by Cora Black
“I have the time.”
She grinned. “Okay. Let’s see. Um, I married Eric the week after I graduated college. He was a teacher’s assistant, a grad student. A big, mature man.” She chuckled. “I thought I knew so much back then. So we dated for a couple of years, got engaged in my senior year, and got married almost right after. By that time, he had his master’s in finance and his career had already taken off. It seemed like a no-brainer, right?”
“How did he treat you then?”
She looked at me, eyes narrowed. “He was possessive. I felt flattered, though. Like…he cared enough to feel protective. He didn’t like me talking to other guys because he didn’t want them to steal me from him. Because he loved me so much.” She laughed, running her hands through her dark hair, shaking it out. “Ugh. It’s like a miniseries about the typical idiot girl who should have known better than to marry the creep.”
“It’s easy to look back and see everything we missed,” I said.
“Yeah. That’s the truth. So anyway, we got married. The first time he hit me was about a month after the wedding. He found out I hadn’t sent out the thank you notes yet. I didn’t have a job—I mean, I had just graduated, and he didn’t like the idea of me working outside the home, anyway—so what else did I have to do? That was the way he thought about it. I was doing everything I could to get us set up in our condo. I made practically gourmet meals for him every night. I liked doing that back then. I liked being the happy little homemaker. And I’d forgotten the thank yous. So he slapped me around.
“You know what the worst part is? I thought it was my fault. If I weren’t so stupid, I wouldn’t have forgotten the notes. I finished and mailed them out the next day. I got comments from friends on how surprised they were to see them so soon, since most people don’t send theirs out so early. You know, because they have lives.”
She sighed, pulling her legs closer to her chest. “A few weeks later, I found out I got pregnant on our honeymoon. Timing, right?”
“You were, what, twenty-one?”
“Yeah. Twenty-two when I gave birth to Emma. I convinced myself I was being selfish, wanting too much, so I had nothing to complain about. Besides, I had a daughter to think about. I had to keep things stable for her.” She shook her head. “It wasn’t enough. I left. That was eight months ago.”
“And you’ve been here since then?” When I saw the way her face changed, I knew that came out all wrong.
“Yeah. I’ve actually survived here ever since. Crazy, huh?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. Like I said, I grew up just like this. It’s not something to be ashamed of.”
She looked around. “It’s a pretty far cry from the life Eric gave me—the things, that is. The house, the car. I still drive the car, lucky me, since he put it in my name. One of the only things he let me have. We had a huge condo. More space than a family twice our size would have needed. I had help around the house sometimes. I could get my hair and nails done—I had to, to keep him satisfied. I was never happy.” She smiled sadly. “I’m actually happier now. Can you imagine that?”
“I can. Hopefully, once this douchebag’s out of your life, you’ll be even happier.”
The sad smile never left her face. “He’ll never be out of my life.”
I heard a noise down the hall, and Kara almost jumped. “Emma,” she whispered. Like I needed her to tell me once I saw the little person come around the corner, rubbing her eyes.
“Mama?” she whispered, but she looked at me when she said it.
“Emma, honey, this is one of my friends. His name is Dom. Can you say hi to him?” The little girl scrambled up onto her mother’s lap and put her face to Kara’s neck. Kara laughed. “Oh, come on. Are you gonna be shy now? The most talkative person I ever knew.” She laughed again.
“It’s okay,” I said. “You can be shy, Emma.” I didn’t have any idea how to act around kids—I was just glad she wasn’t one of the ones who walk up to people and start asking questions right away. I wouldn’t know what to say if she was.
“She’ll warm up to you,” Kara said.
I smiled like I was glad. I didn’t care if she did. I never liked kids all that much. Whiny brats, snot-nosed, throwing temper tantrums when they went out. Whenever I saw a kid throwing a fit like that, I would thank God I didn’t have any kids of my own.
Emma whispered something in Kara’s ear. Kara pulled away, frowning at the kid. “What an interesting question.”
“What did she ask?”
“She wanted to know if you’re a giant, because you’re so big.”
I had to smile. The kid looked at me with wide eyes that reminded me a lot of her mom’s. “No, I’m not a giant. I used to think my dad was one. You think I’m big? He was a really big guy. When I was little, I thought he was the biggest man in the world.”
“You were little?” she whispered. She had a sweet little girl voice. I grinned.
“We all start out little. I was as little as you.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, I was.” She sat up. I guessed she thought I was okay—I talked like a normal person, and I smiled. I didn’t growl and roar like a monster.
“When was that?”
“What? When I was little?”
“Yeah.”
I cleared my throat. “I’m thirty now, so that was a long time ago.”
“Like a million years.”
Kara laughed. I had to laugh, too.
“Yeah, well, sometimes it feels that way.” I met Kara’s eyes, and for the first time since I met her, she looked happy. She looked young, as young as she really was. I knew how to do math—if she was twenty-two when Emma was born, that made her twenty-five. When she laughed, I could believe it.
Emma looked at Kara. “I’m hungry.”
Kara looked at the clock. “Yeah, I should get dinner started.” She looked at me. “Will you join us?”
“Depends on what’s for dinner,” I said.
“Spaghetti!” Emma clapped her hands.
“Her favorite,” Kara said, rolling her eyes. “And meatballs.”
“Guess what? That’s my favorite, too.”
“Really?” Emma asked. “Mama makes the best meatballs in the world.”
“I guess you would you know, since you’re a pretty big girl.”
She smiled at me, and I thought all kids might not be so bad. She was polite, she didn’t yell or scream. I had only known her for less than five minutes, though. But I could usually tell right away if a kid was trouble—it wasn’t hard to tell. She seemed okay.
“Do you mind if I leave her out here with you while I make the meatballs?” Kara asked. I looked at Emma, squinting like I thought about it.
“I don’t know. Is it okay with Emma?”
“We can watch TV,” she said, getting off Kara’s lap to sit on the sofa.
“I guess that’s a yes,” I said to Kara. She smiled like she had never felt so relieved in her life. I thought she might have needed a lot more help than she would admit. She had been alone with the kid for a week, too. That might have had something to do with the way she smiled.
Emma turned the TV on. It was already on a cartoon channel. I could handle cartoons. “Is this a show you watch a lot?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm. It’s my most favorite.” She twirled a strand of dark curly hair around a finger, watching the TV. I watched her. She looked mostly like Kara, but there was enough of her father in her, too. Like the shape of her nose and mouth. It was weird, seeing that nose and mouth on a face I didn’t want to crush with my fists.
I looked around the living room. There were a lot of books—I could already tell she was a smart kid. A few toys. I wondered how many more were in her room. I wondered if she missed her father, her old bedroom. Kids were pretty good at getting over things, though. The big things. They just wanted to love. I knew how that felt. I might have been a grown man, but I remembered the little kid who just wanted his mom to come home at night so h
e wouldn’t be alone.
I heard pots and pans making noise in the kitchen. “Need any help?” I asked.
“No, I’m fine. I love to cook.” Right, the gourmet meals for Eric. It was a shame she had wasted so much of herself on him, but she was still young. She had time to find a good man—most girls her age were still dating around.
I could see her from where I sat. She had a smile on her face, even though she didn’t know I could see her. I wondered what she smiled about. Was she relieved that somebody was finally taking care of her? If that was true, I was glad I could do that. I was glad I could make her smile. She had spent too long crying.
Something about watching her cook made me feel good inside. It felt right. And it terrified me. The kid, the apartment, the woman in the kitchen. I got up so fast, Emma looked scared.
“Sorry, kid. Just gotta…go to the bathroom.”
“It’s right there.” She pointed around the corner, where she had come from. I followed the path and locked myself in when I got there.
No way you’re doing this, I thought, my forehead against the door to the tiny, tiny room. There was hardly enough space for a tub, toilet, and sink. It felt claustrophobic as hell, and I didn’t usually have a problem with that. It was the way I felt inside that got to me. I felt pressure all around me. I wanted to help her. I wanted to stay far, far away.
What did it say about me that I felt so comfortable with her so fast? With the kid? I went from hating kids to kind of liking Emma in about five seconds. Was I that desperate for whatever I thought I could get from them?
“Don’t do this,” I whispered. “Don’t do it. Help her. But stay away from her.”
Chapter Twelve
Kara
I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I made dinner. I even hummed as I mixed meat and breadcrumbs in my hands. It seemed natural to feel happy, relieved. It wasn’t the wine, though, that had helped me get through the awkward conversation with Dom. It was the feeling that I didn’t have as much to be worried about that left me smiling from ear to ear.
It was a false feeling. I knew that much. I wasn’t deluded. I could think I was as safe as I wanted to, but that didn’t make it true. Eric was still very real. The ever-dwindling number in my bank account was painfully real. I couldn’t ignore those things any more than I could ignore my child.
But I didn’t have to worry about it alone. I’d nearly gone crazy the week alone with Emma. I had seen almost no one but her, had spoken to only a few people. I’d lived like a prisoner. And it didn’t hit me how deeply affected I was until Dom walked in and took a little of the burden off my shoulders.
I wondered if he knew what he was getting into. I’d tried to warn him about Eric, and I would have to do it again to make certain there was no misunderstanding. The man was dangerous, and connected. I shuddered to think how connected he was. Maybe connected enough to make a person disappear.
The thought made my blood run cold. If I put Dom in danger, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It wasn’t that I had feelings for him—that much I knew. He still sort of scared me, with his sheer size and that certain animal magnetism of his. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew it was there. It freaked me out, the way he repulsed me and drew me to him all at once.
If Eric hurt him, I might never forgive myself. Just another slab of guilt to tack onto the already heaping portion I carried around with me. I shouldn’t have married him. I shouldn’t have stayed. I shouldn’t have left and uprooted my daughter’s life. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have. My ever-present litany of self-abuse.
I glanced into the living room to find the two of them on the sofa. Emma didn’t normally warm up to people as quickly as she had to Dom. That told me something about the person he really was. Kids could always tell, couldn’t they? A sort of sixth sense about others. She seemed to trust him. A good sign, I thought. And he put up with her insane cartoons. Another good sign.
I grinned, rolling the meat into uniform balls which I then put in the heated oven. I thought that night’s dinner should be a bit fancier since we had guests. Darlene had been kind enough to include a loaf of frozen garlic bread, which I put on the oven’s lower rack. I made a quick salad, too, just a few things I had in the fridge. It was such a rare treat, having a guest for dinner who wasn’t my mother.
My mother. I closed my eyes, imagining what she would say when she found out her granddaughter was about to coexist in a tiny apartment with a biker. I would have to do a lot of talking to convince her not to take Emma home with her. I couldn’t risk the two of them being alone at her house. I didn’t trust Eric as far as I could throw him.
I couldn’t worry about Mom until she showed up. Until then, I had a daughter to keep happy, and a biker to entertain.
I giggled at the thought of “entertaining” him. I had a feeling I knew the sort of entertainment he usually got from women. I had a little girl to think about. It was off the table, even though the memory of his kiss was still enough to inspire dirty thoughts.
I glanced into the living room. No Dom. “Sweetie? Where did Dom go?”
“Bathroom,” she said, never taking her eyes from the TV. Sure enough, when I stepped into the hall, the closed door greeted me. I hoped I hadn’t left any feminine hygiene products lying around in there. Just the thought was enough to make me blush a deep, furious red.
I took the chance of knocking on the door. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Sorry,” I said, stepping back when I heard the irritation in his voice. Maybe he already thought he’d bit off more than he could chew. Maybe he regretted his offer. I chewed my bottom lip, wondering what to do next.
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just needed a minute.”
“When you’ve had a minute, can I talk to you? In the kitchen?”
A brief pause. “Sure.”
I went back to dinner duty, setting the little kitchen table. It wasn’t even big enough to include all the food. We’d have to serve ourselves buffet-style, then sit.
When I turned around, there was Dom in the doorway. I put a hand over my heart. “Jesus.” I laughed. “You’re quiet as a ghost.”
“Sorry. What did you wanna talk about?”
I held a finger to my lips, beckoning him to come further into the kitchen, away from the living room. “Listen, I just wanted to say…you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. The offer alone means a lot to me. More than I could ever tell you. But I won’t hold you to it.”
He blinked once, twice. “Uh, thanks?”
I waited. “Is that all you have to say?”
“I didn’t think I had to say anything. I mean, I’m trying to do something nice, and you keep telling me I shouldn’t. Why not?”
“Well, you didn’t sound too happy just then.” I jerked a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, next door to the kitchen.
He scowled, his handsome face twisting into an ugly caricature of itself. “I don’t like it when people knock on the door while I’m in the bathroom. I didn’t know that was a crime.”
“It’s not. I just…I don’t know, this is all so much. And really, we never spoke about Eric. What he can do to you.”
“This shit again? We did talk about him. You told me what a big deal he is, how everybody knows him, they’re all in his back pocket. I get it. I’m not afraid of him. Hell, I’ve dealt with a lot worse than him. He’s a coward. Don’t you know that?”
“Yes.” That much I was sure of. I’d known how cowardly my husband was since the first time he hit me. It had all become so clear—the possessiveness, the controlling behavior. Telling me what I looked best in as a way to control the way I dressed. Telling me what a bad influence my friends were to keep me away from them and their all-too-true opinions of him. Keeping me away from other men. Afraid I would leave him for them. On and on. Yes, he was a coward, all right. A coward and a bully.
“I’m not afraid of anything. I wish he
would come at me so I could tear him limb from limb. All I need is the excuse to kill him.” His voice was a growl, sending shivers down my spine. The thought of a man going that far for me…
“I wouldn’t want you to do that,” I said, though reluctantly. “Not for his sake, but yours.”
He smirked. “Yeah, I know. And I know he’s still kinda big in your life. Like he’s right there in front of you. You remember all the shit he did. So maybe he seems a little scarier. I don’t give a shit about that. Got it?”
“Got it.” I couldn’t argue with him anymore. I was too tired, and scared, and just plain worn the hell out. I had gone so long without trusting anyone, without believing in happiness, that it was tough for me to accept the help of another person.
