Husband by Choice

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “It’ll be hours before I attempt sleep,” Lila said. “I was just curled up with a book,” she said, smiling and looking gracious and capable and welcoming. “It’s a guilty pleasure when I’m here overnight. At home there’s so much to do, so many responsibilities. Laundry, cleaning, bills to pay...but here—” she shrugged, smiling again “—I don’t have to do any of those things. Please, come in.”

  She’d disturbed the woman. She couldn’t also disappoint her.

  “I’m not in trouble or anything,” she said, almost stammering. Wasn’t that rich, for a speech pathologist to stumble over her own tongue?

  Lila had told her to find her if she was in trouble. Not to bother her because she didn’t want to go back to her own room and face the voices in her own mind.

  “I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t tell me if you were,” the older woman said, leading Jenna into her small sitting area.

  “Can I get you some tea?”

  “Can I have some without milk?”

  She moved slowly around the room as Lila disappeared into the kitchen. There were pictures on the walls, but none had people in them.

  “Are these places you’ve visited?” she called out, recognizing Monte Carlo and the Mediterranean Sea.

  “No. Just places I’ve always thought I’d like to go,” Lila said, coming back into the room.

  “You hang pictures on your walls, but don’t take a vacation and go?”

  “I know.” The woman smiled again, looking around the room. “I’ve got too much else to do right now. But maybe someday.” She left the room again and Jenna heard china rattling. A refrigerator opening and closing.

  She wondered about Lila’s private life. Her family.

  Wondered why she was so dedicated to this place.

  And when Lila came back with her tea, curling up in one of the armchairs, Jenna took her same place at the end of the couch.

  “How are you doing?” Lila asked, folding her legs beneath her as she sipped her tea, looking as if she’d be happy to sit and chat all night long.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Jenna nodded. And stood up. Carrying her tea with her, she wandered the small room. Studying pictures, landscapes, she’d already studied.

  “I...have a question,” she said to a photograph of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, when it seemed as though Lila would let her wander the room for the next week.

  “I’ll answer it if I can.”

  Jenna turned and looked Lila in the eye. “How do you know when to trust your instincts and when your mind is just playing with you?”

  She’d had this down once. And she’d obviously lost some key piece of the puzzle.

  “I’m not sure you ever do know for sure,” Lila said. “At least not that I’ve found.”

  “But...they teach...we’re supposed to listen to our hearts, to trust ourselves, not our abusers.”

  “That’s true,” Lila said, her expression dead serious as her gaze followed Jenna around the room. “Trusting yourself is a vital component to recovery and survival on the other side of abuse.”

  Jenna frowned. “But....”

  Lila shrugged. “The mind plays tricks on us,” Lila said. “All of us. At one time or another.”

  It wasn’t the answer she’d been seeking. Nothing she’d ever heard in DV counseling in the past.

  “So how do we know that we aren’t the ones to blame?” The question tore out of Jenna with such force her throat burned.

  “Because no matter what you do, you are not responsible for the actions of others,” Lila returned with cold conviction. “It is illegal for someone to enact violence on another. No matter the provocation.”

  Jenna agreed. But....

  “There are means for handling situations where others are acting out or acting inappropriately. Even being unfaithful. There is never an excuse for violence.”

  “I know.”

  “But we aren’t talking about an abuser, are we?”

  “I don’t know what we’re talking about,” Jenna admitted, completely deflated as she sank into the couch. She put her tea on the table and sat back, staring at the ceiling.

  This self-doubt wasn’t something she was used to. Not anymore. She’d come through all of that. Was in touch with her inner self. Knew her flaws, her issues, and took responsibility for them.

  “I’m sure of something, you know?” she said to the room at large. “I know it.” Steve was after her.

  “But something happened today, and I reacted, certain that I knew what was going on, but I was wrong.”

  She’d heard a noise in the garden and she’d been certain it was Steve.

  “And what it was had never even occurred to me.”

  She never would have imagined that someone might notice her picking weeds and come to help.

  And then there’d been the incident outside Carly’s bedroom window. She’d been so certain it was Steve outside that window that she’d risked her life to prevent him from hurting anyone else.

  And at the house...Steve hadn’t been outside the shed, hunting her down. Max and Chantel had been there. Hugging....

  “You can’t expect to be aware of every possibility in the world,” Lila said in that reassuring tone of hers. “Anyone, all of us, can only make determinations based on our own perceptions and perspectives. Just because you were wrong about something doesn’t mean you can’t trust your instincts.”

  Yes. Right.

  “What if your instincts are wrong?”

  There was no movement from Lila’s chair and Jenna lifted her head and glanced over. The woman was staring right at her.

  “You don’t always know,” Lila said. “That’s part of the challenge of being human,” she said. “You have to remain fully alive, every minute of every day, always aware that what you see in front of you might not be there at all.”

  “And what you don’t see could be sitting right in front of you.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So the key is to not get set in your ways.”

  “Maybe. And maybe there is no key. Maybe each day is meant to be lived for what it is.”

  “So how do you stay safe?”

  “Ah, so that’s the real question, is it?”

  She wasn’t sure. “What’s the answer?”

  “I don’t have it.”

  It wasn’t the response she’d been expecting.

  “I was so sure that if I kept my mind on what I knew to be true, stayed in control, mentally, I’d be fine.

  “But when you try to stay in control mentally, when you stay focused only on what you know, you close the door to knowing differently.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  It all felt so hopeless. She felt so helpless.

  “I think I blame myself for the fact that my family was killed in a car accident and I wasn’t. I was thrown from the car and I lived.”

  Hearing her own words, Jenna cringed. Obviously she’d lived. She was sitting right there.

  “I really believe that I was saved because I have more to do here on earth. I certainly didn’t save myself. And I know there was no way I could have saved any of them. I was a kid. I wasn’t to blame for the accident. I was too young to drive and had nothing to do with any of it. But...I don’t know, could I still, deep inside, be blaming myself?”

  “I think the fact that you’re asking the question says that you are, on some level, taking some sort of responsibility for what happened. Tell me about the accident.”

  She was so messed up, so desperate for clarity, that for the second time that night she spoke of something that she normally kept buried in the deepest recesses of her psyche.

  And as she talked, she remembered little things th
at she hadn’t known were buried there. Like the chocolate bars.

  “Anytime we took a trip, my mother would buy us each our favorite candy bar,” she said, remembering her favorite. And those of her mom and dad and brother, too.

  And there was the cheeseburger Chad had ordered when they stopped for lunch. He’d taken so long to finish it their folks had let him bring it in the car. She’d sat there watching him eat it, one little bite at a time, and wished that she had one, too.

  “I remember my father looking in the rearview mirror, watching to make certain that we both buckled our seat belts when we got back in the car,” she said slowly, back in that car, seeing her father’s raised brow. “I pretended to put mine on. I made it click, but didn’t fasten it. I hated the way it dug into my hip bone.”

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Jenna fell silent. She’d been the only one without a seat belt on.

  That was why she’d been thrown from the car.

  That was why she’d been separated from her family. And had to grow up alone.

  “I’d say that a young girl who thought she’d lost her family because she’d disobeyed might be subconsciously driven to do whatever she was told from that point on,” Lila’s soft words, several silent minutes later, held possibility and no conviction, but hit her powerfully.

  Was that why she’d stayed with Steve for so long?

  And was still doing what he wanted? Leaving Max and Caleb because she knew Steve would never allow her to live her happily-ever-after with them?

  Could it be that she’d thought she didn’t deserve a family because she’d disobeyed her father and lost the one she’d had?

  Was she dreaming up this whole Steve thing then? Had the note on her car really been a mistake? Meant for another van, another person? Had there been no one following her after all? And no reason to leave her beloved husband and son?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “DR. BENNET? THERE’S a woman here to see you.”

  The words came over Max’s intercom as he was finishing up some charting Tuesday afternoon.

  “Did she say who she is or what she wants?” he asked the office assistant, Jennifer.

  “She said it’s personal.”

  It had to be about Meri.

  Tripping over his bright red high-tops, he smoothed back blond hair that had grown a little shaggy and burst through the door into the waiting room.

  Chantel stood there, her eyes filled with a nervous energy that reminded him of Jill.

  Nodding to Jennifer, he ushered his friend back into his private office.

  “I’m sorry to bother you here, Max, but you pick up Caleb on the way home and then we can’t talk until after his bedtime, and I couldn’t wait that long.”

  She glanced around, seemingly taking in the full wall of books, the leather chairs with gold braid and cherry frames and the cherry wood desk with one quick look. And then she made a slow perusal of him, up, down and back up again.

  “Did you find Steve’s place?” he asked. He’d been watching the clock all day, wondering if they’d get lucky.

  And wasn’t sure what lucky would have meant: Finding that his wife’s stalker had purchased a home nearby? Or that he hadn’t?

  Lifting one hip onto the corner of his desk, Chantel shook her head, giving her messy blond hair a sexy windswept look. “Not for sure. But maybe.

  “There’s an older one-bedroom home across the street from the beach. It was purchased four years ago and is titled in the name of what appears to be a bogus company. Neither Wayne nor I could find record of it doing business anywhere. The problem is the buyer paid cash so there’s not much of a paperwork trail.

  “I called Diane and she’s never heard of the business, either, but get this, it’s the name of a dog she’s certain that Steve Smith used to own. Pepper, Inc. is the name of the company. Did Meri ever mention having a dog named Pepper?”

  He stood with his hands in the pockets of his cartoon scrubs, rocking back and forth in his high-top tennis shoes, and listened to his heart pound. “No.”

  She’d never mentioned having a pet at all.

  Or wanting one, either.

  “The place sits off by itself,” Chantel continued, her gaze locked on his. “No one was home, and there wasn’t anything to tell us if it had been occupied recently. The outdoor trash can was empty, but he could take the trash with him when he goes. There’s no city service to the place. It’s on septic and a well. The yard is hard dirt, so wouldn’t show footsteps. It’s in decent repair. Blinds were closed. Not a lot of cobwebs or debris on the front step.”

  Max just didn’t know what to do with any of this. He didn’t need more possibilities. He needed answers. Needed to know that the man who’d spent years stalking his wife wasn’t after her now.

  Or needed to know that he was and stop the guy before it was too late.

  “The drive was paved so we couldn’t see evidence of fresh tire marks if there were any,” Chantel was saying. “But we talked to a guy who lives about two blocks away. He said he wasn’t sure who owned the place, but he’d seen someone there a time or two. Said he drove a white pick-up truck. Wasn’t sure if it was rented or not. We showed him Smith’s picture. He said it could be him but he wasn’t sure. Said he was friendly, though. Waved anytime he went by.”

  Was he disappointed? Or relieved? At the moment Max wasn’t feeling much of anything, except lonely. And frustrated.

  Steve Smith had apparently been highly liked in Vegas. By a lot of people. It wasn’t a stretch to think that neighbors could find him friendly.

  “He did say that he’d seen a local work truck there a month or two ago. He couldn’t remember which company, but he remembered thinking that maybe the owner was going to fix the place up and put it on the market. Or rent it. Says it’s a shame to have it sitting there empty so much of the time. He’d been planning to stop and ask the guy if he was interested in selling it to him, but hadn’t gotten around to it.”

  “Now what?” And why couldn’t Chantel have just called him with this news? Shamed at the thought, he reminded himself that Meri’s leaving him wasn’t her fault.

  “Now we keep checking. Wayne’s going to watch the place, ask around some more. And we see what Diane comes up with in Las Vegas. We’ll find this guy, Max. We just might have to be patient.”

  The problem was he’d run out of patience.

  * * *

  JENNA HAD HER speech therapy session with the little boy who stuttered on Wednesday morning. And afterward, she worked with Romar on mouth exercises, retraining the woman’s muscle memory so that when she spoke she didn’t automatically revert to the motions she made without conscious thought.

  Then it was time to see Olivia. At yet another new house. She took the bus, as usual, and watched her back.

  She just wasn’t as sure anymore that she needed to be doing so.

  Thirty-six hours had passed since she’d visited Lila in her suite. A day and a half to assimilate, do some soul searching, and listen to her heart. And she couldn’t be certain what her instincts were telling her.

  If Steve wasn’t after her, if she’d left her life and the home and the man and the boy she loved because her paranoia and fear had snuck in the back door and ambushed her, then she had some very serious repairs to make.

  With her husband. Her son.

  And in counseling, too.

  But as she rode the bus home, and thought about counseling, that didn’t sound right, either. She could recite, by rote, the things she’d be told. The things she needed to do.

  The things she was already doing.

  No counselor could give her the clarity she needed. It had to come from within.

  It just had to.

  If she couldn’t trust herself, she couldn’t trust anyone.

&nbs
p; And so, when the bus made a stop a block from Max’s house, Jenna stood up. The few steps down the narrow rubber aisle of the bus seemed to take forever. She could hear each step she made. Counted them.

  One, two, three, four and she was there. Down one step and then the next. One more and she was on the blacktop. Stepping up the curb to take two steps in the grass and then she was on the sidewalk.

  She didn’t trek through yards. She wasn’t hiding. If there was no one chasing her, she could walk as normally as anyone else would. One foot in front of the other, enjoying the hint of coolness in the autumn air and the sun on her face. The smell of freshly cut grass.

  Looking for the roses that had been planted at the house on the corner of her street, she noticed a new bloom since she’d left. A pink one. Perfect enough to be photographed. Like a work of art come to life.

  And there was the fountain in the Thomases’ yard. It wasn’t on, but then it wouldn’t be. They had it on a timer, set for four o’clock, so the fountain would be running when they got home from work.

  She wondered how the Bradys’ baby, Melissa, was faring. They’d been married fifteen years and she was their first child, born prematurely, but had been doing well.

  And then she was...home. The house was dearly familiar to her. Standing there on the same street with all the homes it had stood amongst since the day it was built.

  Her key worked the front door. And she used it there, not bothering to hide her actions.

  No neighbors were about, not that she was surprised. There were many times that she and Caleb were the only ones home during the day.

  The house smelled the same. Maybe a bit stale. Max wasn’t big on dusting. Nor, she discovered, on cleaning the bathrooms. So she decided to do it herself. It felt odd, being there, a stranger in her own home. Like she was trespassing. She retrieved her cleaning things that were exactly where she’d left them, and scrubbed the toilet and the bathtub.

  And while she was at it, she pulled out the dusting spray and disposable cloths. Might as well take care of that business, as well.

  Max would have his hands full taking care of Caleb on his own. The refrigerator was stocked, but not the freezer. Almost all the meals she’d prepared ahead of time and frozen were gone.