by Karen Cimms
He threw the glass in the sink. Glass shot out onto the floor.
“Chase!”
He swept the vase off the table, sending it flying across the room and against the refrigerator. Shards of glass went every which way, biting my legs and raining down around me and my bare feet.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I screamed, afraid to move lest my feet be cut to shreds.
“Was he here? In my bed? Were you fucking Preston in my bed?”
My world came to a screeching halt. A dull roar filled my ears. Glass crunched under his boots as he stalked toward me. I pummeled his chest as he lifted me roughly around the waist and carried me into the living room, where he dropped me to my feet onto the carpeted floor.
I was so angry I could barely get the words out. “Get out!”
“Gladly.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next day
I had stopped at the store on my way home to pick up ground beef and rice to make chili—a peace offering after our latest fight. This one had been so bad, if I’d had more time, I might have made roast beef.
The more I thought about what had happened, the more I wondered how Chase might have gotten the wrong impression. An extremely wrong impression—no matter how it looked to him. He owed me a major apology, but I also needed to do a little groveling myself.
The first thing I noticed when I came through the front door was that the Bose stereo was missing. Chase’s guitar, which usually rested on a stand in the corner, was also gone. So was the stand. When I checked the garage and saw that his motorcycle and most of his tools were gone, I panicked. I grabbed my purse and my cell phone and ran outside in case the thief was still in the house. I climbed into my car, locked the doors, and dialed 911. While I waited for the police to arrive, I called Chase. It went straight to voicemail. I babbled something about us being robbed and begged him to hurry home.
At the rate it was taking the police to arrive, Chase would beat them here. I was glad when they pulled up first. I knew damn well Chase wouldn’t wait to go inside. Once the officers swept the premises and made sure there were no burglars lurking inside, they let me back in. We went room to room as I identified the things that were missing.
It didn’t dawn on me—at least not at first—that nothing of mine or the kids’ had been touched. Izzy’s laptop remained on her desk, as did her stereo. Granted, it was no Bose, but if some druggie had broken in, why wouldn’t he have taken that as well as the big-screen TV in the living room?
I caught the officers exchanging glances. Did they think I’d staged this for some reason?
“Ma’am?”
I stormed into the bedroom. The bed was neatly made. The television was inside the highboy opposite the bed. I yanked open the top drawer of my dresser and pulled out the jewelry boxes. One held a gold chain bracelet my father had given me a few months before he died. Another, a necklace with three diamonds Chase had given me for our anniversary. Another held the diamond earrings he’d given me for my birthday. All there. So was my grandmother’s brooch and my father’s class ring.
“Ma’am?” The officer’s voice was gentler this time.
I shook my head, ignoring him as I raced to the closet. My hand rested on the knob while I worked up the courage to open the door. I pulled it open and nearly fell to my knees.
Chase’s things were gone. Everything.
I squeezed my eyes tight and took several quick breaths before turning to face the stranger standing in my bedroom, watching me.
My hands shook as I closed the top drawer of my dresser, my mind unable to make any sense of what had happened.
“Is it possible that maybe your husband took his things and left?”
I shot him a dark look. “He’d never do that.”
I pushed past him for the kitchen, where I pulled the phone from the base and dialed Chase’s number. I had to do it twice, my hands were shaking so hard.
It went straight to voicemail.
“Chase. It’s me.” My voice was so tiny, I wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to hear me. “The police are here. You need to call me. Now.”
When I tried to hang up, I missed the base. The phone clattered at my feet and cracked, sending the battery spinning across the floor. I stared at it, feeling like I was spinning as well, not sure what to do. The second officer stooped and picked it up, along with a shard of glass. He looked at it curiously, then set it on the counter. He tried to reinsert the battery, but the phone had cracked in such a way, it no longer fit. He looked at his partner and shrugged, then set it on the kitchen table.
“We can fill out a report, Mrs. Holgate, but I’m not really sure you were robbed.”
“Yes, we were. Someone took my husband’s things. He wouldn’t leave me.” My voice rose, and I was immediately embarrassed.
The officers exchanged glances.
“Okay. Maybe we can swing by where he works and let him know what’s going on. Will you be all right on your own? Alone?”
I’d never be all right alone, not if what he was saying was true.
“No. I mean, yes. I’m fine.” I wasn’t fine. I was having trouble breathing, and I wanted them to leave. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll explain it to him when he comes home. If he has any questions, I’ll have him call you. Just please file that report. He’s going to want you to file that report. That motorcycle.” I tried to smile, but I’m sure it didn’t look that way. “That’s his baby.” My voice broke on the last syllable.
The squad car hadn’t pulled out of the driveway before I dug my cell phone from my purse and dialed him again.
“Chase, you call me—better yet, just come home,” I said, breaking into sobs. “You come home right now.”
I disconnected the call, dropped to my knees, and cried my heart out.
Chase didn’t come home, and he didn’t call back. I waited up all night, staring at my phone, calling him every couple of hours. Nothing. The next day, I drove past the Sunoco station, but his truck wasn’t there. I wasn’t about to go inside. I wouldn’t give Dylan the satisfaction. I wouldn’t call his mother either. I knew damn well that even if he were standing next to her, she wouldn’t admit it.
I didn’t know what to tell the kids, so I told them he had gone to visit his mother. When Mom asked us over for dinner that Sunday, I told her we had plans. When Diane invited us over for game night, I told her I was coming down with something.
And after calling Chase several times over the next few days, I finally stopped. He’d turned off his phone. I couldn’t even leave a message. Not that I had anything different to say other than begging him to call me or come home.
I was pathetic, and I didn’t care.
Days passed. I couldn’t sleep more than a few hours a night, if I was lucky. Every night after putting Zac to bed and kissing Izzy good night, I’d lie on Chase’s side of the bed and try to figure out how it had all turned to shit.
It had to be Chase’s jealousy, although I’d thought we moved past that after that whole mess at Diane and Wally’s Fourth of July party. When we’d first become a couple, I’d attributed his jealousy to Preston’s looming presence in our lives and what had happened with his ex. It was flattering at first, but after a while, it began feeling childish and annoying.
But I loved Chase. He had no reason to be jealous, but maybe I should have paid more attention to his feelings. I know I’d done things to push him to the edge, but not on purpose.
In September, I’d gotten a call from Antoine. I’d sworn off more photo shoots, but with the kitchen desperately in need of some major work and the bathroom half finished, it was worth a shot to at least talk to Chase about it. I wouldn’t have done a shoot without his permission. Not again.
When I told him about it, he stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“It’s five thousand dollars, Chase. That’s a lot of money. We could finish the bathroom.”
I’d gotten my extra-large bathtub, but that was all so f
ar. The bathroom still had a dark mauve toilet and sink, faux marble surround, and gold-tone faucets and light fixtures. The floor was speckled linoleum in pink and beige. It was an homage to the seventies, and not a good one.
Chase had just come home from work. I handed him a Heineken before he could grab one for himself, then told him Antoine wanted to know if I was interested in posing for a new men’s magazine. I would be naked this time, but it would pay five thousand—even more if they used one of my photos on the cover.
He’d folded his arms, leaned against the counter, and just looked at me. I could tell by the set of his jaw he wasn’t about to say anything. I thought he was mulling it over, so I kept trying to sell him on the idea. I hated those gold-tone fixtures.
“He said it would be tasteful. And if you’re not comfortable with the idea, I’m sure you could come with me—you know, kind of be my bodyguard.” He’d actually done that on our first Halloween when I wore a Playboy bunny costume to work at Blondie’s. He’d dressed as my bodyguard.
His eyes narrowed and stayed glued to me as he leaned back and chugged his beer. I guess he didn’t think my Halloween reference was funny. He dropped the bottle noisily into the sink, pulled another from the fridge, and took another long swallow. I thought for a moment he was just going to stand there, staring at me and drinking. I was wrong.
“Comfortable.” He spoke as if he was trying the word on for size. “You think having me there watching you pose naked in front of a bunch of strangers would make me feel comfortable?”
I twisted my mouth and chewed on my lip. “Well, maybe not comfortable.”
“Definitely not comfortable.”
“Then you don’t have to go. I just thought I’d throw that out there—”
“You don’t have to go either. In fact, how about I give you five thousand not to go? Hmm?” His jaw was so tight, I was surprised he could speak. I cringed at the tone of his voice. “How about that, Rain? I give you five thousand to keep your clothes on. Better yet, I’ll take that five grand and go buy you some fucking clothes to wear so that men don’t think it’s okay to ask you to take them off.”
He turned away from me toward the kitchen window, then drained the bottle.
I honestly hadn’t thought he’d jump on board right away, but he didn’t need to get nasty about it.
“What the hell does that mean? You still have a problem with the way I dress?”
He pushed off the counter and took two steps toward me, then lowered his face until he was inches from mine.
“Still? Try always,” he shouted. “You dress like a goddamn stripper half the time, and you wonder why I lose my shit when guys make comments or think it’s okay to touch you. So yeah, I still have a problem with it.”
He grabbed another beer and stormed out of the kitchen. A minute later, the Harley roared to life. I threw dinner into the garbage, grabbed the kids, and took them to McDonald’s. We drove past Mondo’s on the way home. Just as I’d expected, Chase’s bike was parked out back.
I heard the Harley some time after midnight, but Chase never came to bed. By the time I got up, he had already left for work. Around two, I got a one-word text message: Sorry.
When I called Antoine to tell him I couldn’t do it, he upped the offer to six grand. The extra grand would have covered the cost of new cabinet doors in the kitchen, but I still had to say no.
Six thousand dollars. Deep down, I thought Chase was being unreasonable, but he was my husband. If there was something he wanted to do that upset me as much, I’d have expected him to back off as well.
That brought us to now, but I honestly had no clue what triggered this most recent blowup. We hadn’t been fighting, and I’d done what I thought he’d wanted me to do.
And as far as Preston was concerned, he was dead to me. He meant nothing. I’d neither seen nor heard from him in over three years.
I just couldn’t believe Chase was angry with me over a ghost.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I didn’t think it was possible to hurt this much. It seemed altogether possible to die of a broken heart.
After Rain told me to get out, I drove straight to Mondo’s and started drinking. I’m not sure when I passed out or how I got out of there, but when I woke the next morning, I was in my truck parked behind the Sunoco. The idea that I might have driven there myself was terrifying. And more than a little unbelievable. I fumbled for my keys—not that I knew where I would go—but they weren’t there. I had no choice but to wait until Dylan arrived to open up.
The Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner was already open. I stumbled from the truck. My body stiff and sore. I stretched, trying to work out a kink in my neck, and began walking, my breath hanging in the cold air ahead of me, leading the way.
By the time I returned, nursing a second cup of black coffee, Dylan was in the office. He looked up when he heard me enter.
“You stink,” he said, frowning when I dropped onto the beat-up sofa.
“Fuck you,” I mumbled into my cup.
An eyebrow arched upward. “Trouble in paradise?”
I glared at him, but before I could answer, he filled in the blanks.
“Yeah. ‘Fuck you.’ Understood.” He tossed my keys at me from across the desk. “I was wondering what these were doing in the drop box, but given your obvious hangover and cheerful disposition, not to mention you’re still wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday, I’m going to guess you got drunk somewhere, and a good Samaritan left you out back and tucked those away for safekeeping.”
I stared at the keys as if they might have some answers, because I was damned if I had a clue. It was almost seven. I pushed myself up off the couch. Rain should be on her way to work by now.
“I’m taking a couple days off.”
“What? No way.” Dylan shook his head. “We’re booked solid. I can’t spare you. You left early yesterday, remember? You have to finish that transmission, and we’re double-booked on winter tune-ups. I’m putting Erik on those, but I need you to change the fuel pump on a ’94 Ford, and Mrs. Walter’s Toyota is burning oil again.”
“It’s burning oil because it’s twenty years old. And you don’t need me to change a goddamn fuel pump and finish the transmission.” I threw the empty coffee cup at the trash. It bounced off the rim and onto the floor.
“I’ll call you in a couple days.”
“Chase, I’m serious,” he called after me. “I can’t afford you to take off right now.”
I spun around. “You listen. I own half this place, so what you can or can’t afford is of no consequence to me. I’ve worked every fucking Saturday for the past four years. I’m taking some time off, whether you like it or not. You can haul your ass out into one of the bays and get your hands dirty, or you can get on the phone and tell people to either wait or go somewhere else for an oil change. I really don’t give a shit right now.”
There was only one thing I gave a shit about: how I was going to survive with my heart torn from my chest.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the end of the first week, I could no longer get out of bed. I told Mom and the kids I had the flu. Izzy did her best to take care of Zac. It was an unfair responsibility for a twelve-year-old, but Izzy was twelve going on thirty. She made me tea and brought me tissues. She had to be smart enough to realize I wasn’t going through so many boxes because of a runny nose, but she never said a word.
I stayed in bed for four days. By the fifth day, I couldn’t stand myself, so I dragged myself into the shower. Afterward, I weighed myself. I’d lost six pounds since the last time I’d stepped on a scale. I didn’t have the strength to hold my blow dryer, so I towel-dried my hair and braided it. I looked like an orphan. Purple smudges bloomed beneath my red-rimmed eyes. And my cheeks were sunken in.
If I wasn’t so sad, my appearance would almost be comical. Was this what Chase wanted? To destroy me so that no one would look at me, leave me desperate and crying, unable to eat or sleep, until I looked n
othing like myself? Would that finally make him happy?
The thought triggered a fresh wave of tears, as if the shower had rehydrated me enough to cry it right back out again.
When Mom showed up after the kids got home from school, I pretended to be asleep. I did the same every night when Diane called. Let them figure it out for themselves. I couldn’t say it out loud, not to myself and not to my children. I wrapped my arms around Chase’s pillow.
There was a soft tap on the door.
“Mom?” Izzy pushed the door open then knocked again, louder.
“I’m awake.”
She moved across the room and turned on the bedside lamp. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I heated you some chicken noodle soup that Mimi brought.”
“Thanks,” I croaked. “But I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat, Mom. You can’t stay in bed forever, and you need to eat. At least you took a shower.”
I shot her a look.
“Yeah, I noticed. It stinks in here. I’d open the window, except it’s about thirty-five degrees outside.”
“It’s fine, Iz. I’ll get up tomorrow.”
She sat down on the bed beside me. “Dad sent me an email.”
My heart thumped against my rib cage.
“He said he was sure that you’d explained things to us by now.” Her voice broke. “He’s not at Grandma Holgate’s, is he?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know where he is.”
Her lower lip trembled, but she steadied herself. My baby was being strong for me. “He wants to know if he can take us Thursday and keep us for the weekend. He said we can visit Grandma.”
“What about school?”
She looked stunned. “It’s Thanksgiving, Mom. Did you forget?”
I took a deep breath and rolled my lips together. “Yeah, I guess I did. Did he say anything else?” I wanted to ask her if he mentioned me, but I couldn’t.
It didn’t matter. I assumed by the shake of her head that he didn’t.
