Under Her Skin

by Adriana Anders

  “Sure.”

  “All right.” He cleared his throat, stepped onto the porch, and waved. “Take care, Ms. Lloyd. Call if you need anything.”

  Uma watched briefly from the open doorway as he loped off, taking the porch stairs three at a time. His dog appeared from around the side of the house and fell into step beside him, tail wagging furiously.

  As soon as the door was closed and locked behind him, Uma turned to find her boss crowding her, leaning heavily on her cane. “You did flirt with him, didn’t you? Did you invite him to come over and see you? I won’t have it. Men coming and going with you half-naked at the door.”

  Uma squeezed by her, truly angry at the woman for the first time. It was a more solid, honest emotion than she had experienced in days, maybe longer. It was good, clean. Real.

  “I didn’t invite him over. I barely said anything to him.” The thought that she’d want to bring men into her life when she was running herself into the ground trying to escape one would have been laughable if it didn’t make her so angry.

  Ms. Lloyd stared at her with all the power of those wide, disconcerting eyes.

  “Frankly, I wouldn’t flirt with any man, all right? Especially not a married one,” Uma went on. “That’s not the type of person I am.”

  “You think—” Ms. Lloyd cut herself off midsentence. “As long as we understand each other. I won’t have a home-wrecker living under my roof.”

  Whatever. The woman had no idea who Uma was or what she’d been through. No idea, damn it. “I’m not a home-wrecker.” Uma gathered up as much dignity as she could and stalked off toward the kitchen, towel swishing dramatically about her knees.

  “And make me lunch, Irma. I’m hungry,” Ms. Lloyd called after her.

  * * *

  Ms. Lloyd was not a particularly nice person. By the end of Uma’s first full day, that was apparent. But, despite being a pain in the ass of epic proportions, the woman wasn’t nearly as threatening as her ad had insinuated. World’s bitchiest agoraphobe, maybe, but abusive hag? Not so far. Something didn’t quite jibe, and waiting for the other shoe to drop kept Uma on constant tenterhooks.

  On tenterhooks was a perfect description of her life since Joey. Long months spent running, always on the lookout, constantly wary. Utterly exhausted.

  But for once, she wasn’t running or looking over her shoulder, and that letdown, that release—along with the stress of dealing with Ms. Lloyd—turned Uma into a complete wreck by nightfall.

  Another night. Already.

  And then, worst of all, shower time—by far the hardest part of the evening.

  In the bathroom, she set her towel by the shower and took in the lay of the land—memorized it—before turning off the light.

  Okay. Pants off first…the easy part. As they did most every night, her hands clenched themselves into tight fists when she reached for her shirt, her body as unwilling as her brain. But, God, she couldn’t stay dirty forever.

  Painfully unclenching before forcing her fingers to claw at the cotton, then tearing so hard at it the neck scraped back her ears, and she didn’t care. What was physical pain when the sight of your own body pulverized your soul? Just its shadow in the dark.

  Through the invading moonlight, she took the two steps to the bathtub, blindly scrabbling to turn on the water, then inside, not even waiting for the temperature to adjust, because who gave a shit about something so inconsequential as comfort? Shampoo first—the easy part—then soap, with eyes squeezed shut. But even her eyelids couldn’t obliterate the words. She knew they were there. Knew their intricacies intimately, despite never looking. MINE on her wrist. BITCH on both arms. One version misspelled and crossed out, and the rest…more. So much more. All of it burning, burning, burning.

  Soon. Soon they’d be gone. It was why she was here, after all.

  Water off, she dried herself as quickly as possible and yanked her clothes on over damp skin.

  Done. Breathing hard, she went back to her room.

  How could the same house, the same room, the same air, all shift so drastically with the setting of the sun? God, why, in the thick of these lonely hours, was she reduced to hashing and rehashing events that she’d never be able to change?

  Once the light was out and Uma could hardly see her hand in front of her face, she stripped down to her top and underwear. It was definitely time to invest in some real pajamas—with pants and long sleeves.

  Rather than get into bed, she went straight to the window. Because, as darkness fell, her priorities morphed, alongside her fears. The safety of locked doors and stuck windows warred with her desire to escape, to breathe real, fresh air. At those moments, the fear of what lay outside was nothing compared to the torture within her own brain. She wasn’t convinced that she’d ever feel true freedom again.

  And then the never-ending debate: to sleep or not to sleep. Sleeping meant dreaming. But staying awake meant dwelling on a dire past, a pathetic present, and a hopeless future.

  Whatever. In the end, it didn’t matter whether she went for option A or B—nights were hell either way.

  The only thing that had staved off her panic the night before had been a certain rhythmic clanging, an echo in the night. Tonight, face pressed to the chilly window, she listened, waiting for its music to begin.

  Nothing.

  A deep breath in, and her mind started wandering—into safe territory this time: her father. Pops had been steady, regular. He might have been a hippy in the seventies, but somehow, over the years, his beliefs had morphed into something old-fashioned rather than New-Agey. Her mother, on the other hand, had favored more mystical spirituality, based loosely on ancient beliefs.

  If she were here, she’d advise that Uma meditate. “It disperses the shadows of doubt,” her mom liked to say. Uma knew it wouldn’t work, but she tried anyway. She’d try anything right about now.

  It was when she sank into the night, let it envelop her in a way that channeled both parents, that she eventually noticed the shadow moving in the dark yard below. She reared back briefly, panic flaring hot and tight in her throat, teeth already sunk deep into her hand, before recognizing the shape for what it was: the dog, Squeak. Sniffing in the grass. The animal squatted before disappearing into the hedge, from which she eventually emerged, head cocked to the side. Uma caught the glimmer of an eye, a pinprick in the night, and then noticed, with a hint of discomfort, that the dog was looking up, right at her window. Her first instinct was to duck down and hide.

  She stilled. It’s just a dog. Besides, she couldn’t possibly be visible in the pitch-black room. Could she?

  And then, from somewhere behind the house, the sound started, steady, regular…deliberate. A lifeline. A companion. Another soul alive in the dead of night. She sighed, a long, thin, pent-up stream of relief. Eyes floating shut, lungs finally functioning without effort, brain loose, just the tiniest bit comfortable. Little by little, her shoulders relaxed and her head dropped forward again, to lay against the blissfully cool glass.

  Bang. A breath in. Bang. Breath out. Bang. Breath in… Bang… Out… For minutes…hours…forever, maybe, she rode the rhythm, thinking of absolutely nothing under the oddly comforting gaze of the neighbor’s dog, lulled by the metronome of… What? What was Ivan doing back there? Whatever was behind that sound, she had no idea. Curiosity burned her with its need to know, yet somehow it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that steady, metallic drone.

  Later, she jolted awake, shocked to find that she’d finally, miraculously succumbed to sleep, face flattened awkwardly against the glass.

  Uma’s brain rattled with echoes of a disjointed dream—pinpricks of pain, screams, arms caught in a fisherman’s net.

  Outside was complete silence.

  There was a thin line of drool smeared across the window, and beyond the window—

  Uma’s eyes refocused past the
glass and landed on that man out there, seated on the steps of his front porch, lit from above, dog at his feet. He was doing something with his hands. Her attention caught on those deftly moving arms. Big and capable. Whittling? No, unwrapping something. Or wrapping. She watched with bated breath as he stood and went up the stairs, then disappeared into the shadows of his front porch.

  There followed another sound, duller this time, but as repetitive as the metallic clang. Funny how the deep country quiet shortened the distance between neighbors. Thunk, creak. Thunk, creak, thunk, creak. Like a soldier falling into line, Uma’s erratic heart once again took to the rhythm he set, needing its regularity, craving it like her lungs craved air.

  Part of her wondered what the hell he was up to—but mostly, she didn’t care. She just knew she needed that steady beat to get her through the night.

  4

  Uma’s first excursion into the little town of Blackwood was a bittersweet affair. On the one hand, it felt good to be outside, driving with the wind blowing through her hair—an illusion of freedom.

  On the other hand, her instinct for survival screamed at her to turn around the moment she left the claustrophobic confines of Ms. Lloyd’s house. Out here, Joey was everywhere, hiding in corners, waiting for her to make one wrong move.

  But the place was lovely, more village than town. Bank, churches, post office. It was all old and sweet. It came pretty darned close to fulfilling those Perfect American Life fantasies she couldn’t claim as her own, and yet…they felt so familiar. The place was small and charming, with railroad tracks and a tiny library in the renovated train station. A small grocery store, a newish coffee shop, and an old diner. What looked like a slightly upscale restaurant, a pizza place, and a bar. She scouted out the thrift shop and admired the tiny city hall and its adjacent park.

  If you’ve got to disappear somewhere, she thought, it might as well be here.

  The homes she drove past ran the gamut from large and beautiful to quaint to dilapidated trailers forever grounded on cinder blocks. Chipmunk-cheeked, tobacco-chewing men and muumuu-wearing women loitered out front with children, enjoying the last of the warmth before true autumn set in.

  It was the perfect fall day, the kind of day that Uma used to live for. She loved the fall, the scent of leaves on crisp, cool air tinged with the smell of wood smoke. It was a masochistic love, since the change in weather always brought a wave of introspection and melancholy. She couldn’t stave it off any more than the trees could hold on to their leaves.

  This year would be different. This year, it would be much, much worse. Her life had sunk to greater depths, making everything so much stronger and so much harder to bear.

  But she’d come to Blackwood for a reason, and with all her boss’s errands done, she decided to at least locate the place that had brought her here. Down Main Street, past the post office and a bar, and—

  There. There it was: CLEAR SKIN BLACKWOOD. Her breath quickened at the sight of the unassuming sign, and she pulled into a spot a block farther along the road before getting out to double back on foot. Once she arrived in front, it felt weird to loiter in front of the mirrored plateglass window. Besides, Ms. Lloyd would have a fit if she didn’t head back soon.

  With a shaky breath, she turned back to the car but hesitated in front of the coffee shop. Good coffee and the chance to mingle with normal people would be just the thing before returning to Ms. Lloyd’s. She had enough cash for a couple of cups. She’d bring one to her boss, maybe give her a taste of all she was missing, give her a good reason to leave her house.

  As Uma walked across the small lot, she noticed the place right next door. MMA SCHOOL, it said, which didn’t mean a thing to her. As she drew nearer, she noticed a small placard on the door: SELF-DEFENSE CLASSES FOR WOMEN—INQUIRE WITHIN.

  Should she go inside?

  Yes.

  She walked to the door and pulled. Locked. Damn. For once, she’d worked up the courage to take a stance, and the fates were against her. Oh well. It was probably not meant to be.

  The smell of fresh-brewed coffee and pastries washed over her as she entered the coffee shop. It was big, with exposed brick walls, huge windows, and lots of glass-fronted display cases. The girls behind the counter were skinny and pierced and painfully nonchalant. She ordered a couple of lattes and turned to check out the crowd while the baristas brewed and foamed and slouched.

  Uma’s eyes found him immediately. Ivan—no, Ive—seated in a corner, his back to the wall, nodding at something a little boy said. The kid was adorable. Dark hair, like Ivan’s, and dimples so deep you’d lose a penny in them. The boy’s eyes weren’t visible from where she stood, but she wondered briefly if they were golden or blue, or maybe one of each.

  When she looked back at Ivan, the humor was gone from his face. He’d seen her. Even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his gaze, that stern intensity. He lifted his chin in greeting, and Uma raised her hand shyly in return. There was a third chair at their table—empty, maybe waiting for someone to join them.

  At his wave to come over, Uma shook her head and pointed at the door, pasting a smile on her face and hoping fervently that those coffees would come up soon. A close-knit family like that didn’t need some awkward, messed-up stranger butting into their lives and dragging them down.

  She’d spent an unnatural amount of time thinking about Ivan the night before, and the one before that. Listening to the sounds he made, she’d pictured herself living in that big, lovely house and wondered what it would be like to be with a guy like that—someone so raw, with none of his edges smoothed out. Someone so the opposite of Joey.

  When he waved again, Uma gritted her teeth through a strained smile and turned away, wishing she’d never come in here. Wishing that Blackwood weren’t such a small town. Maybe also wishing she could, for a second or two, relax enough to walk past everyone and sit down next to Ivan, as if she belonged there.

  I want to belong.

  “Two lattes for Uma,” a voice called. Phew.

  With relief, she grabbed the coffees and headed for the door, nearly crashing headlong into a gorgeous brunette. The woman held it open for her with a smile before sailing inside. As she escaped, the kid yelled, and Uma turned to see him throw himself into the woman’s arms. It was her, the wife. A beauty for the beast.

  Something shriveled in Uma’s chest. She flushed. This woman wasn’t at all what Uma’d pictured. Ive’s wife was sleek and confident. Modern in a way that didn’t quite fit the man. Her tank top and easy white skirt were perfect for the sticky weather. In contrast, Uma felt overdressed. Like she was hiding something. A woman like that—a work of easy perfection—would take one look at her and decide that she was a charity case in need of fixing. The idea pissed her off, getting her so worked up that she whispered, “I’m nobody’s project, damn it.”

  As she reached the car, someone called from behind her. “Hey, wait.”

  With a sigh, Uma turned to face him. A fresh cut on his forehead, to go with the bruise on his cheek, made him look even more like a thug than she’d remembered. The man wore cuts and bruises like his wife wore jewelry.

  “You doin’ okay?”

  She nodded. He’d followed her out here. Why not send his wife instead? He was clearly not comfortable talking, and yet he’d made the effort. Why?

  A wild thought splintered off. I wonder what they talk about at night, in bed.

  “Ms. Lloyd treatin’ you right?”

  She nodded again and looked away from his messed-up eyes—too intense, too weirdly beautiful out here in the bright fall sunlight, where anyone could see.

  Maybe he and his wife don’t talk at all, the rogue notion went on.

  He hesitated before finally saying, “Good.”

  Maybe they spend all their time fucking like bunnies. Where had that come from? Enough.

  He looked like he had s
omething else to say, but Uma stopped him. “I’ll let you get back to your family.”

  “Oh. Right. You want to—”

  “I’d better go.” She nearly wrenched her arm closing the car door, then took off, getting as far from him as she could. Far from those eyes and those thoughts she couldn’t seem to control.

  Yet as Uma drove off, watching him shrink in her rearview mirror, rather than give a sigh of relief, her body slumped with something resembling disappointment.

  * * *

  “Who’s that, Ivey?” Ive’s sister, Jessie, swung her hair over her shoulder in that way she had.

  “New neighbor.”

  “What’s her story?” Her eyes were bright with curiosity.

  “Not sure.”

  “Why’d she run away from you like that?” Gabe chimed in, as usual, pinpointing the one thing that had bothered Ive the most.

  Why had she run from him? They were in public, after all. It’s not like he was planning on hunting her down and dragging her back to his lair. He’d been with Jessie and Gabe, for Christ’s sake. She had to have noticed Gabe, at least.

  “Guess I’m kinda scary lookin’.”

  Jessie said, teasingly snide, “You can say that again.”

  “You see me enterin’ any beauty contests lately?”

  “No, but you could make more of an effort.”

  “What? I’m in shape.”

  “You’re in shape, Ivey, the way cavemen are. A big, hairy bag of muscles. Not exactly what I’d call comforting.”

  He shrugged. The way he looked had never bothered him before. Didn’t seem to matter in Blackwood. People knew him here, knew his story, where he came from, what he did.

  What he’d done.

  Nobody bothered him. And he liked it that way. But this time, he frowned.