by T. E. Price
“Don’t worry,” Isabel encourages with a squeeze, “we’ll come up with a plan to get him to sign those papers. In the meantime, I just hope these phone calls don’t become a weekly thing now that he knows you’ve left Oklahoma.”
“Yeah,” I mutter in response, “I don’t know what that call was for—maybe to actually get me to move back to Oklahoma or maybe to get revenge for giving him a bad name around there. Or…” my heart jumps in my throat, “maybe he called to piece together clues so he can figure out where I am.”
CHAPTER 19
April quietly rolled into May without hearing from Jonathan. No word in well over a month. I guess that’s all well and good, but the fear of his call remains my constant companion. Did he kill his hunting dogs? Would he do such a thing? The truth is—yes, he’s capable of such a hideous act, especially in blind anger fueled by my refusal to return. If he has done something to the dogs, someone would have called or texted me about it. If there’s one thing that remains consistent in my hometown, it’s that small talk spreads like wildfire. I slip my phone out of the back pocket of my khaki pants and pivot to check my screen. Nothing. Turning back toward the open floor, I slide my phone into my pocket and refocus my eyes on work. I hope no one saw that.
Despite my efforts, the mundane workout routines of those surrounding me refuse to hold my attention. All I can think about is Jonathan. It’s not like him to give up this easily. He’s a crafty man—always planning something, so what’s he planning next? He’s going to try to get me back, and if the dogs aren’t enough, who will he go after? Shrugging off this nagging concern, I begin circling the fitness floor.Hmmm. Why is it so empty in here tonight? Is it the nice weather? Maybe members are choosing outdoor activities instead of working out…I don’t blame them. I glance longingly out the window as I pass by the free weights. The sun is heading toward the horizon, painting a pretty backdrop. Please still be up when I get off in an hour.I check my watch, but movement from the center staircase pulls my attention back inside.
A blonde ponytail bounces into view at the top of the staircase as Sarah sails up the stairs, like Pegasus. There’s no question about it, she’s beautiful and easy to talk to. That much has been true through all the encounters we’ve had at church and the study every Thursday night. Why can’t I just be myself around her? She’s nice enough—it shouldn’t matter that her relationship with Tom is the epitome of perfection, she probably knows that not all marriages are as effortless as her and Tom’s. She must see a lot of messed up marriages at work while she helps to deliver babies—but as messed up as mine was…is? A puff of air leaves my lungs. Maybe we shouldn’t be friends.
Sarah catches my eye and waves from the other side of the gym. With a tight smile and a quick wave back, I stride toward the window and take in the height of the tall, neighboring buildings. I wish she wasn’t so nice. That would make all this easier. By the time I meander toward the cardio machines, I notice Sarah sinking into a few simple stretches, her movements and appearance casting the allure of a floating cloud.
I round the squat rack, heading toward the Smith machines positioned next to the blue mats where Sarah is warming up. My loneliness radiates through my hollow chest. Maybe I’ll say hello to her. A couple guys nearby are bragging about their new max reps and the heavy weight they’re lifting. The two seem to be competing in an effort to draw Sarah’s attention, but oblivious to their antics, she demonstrates her unusual flexibility with focused attention. She rises just as I’m about to cross her path, having completed another circuit around the weight room while making myself available to help anyone in need.
“Hey, Hallie,” she greets, her tone cheerful, as if she’s just bumped into her long-lost friend. “How are ya?”
“Oh, good,” I reply with a smile, “just doing the rounds before I clock out in an hour.”
Sarah nods, then giggles as she says, “Well, you may want to fix your nametag before you make another round—if someone needs your help, they won’t know what to call you.”
She crosses toward me and leans in as she unclips the magnet and rotates my nametag. Ugh! Has it been like that this whole time? “Wow—I can’t believe I’ve worn it upside down this whole shift.”
Sarah laughs, “It wasn’t really noticeable, I’m just meticulous about things like that.” She clips it back, then pats my shoulder. “There, all good—I can now tell your name is Hallie Reed,” she finishes as if we are sharing an inside joke.
Oh gosh! Hallie Reed—that’s who she knows me to be. Here she is being a friend to a girl who’s deceived her into believing this is my legal name, but it won’t be for another five months. I fix my eyes on my nametag and hide my cringe. With a tug on the right side to straighten it, I say, “Thanks for that.”
“No problem,” she replies, “I do embarrassing stuff like that all the time.” I offer a grin as she moves to the squat rack. I bet she doesn’t do stuff like this…ever, but her words ease the pressure building through my chest. The guys who were bragging loudly share their glances between me and Sarah as she glides toward the weights. They swing their arms about, appearing to be stretching between sets. I chew the inside of my cheek, it’s not like my uniform, messy bun, and lightly applied make-up compare to Sarah. That’s probably why she has the perfect marriage, not me. Could I ever have a marriage like hers? Is there someone out there who is kind, gracious, and caring enough to love someone like me, someone who’s already had one go at marriage and failed miserably? I savor a long blink. Jonathan would say no.
With an abrupt turn and a quickened pace, I shove my hands into my pockets. But I’m a fighter now. And I do deserve that! At the very least, I deserve more than what Jonathan gave me—a crushed heart, bruised skin, and a scar that will always haunt me. For the remaining hour of my shift, I do my rounds, helping a few members with various questions and correct form, all the while avoiding Sarah.
At the end of my shift, I leave through the front doors at a quickened pace. Phew. Thank God that shifts over. All I need is an empty gym and a boring shift for my mind to run wild. “Hi, love,” a dainty voice calls from behind. “Has it been an hour already?”
I turn to find Sarah tailing me. The breeze blows some loose strands from my bun into my face, and I tuck what I can behind an ear as I reply, “Yeah, it has. Are you just finishing your workout?”
With a quick glance at her phone while she approaches me where I wait on the sidewalk, she says, “Yeah, all done. Too bad Tom couldn’t join me today.” She half shrugs, “So, where are you parked?”
“A few blocks down, over in a parking garage,” I point in the direction across town.
“The one on Fourth and William? Near all the outdoor patio restaurants?”
“Yeah, I think that’s the one.” A light giggle escapes as I say, “I’m still trying to get to know my way around here, and I usually park somewhere close, but I guess everyone’s out enjoying the warmer weather, so those spots were taken.”
“Well, I’m parked in that garage too, so we can walk together. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” I oblige, with a hint of eagerness threading my tone. It’s nice to have someone to walk with—to have a friend who will chat with me. Wait. I hope she doesn’t start probing. Will she ask why I had to leave Oklahoma? We take a few strides in complete silence, my shoulders rising as the tension builds. Oh gosh! I’ve got to focus the attention on her. “So, you’re a nurse, right?” I blurt.
“Yeah—I work at the university hospital,” she says, shifting her gym bag to the opposite shoulder. “It’s actually in a great location—I can workout here after my shift and see Tom at the university when he has some down time, which isn’t often. Those professors are over-worked. But Tom and I both love our jobs.”
“That’s awesome—what led you to your job?”
Sarah starts twirling a strand of her hair as she says, “Oh, I just love babies.” She bites her bottom lip as she scratches her neck for a moment, then slaps a smile on her fac
e as she adds, “I’ve always loved babies, and I come from a family of nurses and doctors, so working in the labor and delivery unit was a no-brainer.”
There’s no question about it—Sarah adores her job, that much is evidenced in her tone. So, why doesn’t she have children? Would it be rude to ask? Ah—it sounds like they are the career-driven couple. Besides, they both look young. They’ve got time. As we turn a corner, the sunlight hits my face forcing my furrowed brow into a squint. “So, you grew up in Minnesota, then?” Reticent, I keep the conversation focused on her. Sure, she’s kind and humble, but can I trust her with the details of my past…and can I put her off if she asks?
“Yeah, I loved it there. I go back to visit my family as much as I can, and it’s never a dull moment with them. Although,” she hesitates, “it can be a little difficult given their religious views.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re all atheists. With their medical background, they just don’t see how God and science can relate, and for years, I shared that same view.”
I slow my pace. I’ve gotta hear more. She used to be an atheist, and now she’s all in for God. How did that happen? I hesitate for a moment, but throw caution to the wind and ask, “What changed your mind?”
“Oh, well—that’s a complicated story, probably more of a story that Tom needs to share rather than me.” She grins, “You’ll have to ask him some time, but let’s just say that our lives were flipped upside down, and there was nowhere to turn but Christ. Our marriage was falling apart because Tom had made the decision to follow Christ before I did.” My eyes bulge. No way. “It was killing him that I was choosing to reject Christ; thankfully, God captured my heart before things unraveled for good.”
Tom and Sarah have dealt with marital problems of their own? Their marriage wasn’t always this easy? Hmmm. Maybe they wouldn’t judge me if I told them about my past after all. “Wow,” I sigh as my shoes follow the slabs of pavement beneath me, “Just like that, you turned from your parents’ perspective and accepted Christ as your Savior?”
“It wasn’t easy,” she murmurs, her lips slide into a hint of a smile. “But it was worth it. How about your parents? Did you grow up in a Christian home?”
Oh boy. My turn. “Yes and no,” I sigh. “My parents have always gone to church, but that’s pretty much where it ends. It’s more about going to church for them than it is about having faith. When we were growing up, we had a set of super-strict rules, and that included going to church every Sunday. I didn’t like church back then, it felt like a chore, not something I wanted to do. But eventually, Harrison helped me understand what it meant to be a Christian.” The golden-child saved the day, yet again. My shoulders slump. It’s no wonder my parents are so proud of him—he has his life intact. As for me, I’m just their train-wreck of a daughter. I’m sure in their mind, it would take one, good service at their church to sort me out … as if.
We cross at the stoplight leading onto South Main. As we walk by the regular Ann Arbor crowd filling the outdoor patios this time of day, I take in the beauty and bustle of it all. “That must have been difficult,” Sarah replies as we continue walking. She begins to say something else, but I don’t hear a word. I freeze. The sound of my heartbeat thrashes in my ears, instead, as an all-too familiar smell of smoke wafts by. No. I sniff again. It can’t be!
Sarah, a few paces ahead, does a double-take when she finds I’m no longer by her side. She turns and takes a step toward me with her eyebrows drawn together. I gulp and pivot on the spot, my eyes slicing through the crowd for the source. I scan the patio, then gasp. There it is, the black and red wrapper of a Davidoff Yamasa cigar. I stumble backward as my hands fly up to my ears. The cigar sits alone, burning in an ashtray on an empty, black iron table positioned near the door of a small, red-bricked restaurant. The single chair behind the table is pulled back, but there isn’t a person in sight to claim it…or the cigar.
CHAPTER 20
I blink against fuzzy spots clouding my vision, as if the adrenaline coursing through my veins is causing temporary blindness. He has to be here. Each new, smoke-filled breath quickens as I slip dangerously close to hyperventilating. Where is he? My eyes dart to the nearby tables like bouncing pinballs while the outdoor guests at this restaurant sitting closest to my trembling body begin to stare.
“Hallie,” I hear from behind. I jump as a hand touches my shoulder. Oh gosh—Sarah! She steps toward me and inclines her head as her eyes narrow. But how could she understand what’s happening? She wouldn’t. “Are you okay? What’s going on?” Unable to answer, my knees buckle as my eyes continue to scan the area. He’s here. Somewhere. He’s found me again.
“I have to go,” comes my raspy reply. I can’t rip my eyes from the crowded patio. I’ve got to find that face. He’s lurking somewhere in the crowd, waiting for the perfect moment to claim the cigar and my resolve as his own.
“Yeah, okay—let’s go. Isn’t your car just across the road?”
My head snaps back to meet Sarah’s pinched brow. “No. I can’t. Not my car. He’ll know.”
Sarah’s head juts forward, she looks in both directions at my words. Her back straightens as she nods. “Let’s go to my car, then.” And without another word, we flee the scene that has shattered my sense of security in this new life I’ve created these past two months. Taking preemptive action, almost as if she can taste the fear radiating from my pores, she leads me to the safety of her car.
We race toward an unfamiliar part of town. What am I doing? I don’t even know this woman, yet I’m trusting her with my safety. I shrink into the passenger’s side door. Sure, this has got to be a better option than sticking around to see what Jonathan has planned…the least of which would be another circular scar singed into my flesh. But I’m not sure I’m okay with thrusting myself into another uneasy scenario, albeit not nearly as dangerous. “Where are we going?” I blurt, my voice shaking.
Sarah’s eyes are darting every which way, as if trying to locate the thing that so clearly unraveled my calm only minutes ago. “I’m taking you to Harrison and Isabel’s—these back roads are faster.”
My mind spins, “No, we can’t go there,” I spit. “The kids are there, and he can’t know where I live.”
Sarah hits the gas as we approach a yellow light. She flies through the intersection, then turns to me to ask, “Who can’t know? Are you in trouble?”
I pinch both my lips together as tears threaten, “I don’t know,” I turn to look behind, “but please—just keep driving.” Is he back there somewhere? Do I search for his car, or a rental? My face twists against my quivering chin. “What if he’s following us?” I whisper, more to myself than Sarah. If he has a rental, then the game’s up.
Sarah does a double-take, re-adjusts her rearview mirror, then says, “Should I drop you off somewhere downtown?”
“No—please … He’ll find me there, and he doesn’t care about his reputation in this town—he’s capable of anything here!”
Sarah issues a quiet groan through her clenched jaw. Is she wondering if I’m worth the unknown risk? “Okay, I’m going to take you back to my house, Hallie. Tom should be getting there right about now, and whatever is going on, we’ll at least have him around to protect us … protect you.” My eyes flutter toward Sarah’s face as she touches her cheek, an action she’s done repeatedly since the moment we dove into her car. But I don’t have it in me to turn down her offer. This is my best option if Jonathan really is out there looking for me … if that was his cigar. I offer a quiet grunt with a nod of my head, and she takes in the road ahead of us as I refocus on the road behind.
We squeal into the driveway of a two-story home just outside of Ann Arbor. Sarah rushes out of her car, leaving the gym bag behind as she speeds to the front door. We’re both looking over our shoulder as we crash into the house. Tom walks out of the bedroom just as we gust into the living room. His big smile designed to welcome us immediately tilts into a grimace as he asks w
hat’s wrong. Sarah walks over to the couch, sinks down, and leans her head into her hand as her ponytail flips over her shoulder. She’s probably running through the last fifteen minutes, trying to determine if I’m insane. But I know she believes me. It’s hard to fake a reaction like that. I pace in the small path between the front door and the couch, trying to steady my breathing. They’re both looking to me for answers, but I’m still too shaken to offer an excuse that might bring clarity.
“I’ll grab you two some water,” Tom finally says. He turns from the living room, walks toward the other side of the house and disappears behind the wall into the kitchen. The fridge rattles open the moment I sink into the sea-green armchair opposite Sarah. With my legs still quaking, I take in a long, shaky breath, then release it. “Here you are,” Tom says, returning to the living room and handing me a bottle of water. He crosses over to sit beside his wife, handing her a bottle as well.
I take a sip. The pulse beating against my temple begins to slow. How do I explain this? Will Tom and Sarah understand that all it took was a little red and black cigar wrapper to unnerve me? Their staring eyes bear down on me. I’ve got to say something. I slowly screw the top back onto my bottle. “I’m married,” I blurt. Both of their heads fall slightly forward. “And it’s complicated, if you can’t already tell.” I clear my throat, waiting for someone to throw in some offhand remark, but they respect my words while extending me the time I need to process through them appropriately. “I had to move to Ann Arbor because, after I left him, last October, I needed a safe place to live, and eventually,” my head drops as my eyes flutter closed, “he found me.”
My brain spirals out of control. Ugh! They’re never going to understand if I don’t tell them everything. All the shameful details of my past hit me like a crashing wave, and before I know it, I find myself ready to unleash, as if the fiercely shaken bottle of these past eight months has been uncorked right here in the living room of two people who will either be my true friends or reject me after learning about my broken past. An hour passes before my eyes as I explain everything. Somehow, a numbness covers me like a blanket, almost as if I’m telling someone else’s horror story, not mine. Tom and Sarah remain silent as they work through my recount of betrayal and abuse. I tell them everything—my broken relationship with my parents, the betrayal from Ainsley, and the extensive abuse with Jonathan.