by Calia Read
“It’s no problem; this happens all the time.”
Thankfully, the alarm was turned off.
She went through the standard security questions: the name of your first dog. Mother’s maiden name. The color of your first car. I got them all right.
“He keeps meaning to have the passcode changed, but you know men,” I said with a laugh. “My husband would lose his head if it wasn’t attached to him.”
The woman chuckled. “Oh, don’t I know it.”
I smiled. The tension in my shoulders faded. I was so close to getting the passcode. I could feel it.
“The passcode I have right now for alarms one and two is: 049319. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And the passcode for alarm three is: 78910424.”
Bingo.
That was the one I needed.
Quickly I scribbled down the numbers. It was my birth date backward. “Now, is that the main security code?”
“Let me double-check.” The line went quiet as Terri hurriedly typed.
My pulse quickened; I knew I was so close to getting what I wanted. It was almost too good to be true.
Terri came back on the line. “Yes. Those are all the codes.”
“Thank you so much, Terri. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me.”
“You’re very welcome. Besides, where would a husband be without his wife?”
“Isn’t that the truth,” I replied, with the biggest smile on my face.
I hung up and stared down at my screen, still smiling.
Where would a husband be without his wife, indeed?
Find out the code to Wes’s home office.
I crossed it off the list and hurried to his office.
Even though we’d lived in our house for more than a year, I’d been in his office only about four times. Other than Wes, the maid was the only person allowed in there and even then he watched everything like a hawk.
I punched in the code the woman gave me. It was my birthday backward, but I still double-checked the numbers before I pressed enter.
The screen went blank. Fear paralyzed me. Did I get it wrong? But then a green light flashed and the lock clicked. The door opened slowly. I held my breath as I stepped through the door, waiting for some alarm or booby trap to go off. I wouldn’t have put it past Wes.
But there was not a sound.
Quickly, I took stock of the room. The dark blue curtains were opened, letting light in. It slanted across his desk and onto the floor. Behind the massive desk, his diplomas hung on the wall. Not a single frame was crooked.
The clock on the fireplace mantel ticked softly. On the large desk, in the left-hand corner of it, were two pictures: one with the two of us on our wedding day and the other of just me. I halted my search to pick up the picture. I remembered that moment. We had been dating for a mere three months and were spending the weekend with my mother for the Fourth of July. It was brutally hot. In the picture, my legs are dipped in the water and my palms lie flat against the towel behind me. Wes came up suddenly, called out my name, and took the photo. Even with my sunglasses you can see how crazy in love I was and how I thought that what we had would last forever.
But look at me now. I’m hiding bruises and sneaking around behind my husband’s back.
I glanced at the built-in mahogany bookshelves across from me. There wasn’t a speck of dust on them. Not that I expected there to be; Wes was meticulous, almost verging on OCD. Everything had a place and when it wasn’t in said place, he got irritated. I added dust to the ever-growing list of things that seemed to set him off.
All the shelves were lined with books. My fingers grazed across their spines. I was doubtful as to whether he had read most of these books. Since I’d known him he’d never been a voracious reader. A part of me wouldn’t have been surprised if they had been there for display. I stared at the titles carefully. The spines that hadn’t been cracked, I pulled out. The pages of each were pristine, never dog-eared. The last book I selected was a book on how to keep a marriage alive. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I made sure everything was back in its place, shut the door behind me and reset the alarm.
Not once did I ever think I’d be going behind my husband’s back. But I truly felt my options were limited. Our relationship was down to the bare bones. There was nothing left and I needed to be ready for whatever came next. I needed to upstage him, to out-think him every time.
I knew it wasn’t much. I knew it was nothing to celebrate, but I could feel it. The tides were changing. Very slowly, I was taking my life back.
August 2014
Sunny or cloudy.
Indoors or outdoors.
It didn’t matter. I kept my sunglasses on wherever I went.
The harsh reality of my marriage revealed itself in my eyes. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror. Sometimes I wanted to drape towels over every mirror in the house so I couldn’t see the truth. And if I could barely look at myself, why would I want anyone else to see me like this?
But today I had an actual reason to wear them. There was not a cloud in sight. It was the kind of day where the sky looks so perfect, you want to touch it.
I brushed the sweat from the back of my neck and hurried into the library.
I couldn’t remember the last time I was there. Maybe when I was nine or ten? My mother and I would roam aisles and aisles of books. I would pick out a stack of them and go to the small reading corner for kids and lose myself in the stories. I loved the peace that it always brought. That same peace instantly returned. My shoulders relaxed. In here I felt safe from the pain that seemed to follow me wherever I went.
The librarian, an older man, said hi. I gave him a smile. When I didn’t take off my glasses he gave me a strange look and I quickened my steps to escape his stare, reminding myself that a stare is better than pity. I walked through the rows, looking for the gardening book Renee suggested. I finally found the right aisle. The lighting was poor and I had no choice but to take off my glasses.
Kneeling down, I pulled the book off the shelf.
Very swiftly, my hobby for gardening was becoming a passion. I hated being idle. I hated going to bed knowing I’d done nothing productive, but in my garden I felt useful. In my garden I could chat with Renee and relax. I crouched down and flipped through the pages.
“Victoria?”
My body locked up. Lately, anytime I heard my name I braced myself for something bad. I continued to peruse the books, hoping the person would just give up and walk away.
“Victoria?” the female voice repeated.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before I stood up and turned around.
“Taylor?” I asked in disbelief.
I couldn’t believe it was her. She lived in the same town as me, but she might as well have been living on the other side of the world. She’d changed so much. Her blond hair was cut into a short bob. The energy that she used to possess had slightly dimmed. She looked tired and a little frazzled, but she looked happy, and that was all that mattered. Both hands were curled around a stroller that held a sleeping baby girl. A diamond ring glinted from her left hand. Taylor had a family and I didn’t even know.
She smiled and gave me a hug and all I could think about is how I could put my glasses back on without her noticing.
“It’s so good to see you after so long,” she said as we pulled back to look at each other.
“Clearly you’ve been busy,” I said, gesturing toward the stroller with a smile. “I didn’t know you were even seeing anyone.”
“I started seeing this guy after you left the hospital. It was a whirlwind romance. We got engaged and, well”—she stared down lovingly at her baby—“we had a little surprise.”
My smile was starting to hurt, but I didn’t let it fall, for fear that it wouldn’t come back. “What’s her name?”
“Hayley.”
“She’s adorable,” I whispered.
“What about you? Are you still tryin
g for a baby?”
I should’ve expected her question. I should’ve had an answer ready and waiting, but instead I was caught off guard, frantically thinking of a reply. “Oh, well…we’re still trying,” I lied. “We figured if it happens it happens and if it doesn’t we’ll enjoy the practice.”
I laughed lightly and Taylor joined me. For a second, I felt normal. Like the former version of myself.
My shame was strong, staking its claim on my pride and dignity. It didn’t stop there though. No, it oozed from my pores and wrapped itself around me like a coiled snake.
It controlled me.
“Well, enjoy the quiet now while it’s still there.”
“Oh, we are.” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and shifted from foot to foot, anxious to wrap up this conversation as soon as possible.
“How are you and Wes?”
“We’re good…we’re good.” I gave her another bright smile.
Taylor frowned slightly as the most uncomfortable silence circled us. She gave me that nurse stare. The one that I had used so many times before. For a second, I thought she could sense that I was trying to hide something.
I was terrified that she was going to ask more questions, but I was saved by her baby. Hayley stirred and Taylor swooped into action, giving her daughter a pacifier and me an apologetic smile. “I should probably be going. In a few minutes Hayley will be wailing if she doesn’t get a bottle.”
I nodded as if I completely understood. “It was good seeing you,” I said.
She backed the stroller out of the small aisle and gave me a small smile. “You too.”
When she walked away I waited a few seconds, just in case she turned around, but she didn’t. I slumped against the bookshelf and took a deep breath.
Seeing her again lit a small fire in me. It was nothing. Barely noticeable. It could die out at any minute. But at least it was something. I hurried over to the computers before I lost my nerve.
You can do this, my mind chanted. You were once like Taylor—strong and confident—and you can become that again.
It was extremely quiet in the computer section. Some guy in his midtwenties occupied one of the machines. I made sure to keep a good amount of distance from him. Not that he would even notice. He had earbuds in, nodding his head along to the beat of some song.
I gave him one last look and then got to work.
The days of using my laptop at home were long gone. I didn’t trust Wes not to go through it and look for anything he could use against me.
So I went here to look up anything important. I pulled a small notebook out of my purse and grabbed a pen and flipped through the pages. I had the numbers and addresses of some of the best lawyers in the surrounding areas.
I would glean information from multiple message boards on how to leave an abusive spouse. Some pages would give you warning signs of an abusive relationship, but I was far past that.
If I was going to leave Wes, I wanted to have all my bases covered so no matter what he did, I was ready.
September 2014
Since the morning my mother came over, things had been strained.
I didn’t want to have another conversation revolving around my relationship with Wes and I sensed she didn’t want to know any more than she did. Doing so would mean confronting something that was outside the lines of what she saw as a perfect marriage.
But tonight she asked to have dinner with me and I relented. My secret was safe with Renee, but I thought there was always going to be a side of me that wanted to tell my mother everything and have her unfailing support.
That was never going to happen, though.
The whole dinner at the restaurant, she talked about her friends and the tedious problems in their lives. It all went in one ear and out the other because, deep within my purse, my phone kept buzzing. I didn’t want to reach down and press IGNORE, much less answer it.
Without checking, I knew all the calls were from Wes.
“You’ve been so quiet tonight. How are you?”
I chewed my food as slowly as possible, trying to stall for time. “I’m great,” I finally said.
“How is everything with you and Wes?” My mother presented the question so innocently, but I knew that was the only reason why she wanted to have dinner with me.
For her sake, I wanted to lie and say everything was fine. That we’d never been better or more in love. It would sound right. It would sound perfect, so I said just that.
She beamed. “I knew things would get better. I knew it.” She patted my hand. “I told you couples go through rough patches.”
All I could do was nod.
Months had passed since Wes’s last outburst, but that had done nothing to change the apprehension and fear that was living inside of me. Like a pair of squatters, they made themselves comfortable, showing no signs of leaving anytime soon.
Soon our plates were cleared and an awkward silence hung between us. It’s the kind with unsaid words lingering on the tip of your tongue and refusing to come out. My mother could feel it. She sighed loudly and smiled brightly. “It’s getting pretty late. I should be going.”
I wasn’t going to point out that it was only nine thirty, because I was anxious myself to end this uncomfortable dinner.
We walked out of the restaurant together and outside. The black sky was clear, with a smattering of stars gleaming down at us. A couple walked past, arm in arm and clearly in love. I was tempted to stop them and tell them they should appreciate the happy times, which might not last forever. Underneath the portico, my mother turned and gave me a hug. “I am so happy that things are getting better between you and Wes.”
Oh, if only she knew the truth. If only she knew that my heart was drifting further from Wes each day and in the direction of Sinclair. Our kiss was seared into my memory. Sometimes all I could think about was the protection I felt with his arms around me.
I was starting to believe that I would only ever feel that way with Sinclair.
My mom and I parted ways with promises to call each other, even though I had no intention of doing that. As I walked across the parking lot, my body started to shake. I gripped my car keys so tightly they made indentations in my palm. The night after the party haunted me. I could never shake the feeling that someone was always watching me. It didn’t matter that things were fine at the moment, because I was not.
I hurried to my car and when I slid into the driver’s seat, I instinctively locked the door and took a deep breath. It was then that I pulled out my phone. I had sixty missed calls. Twenty-one texts. And six voicemails. Every single one was from Wes.
I took a deep breath and quickly texted him: Be home soon.
His reply was instant: Okay.
The drive home felt like torture; all I could think about was what was in store for me when I got there. Maybe I’d luck out. Maybe he wasn’t home. And if I was really reaching for the sky, he might be out all night.
I drove as slowly as possible and even took the scenic route. I didn’t turn on my phone. I didn’t want to see how many more times he’d call.
When I pulled up into our driveway, I stayed perfectly still, listening to the engine tick. Our street was quiet. Cars were parked in their garages. Lights were on and blinds were shut. I felt the peace seeping from those massive houses.
No so long ago, I looked at our own house with awe and happiness. I saw it as a blank slate. A chance to start over and create a happy life, with a happy little family. The American dream.
And now I could barely glance at it. My feet dragged toward the back porch. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t know what awaited me.
As I opened the back door, I told myself that if it was bad, I didn’t have to stay there. I could leave.
I can leave.
I can leave.
I can leave.
Every light on the first floor was off, instantly putting me on guard. Instinctively, I reached out, my fingers crawling over the wall until I flipped on
the light switch.
“Wes?” I called tentatively.
“Upstairs!” he shouted. His tone was light, even friendly. I took a deep breath and tossed my keys on the counter. They slid across the smooth surface and hit the mail. It was a small stack, filled mostly with bills. I flipped through them and stopped when I got to an envelope with my name on it. The handwriting was feminine. My name was written with a flourish, as though someone had written it many times before. There was no return address. I flipped the envelope around and broke the seal. There was no note, but there were dozens of Polaroids of a brunette. If I had a doppelganger in this world, I was staring at her right now. Brown hair. Same build. Everything.
She was in an array of poses, wearing barely there lingerie or completely nude. In most pictures her eyes were closed. In some her eyes were open but there was a glassy look there, as though she had been drugged.
I peered closely at the rug in the foreground of the picture, trying to figure out where I recognized it from. When it finally clicked into place, I couldn’t breathe. I let the pictures fall from my fingers.
These were taken at Wes’s office at work.
There was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could have prepared me for this. It felt like I had just been punched in the gut.
Slowly, I gathered the photos into a stack. I felt dirty touching them, as if I were tampering with evidence. I was past the point of being angry. My steps were whisper quiet as I walked up the stairs, the pictures practically burning in my hands.
As I walked down the hall, slowly inching toward the master bedroom, I tried to think of what I should say to Wes, because right then I was speechless. I had no idea where to start. I didn’t know how he’d react. Wes reminded me of a ticking time bomb, ready to go off at any second. There was no way to predict when, why, or how he would blow up. I just had to be ready.
When I entered the bedroom, I found Wes sitting in the tan overstuffed chair angled toward the TV. The end table beside him was littered with paper files. A few were even spread out across the floor, like missing puzzle pieces. Wes took off his glasses and smiled that charming smile that could allow him to get away with murder.
