Run Delia Run

by Cindy Bokma

  Side by side on the couch, we paged through baby name books. I highlighted the names I liked but when I told him my choices, he rolled his eyes. He crinkled his nose and shook his head firmly.

  “It’s going to William for a boy and Yvette for a girl,” he said, tossing the book aside.

  I wasn’t fond of the name Yvette, it was a family name he explained and so was William, but that name at least I could tolerate.

  “But-” I opened my mouth to protest and quickly shut it when I saw the mask of anger slide over his face. I knew the stages of his temper by now.

  “It’s going to be a boy,” he predicted. “And if not, we will try again until we get one.”

  He was so certain we were having a son that he hired Kressley to design a nursery “fit for a prince.”

  The white walls in the nursery were painted a color called Stoned Pearl, a pale gray nearly white. Kressley, with Leo’s guidance, ordered handcrafted furniture from a posh baby store in Sherman Oaks and chose the decor which featured an ultra modern mobile for over the crib and framed artwork of baby animals in shades of white and gray.

  I bought tiny baby clothes, all in white just in case we were having a girl. Filling my days, I lovingly washed every article of clothing, then folded each one and placed it in the dresser.

  A set of wicker baskets held teeny newborn diapers. I sat in the fancy rocking chair Leo ordered, an expensive contraption with fat pillows for comfort, and read the baby books Leo bought. At night he quizzed me on the baby’s development, making sure I actually read and retained the information.

  There was nothing left to do but sit and wait.

  For the past eight and a half months, he was attentive and caring, a real gentleman. I wondered if I imagined our previous problems. The bruises faded and the arguments were firmly in the past. Sometimes I saw little pieces of his temper flare and I got a feeling of hands grabbing my arms and squeezing, but just as quickly, his temper evaporated and he’d smile, his eyes squinting with happiness washing away the rage I anticipated.

  He changed, I told myself. I was convinced a baby would make him softer, gentler.

  “Having a baby always makes things better,” Claire said with conviction, as if she was an expert. She speared a leaf of butter lettuce drenched in mustard vinaigrette. For our latest lunch date, she chose a brand new restaurant in Beverly Hills, close to my house.

  “Do you really think so?” I asked, hoping she knew something I didn’t.

  I never told Claire anything too personal but I mentioned Leo’s temper a few times. Once she grabbed my arm and turned it over in her hands, looking at the green-yellow bruise that circled my wrist like a bracelet. She pursed her lips but didn’t say a word.

  “Yeah, things should be great unless you have a baby who cries constantly. That happens you know. Then things will probably get way worse.” She shrugged and took a swig of her Pinot Grigio. “Men like Leo hate crying babies. Pray your newborn doesn’t have colic.”

  I sighed deeply and put a hand on my belly where the baby kicked. Glancing out the window, I noticed a well dressed woman (this was Beverly Hills, of course she was well dressed) pushing a stroller on the sidewalk. Soon, that would be me.

  Swallowing hard, I turned back to Claire and smiled. “Everything will be fine.” But even as I said the words, a prickle of nervous sweat popped out along my hairline. Would everything be fine? Or would a crying baby spell doom for my future with Leo? Would a baby mellow him or make everything worse?

  He informed me that he’d start consulting on projects from home. Leo wanted to be a “hands on father.” My heart sank; I entertained visions of myself and my child, living in peace while Leo was on location. I loved it when he wasn’t around. I was free to lounge in pajamas all day, eat what I wanted; I took naps and watched reality TV. There was such freedom when he wasn’t checking up on me, demanding to know why I was or was not doing something. Leo breathing down my back, asking me a million questions with those icy eyes focused on me like lasers, it made me anxious. He did not lay a hand on me but there was an undercurrent of his anger simmering, making my pulse race, my throat close up a little. I rubbed my stomach and kept my mouth shut.

  I sat in one of the cold leather seats in the media room when I suggested to Leo that we call his mother and have her come help out after I had the baby. I needed a buffer between our new baby and Leo. Worry nipped at me, what would happen if his ugly temper surfaced while I held our newborn? Like Claire said, men don’t like crying babies. What if our child didn’t sleep at night, what if he or she cried all the time? I knew Leo well enough to know he’d take out his frustration on me.

  I worried about this constantly. Where could I turn to for help once the baby arrived? Not a hired nurse, but a family member. Maybe he needed to mend the rift with his family and this baby would be the perfect way to smooth things over, put an end to whatever hard feelings lingered. I tried to push what Aurora told me out of my mind. Leo was many things but there was no way he could have had a hand in his stepbrother’s death. I convinced myself it was not possible, though a little voice kept telling me otherwise.

  “Why would you even suggest such a thing?” Sudden fury lit his eyes when I mentioned reconnecting with his mother for the sake of the baby. “You know I don’t talk to that woman. We are clearly estranged. In case you don’t understand, that means no contact.”

  “I thought it would be nice for the baby to have a grandmother.” I murmured. I stopped knitting and set aside the soft blue blanket I was making. “Don’t you think it’s time to mend this rift with your family? At least your mother?” Images of a happy family filled my brain. Leo with his mother, a grandmother for our child. Since my parents passed away, I wanted the baby to have some family in his or her life.

  “Forget it, that will never happen.” He shot me a hostile glare. “Don’t bring my family up again.”

  “Listen to me, please.” I took a deep breath and plunged ahead in a moment of poor judgment.

  “I know everything and it’s all right. I understand.” I offered a feeble smile and stood up, taking a step toward him with my arms outreached. “You were young, there was a misunderstanding . . . I’m sure your mother would like to see you now.”

  The lines in his face and jaw tightened and I swallowed the bitter lump that formed in my throat.

  “What could you possibly know?” His vexation was evident as he towered over me and challenged me with his angry eyes. He ignored my reach and swatted my hands away.

  With my fists clenched, I took a step backwards. When I finally spoke, it was slowly, carefully. “I know about your family. Your stepbrother dying and you being . . . accused. It must have been so hard for you. But it’s okay. It’s in the past. You’re a respected director now; whatever happened when you were younger is irrelevant. Why not reach out to your mother and start fresh, for our baby. You could have a whole new relationship with her. This is a new beginning.”

  I gently touched his sleeve, but he yanked his arm away and hit my shoulder in the process. I willed the tears not to fall. The air in the room seemed to change; there was a dark, thick energy that suddenly drained me. Taking a deep breath, I placed both hands on my belly. The baby kicked with such force that I closed my eyes and tried to focus on that sensation instead of the glare Leo directed toward me. He could melt ice with those eyes. I swallowed hard and lowered my eyes to the floor where my knitting needles and yarn had fallen.

  With fury in his footsteps, he paced back and forth quickly, wringing his hands in the air. I watched silently, afraid of what he would say or do. Caught off guard by his violent reaction, I remained quiet, biting my lip and praying he would leave.

  “And where did you learn all of this?” He gnashed his teeth and spit the words out with force.

  I hesitated for a second. I was not the kind of person to tell a lie, but I got the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t want to hear the truth. I avoided eye contact.

  “Well? Tell m
e. Delia, be honest. Don’t you dare lie. What have you done?” He grabbed a hold of my shoulders and gave me a brisk shake that made my head snap, something in my neck cracked. I wiggled from his clutches but the feeling of his fingertips on my skin remained.

  “I found out . . . from . . .” I paused. Leo’s face was a dark and stormy cloud. Though the sun was bright outside against a vivid blue sky and I was surrounded by luxury, a heavy, gloomy feeling settled over me. Leo stood in front of the window, effectively blocking the sun.

  I took a step backwards, hitting my leg on the low coffee table. A contraction gripping my belly, low and tight, and I placed a hand over my stomach and grimaced. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched me, as I gasped.

  When it passed, I spoke but my voice was a sketchy whisper, barely audible. “Aurora.”

  I sunk down on the couch and wished I was somewhere else. Back in Ohio, with my parents and brother or back in the old apartment in Hollywood. Though I was single at the time and barely making ends meet, at least I had been free.

  When I looked at my future, it was a long road, no end in sight, only Leo and his dark moods and his temper. Was this the future I was destined to endure? I was exhausted from walking on eggshells, anticipating his moods and reactions. I hated the cameras in the house, the tracking device on the car and the spyware on my phone. Essentially I was a prisoner. Tears began to fall down my face.

  “Aurora.” He spat her name.

  He proceeded to pick up magazines, books, and a wine glass, throwing them against the wall with a violent force I never witnessed before, one after another like bombs going off in a war-zone. I lowered myself onto the couch where I put my face in my hands. The knitting needles sat a few inches away and I eyed them, maybe they could be used for protection. The tips were as pointy as a used pencil and probably couldn’t do much damage. My eyes shifted from the needles to Leo and back to the needles. Is this how my life was going to end? There was no doubt he could, and maybe even would, kill me. What would it take? My entire body trembled, my skin was clammy, my tongue nearly stuck to the roof of my dry mouth. I fought the urge to get up and flee.

  “I can’t believe this!” he bellowed. His face was plum colored as he let go of a venomous stream of obscenities. “Were you two plotting something against me? Were you planning on going to the media with this? How long have you been talking to that bitch? I knew you were up to something. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

  When I spoke, my voice came out raspy. “No, no, Leo. I found out months ago, almost one year ago. It doesn’t change anything.” I tried to placate him with compliments and proclamations of love, but it didn’t work. Inside my belly, the baby kicked.

  “This is unbelievable. I told her I would kill her if she ever betrayed my confidence. I said I would kill her.” He clenched his teeth and glared at me as I cringed in fear. I tried to sink further into the couch cushions wishing I could disappear. In my pregnant state, I could not even run from him. “My past is just that. My past. Nothing to do with you. God damn it, Delia.” He hurled a huge glass vase toward me. I ducked as it hit the wall with a bang and shattered.

  I stared at Leo, my husband, as he worked himself into a frenzy. My mind grew foggy, dizzy. Invisible hands encircled my throat as I gasped for breath. My body became liquid, and I thought I was going to die. Were those Leo’s hands around my neck? I closed my eyes and whined.

  Without warning, a tightness and pain seeped through my abdomen and I moaned, melting to the floor. Pressure in my belly made me cry out. Leo stared at me, his face still contorted with rage, so close to me that I could feel the exhale of his hot breath laced with last nights garlic.

  Blood pounded through my veins and my eyes were unable to focus. Was I slipping away? If I died right here and now, I hoped he would save the baby. “Leo! Leo!” I panted, slamming my eyes closed against the pain. “Help me!”

  He stood motionless over me, watching with still, cold eyes as I lay at his feet. Leo looked down at me, his face red, his hands balled into tight fists, lips curled into a snarl.

  A flare of cramps washed over me again and again as I begged for help.

  In the large kitchen, warming a bottle for ten-month-old Will, I listened to the morning news as I did every day when we first got out of bed. A disturbing news report made me turn around and drop the scalding bottle on the tiled floor, warm formula splashing up against my legs. I didn’t feel it, however, because I was in a sudden trance, consumed by the words coming from the reporter’s mouth.

  “. . . the body has been identified as thirty-seven-year old Aurora Pazzo, owner of Pazzo’s Steakhouse in New Orleans. There had been an ongoing investigation into the disappearance of the young chef when an environmentalist discovered the ravaged body along the bank of the Mississippi River early this morning. DNA tests confirmed the identity, putting an end to the ten month . . .”

  I gripped the counter top as I stood motionless in the puddle of milk. My brain clicked and whirred as I tried to recall dates, times, Leo. The timing added up, it was ten months ago when I told Leo it was Aurora who informed me of his past. Ten months ago when he hurled the vase at my head, closing his hands around my neck until I almost passed out.

  Soon after I gave birth to Will, Leo left town, telling me there was an issue with a location he had to take care of in Vancouver. Over the years I learned not to ask questions and was relieved when he wasn’t home. Any excuse to have the freedom of being alone made me happy. For all I knew about his work, he could have been lying to my face but I didn’t care. At the time I didn’t think much of his leaving town, but as I heard the story of Aurora’s death, a chill inched up my spine, a sense of knowing sat in my stomach making the coffee I drank curdle. Had he gone to Vancouver? He could have easily gone to New Orleans.

  The fact that I suspected Leo could have had a hand in her death signified I needed to get away from his angry control, his deep secrets. What else had he done that I didn’t know about?

  Grabbing paper towels, I bent over to clean up the mess but my brain wasn’t focused on the task in front of me because a million different scenarios moved swiftly in my mind. Was my husband a liar? A killer?

  With our new baby, he was more controlling than ever, telling me what to do and how to do it though he had little experience with children. He wanted Will on a strict schedule, eating and sleeping at specific intervals.

  “Will isn’t a military operation, he’s a baby,” I muttered as Leo instructed me to wake Will up for his scheduled feeding.

  He made me play Mozart to stimulate our son’s brain. When Will cried, which was often, Leo demanded to know why I was inept at soothing him and blamed me for the sudden onset of his debilitating migraine headaches.

  No longer was my husband away on location, now he served as film consultant so he worked from home quite a bit. When he wasn’t locked in a dark room trying to find relief from his migraine, he followed me around, criticizing my every move. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw as he stared at me holding Will, feeding him, changing his diaper.

  He repeated, “You’re doing it wrong,” so many times that I began to block out the sound of his voice.

  I barely spoke unless Leo was out of the house. Then I talked to Will and sang to him, got on the floor and played with him. When I was alone, the air in the house changed from dark and heavy to light and easy. I breathed freely when he wasn’t there. I spent hours in the backyard, playing on the grass, laying in the sunshine, watching Will laugh and giggle. But only when no one else was home.

  Maybe the migraines took their toll; maybe he was headed into a depression. He didn’t share his feelings with me and the intimate times we once shared, however infrequently, had come to an end since Will’s birth. I was glad, relieved even especially after what happened following Will’s birth. After I got the all clear from the doctor at my six week checkup, Leo decided it would be fun to tie me up and blindfold me.

  “Come on, it’s been so long.
And you’re so sexy,” he whispered as he gently touched my cheek with his fingertips. Despite everything he had done, from the raging temper to the control he exerted, I tried to remember the good times. He wasn’t a bad person, I reasoned. Just troubled. I made excuses for him. I thought about his generosity. How he helped me when we first met, the lavish lifestyle he provided, the gifts he bestowed upon me. Leo Kubias was the first person to step up when a national disaster struck somewhere in the world, writing out checks for aid. At one of the film schools, he set up a scholarship for future directors who came from impoverished backgrounds. During the holidays, he donated gifts to a local hospital for kids suffering from cancer. He was generous, kind even. Those attributes were there. Just not always.

  So on the night he came to me, it was the kind and benevolent side of Leo that I thought about as we kissed and hugged.

  “I have something for you.” He disappeared for a few minutes as I sat on the bed, nervous about him seeing my post-baby body. My stomach was doughy, I was out of shape. A list of possible insults ran through my mind as I waited for him, my hands sweaty on my lap.

  “Here we go,” he announced, brandishing a box which he opened with a flourish. What was I expecting? Candles? Lingerie? Chocolate? But no, it was a leather blindfold and black braided rope.

  “Leo.” I stifled my shock and shook my head. Thankfully Will was sleeping in his nursery but I began to worry that he’d wake up. I saw the glint in Leo’s eye and was reminded of a time a few years back when he mentioned going to a sex club in Hollywood. I laughed, but he wasn’t joking. “Forget it,” he said sharply. I didn’t forget it.

  My heart began to pound in my chest; I pulled my robe tighter and shook my head.

  “No,” I murmured, “this isn’t something I’m comfortable with . . .” My voice trailed off, but he ignored me. My stomach crawled up my throat and sat there like a lump; I couldn’t swallow.