’m defending him when that’s the last thing I want to do. “I guess being born into it ensures you want to protect it and see it grow.”
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s all they value. Everything and everyone who doesn’t fit into their mold is deemed irrelevant.”
I have no idea what’s behind her acrimony but I’m glad to have an ally. I’ll find out what Justin has done to bug her eventually but for now I take a different tack. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look awful. Have you been checked by a doctor?”
She rolls her eyes and manages a half-smile. “Now you sound like Shamira.”
“She’s right every now and then.”
Christine chuckles at my begrudging admission. “She came through for me in a big way and I won’t forget it.”
I have to ask the obvious question. “Why did you lob on her doorstep?”
“Because I was in the neighborhood trying to score.” Her eyes glaze for a moment and I glimpse pain.
I don’t want to pry but I feel like she wants to talk. And while we’ll never be BFFs I want to support her. She’s my sister-in-law. She’s family. I may not act like that means much most of the time but I do care.
“I’m guessing going in search of a fix isn’t a one-off for you.”
“I like the high so no, it wasn’t a first.” Her smile is self-deprecating. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”
I hesitate for a moment before nodding. “I see you at May’s parties. Some of the women I socialize with love a good party drug so I know the signs.”
“I like getting high,” she says, sounding wistful. “It’s liberating.”
“So May knows?”
She nods. “I guess I don’t hide it as well as I think.” She screws up her nose. “You probably noticed I don’t have a great relationship with Mom, considering she’s always been more focused on my brothers than me.”
I don’t respond because I have a feeling Christine doesn’t expect one. Her eyes are unfocused,
like she’s lost in her musings, so I wait for her to continue. It doesn’t take long.
“Having her ask me to stay on after the party for the first time, then having her talk to me like a real person, showed a caring side I didn’t know she had. And when she called me out on my drinking she did it without judgment, so I ended up telling her about the drugs too.” She points to her battered face. “I wanted one last high and I know she won’t understand, she’ll take it as a personal affront. And considering how far we’ve come lately, I don’t want to risk her turning her back on me, not when I’ve finally got her support.”
She blinks, refocuses and scowls, bearing a startling resemblance to May in that moment. “Not to mention she’s on this weird ‘avoid publicity at all costs’ thing lately and I can’t risk losing whatever money she’s going to dish out. She’s such a control freak.”
I know the feeling, worrying about being cut off from the Parker fortune, but that’s not the real issue here, as I wonder if that’s what pushed Christine toward drugs in the first place; having a domineering mother she craved an escape from. May would be a downer to grow up with and I almost pity Christine for needing a chemical fix to cope.
“She’ll guide Justin through every step of this divorce, that’s for sure.” I sound spiteful and don’t care. It’s the truth. Justin will do whatever May says. It didn’t bother me so much in the early days of our marriage, when I assumed docility with my mother-in-law would earn more kudos. And it had for a while; she’d appeared to like me. But that waned as the years passed and even before Justin ended our marriage, May and I barely maintained a cordial civility.
Which I’d effectively ended when I threatened to spill Parker secrets to the competition. Not that I would, but I wanted to rattle her as much as this impending divorce rattles me.
“Don’t let them push you around.” Christine waggles a finger and that simple action seems like too much as pain tightens her features. “Stand your ground and don’t back down unless you absolutely have to.”
She’s on my side and I’m flabbergasted.
“I didn’t expect anyone in your family to understand,” I say, searching her face for an ulterior motive and coming up empty. Besides, what would Christine hope to gain by maligning her brother and mother to me? “Thanks for the support.”
“Hey, you’re letting me stay here, it’s the least I can do.” An odd expression flickers across her face… almost malicious, and I can’t fathom it. “Besides, no one’s infallible and I think Justin is about to learn that the hard way.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. But I do know one thing. If Justin and May think they’ll play hardball with me and I’ll lie down and roll over, they’re sorely mistaken. While I would never reveal secrets to Aaron and allow the opposition to get a foothold in Parker Partnership they don’t know that and as a threat it could work wonders. It had certainly unsettled May.
I won’t let them gain the upper hand. I must remain in control.
While inside I’m crumbling and wishing I’d done things differently.
38
Shamira
After I drop off the clothes and toiletries Christine wanted at Ashlin’s place, I head home. I need to speak to my husband.
I need to tell him: everything.
With Christine hiding out in the spare room yesterday before he’d left on his overnighter to pick up a rare guitar, I’d been skittish and he’d noticed. He kept eyeing me with suspicion, like he had after we bumped into that creep at the market, and I can’t take it any longer.
The truth will hurt. It will probably end us. But I can’t keep living a lie. Everything in my life seems to be escalating, like something bad is about to happen and I can’t do anything to prevent it: the accidents to Ashlin and May, my poisoning, Christine’s bashing, Ria being followed. It feels like things are spiraling out of control and if I don’t take some of it back I’m in danger of doing something silly.
That’s what the abortion had been about: taking back control.
I have to make Trent understand. But he won’t. All he’ll hear when I tell him the truth is he wants a child more than anything and I’ve ruined that for him.
I slip into the apartment. It’s strangely silent. He must be listening to music with headphones in the den so I head to the kitchen, desperate for a glass of water. Like that will ease the tightness in my throat. It’s like the truth is stuck there, wedged, unable to get out.
“Where have you been?”
I drop the glass in the sink and it clatters against the stainless steel. It doesn’t shatter but a tiny crack appears down one side. I’m like that glass. A flaw fighting its way to the surface, soon to be seen by the one person I’ve tried to hide it from.
I spin around. He’s snuck up behind me and I’m startled I didn’t hear him. I blame it on my musings, refusing to consider that my husband is creeping around trying to scare me. And the doubts seep in again. If he poisoned me to give me a fright and teach me a lesson when I told him about my past, what’s he going to do when he hears what I did to our baby?
“I popped into Ashlin’s to see if she’s okay.” I settle for a half-truth. It’s better than nothing.
His stare is disbelieving. “Why would you drop in to see her? You can’t stand her.”
Yet again, I have to summon more lies. “She’s alone. I thought it was the right thing to do.”
I hate that he believes me so readily. His expression softens and he reaches for me. “You’re too nice for your own good. You know that, right?”
I don’t answer, allowing him to drag me into his arms and smother me in a hug. His embraces usually comfort me. Today, it takes all my willpower not to squirm away.
I’m a bad person.
I’ve done a bad thing.
How can he ever forgive me?
I ease away, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he must hear it too. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Wariness clouds his eyes and I don’t blame him. I’ve already shocked him once this week. I snag his hand and tug him toward the living room.
“Sounds serious,” he says, holding onto my hand as we sit next to each other on the sofa.
I swallow the lump of foreboding lodged in my throat. “It is.”
I’ve envisaged telling him the truth so many times in my head but now the time has arrived I’m speechless. I want to explain but my brain and mouth refuse to work in sync. My lungs constrict, making breathing difficult. Tiny spots dance before my eyes and I force myself to take steady breaths, in and out, so I don’t faint. He squeezes my hand, conveying a silent strength I need but his understanding only serves to make me feel worse. When I don’t speak, he squeezes tighter and tears burn the back of my eyes.
“Is this more stuff about your past?” He raises my hand to his lips and presses a kiss on the back, sweet and supportive, totally Trent. “Because if it is, you can tell me and I promise not to freak out.”
Unlike last time hangs unsaid between us.
Dread seeps through my body, like every cell is swamped by some kind of drug that makes me shut down. I feel lethargic, like I can sleep for a month. It could be residual effects of the poison but I doubt it. It’s my conscience overriding my sympathetic nervous system, insisting I’m an idiot for ruining the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
After another deep inhalation forcing air into my constricted lungs, I finally manage to speak.
“I did something about fifteen months ago, something you may not understand, but I hope you’ll hear me out and make an effort to work through it with me.”
“You’re scaring me.” His brows knit into a frown and I stifle the urge to reach out a fingertip and smooth the deep groove away. “I already asked this last time and you said no, but have you cheated?"
“No.” My indignation is warranted but what I’ve done is far worse and I know it. “I love you and I’d never do something like that.”
He swipes at his brow in exa
ggerated relief while tightening his hold on my hand with the other.
He’s going to be more than worried when I tell him the whole truth. But in order to make him understand, I need to explain what drove me to madness. He’ll think I’m blaming him—his family—I’m not. The more background I give him, the more chance I have of convincing him of my motivations and ultimately saving us.
“Have you ever noticed how your family demand perfection?”
He’s perplexed by my question and I don’t blame him, it’s so far left field. “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with us? We’ve never conformed to what they want.”
By ‘they’ he means ‘May’. She rules the Parkers, the unacknowledged queen who bestows benevolence at will and can take it away as easily. We all know it; we just don’t talk about it.
“I’ve never mentioned this to you but I feel the pressure of being a Parker. All the time.”
His confusion increases as he stares at me like he doesn’t know me at all. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I’ve always managed on my own since I was young, and I bottle all the bad stuff up in here.” I tap my chest. “I internalize and it’s not a good thing.”
My convoluted way of leading up to the truth is pathetic but I have to continue. The words aren’t coming any easier but now I’ve started to reveal the truth I can feel the tightness in my chest easing.
“One of the greatest pressures I’ve had to contend with is having a baby.”
He releases my hand and I instantly miss his comforting touch. I’m not surprised. It’s been a contentious issue between us for a while, his desire to procreate, my wish to wait. He’s acquiesced to my viewpoint out of love, exactly like what I did was out of love. But he won’t see it that way. He’ll see it as evidence of me being a monster.
“I don’t understand what the problem is. We’ve shelved the idea for now, like you wanted.” His lips compress into a thin line I’ve seen many times before, whenever the topic of babies arises. It eventually became so controversial between us that I agreed to a timeline: we’d start trying in twelve months. We rarely argued and I hated the tension after the baby discussions, the only flaw in our solid marriage.
