by Leger, Lori
“Please stay,” he murmured, his eyes pleading with her.
She kept her silence as one by one their co-workers entered the building through the back door. When the door closed she turned to him, pulling her hand back.
“You were right, and I’m sorry!” he blurted out before she had a chance to say anything. “I’m worried about you, but that doesn’t give me the right to tell you how to handle your problems. It’s your life and you’re a smart, self-reliant woman, fully capable of making your own decisions.”
“It’s not Dave.”
“If you believe that, then I trust your judgment.”
“No…really…it’s not Dave,” she said, her voice firmer. “I know because I got the Sheriff’s department to trace the call yesterday morning.”
His face paled visibly. “What happened?”
She rubbed at her tired eyes. “He wouldn’t stop. He kept calling, and calling. I didn’t want to take the phone off the hook because of mom being in the hospital. But finally, I had to.”
“So, they know who it is now?”
She shook her head. “It traced to one of those prepaid cell phones and whoever bought it paid in cash. They know the call was made from around the Abbeville area, though. Dave was at his mom’s last night.”
“You’re positive about that?”
“Yep, I called Ruby’s myself to make sure.”
“So, if it’s not Dave, then who the hell is it?”
“I don’t know, Sam. And that’s what really scares me. As long as there was a possibility it could be Dave, I could dismiss it. But now…”
“Now you’re as worried as I am?”
She cocked her head and squinted up at him. “Maybe not that much.”
“Well, hell. It’s time somebody worried about you, Carrie,” he said, reaching out to touch her hand.
“Somebody,” she whispered, looking down at the seat, where his hand rested on hers.
“What was that?” he asked, leaning closer.
“Nothing,” she mumbled, pulling her hand back as she stepped out of the truck.
Sam hurried around to meet her at the door. “You never said. Am I forgiven?”
“You are, but don’t let it happen again.”
He shook his head. “It won’t. I got a lot of thinking done over the past five days. I’m determined to change, Carrie. Whether it’s for you, or just for myself, I’m trying to be a better man.”
She scraped her lower lip with her teeth and nodded, afraid to say anything more.
***
At seven-thirty the next morning, Carrie walked into the office and intercepted Sam’s look of worry.
“I know,” she muttered. “I’m late, and I look like crap.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he countered. “Craig said you called saying you’d be too late to make the carpool. Anything you want to talk about?”
She opened her compact and groaned at her reflection. “I threw on a little war paint during the drive over here, but Max Factor is a poor substitution for sleep.” She snapped the compact closed and dropped it in her purse before turning back toward Sam. The smile he gave her made her stomach flip in nervous anticipation. Jesus, what was it about the man that made her feel like a gawky, inexperienced teenager?
She forced her thoughts away from her cuter-all-the-time co-worker and back to the source of her exhaustion. “That caller whispered my name.” She stopped Sam from asking the obvious question. “I couldn’t tell who it was.” She shivered as a frisson of dread caught her. “At least the dogs didn’t go nuts afterwards. I think I’d have had a stroke.”
Carrie made her way to the snack machine for a breakfast bar, then the kitchen, where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee called to her.
Sam followed her and leaned his long form against the door jamb. “Anything else you can remember about the call?”
Carrie prepared her coffee and propped herself against the cabinet. “It’s always creepy, but this time it felt creepier. Damn, this would be so much easier if it was Dave, but he’s obviously moved on.”
“Can I say one more time what a fool your ex was?”
She grinned up at him, marveling at how one line from him could totally lift her spirits. “I appreciate that, Sam. You know, when I think back on the person I used to be before I met him, and remember how I was when I was with him, I can’t figure out when the old me disappeared. I don’t believe my children have ever met her.”
“Maybe it’s time to introduce them.”
She took another sip of coffee and nodded. “I will, as soon as I find her again.” They both turned toward the door as J.C. walked into the kitchen, fairly growling.
“What’s going on in here?”
“Sam’s letting me vent,” Carrie told him.
J.C. raised one eyebrow. “Is your ex still dropping by unannounced?”
She gave him a half-hearted shrug and nodded. “Not as often. He just wants me out of the house. Staying at his mom’s must be putting a serious cramp in his single life.”
J.C.’s eyes glittered with excitement. “You want me to whip his ass for you?”
Carrie laughed at her friend. “Don’t offer if you’re not willing to follow through.”
“Yeah, don’t let your mouth write checks your ass ain’t willing to cash,” Sam told him.
J.C. chuckled as he refilled his coffee cup. “He’s about my height, isn’t he?”
Carrie grinned at her friend. “Yeah, but I think you could take him. You’re probably one of those Crazy Cajuns who jumps into canals and marshes to wrestle alligators with a knife.”
J.C. gave her a disgruntled look. “I do not. You’d have to be an idiot to do something that stupid.” He pointed a finger at his chest and put on a thicker than normal Cajun accent. “Mais chere, I went to college too, yeah.”
Carrie laughed and came back with her own home grown accent. “Mais, I’m sorry if you got da wrong imprassion. I wouldn’t do dat, no, me bein’ from dat petit, tiny town of Gardiner. You know, we can parlez de Cajun purty damn good over dere, too, yeah.”
J.C’s. chest rumbled with laughter. “And can I jus say dat you do it justice, my fran.”
“Merci beau coup, Monsieur Carter.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, before leaving the room with his mug full of wake-him-up.
Sam shifted and cleared his throat. “So, once you move to Gardiner how much farther will it be from work?”
“About ten miles, and twice a day—”
“Times five is a hundred miles a week, four hundred miles a month, and about five thousand miles a year…I know. That’s what I save by carpooling.”
“And that’s in addition to the two thousand miles I drive every month. My paycheck’s already stretched too thin.”
“The divorce settlement should help you out, though.”
Carrie’s laugh reverberated through the room. “If Dave’s payments come like they’re supposed to, my car note and school loan will be taken care of. Rent, food, fuel, and utilities will eat up the rest of my income. But, it’s wintertime, and plant work is kind of lean. I’m scratching to make ends meet now, and I’ll be scratching even more if I can ever move out.”
“Well, if he skips a note, throw his ass in jail.”
“Yeah, that’d go over big with my kids.”
“I’d do it.”
Carrie frowned and pushed away from the counter. “That’s because they’re not your kids. Besides, none of this is your concern, is it?”
“Carrie…”
She ignored what she assumed would be yet, another apology, and left him alone in the kitchen. Would she ever learn her lesson when it came to men?
***
She pulled up next to her mailbox at the end of the driveway, groaning at the sight of Dave’s truck parked in the drive. After collecting the stack of bills out of the box, she parked under the carport. She hauled her things inside and kicked her shoes off at the door, sliding her feet into the pair
of warm, fuzzy slippers she kept there.
Carrie shivered at the nip in the air, but rather than raise the thermostat, she shuffled into her bedroom for a sweater to throw over her shirt. Still no visual on Dave.
She listened at the twins’ door and heard the steady beat of a pop tune from inside the room. She knocked once then poked her head inside.
Gretchen sat propped up against her headboard, reading a library book, while Lauren lay on her stomach atop her bedspread, doing math homework.
“Hey, Mom,” they said, as usual, in perfect unison.
Carrie smiled and walked into the room, searching for any hints of disturbance from her daughters. “Everything all right?” she asked, studying them carefully.
“Everything’s fine,” Gretchen told her. Carrie smiled at her daughter’s relaxed demeanor. She turned to the other twin, whose body language told a different story…pencil clenched tightly in her right hand, forehead resting on the open palm of her left hand, as she bit down on her lower lip.
“Lauren, are you all right?” Her daughter turned her huge brown eyes, so like her father’s, toward her, and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.
“Are you upset about something?” Carrie stepped over to sit on her daughter’s bed.
Without saying a word, Lauren closed her eyes and dropped her forehead on Carrie’s shoulder. A sound from the doorway alerted Carrie to Dave’s presence.
“Of course she’s upset. You broke up the family.”
Carrie wrapped her daughter in a hug, but ignored his calculated words. “It’ll be fine, Lauren. How’d your appointment with the school counselor go this morning?”
Lauren sniffed and wiped her eyes. “It was okay. She said lots of kids feel like this when their parents get divorced. But Gretchen and Grant don’t.”
“No two people handle situations the same way, honey. You’ll see in time. Until then, I’m here if you want to talk.”
Lauren made a half-hearted attempt to smile.
Carrie rose from the bed and turned toward the doorway where Dave stood, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest. She pushed him away from the entrance and pulled her daughters’ bedroom door shut on her way to the kitchen.
“You heard any more about that rent house?”
She stopped and threw back an annoyed look. “It’s still not available until January fifteenth.”
He sent her a scathing look. “Well, I thought you’d have had your family trying to pull some strings to get you in there sooner. I know they all hate me.”
She walked into the kitchen to start supper. “They don’t hate you, Dave.” Within two minutes, she had a package of thawed ground round frying, a pot of water heating for pasta, and two jars of spaghetti sauce sitting on the counter, ready to be opened and added to the meat.
“What are you cooking?” David asked.
She turned to him, one brow raised in amusement. “Are you trying to make polite conversation, or are you really that dense?”
He laughed.
That laugh…the one that made the nerves and muscles at the base of her skull spasm with irritation. She clenched her jaw and arched her neck slightly.
“I can see you’re making spaghetti, so polite conversation it is,” he told her.
She glanced at the twins’ bedroom door, hesitant to cause a scene that would only upset Lauren more than she already was. She grabbed a large spoon and concentrated on breaking up the ground meat as it cooked. Tired of having Dave watch her every move, she banged the spoon loudly against the side of the pot and dropped it with a clatter onto the spoon rest. “Look, I said you could see the kids anytime you want, but if you come just to upset our daughter, I’ll put a stop to it.”
“I thought maybe you’d let me stay for supper.”
She kept her voice low and even. “Why would you think that?”
“Mom spent the day in Lafayette at the doctor’s,” he admitted.
“And what did you do today?”
“I went hunting this morning. I shot my limit,” he answered.
“Did you clean the birds yourself or leave them for your mom to clean after she’d been to the doctor and driving all day?”
He glared at her. “I cleaned them myself.”
“Did you clean up her kitchen when you were done?”
“Yes, I did, as a matter of fact,” he said, sounding annoyed.
Carrie spoke in a tight voice. “Then you should have cooked supper for your mom when you finished. You know how tired she is after her appointments, especially when she has a stress test scheduled, like she did today.”
Dave’s eyes narrowed angrily. He straightened and stalked over to the door before swinging around to point at her. “You’ve got until the end of next week to get your shit out of here. After that, I’m moving back in, whether you like it or not.”
She stirred the meat without looking up at him, thinking maybe a change of scenery would help. “The end of next week it is, then.”
He stalked out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.
Carrie grinned as she stirred the meat. “Don’t go away mad. Just go away.”
***
After supper, the phone rang as Carrie loaded the dishwasher.
“Hey,” Dave answered sheepishly. “You don’t have to move out until your place is ready.”
“Ruby chewed your ass out, didn’t she?”
“Shut the hell up.”
Carrie laughed. “Your mom loves me, jerk.”
He snorted. “Yeah, she does. All my family loves you, but your mom hates me.”
“She doesn’t hate you, although you’ve given her plenty of reasons to.”
“What about you?”
She closed the door of the dishwasher and set it to start. “She doesn’t hate me either.”
“Always the smart ass.”
Carrie wiped at the kitchen counter. “I don’t hate you either, Dave, but I need to get out of here before I do.” She thought of the early morning phone calls, thinking again how she’d feel safer if Dave was making them. An old quote she’d had to memorize in the sixth grade came to mind. Greater is our terror of the unknown. No kidding.
“Carrie…”
“G’night, Dave.” She didn’t wait for a reply before ending the call. “It’s too damn late for heart to hearts,” she muttered, before locking up the house and turning off the kitchen light.
***
Carrie opened her eyes but didn’t move another muscle. She stared at the bleary glow of red digital numbers coming from the nightstand; blinked them into focus, as four eleven turned to four twelve. Rain pelted the window, overflowed the gutters as thunder rumbled, low and threatening, from miles away.
She lay tense and frozen, certain of one thing. Something had awakened her. A sound? A stir in the air? A sense of not being alone?
Whatever it was had been strong enough to cut her dream short, only her second about her father since his death thirteen years earlier. She’d been having a cup of coffee with him at her kitchen table, while he said how proud he was of her for going to college—for getting away from Dave.
She felt the drip of water on her forehead a millisecond before he whispered her name.
She jerked away from the sound, fully awake now, as her tension-filled body responded to the intrusion. Willing her eyes to adjust to the dark, she finally recognized the outline of Dave’s face, mere inches from her own. She smelled his rain soaked hair, beer on his breath, and cigarette smoke from whatever bar he’d come from. One more thing…the tell-tale trace of perfume, Red by Georgio…a former favorite until she’d found a receipt for it in his truck a few years earlier. He’d purchased it a week after making her use her own money to buy a bottle for herself. The bastard.
“What the hell, Dave?”
“I’m coming home.”
“I changed the locks,” she said, the thud of her heart pounding from a massive rush of adrenaline. “How the hell did you get inside?”
H
e answered in a low, hoarse whisper. “You can’t keep me out of here. This is my home. I built it, and I need to be back in it with my kids.”
“Asshole!” Furious with him, she pushed him away and threw the covers off to sit up. “Get off me, dammit, it’s barely four o’clock.”
“It couldn’t wait. I’m losing my mind at Mom’s house.”
“Oh please. It’s too damn early in the morning for dramatics.” She got out of bed and grabbed her cordless phone.
“Who the hell are you calling at this hour? Your boyfriend?” he added, his tone dripping with bitterness and anger.
Carrie jabbed at the number pad, then glared at Dave as she waited, then spoke calmly into the phone.
“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry as hell to wake you up like this, but my ex-asshole isn’t giving me much of a choice. Would it be okay if the kids and I stayed at your place just until the middle of January? I’ll be able to move into my rent house then. It is? Okay, thanks babe. I’ll come here straight from work and pick up a few thingsI, and we’ll be there later this afternoon. What’s that? No, I don’t mind sharing the bed with you. Thanks again and sorry for waking you up so early. Wouldn’t have done it if I’d had any other choice,” she said, emphasizing the word.
She ended the call and locked herself inside her master bath to get ready for work. Dave’s muffled voice carried from beyond the bathroom door.
“Who’d you call?” he asked, keeping his voice low for a change.
Carrie thought of all the phone calls he’d made from her home to other women. All those numbers he hadn’t been able to explain away. One in particular came to mind. One number she’d dared to call back.
A woman had answered, her tone low and seductive, “You’d freak if you could see what I’m wearing now, baby.”
“Oh, I doubt it,” she’d commented. “Which slut of the month are you? This is his wife, by the way. You know, the woman who’s wasted her youth on a man who doesn’t give a damn about her or their three kids?” She still remembered the reverberating echo as that particular ‘other woman’ slammed the phone down.
Dave muttered a foul curse from the other side of the door, as Carrie beamed back at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t often she got to witness his rare feelings of insecurity, but her sense of victory gave a cheery start to a day that promised to be wet and gloomy.
