Hush

by Nicole Hart

  The door opening startled me, causing me to jump and drop the packet of lotion onto the floor under my desk.

  Someone entered the office, but his face was hidden by a large bouquet of flowers. My defenses immediately took front and center as the stranger got closer to me, and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I pulled my car keys from my top drawer and gripped the longest one between my index and middle finger just as my palms began to sweat.

  I stood at attention and held my weapon behind my back, waiting for whatever came next. I was on guard to attack when a toothy-grinned kid popped his head around the floral arrangement. I let out a shaky breath, realizing how ridiculous I was acting. As if Duane would disguise himself as a florist and kill me right in the middle of the afternoon at my job.

  “Hello,” I managed to squeak out and gave the young man the best smile I could muster, which wasn’t a very good one from the look of concern on his face.

  “Hi, I have a delivery. I mean, obviously, right?” He grinned and shrugged, holding the glass vase toward me.

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure,” I rambled, taking the arrangement from him and placing it on my desk along with my keys. I would wait and carry them to Amie’s office once her appointment left.

  “Can you sign here, please, ma’am?” He pulled a small booklet from his back pocket.

  “Oh sure.” I gave him a more genuine smile this time and grabbed my favorite blue pen from my desk.

  “Okay great. Thanks, have a good day.” He gave me a small wave and headed back out the door, his feet shuffling quickly.

  Once he was out of sight and the door closed behind him, I admired the beautiful flowers. They were a mixed variety of roses and foliage. The colors were soft and pretty. I bent down to inhale the sweet fragrance when the card caught my eye. It was addressed to me, not Amie. The idea that the flowers were for me never even crossed my mind. I just assumed they were from Amie’s husband.

  I grabbed the small white envelope and ripped it open before I pulled the card from the pouch.

  Being surprised at his gesture would be a definite understatement. Jackson had never sent me flowers. He hadn’t bought me any presents in years. His words weren’t really romantic or heartfelt, but I guess it was something. It was more than I expected, and it was enough to make me feel guilty for not going home last night or even answering his text when he asked where I was.

  Regardless of how mad he’d made me, he was still my husband. I needed to go home and get past this. But I also needed him to understand my concerns and take this seriously.

  Duane wasn’t just coming after me—he was coming after both of us. I was convinced of it, and no one could tell me otherwise.

  I’d spent the last two hours staring at my bedroom ceiling. I was a paranoid wreck, and the fact that I was alone in this house was making everything so much worse. I’d sent Jackson a text from the office thanking him for the flowers and letting him know I would be home right after work so we could talk.

  And I was. But he wasn’t anywhere around. He called around eight with a slur in his words to let me know he had worked late. But the background music and the sound of glasses clinking indicated he was sitting on a barstool and not on the clock. Anger bubbled up inside me as I tried to keep my voice calm, but I was anything but that. I almost packed a bag and went back to Sara’s, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. I was too disappointed.

  In myself.

  In Jackson.

  In my marriage.

  In my life.

  And now, add to the mix that I was scaring myself with every sound I heard, checking the door and windows numerous times, and pacing the floors before giving up and staring at the ceiling.

  Around three in the morning, I heard Jackson’s truck in the driveway. I rolled onto my side to avoid any interaction. I was angry and relieved at the same time. A small part of me had worried he wouldn’t make it home, and that Duane had managed to find him and seek revenge.

  But as the aroma of stale cigarette smoke filled the air, along with the sound of unsteady, sluggish footsteps, anger led the charge.

  I was sick of living this way.

  I could feel his side of the mattress dip as the sun decided to peek through our bedroom window. I’d been lying here awake for at least an hour waiting for some movement from him. My mind had raced, and I needed to get this off my chest.

  “Jackson.” I spoke with intent but was met with silence. I knew he was awake, I could tell by the change of rhythm in his breathing.

  I hated when he did this.

  “Hey,” I spoke a little louder this time.

  “Yeah.” His voice was raspy and cut through the air.

  Just say it.

  I rolled over to face him and was met with disappointment. His appearance really hit me in the morning light. He wasn’t the boy I fell in love with. He wasn’t even the man I had married anymore. He was this shell of a person. He used to have the most expressive eyes that I could read like a book. Now they were filled with emptiness, just glassy and hollow.

  It was sad, really.

  “You know you have a problem, right?” The words came out harsh, and although it wasn’t the way I intended it to sound or even the words I meant to use, they were my feelings.

  “Don’t do this shit right now, Rach,” he spat at me while staring at the ceiling with his arms crossed over his chest defensively.

  “Is there ever a right time, Jackson? I’ve ignored it for too long. I keep sweeping it under the rug, not wanting to fight. But I can’t keep doing this. You have a drinking problem. You have to realize that.” My voice was softer this time, my emotions on my sleeve, missing the boy I fell for all those years ago.

  He let out a loud sigh and offered up more silence.

  “I’m serious. I can’t keep doing this,” I repeated, hoping to get my point across without actually having to say it. The word “divorce” made me sick to my stomach, and I didn’t want to use it if I didn’t have to.

  “I’m not an alcoholic. Trust me.” He scoffed and shook his head.

  “You drink every single day.” I sat up, staring down at his thin body. “And not just a couple of beers after work. You get drunk on whiskey—Every. Day. What do you call that?” I couldn’t help but get defensive. I wouldn’t let him make me believe that my worries were for nothing or that I was being dramatic. Not about this, too.

  “It’s not like I need it. I can quit if I want.” He rolled his eyes, and I wanted to punch him in the face for acting this way. I just wanted him to admit there was a problem.

  “So quit.” I matched his nonchalant attitude and tone.

  “Fine. Fuck.” He groaned, throwing the comforter off his body and launching to his feet.

  I could feel the irritation brewing in the air.

  “I’ll stop, will that make you happy?” He squinted at me and gave me a look I didn’t like.

  “I’ve got a list.” My voice was laced with disgust, and I realized this conversation took a wrong turn and wouldn’t go in the direction I wanted.

  “What the hell does that mean?” He stomped to my side of the bed and hovered over me. But I refused to let him bully me, so I stood up and met him.

  “It means, you’re not who you used to be. The old Jackson would want to protect me when all this shit was going on around us. People are being murdered, Jackson. He’s on the loose, and he’s coming after me. After us! And all you care about is drinking and going to the bar.” Unwelcome tears streamed down my face.

  “Not this again.” He had the nerve to let out a chuckle, and my anger bubbled up and spilled over.

  My hand connected with his cheek in a loud crack. My action shocked me, as I brought both hands down to my sides, wishing I hadn’t done that. We’d made a promise to each other so many years ago to never lay a hand on one another. And we never had. Until this moment.

  And I was the one who’d broken the promise.

  But my guilt was fleeting when he laughe
d at me and rubbed his cheek.

  “Nice, Rachel.” He shook his head and gave me a smirk.

  I knew I should apologize, but his reaction prevented me from doing so. This whole situation was spinning out of control, and I needed to cut it off before it got any worse.

  But my own temper wouldn’t allow me to walk away. I wanted to fight this out. I wanted to fix this and force Jackson to be who he used to be. I wanted him to see this for what it was.

  “How can you not see what’s happening? He saw us that day. He’s coming after us! Why won’t you listen to me?” My voice rose with each word, trying to get him to understand.

  He gave me a cold hard stare, and I knew I was wasting my time. This whole conversation was a waste. “Because it’s fucking stupid.”

  And there was that word again.

  Maybe he wasn’t calling me stupid directly this time, but it felt the same.

  I closed my eyes and tried to ignore his cackle that still rang in the air.

  Escape.

  I had to get away from him before I lost it completely. I always worried about pushing people’s buttons, but right now, he was pushing mine, and I felt myself teetering on the edge.

  I’d already used my hand to slap him across the face. Now part of me wanted to attack him with every part of my body.

  Slap.

  Punch.

  Kick.

  Bite.

  I had to get away before I allowed my temper to take control.

  “Forget it, Jackson. This whole conversation was pointless.” My voice shook beyond control and we weren’t getting anywhere.

  “Finally! She gets it!” he bellowed, locking his eyes to the ceiling with his arms outstretched.

  “I’m staying at Sara’s tonight,” I seethed with my teeth clenched together and forced myself to turn my back on him. I needed distance from him. I needed a barrier. So I headed toward the bathroom to be alone.

  “Of course you are.”

  I stared over my shoulder one last time and watched him slide his legs into the jeans that lay wadded up on the floor on his side of the bed.

  I closed the bathroom door behind me and pressed my back against it, my body shaking against the cold wood. I listened as his feet stomped across the floor once he put his boots on, and his heavy footfalls echoed in the air. It was amplified in my ears, along with the slamming of the front door.

  I allowed myself to exhale as I slid down to the cold tile, folding my knees to my chest.

  Disappointment filled my senses.

  Disappointment in Jackson.

  Disappointment in me.

  Disappointment in this life I’d made for myself.

  “Just be sure to always leave the safety on.” Jake’s voice echoed in my ear as I gripped the handle of the pistol around my sweaty palm.

  “Okay.” I focused on the target displayed a few yards away from me.

  “Then, just click it forward when you’re ready to use it.” He tapped the orange button that sat on the side of the gun.

  I clicked the safety off and gripped the handle tighter.

  “Then just cock it back, like this.” The sound of a bullet loading into the chamber caused me to jump. I’d never liked guns and had never even allowed them in my house before. Jackson never seemed to care either way, so it wasn’t an issue.

  I repeated the motion Jake showed me with the gun he was holding in his hand. I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the lump in my throat as Sara patted my back gently.

  “You got this. Just focus on the bullseye,” she spoke quietly behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder quickly, then focused my attention back to the target, gripping the gun in my hand.

  “Now, just line up your aim in between the little horseshoe. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I used every ounce of concentration I had, trying my best to line up my vision with the round mark I had every intention of hitting.

  “Put your index finger on the trigger and squeeze when you’re ready,” he instructed, and I noticed him take a step back out of the corner of my eye.

  I let out a shaky breath and placed my finger over the trigger. I lined up my eye with the paper destination before squeezing. The loud shot startled me, but I kept my hand steady.

  “Not bad.” Jake chuckled as he gently took the gun out of my hand.

  “Did I hit it?” I asked, unsure of where the bullet went.

  “You did. Not in the center, but you hit the target. That’s pretty damn good for your first time.” He gave me a nod as he aimed the pistol in front on him.

  “Cover your ears.” Sara’s voice boomed behind me, and I did as she said just before the gunfire popped, causing me to jump, even with the sound muffled by my own hands.

  The shots repeated a couple of times back to back as my body flinched with each loud crack.

  “Just emptying the chamber so you can do the next round on your own.” He placed both guns on the short tree stump next to him.

  “I’m proud of you for doing this.” Sara walked closer to the both of us and gave me a gentle pat on the back.

  “I don’t think I have a choice,” I admitted, hating that I even needed to know how to shoot a gun but determined to protect myself. I would never be the victim again. I made a promise to myself many years ago, and I wasn’t willing to break it.

  “Don’t worry, Sara wasn’t too happy when I made her learn how to shoot, either. But it’s necessary. Calling the police on someone takes time, a bullet can save you a whole lot quicker.” He had a point.

  “Yeah,” I replied quietly, and I watched as he pulled two more bullets from the red box and pushed them in my direction.

  I went over his previous instructions in my mind and did everything the way he taught me.

  Load.

  Cock.

  Aim.

  Fire.

  Cock.

  Fire.

  “Damn, Gina.” Sara’s laugh caught me by surprise when the ringing in my ears quieted. I couldn’t help but shake my head at her silly nineties’ reference. Martin had been our favorite show.

  I glanced over at Jake who was staring at me with wide eyes and a look of genuine surprise.

  “Damn is right. Gimme that firearm, trigger.” He shook his head and removed the weapon from my hand that still gripped the butt of the gun.

  “Did I do it right?” I squinted, focusing on the two large holes in the center of the target.

  “Right in the heart, you’re a natural. Which is a little scary.” Jake’s laugh echoed in the air as I rolled my eyes.

  I began to walk across the field to get a closer inspection. When I reached my destination, I ran my fingers over the gaping holes in the paper.

  It was strange how shooting a gun just a few times gave me the little bit of confidence I needed. With the help of a loaner from my brother-in-law and an afternoon of lessons, I felt I had a chance at defending myself against him.

  Maybe it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe he would get caught before I had the chance. But with our history, I couldn’t trust that anyone would or could protect me from his evil, except for me.

  I would protect myself.

  “Thank you so much for looking after her.” I nodded at Glenda, the home-health nurse who was perched on the rocker in the corner of Mama’s bedroom reading a magazine. She was an older woman with a soft demeanor and a bowl haircut. She always dressed in scrubs with pink Crocs and matching pink lipstick. Mama seemed comfortable around her, and that made Sara and me feel better about leaving her occasionally.

  “It was my pleasure, sweetie. That’s what I’m here for.” She stood with a bit of a grunt and ran her fingers down her pants before straightening her posture.

  “Any problems?” Sara whispered, glancing over at Mama whose attention was focused on the television screen in the corner. I wasn’t sure if she had even noticed us walk into the room.

  “Not a bit. She just watched TV, and I gave her a snack. I offered to read to her, but she w
asn’t interested.” She glanced at Mama lovingly before turning her attention back to us.

  “Did she sleep?” Sara asked, and I could see the obvious concern on her face.

  “No, not a bit,” Glenda replied, completely oblivious to the worry displayed on Sara’s face. Most people wouldn’t recognize it, but I knew better. Worried facial expressions were a normalcy growing up and never went unnoticed between the two of us, even to this day.

  “Okay, thank you.” Sara smiled and led Glenda out of the room.

  “Hey there, Mama,” I spoke quietly, not wanting to alarm her since she was so engrossed in her show.

  She shifted her eyes in my direction, gave me a nod, and patted the bed beside her. I took my place next to her as she settled her head on my shoulder.

  “I remember this episode,” I whispered as I stared at the old western series on the screen. Just a couple of minutes went by, and I noticed the evened breathing on my bare shoulder and knew she’d fallen asleep.

  Part of me took comfort in knowing Mama was at peace enough beside me to fall asleep so fast. The other part of me worried that she knew her nightmares were going to take control, and she didn’t want Glenda to witness it.

  The thought of that made me sick to my stomach. I remained perfectly still for a few minutes before Mama began to stir, and I knew she was in an uncomfortable position. I slid a little farther away from her and helped her to the feather pillow nestled on the bed. As I pulled the comforter over her frail body, I watched how tranquil her face looked as she slept and only hoped it would stay that way.

  “Want to stay for dinner? I’m making fajitas.” Sara glanced over her shoulder from the open refrigerator before pulling out an armload of ingredients.

  “No, I’m going to head home. I have soup in the crockpot.” I gave her a smile, even though she could read my thoughts.

  “You don’t have to go home. You’re welcome to stay here,” she offered while pulling the cutting board from the kitchen drawer.

  “Thanks, but I guess I’ll just face him. I can’t run away every time we have a fight.” Although, a huge part of me wished I could run from him and never look back. It would be so much easier than dealing with him most days.