by Kendra Leigh
She nods as if reading my expression. “Oh. Another asshole, am I right?”
Surprised by her candidness, I don’t reply. I just stare openmouthed.
“Sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to make assumptions.”
I don’t know where it comes from, but suddenly I start laughing. “No, you’re right. He’s an asshole. An A1 asshole, actually.”
“Fantastic!” She laughs with me. “I’ve known a few assholes in my time, I can tell you. It gets so you can sniff them out within a mile, like rats. They say you’re never more than a few feet away from one of those in the city. I’m thinking it might be the same with assholes.”
I laugh so much my insides hurt. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. For the next thirty minutes or so she regales me with anecdotes of her life, the people she’s met along the way, some of the men she’s known romantically—of which some are referred to as assholes for one reason or another.
“Oh, honey, don’t listen to me. What do I know? I’m sure they were all good men in their own way. What about you? What’s your story? Tell me all about your asshole.” She bursts into laughter again.
Only a few weeks ago, I would have run for the hills if asked about Nick and my marriage, rather than tell someone the truth. But here I am, sitting with a perfect stranger, and suddenly I’m telling her everything. If she feels shocked or horrified or sorry for me in any way, she doesn’t show it. Instead, she makes faces, irritation, fury maybe, as if nothing I tell her could surprise her in anyway. Something tells me this lady has been around the block a few times of her own.
“Yep,” she says when I’m finished. “Sounds like he’s the whole enchilada when it comes to assholes. Why leave it until now, if you don’t mind me asking? To leave him, I mean.”
It’s a good question, and one I might expect anyone to ask. I’d ask it myself if I was in her position, and it’s realizing this that helps me to form my answer.
“I thought it was because my financial circumstances were complicated, but they haven’t changed. So I guess it’s me. I changed. I had the opportunity to view my situation from a distance, and I saw it in a whole new light. Someone taught me that I was stronger than I knew, and that I was capable of whatever I wanted my life to be.”
“He must be one of the good guys.”
“Who said it was a he?”
“Wild guess. And … as much as I’m aware of the copious assholes out there, I’m also familiar with some straight shooters, and the world is a much better place with them in it.”
“I’m beginning to see that.”
She nods as if approving. “What’s your name, honey?”
I can’t believe we’ve been talking for more than an hour, and we haven’t formally introduced ourselves. “Savannah.”
“Well, I’m stoked to meet you, Savannah. I’m Annabeth. My friends call me Annie.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Annie.”
She glances at her watch and pushes to her feet. “I guess I better make tracks. I took a late shift.”
“Oh, jeez, I hope I haven’t kept you from your work.”
“Not at all, I’ve enjoyed our chat. And if you ever need a friend…” she rummages in the pocket of her cardigan, retrieving a book of matches, the name and address of a Manhattan diner printed on the back “…you can find me here most afternoons ’till late. It’s a bit of a greasy spoon, but I make a mean pecan pie.”
“Thank you, Annie. I’ll be sure to look you up.”
“Make sure you do. You’re a strong lady, Savannah. There’s no disputing that. But never feel like you have to fight the fight alone.”
I nod, smiling, as she turns and makes her way along the path, thinking that, ordinarily, I might consider it a strange thing to say to someone you met not much more than an hour ago. But it doesn’t feel like that. It’s something I might expect Ava to say or Megan or Grace—or they might if they knew anything about my life. I wonder why I’ve never talked to any of them, and whether they’ll be hurt that I haven’t when they find out the truth. Now I think about it, I made it so easy for Nick to control me. I isolated myself. I should have leaned on my friends. Instead, I created a distance between us, one that was too hard to gap in the short time I was allowed to spend with them. Now I’ve made a new friend—two, actually, if you include Jia. I realize how good it feels to spend time with people, to share my story with Annie. She could be a good friend, I can tell. As I pocket the book of matches, I vow to look her up when all this is over, try one of her pies.
Rising, I make my way toward the exit of the park, and with each step I think of how far I’ve come in the last few weeks and how exciting my life can be in the not too distant future. Then, smiling, I realize what I’m doing. I’m counting my blessings.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jackson
IS IT MY IMAGINATION OR is there a spring in her step? I wonder, as she emerges from the park. There is definitely something about her, a strength and a confidence. An incandescence. It’s the fire awakening inside her, I think, smiling. I watch as she crosses the busy street, wanting so much to get out of the car and talk to her, but for now, I know I have to be patient. It’s enough to see her safe and well, and that she seems happy … well, that’s a bonus.
A tap on the passenger window and the sound of the car door opening has me reluctantly tearing my gaze away from her.
“How is she?” I ask straight away.
“Christ, let an old woman sit down before she gets the third degree, why don’t you.”
“Sorry, Annie.”
She nods, smiling widely. “She might be tiny, but she has balls, Jacko!”
I laugh at my old friend’s choice of words. “That’s what Jia said.”
“Why does that not surprise me. Credit to her, though, she’s done a great job. She’s strong, mentally and physically.”
“Well, I’ll be sure to pass on your comments. I’m sure Jia will be stoked to know you approve.”
Jia was Angel’s idea. She was outraged when I told her I’d been watching the house for a few days because I just wanted to be sure Savannah was safe. She said I’d be no good to her if I found myself locked up with a stalking charge, and it was far better to have someone watch over her that she wouldn’t recognize at first glance.
Imagine if she sees you, she’d said, hanging out like some loser at the end of her street. She’ll think you’re obsessed.
I sort of am, I think.
Jia, Angel’s close friend and manager of her photography gallery, Evoke, agreed instantly, only too eager to spend her afternoons out in the sun practicing her kickboxing moves than stuck in the gallery. As it happens, she turned out to be an ideal choice. Not only have she and Savannah struck up a friendship, but she’s been teaching her kickboxing.
Good for her mental and physical wellbeing, not to mention self-defense, Jia had said.
“The husband sounds like a piece of work,” Annie says. “A real nasty-assed bastard.”
“She talked to you?” I’m surprised, given that she’s only just begun to open up about her circumstances at all.
I knew when Jia said she couldn’t make it today that Annie would make a perfect replacement. I met her when I first arrived in New York. Feeling a little homesick for London, I’d hunted down a rundown diner, one that would remind me of the greasy spoons back home. She took me under her wing and we became solid friends, so much so that she became my housekeeper, so that “she can keep a closer eye on me.” She can rouse a smile from me on my darkest days, and she’s an amazing listener to boot. That she’s made Savannah comfortable enough to confide in her so quickly should not surprise me at all.
“She mentioned you too.” She points with her eyes, her brows hitching.
“Me?” I can’t stop my smile from spreading.
“Well, not strictly you, not by name, but she meant you. I could tell.”
“What did she say, Annie? Exactly.” My bubble deflates a little.
>
“Well, let me see.” She scratches her head in thought. “She said, ‘Someone taught me that I was stronger than I knew, that I was capable of whatever I wanted my life to be.’ Yeah, that was it. That’s what she said.”
My smile returns. “Yeah, that’s me.”
She bats my arm, laughing. “See! I knew that.” Her smile is full of warmth and affection as she gazes at me, her eyes skimming my face like a proud mother looking for something to pick or poke at. “Be patient, Jacko. Let her come to you when she’s ready. If it’s meant to be, it will be. And something tells me it is.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Jackson
THE NEXT DAY I HAVE news about the company that I want to share with Savannah, so I plan to be there waiting when she leaves the park after her meeting with Jia. Although I’ve seen her several times from a distance, I’m ridiculously excited to see her and speak to her. Ten minutes before I’m due to leave, I get a call from Jia.
“She didn’t show.”
“What do you mean she didn’t show? Did you wait in your usual place?”
“Um, duh. I’ve been here a half hour and nada. I don’t think she’s coming. She’s never been late before.”
“She might think you’re not coming because you didn’t turn up yesterday.”
“Don’t pin this on me, Jackson. I’m doing you a favor, remember? Yesterday could not be helped, because … life, ya know?”
“I know. I’m not blaming you, I’m just worried.”
“Do you want me to go to her house?”
“No. She’ll wonder how in the hell you know where she lives.”
“Good point.” She laughs. “And one stalker is enough for anyone, eh, Jackson?”
“Don’t you start. Stick around for a while longer, will you? Just in case she turns up. I’m on my way.”
* * *
By the time I reach Park Slope, all sorts of horrible scenarios have entered my head. It’s all I can do not to go banging on the front door, but, well … first, there’s the nosy neighbor to consider, and second, I know she won’t thank me for it, especially if I’m letting my mind run away with me and she’s fine and dandy. For a few minutes, I watch the house, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, the twitching of a curtain, her silhouette at the window, anything. When I realize I haven’t the strength of mind or heart, because the way it’s pounding inside my chest can’t be very healthy, to wait any longer, I get out of the car planning to make my way toward the house. Just then I notice a guy across the street emerge from an entrance at the side of his building and begin to make his way down the street, and I wonder if I can somehow make my way to the back of Savannah’s house through the neighboring yards. I wait a few beats until I’m sure the man doesn’t look like he’s planning to return and then run across the street and through the opening before I change my mind.
The building has been turned into apartments, and the man I saw must have come from the basement because as I round the corner, I’m faced with four steps leading down to a door. I don’t hesitate, and instead of moving down the steps, I take a leap and scale the wall, dropping down into the yard next door. I figure Savannah’s is at least four buildings down, so I hold my breath and doing a good impression of Ethan Hunt from Mission Impossible, I push my way through bushes and over walls until I reach what must surely be her yard.
I observe for a second or two, taking in the layout of the house—a very small opening at ground level which must be a window to a basement and steps up to a patio with a door and window leading to what I’m guessing is the kitchen. As I’m fully aware of Nick Harper’s plans for the afternoon, I’m confident he’s not home, so I waste no time moving stealthily toward the house and up to the door. As I peer in through the slats of a blind, I see her. She’s sitting on a chair at the table, one foot tucked up on the seat, her chin resting on her knee as she holds a bag of frozen peas to her ankle. Though I can see she’s hurt, my heart calms a little because she’s alive and conscious and in one piece, and I am so relieved. I tap gently on the window, hoping not to startle her but failing miserably. She screams out loud, jumping up on her injured ankle and backing away.
“Savannah, it’s me. Open the door.”
Her fearful expression transforms into one of shock then anger before settling on panic as she limps to the door and unlocks it.
“What. The. Fuck?” Her complexion has paled—no peaches, just cream.
“What happened?” I ask, staring at her swollen ankle and moving toward her.
She holds up the flat of her hand and steps back. “Um, hello? I asked you a question.”
“And I’ll explain in a minute. Priorities first. What happened to your ankle?”
She shakes her head, clearly exasperated, but she knows it won’t do any good. “He didn’t do it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I went over on it running too quickly down the stairs. I took a bit of a tumble, but it was only the last few steps. I’m more mad at myself than anything. I was on my way out to meet a friend, and now I’m stuck with this for God knows how long. Your turn.”
Knowing he’s not responsible, I feel myself relax a little and decide to play along. I know by friend she means Jia, of course, but it’s more authentic if I’m curious. “Which friend?”
“Just a friend I’ve been training with.”
My eyes glide slowly over her perfectly toned frame, taking in every inch of her now I can finally see her at close range. “You look amazing.”
She glances away shyly. “Thank you.”
“She must have been working you hard.”
“Who said it was a she?”
Well, goddamn! She’s trying to make me jealous, little minx. Of course I know better, but even the thought of her spending time with another man irks me. I bite down hard on my lip, feel my jaw muscles bunching. Let it slide, Jackson, it’s not a thing. I choose to ignore the comment and look around the room instead, curious to how this woman I know so little about but who dominates my every thought lives. It’s spotless, not a thing out of place.
“Wow. I could actually eat my dinner off of the floor in here.”
“You should, the amount of time I spend scrubbing it.”
“What? Why? I didn’t know you were a neat freak.”
“I’m not.”
“Him?”
“Allegedly. He used to say that mess made him anxious and being anxious made him irate. When his mom died, it turned into full blown OCD.” She begins to open cupboard doors, showing me the contents inside. Everything is neatly placed, handles, labels, corners, all positioned at exactly the same angle. “I have to keep it this way or irate Nick becomes nasty Nick. Thing is, when I returned from … my week away, everything was in chaos, and I realized he’d been playing me. The OCD thing was just another way to control me. Another reason to get mad at me. Another thing to fear him for. The only reason I do it now is to keep up appearances. I don’t want to raise too much suspicion, so I try keeping things normal.”
“Fucking bastard,” I hiss. The thought of her working her fingers to the bone for hours each day just to keep him from turning on her has me seething. I want to tell her that she’ll never scrub another floor again, can live in as much disorder as she likes once she’s rid of him, but I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I turn away, lean up against the counter top, and take a breath.
“Listen, I’m not being rude, but it’s making me pretty nervous, you being here. He could come back any time—”
“He’s with Ethan now. So you can relax.”
“Ethan? Why? Did you find something out?”
“Yes. There’s good news but also some bad, I’m afraid,” I begin, watching as she listens intently. “I’m afraid it turns out Nick isn’t a great businessman. He’s been screwing the company into the ground, sifting out the profits for his own back pocket for years—round about seven, to be exact, so it would tie in with him taking over from his father. Only now he realizes he’s overdone it and that a company
doesn’t run on empty. There’s rumors that most of it was spent at the tables in casinos, but now the pot’s running dry, he’s getting desperate. He now owes several casinos money, and that includes some real dodgy characters.”
She looks like I just stole the wind from under her sails. “So not only do I not own my company anymore, it’s not worth owning. My father worked so hard to build that business. Wait. Actually this news answers a lot of questions.”
“How so?”
“That day, when I returned from the cabin, I had to come up with a story about where I’d been, but I couldn’t think of anything that didn’t look like I left voluntarily, so I told him the truth. Well, not the truth entirely, just the bit about being hijacked off the street and taken against my will.”
Her words fade out a little as I understand the gravity of the danger I’d put her in. I just left her there in the underground parking lot, scavenging for some barely plausible reason to have just disappeared for a week without trace. All to avoid the wrath of her evil husband. I’m mortified.
“I told him that I was kept in a windowless room.” Her voice fades back in. “Fed and watered then deposited at the end of the street a week later—nothing too dramatic. But I told him it was because of him … that I heard my kidnappers talking about him owing money and taking me to put the frighteners on him. I was surprised that he bought it so easily, but it would make sense that he did now.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper in shame. “I hadn’t even thought about the difficulties that would have caused you. I’m so sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter now.” She laughs. “You’re lucky, though. Any other kind of husband might have reported me missing. But he just thought I’d left him and wallowed in his own self-pity for a week. I actually took some enjoyment out of making him think they might come back for him. So there is an upside, in case you’re looking.”
I shake my head, wondering if I could actually despise another human being more than I do him.
