Emmie didn’t scream, or make a scene or shed a tear, or beg her father to reconsider. Some part of her knew that what her father was doing was opening the door, allowing her to have the perfect excuse to run off with this slender cowboy who wanted to head west. She watched, without a word, as Dusty walked away. She met her father’s eyes before he turned and went back to his truck.
By the time Dusty had gathered his things from the bunkhouse, she had gathered a few of her own, and at dusk, she climbed out her bedroom window, shimmied down the side porch, and ran through a tapestry sunset to meet him at the road.
Emmie turned and looked in the eyes of that woman, the one who had just moved in at Maggie’s. Pain radiated from her body like the northern lights, colors flaming off her skin and hair and pouring from her eyes. But as Emmie met the woman’s eyes, she knew there was more than just pain involved.
Emmie could look at an animal and see almost immediately where the trouble was. She would notice a glow, or feel the heat from a shoulder or the stomach, or wherever the problem happened to be.
This young woman across the street was a seething mass of color and heat, the energy so mixed up that it was almost like looking into a mud puddle. Emmie had spent most of her life trying to help, and she had been able to do that with so many of the animals. But people? That was a completely different story.
The dog pulled on his leash, and Emmie’s attention came back to him. He was old, and getting wet, and ready to go home. She turned and headed uphill, forcing herself not to look at that young woman again.
SEVEN
Alex sat at the table in the dining room, a single guest at a table for six. In front of her was a TV dinner, cooked in the microwave. Christmas dinner. She heaved a sigh and pushed the plate away from her, staring out the window at the relentless clouds, the relentless rain. The ever-present gray.
Christmas Day. She was thirty-nine years old, and this was the first Christmas that she had ever spent completely alone. Growing up, at least after her father left, Christmas had been a rather solitary affair, usually just she and her mother. Even so, her mother always cooked too much food; they had a few traditions, just the two of them, like walking to church at midnight, and opening one present on Christmas Eve. While that had never seemed like a proper Christmas, the Jimmy Stewart / Donna Reed / It’s a Wonderful Life kind of Christmas that they show in the movies, it had only become worse after she met Daniel. It seemed to Alex that every significant event in their relationship had come right around Christmastime.
By the time her first Christmas as Daniel’s wife rolled around, all the fairy dust of their whirlwind romance was gone. Truthfully, they hadn’t even made it to the altar, back in February, before the sparkle had started to tarnish.
They were just little things really. Nothing to get all worked up about. It had started a week before their marriage, when they had gone to the county licensing office to apply for a marriage license. Both of them had to give their answers to the clerk, and she filled everything out. The question seemed innocuous. Have you ever been married before?
Alex smiled and answered, “No.”
Daniel smiled, too, and answered, “Divorced. October 2005.”
Alex felt her face fall. Her eyes jumped from Daniel’s face to the form on the counter. Her mind rushed to process this: just two months before they started dating, he had been married to someone else? She didn’t want to start anything in front of the clerk, so she acted as if none of this information was new to her. But when they had finished, and been given their license to wed, and were back in Daniel’s Volvo, Alex turned to him as he backed out of the parking space. “You were married before?”
He had his sunglasses on, and though he turned toward her for one brief second, she could see nothing but her own reflection, minimized to the size of a bug. He turned his attention to the traffic. “I told you that, Alex. I distinctly remember telling you about that.”
She waited. “I guess I don’t remember.”
“You guess?” He humphed into the air. “Christina. We divorced after less than a year. I know I told you this. Don’t be silly.” He looked at her. “You really don’t remember?”
Alex shook her head and said nothing, not wanting to argue. She was certain it was the kind of information she would remember; she was almost certain that he had never mentioned it.
“I can tolerate many things, Alexandra. But not a woman who lies. Not a woman who cheats.” He trained his eyes straight ahead, focused on the road, lost behind the mirror lenses. “That would be wife number one. She lied. She cheated. And now she’s gone.”
Alex watched as his jaw tightened; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. He reached over to touch her hand, on the seat between them. “It’s one of the many reasons I’m glad I found you, Alex. I know you’re not like that.” He rubbed his thumb back and forth on top of her hand.
She exhaled, and with that breath, all her questions and doubts about whether or not he had actually told her escaped into the ethers. The wound was obviously still sensitive to him. She let it go, knowing that she would never be like wife number one, knowing that lying and cheating were not part of her make-up. Knowing that together, they could move beyond the wounds of the past, that her love was strong enough to fix whatever parts of him were still broken.
That was exactly the place where her intelligence and emotional sensitivity worked in his favor. Alex could understand; she could see his viewpoint. She could see where he might not have been as direct as strictly necessary in divulging those details—not out of a desire to hide this from her but out of a need to protect himself and his fragile ego. That made perfect sense to her. And so she gave him a pass, wrote him an excuse that was much more elaborate than anything he had strictly said. She herself would not be quick to share a story that put her as the object of lying and cheating.
It didn’t stop there, with the marriage license. Some part of her had understood that marriage was a compact of compromise, that she would have to adjust to things she didn’t totally support. One after another, she found herself giving in to his demands, without much in the way of conversation.
She had not planned on changing her name after their marriage. It was 2006, Alex Turner was an educated woman with her own career, and most of the women in her acquaintance were opting to keep their own names. She had never really given it a thought.
One night at dinner, alone in their condo, he asked her about it. “Have you finished the paperwork to become Alexandra Frazier yet?”
She must have let her jaw drop open, stunned by this expectation that she had not seen coming.
“I take it that’s a no? You look completely surprised, Alex.”
“I guess I am. I just thought—” She never had a chance to finish her sentence.
His hand came down on the table next to his plate, and the dishes jumped. “Damn it, Alex! What’s the problem here? I thought you wanted to be my wife.”
She flinched. Blindsided, once again, she sat at the table, her mouth open slightly. A sliver of fear lodged in her body, the way his hand had come down so hard and fast.
He stopped and sat quietly for a minute, his breath hard. After a moment, the energy of that slap on the table still echoing in the room, he reached for her hand. He swallowed hard and murmured, “I’m not trying to be mean. It’s just that . . . I love you so much, Alex. I just want the world to know that you’re mine now.”
Mine? You’re mine now? As if she were his possession? Her brain was shouting at her, screaming out about the way he had just used his size and force and the threat of violence to make her afraid. But the other part of her thinking went immediately to his defense, as if he were a little boy. A little boy, afraid of losing the person he cared about, just the way he had with his first wife. A little boy who had been hurt and was simply trying to protect himself.
She had witnessed what didn’t work in a marriage—her parents—and she was determined to do whatever it took to make her own marria
ge a success. Her mother had maintained her own name, her own credit, her own identity. And Alex had seen just exactly how well that worked.
So she did it again. She ignored any of those little twitches that asked, “What about me? What about what I want?” and went ahead and changed her name. With each act of giving in, his demands seemed to grow bigger, like a child testing the boundaries. But he was not a child, and every time he slapped the table or leaned in over her, the first thing that always invaded her awareness was his size. He was a head taller, and sixty pounds heavier, and much, much stronger, and it was almost as if he knew exactly how threatening even those subtle behaviors could be.
It felt odd, becoming Alexandra Frazier after twenty-eight years of being Alex Turner. There were more steps involved than she had anticipated—changing her social security card, her credit cards, her bank accounts, her driver’s license. But she did it, knowing that it was important to Daniel, that it would give him reassurance about her love.
They’d been married about five weeks when he did it again, taking the wind right out of her sails. She was at work, back in her private office by the museum, and one of the student interns came to her door.
“He’s here, Alex.”
Alex looked at her, pushing her glasses up. “Who’s here?”
“Your husband.” The girl smiled. “You never told me he was so good-looking.”
Alex stood up and straightened her skirt and headed out to the front counter. Daniel was leaning against it, one arm propped on the granite, smiling and talking to another student intern. He turned to Alex, a big smile on his face. “Ready?”
“Ready?” she repeated, not having any idea what he was talking about.
His smile grew slightly larger, but his eyes flashed at her. “For lunch? Don’t tell me you forgot.” He smiled again, directed at the student aide with the low-cut T-shirt, and shook his head. “Head in the clouds sometimes, I guess.”
“Oh. Yeah. Let me get my bag.” Alex did not remember, but she wasn’t about to say anything in front of those young girls, hanging close to Daniel like he was some kind of rock star.
His demeanor had completely changed by the time they reached his car. He was silent, none of the smiles and teasing and laughing that she had witnessed just a few moments ago, in front of the students. His jaw was set, the look in his eyes a mystery behind those mirror lenses.
Alex turned and watched out the passenger window as they drove away. Her attention came zooming back when he pulled up in the parking lot of Bank of America. She turned and looked at him. “I thought we were going to lunch.”
He killed the engine and turned to her, pulling his glasses down enough to meet her eyes. “We are. Alex, are you okay? Because it sure seems like you’re forgetting things a lot lately.”
She wasn’t quite sure what to say, and she wasn’t quite sure what she was forgetting. That comment deflected her, for a moment. She immediately started searching her brain for clues, for some forgotten detail that she now needed to find.
“Let’s take care of business, and then we’ll grab some lunch.”
He put his arm around her as they walked into the bank. Daniel was greeted by one of the account representatives, who ushered the two of them back into his cubicle. “I have the paperwork ready, Mr. Frazier. Please, have a seat.”
Alex sank into one of the leather chairs, and Daniel sat down next to her, staying slightly on the edge of the seat.
“Mrs. Frazier, we just need your signature here.” He placed papers in front of her, marked with a sticky note. “And here.”
Alex glanced at the papers and licked her lips. “What is this again?”
Daniel let out a huff of exasperation and shook his head. “You really don’t remember?” he asked incredulously.
Alex shook her head slowly.
The clerk stepped in. “This is to change your account. So that your paycheck will go directly into this checking account . . .” The clerk indicated an account number. “Automatic deposit.”
She saw the names at the top of the account—Daniel Frazier. Alexandra Frazier. She exhaled slowly, trying to hide her discomfort, her absolute shock. She did not remember having a discussion about this. She did not remember agreeing to the idea of putting her paycheck into a joint account. She sat there, staring at the paperwork, searching her mind for some snippet of conversation that she had overlooked.
Daniel sat forward in his chair and put his hand on top of hers, resting on the desk. His voice low and soft, he whispered, “You really don’t remember, do you?”
She raised her eyes to his face and shook her head slowly.
Daniel glanced at the clerk, and then back at her. He let out a long sigh, as if gathering all his patience. “It’s okay, Alex. If you don’t want to do this, I understand. I just thought we’d be able to save some money now. Health insurance, car insurance, all of that. Cheaper when we do it together. That’s what marriage is all about, isn’t it?” He smiled at her and at the clerk. “But this is up to you.”
The words made it sound like she had a choice. The clerk would swear that Daniel Frazier was not forcing anything. But as she sat there, looking in Daniel’s eyes, his hand over hers, his fingers tightening just slightly, it did not really feel like a choice. It felt as if the whole thing had been orchestrated—that she’d been put in a position where she would not be able to say no.
He pulled his hand away. “We’re a team now, isn’t that right, Alex?”
She waited for a moment. In slow motion, she took the pen out of the holder in front of her. She signed the forms, what seemed like far too many of them. The clerk told her she would get a debit card for their joint checking account within the next ten days. “And of course, you can write a check at any time, since we now have your signature.” He smiled at her and tapped the papers into a neat line.
She told herself that this was fine, that it was indeed a normal thing for a married couple to do. It was true, what Daniel said. They would save money on insurance. They would work as a team.
It didn’t take long to find out that teamwork was not really what Daniel had in mind. Two weeks later, she sat curled up in her favorite chair in their condo, reading the latest issue of The Atlantic. Daniel sat at the desk in the corner, working at the computer.
He turned around and looked at her. “Alex, what is this?”
“What is what?”
“All these charges on the account. Starbucks, $8.50. Starbucks, $11.87.” He met her eyes again. “I thought they had coffee at your office.”
“They do. But sometimes a few of us go out for coffee and a scone. Just to get out of the office. A Friday treat—for surviving another week.” She lowered her magazine and pushed her glasses up on her nose.
“A coffee and a scone?” Daniel repeated. He looked at her body, curled up in the chair. “Do you really think you need a coffee and a scone?”
She couldn’t speak. She felt her face flush; she could feel every pound of her short frame. His words, his look, were like a mirror, reflecting everything about herself that she had never liked. He’s right. I’m too chubby. How could anyone ever want to be with someone who looks like me?
He turned back around to the computer. “And this? At the bookstore? Eighty-six dollars? What is that for?”
For a moment, she froze. Her throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton; her words came out slowly. “I was just paying the bill for my account.”
“You bought eighty-six dollars’ worth of books and magazines?”
She nodded. Her fingers grew sweaty, holding the magazine she’d been reading.
“You work in a library, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you have access to all of that at work?”
“Yes, but I’m working. I don’t have time to read everything . . .”
Daniel’s face flamed. “You can damn sure check it out, can’t you? Or is that not allowed? To borrow from a library?”
She didn’t say anything.
He leaned
back in his chair, like a principal with an unruly student. “I’m not trying to be mean, Alex. It just doesn’t make sense to me, spending money on things like that.”
He spun around to the computer and turned it off. “We want to buy a house someday, don’t we? Have a child? If we can cut out all these unnecessary expenditures . . . we can get there a lot quicker, don’t you think?”
Her thoughts swooped and flitted, like bats in the twilight. She earned a good living from the University and had a right to spend some of it on whatever she wanted. Didn’t she? Did marriage mean that she no longer had those rights? That her own needs and wants had to be pushed aside for the greater good of the marriage?
Before that night, she had not paid any attention to how he spent money. He made a good living, too, and she just didn’t bother with thinking about it. But now she began to watch. His words did not match his own actions. He didn’t want her to spend money going out to coffee, but he went out to lunch, almost every day. His car often had coffee cups and wrappers from the bakery. And not two days after he had chastised her for buying books, he came home from work wearing a new camel-hair coat.
He modeled it for her and turned away from the mirror. “Makes me look more professional, don’t you think?”
Inch-by-inch, step-by-step, he took control of her life, draining her of any power she had, taking her name, taking her money, taking her ability to make her own decisions.
Like mold, it had crept in, starting with one tiny spot. Easy to ignore, easy to forget when not looking directly at it. Until one day, the mold covered everything, the walls and the ceiling, creeping in and taking over.
Alex looked again at the TV dinner in front of her, at the empty chairs at the table around her. Maybe Christmas Day alone wasn’t so bad, after all.
The Music of the Deep: A Novel Page 6