Unbearable (The Port Fare Series)

by Sherry Gammon

  Studying for a final at the table, I angled my chair to him. “Maybe we should go out for dinner. As you well know, I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

  “That’s not the only room you’re a disaster in, mannequin.” I bit my tongue at his reference to the bedroom. Apparently, I was a disappointment there also.

  He took off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Maybe it’s about time you learned to cook, Terese. Between spending all of our disposable income on your ridiculous degree,” he pointed to my books, “to teaching you how to set up a proper household, I’ve been the only one giving in this marriage for the past thirteen months. I give and you take.”

  “That’s not true, Garen.”

  “Oh? Tell me then, what do you give in this relationship?” He sank his hands in the pockets of his pants as his foot tapped impatiently.

  I didn’t know what to say. Not wanting to bring up the physical abuse, fearing it’d give him ideas, I sat there, forcing myself not to run out of the townhome and catch the next plane home to my parents. The counsel my father shared with me as we walked down the aisle together rang in my head. “Tess, the first few years of marriage are tough as you merge two people from different upbringings into one family. More than once I wondered what I had gotten myself into after I married your mother, and she felt the same way about me at times. But with patience and love, things got better,” he assured me. “We Selleck’s are not quitters, remember that.”

  “I’m waiting for an answer, Terese.”

  “I’ll try harder,” I assured him quietly. After dinner, I drove to the library and checked out a couple of vegan cookbooks. I found a recipe for summer squash soup that looked fairly easy, and a recipe for an avocado salad that require no cooking, of course.

  I stopped at the market to pick up the ingredients on my way home. Garen wanted to know why I’d taken so long, demanding to see the grocery receipt. More and more he’d check the time stamp at the bottom to see if I’d gone anywhere else than the store. I found it insulting, but didn’t dare say anything about it. It was easier to just let it go.

  I made the soup twice the next day, and both times it turned out terrible. I tossed the disasters into the garbage disposal, not wanting Garen to know. I went to the one and only neighbor I knew, Juli Coldwell. I didn’t dare talk to the other neighbors. Garen had a fit if I even looked at anyone of the opposite sex, but Juli, a single mother of three girls, was safe. In lieu of cash, I bargained several hours of English tutoring for her fifteen-year-old daughter in exchange for four meals along with desserts from Greens, a high-end vegan restaurant in Dallas she worked at. I placed everything in our crystal serving bowls as if I’d made the meal, and ran the containers out to the dumpster so Garen wouldn’t know.

  “This is fantastic, Terese. It tastes just like the squash soup from Greens.” Senator Graft smiled broadly as he served himself up another bowl. My nerves were on end and I couldn’t eat much, leaving extra soup for him. “I’ll need to get the recipe for my wife, although I don’t know why. She can’t cook to save her life,” he added with a chuckle. “You’re a lucky man, Garen.”

  Garen offered a terse grin, but said nothing. He knew. Somehow, he always knew. After dinner, I set out raspberry tarts, also courtesy of Greens. The men migrated to the living room as I excused myself to clean up dinner.

  While loading the dishwasher, I could hear them talking about Graft’s reelection plans. The man was a dishonest slimeball. In other words, a typical politician. Graft spoke of illegal voter registration, paying off counting judges, even hacking into people’s emails and cell phones. When he left an hour later, I stormed in the living room as Garen typed away on his laptop.

  “The man is a scum,” I pointed out needlessly.

  “Politics is brutal,” he said with a shrug.

  “You’re seriously going to work with him after everything he said?”

  He shrugged again as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

  “Garen, he plans on spreading lies about this opponent at the last minute so she won’t have time to defend herself. How can you support that?”

  “Terese, Graft has ideas that can help this country, only most people are too stupid to realize that yet. He knows what’s best for America, and I, for one, am going to help him.” Garen closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table as he stood. “Graft’s going places and I’m going with him.”

  “He’s dishonest!” My bravery surprised me. I seldom confronted him anymore, fearing his wrath.

  “He’s dishonest? What about dinner tonight, Terese? Do you expect me to believe you made that squash soup?” He came next to me. Instinctively I tensed.

  “I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I swallowed hard.

  “Yeah, well, seems that’s all you do anymore. I’m used to it. I married beneath myself, that’s for sure.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  Before I could stop myself, I said, “You know, you can be a real jerk sometimes.”

  Garen’s fist plunged into my stomach. I doubled over as the oxygen purged from my lungs. He wasn’t done. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked my head up, shoving his face in mine. “You’d better watch the way you talk to me, do you understand?” he growled, low and threatening. Still gasping for air, I couldn’t answer. “I said do you understand?” He backhanded me across the face. I fell to the floor, tasting blood as I landed in a heap.

  He slapped my head and back repeatedly as he crouched over me. I begged and pleaded, promising I’d be a better wife. After several minutes he stopped, as breathless as I was. He straightened and tugged his dress shirt back into place and smoothed his hair.

  “I deserve someone better than you, you stupid whore.” He kicked my backside and grabbed his keys. Scooping up my cell phone from the counter, he hurled it against the wall. Bits of plastic and circuits rained down onto the floor as he stormed out.

  I lay on the floor, unwilling to move for a long time. Finally, I forced myself up, each move met with pain. A little dizzy, I walked slowly to Juli’s townhome at the end of the hall. I’d had enough. Time to bring the police in and get some help. Only Juli wasn’t home, and I didn’t know any of my other neighbors, certainly not well enough to appear on their doorstep bruised and bleeding. I worked my way back to my townhome and dropped onto the couch as my body and mind gave out.

  ***

  “Terese, wake up, sweetie.” The voice pulled me from a dark, disturbing sleep. One filled with nightmares and pain. I stirred, my stiff body protesting, as if I’d run a marathon. Or been slapped around. The dull throb in my head nauseated me. I opened my eyes, cringing as they met Garen’s. I slowly sat upright, and pulled into the corner of the couch, wondering what he’d do this time. He grimaced as if he felt badly before sitting next to me. I knew what was coming. Pleas. His, this time, as he begged for forgiveness. I’d heard it all before.

  “Terese, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He took my hand gently in his and pressed it to his lips. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure at work with Graft’s reelection in jeopardy and everything. If I can help him win, he’s promised me a spot on his cabinet. It’s a step closer to the White House, Terese, and our dreams. Our Life Plan is alive and well if Graft wins.” He had tears in his eyes now. Tears I’d seen one too many times before. “I can’t believe I hurt you like this. If you’ll forgive me, I promise, it’ll never happen again.”

  “You’ve said this before, you’ve even promised to go to counseling, but you quit. I just don’t see an end to all of this.” Only because of his penitent state of mind did I have the courage to stand up to him. I shifted on the couch. “Maybe we were a mistake, Garen. I disappoint you in every way. Maybe we should just get a divorce now and call it good.” I wanted out. It was too much for me.

  “No, sweetie, please.” He dropped to one knee in a panic. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll go to counseling again if you want, and I won’t quit this time, I swear. I love you. Please don
’t tell me we’re through.” He dropped his head in my lap and sobbed like a little child, pleading and begging more. Making promises that I knew deep down inside he’d never keep.

  Pulling himself together, he straightened. “I got you a gift. A token of my love.” He nodded to the kitchen table before taking a hanky from his pocket and drying his face. In a lovely crystal vase sat a dozen white Calla lilies, his favorite flower. He’d never gotten me flowers before. Although I preferred poppies, the gesture touched me. A little.

  “And I thought we could take a trip into town and you can get your nails done, maybe even get your hair cut.” He kissed my temple. “And I got you this, too.” He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a cell phone. “It’s the latest and greatest model.”

  We stood as he tucked my hair behind my ears. I knew I must look horrible, but for once he didn’t complain. Guilt’s not always a bad thing.

  “I planned on getting you a new phone for graduation, but, well, after my disgusting temper tantrum it’s the least I can do,” he said in a soft voice. He placed the phone in my hands. “Please tell me it’s not too late. Please tell me you forgive me.”

  “I don’t know, Garen. I’m afraid the next time you get angry, you’ll just hurt me again, or worse.” I twisted the phone nervously in circles.

  “Sweetie, please, don’t act like this. My job is stressful right now.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “When you don’t support me, it makes things difficult. Don’t you see, I was worried that Graft would find out you didn’t make that dinner. And then when you went off about his political tactics, well, the pressure was too much and I freaked out. But it won’t happen again. If you put undue pressure on me, I’ll find a healthy outlet from now on. I’m a changed man. You’ll see.” Garen’s favorite thing to do after he went psycho on me was to blame it on everyone and anyone but himself. I caused the beating.

  “I have some exciting news, Terese. I know how much you’ve wanted to move so I talked to Graft about it this morning. He has a small home in west Texas that he owns. It’s about thirty minutes from his office. He’s offered it to me, rent free if we’ll fix it up for him.” He pressed his lips to my forehead. “Do you realize how much pressure that will take off me not having to come up with rent every month?”

  Our own place. Well, not our own, but anything had to be better than our tiny townhouse. Garen did stress about money constantly. Maybe this would help. “Rent free? That will loosen up the budget quite a bit. How bad of shape is it in?”

  “It needs little things like paint and the yard weeded. It’s a tax write-off for him. Win-win for both of us. He uses it as a write-off so we’ll get it rent-free. It’s some sort of incentive to help the less fortunate. We’ll need to use your social security number for the application since I have a job. I guess it’s a good thing you don’t work, after all. Now we can get this place and save some money. There is even room for a garden, just like you’ve always wanted.”

  I wanted to point out the dishonesty of it, but I held my tongue. Maybe with freeing up our income a bit, he’d not be so stressed. It was only for a little while anyway. When I graduated in three months, I’d get a job of my own. And with that money, I planned on leaving Garen. If I didn’t leave him . . . he’d kill me. I felt the truth of that in the marrow of my bones.

  Chapter 12

  Present day

  “Thanks for lunch.” I shoved Book’s passenger car door closed, frowning at the thing that should’ve been put down years ago.

  “Yes, you’re right. I need to replace my car,” Booker said, as if reading my mind. He stepped around and pushed on the door to make sure it was secure.

  “Did I scowl?” I asked, embarrassed.

  “Maybe a little.” He chuckled. “I love this car. It’s only been in the shop once since I bought it ten years ago.” He lovingly patted the hood. “Sorry, sweetheart. It looks like it’s time to put you out to pasture. But never forget, I’ll always love you.”

  “I’m sure she feels much better knowing that,” I said as we headed inside. He sighed dramatically and turned for the stairs instead of the elevator. “Good idea. We’d better take the stairs. You need to work off the half cow you had for lunch.”

  “Don’t be knocking my carnivoreistic ways,” he teased. “Personally, I don’t know how you can survive on a salad with ‘the dressing on the side.’” He made finger quote marks in the air.

  “You know I’m teasing about your eating meat, right?” I said, unsure if I’d crossed any lines. “Just because I choose to be a vegetarian, albeit a lazy one, I certainly don’t think everyone has to be.”

  Booker waved a hand. “I know you were. In fact, I’ve noticed you joking around a lot more lately. Good job.” He playfully tapped my shoulder with his.

  “I’m trying to loosen up and relax, not be so jittery. Believe it or not, I knew how to shine at one time.” I dropped my head, disappointed in the woman I’d allowed myself to become. “I was a prima ballerina in high school. Now look at me.”

  “I see a beautiful woman who’s recovering from a tragic situation.” He squeezed my hand. I chastised my heart for hammering in my chest. The past month had been hard. I tried not thinking about him in any way other than as a boss and a friend, but I often found myself staring at his mouth when he spoke, or felt stirrings in my belly when he laughed. Booker was doing much better than me at keeping our relationship platonic. Some days I wondered if he’d completely moved on, figuring I just wasn’t worth the effort.

  Instead of heading upstairs after entering the building, he led me down toward the basement. “I’d like to show you something.” At the bottom of the stairs was a new door with a glass window on the top half. Booker pushed on the door, and motioned for me to step inside.

  The space, maybe thirty by thirty feet, was pretty much empty except for a wall of mirrors with a ballet barre running the length of it. “This was a ballet studio back in the eighties,” Booker said, stepping over to the mirrors. “The basement had an inch of water when I bought it. I had the warped wood floors ripped out, so it’s just cement now.” He ran his hand over the splintered barre. “And this railing is shot.”

  “Barre,” I corrected, running my hand gingerly over the wood. “I studied ballet most of my life and dreamt of teaching ballet after I finished touring.” Memories washed over me like an old friend. Dancing in recitals and pretty costumes covered in sparkles. Blistered toes and endless hours of rehearsals, the smell of new leotards and pointe shoes; sweet, beautiful memories.

  “You should see your face,” he said, watching me intently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so blissful. What made you change your mind about dance?”

  “Garen, my ex.” I wrapped my hand carefully around the weathered barre again. “I regret giving it up. I wanted to have my own studio.”

  “So don’t give up on the idea,” Booker said.

  “Maybe someday.”

  “Why someday? Why not now?”

  “Money, for one,” I said. “It’d probably take a good ten, maybe fifteen grand to get started.” I shrugged. “Like I said, maybe someday. Right now I’m happy having the rec center to teach and work out at.”

  I met his eyes and could almost see his mind working. “What’s going on in that . . .” sexy, gorgeous, I settled for “ . . . head of yours, Gatto?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about the day in the park.” He cleared his throat and tugged on his blue tie. “You said then that your yoga class was ending soon, so I thought: why not create a space to workout in here? I’ve wanted to install a gym in my home, but with all this space going to waste, it’d be perfect here.” He pointed to one end of the basement. “I could put gym equipment and free weights there, and a place for yoga, or ballet for that matter, here, by this mirror.”

  “Are you serious?” I snapped my mouth shut.

  “Yes. I’ve already talked to Magpie and Lilah about it and they both said they’d help design t
he space, but they’ll need help with the specifics.” He folded his arms and leaned against the mirrors. “I can do the gym part, but would you mind helping with the yoga-dance area?”

  “Yoga . . . Dance . . . Are you serious?” I repeated. I’d have a place to work out. No more trying to find a free room at the rec center. Feelings of excitement and hope rushed through me.

  “Yes. In fact, I’ve been thinking about opening it up to the entire building. A gym may draw in new tenants. Seth and I have talked about teaching self-defense classes for women, too.”

  “Self-defense classes?”

  “Both of us miss our work with the MET. Magpie thinks we have a savior complex going on.” He rolled his eyes. “She takes one psychology course at the college and suddenly she’s an expert at diagnosing people.”

  I didn’t want to rain on his parade, but from the little I knew about the two guys, Maggie hit the nail on the head. I smiled and nodded, as if I agreed with him.

  “Anyway, Mags suggested we teach women self-defense classes as a way to feed our complex. Whatever. Personally, I think it’s a great way to empower women,” he said it as if he were trying to convince himself that was the real reason. I suspected it was a little of both.

  “I’d love to help.” Without thinking, I flew at Booker, hugging him. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to him much longer than a friendly hug, before finally letting me go. Maybe he struggled more than I thought with our platonic arrangement.

  “We’d better get back to the office,” he said, walking to the door. I followed silently, embarrassed at my over exuberance.

  The next evening Lilah invited me over to her place. She and Maggie wanted to get going on the design for the gym. Booker gave them a list of the equipment he wanted. Maggie had pictures of each piece on the table in front of a layout Lilah drew of the space on a board.