Another text a moment later specified that the little marzipan pigs should be black. Was black the cool color for brides this season? Louise wondered. Either way, it was a harmless enough, if bizarre, desire.
The universal appeal of weddings . . . Even if you weren’t personally acquainted with the bride and groom, you couldn’t help but marvel at how a couple entered marriage with such enthusiasm. It was human nature to seek the positive. And it was also human nature, Louise thought now, to display a sort of arrogance about the future. I’ll be smarter, I’ll have more patience; he’ll never hit me, she’ll never leave me.
Louise cleared away her breakfast things. Had Isobel eaten anything at all that morning?
Someday Isobel might marry, Louise mused; it seemed likely, given her romantic nature. And she would display the same giddy certainty that all would be well in her married life.
Louise turned on the dishwasher and went to the broom closet for the broom and dustpan. Jeff Otten, she thought, as she began to sweep under the table, was certainly a nice young man, but he did seem a bit paternal in his treatment of Isobel. True, he was a few years older but that shouldn’t make much of a difference. The real issue might be that with his family money he might be used to getting his own way, to making decisions on his own and to issuing orders that were followed without question.
She wanted Isobel to find her own way in life and to make her own decisions, and that could be very hard to do when someone was—or expected to be treated as—the leader in a relationship. A partner was what Isobel needed. It was what everyone needed in a romantic, committed relationship. Not a father or a mother but a sidekick, a friend, someone who would appreciate you for the individual you were.
Louise dumped the contents of the dustpan into the garbage and returned the broom to the closet. All she wanted to do next was to sleep, but sleep, too, would come when celebrity couple Kick and Monty had finally tied the knot at Blueberry Bay Inn.
Chapter 52
CITYMOUSE
Hello, Readers:
This is Gwen, Isobel’s sidekick and co-adventurer in style seeking and style making.
I wanted to let you know that Isobel is taking a sabbatical of undetermined duration to pursue another special project and in the meantime, I will try my best to fill Isobel’s unique and therefore unfillable shoes by posting once a week.
I promise that Isobel will see any and all messages of good cheer and good luck any of you readers might want to send her.
So, for today, here’s a photo of a vintage purse I found among my fathers’ horde of theater props and costumes. It was used in a production of The Importance of Being Earnest, staged in New York (off-Broadway) way back in the early 1980s. The beadwork is exquisite—I hope you can see it clearly—and the lining (sorry, no photo of that) is raw silk. As Isobel is fond of saying, “They don’t make them like they used to!” And by “them” she means any object of beauty and quality.
Well, thanks for bearing with my feeble attempt at interesting writing. Until next week, Gwen.
Isobel closed her laptop and let the tears flow unchecked. She deeply appreciated Gwen’s kind gesture; Gwen knew that Jeff was behind all of her odd and hurtful behavior. God, she wanted so badly to see her friend, but it was better for them to stay away from each other until—until what? Until Isobel could find a safe way out of this mess . . .
The day before Jeff had—mercifully, for Isobel—been unable to see her. He said he was going to Boston with his father. Isobel had wondered if he was lying but didn’t care. His absence was a brief respite in the madness that was her life. Still, Jeff had harassed her from afar, calling and e-mailing and sending her texts every half hour or so. She wondered what his father thought about it all, or if he had even noticed, and decided she didn’t care about that, either.
Now, oddly, he hadn’t been in touch with her yet that day. His silence scared her. And it gave her the tiniest glimmer of hope. What if Jeff had gone back to Vermont, tired of her, tired of working for his father? What if he had been in an accident and had died . . .
She couldn’t even feel guilty for thinking this.
But her luck would never be that good. Once, only weeks before, she had thought she was “one lucky gal.” How miserably naïve she had been. She would never be so naïve again, or so innocent.
Isobel left her room and wandered aimlessly downstairs. She heard a sound from the parlor and peered cautiously inside.
Quentin was there, bent over an overturned chair, screwdriver in hand.
“Hi,” Isobel said. Her voice sounded weak to her ears.
He looked over his shoulder, and the expression in his large brown eyes seemed more solemn than usual.
“Hey,” he said. He turned back to work.
“Your eye looks a little better,” Isobel said. She felt ashamed and responsible. She wondered if Quentin had had to go to a doctor about the eye. She wondered if his mother had health insurance.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Have you seen Gwen?”
“Yeah.” He kept his back to her during this exchange.
“How is she? I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“She’s okay.”
There was another ponderous moment of tension, and then Quentin turned around.
“Is your mom around?” he asked. “I haven’t seen her today.”
“No. She went into town.”
“My cousin Lara used to date Jeff Otten a few years back,” he said without preamble.
Isobel wanted to run away but she felt rooted to the spot. “Oh.”
“He used to hit her. One time, the last time, he broke her nose.”
Isobel reached out for the back of the chair closest to her. She felt light-headed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Otten bought off my aunt and uncle to keep them from going to the police,” Quentin went on, his tone almost matter-of-fact. “Paid them enough to cover Lara’s medical expenses. And a bit more.”
Isobel heard this with a heavy heart. She knew that Quentin was telling the truth. Still, even after all she had been through, she didn’t want to believe it. It was too, too awful. “Oh,” she said feebly.
“My aunt and uncle are farmers. It was a bad year following a bad year. They didn’t have the money for a doctor to fix Lara’s nose. Besides, Lara was too embarrassed to go public. You can’t blame them for keeping their mouths shut. Though sometimes I find myself thinking they’re just as guilty as Jeff. And maybe I am, too. Maybe I should have told you this sooner. But I have a tendency to believe that people can change for the better. Maybe, I thought, Jeff Otten’s grown up some. But I don’t know.”
A conspiracy of silence, Isobel thought. And all to protect—what? A family’s good name? A social façade? The privacy of a violent young man?
Isobel felt as if she had been hit in the face with a brick. She didn’t know what she could possibly say to Quentin. “I’m so sorry about your cousin,” she managed finally.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
“Why did you tell me this?” she asked then. Though of course she knew very well why Quentin had told her. He knew or at least suspected that Jeff was abusing her. And he might not be the only one who knew. Was she really fooling anyone by keeping quiet? Yes. She was fooling her mother. And Catherine. And Flynn. And herself.
Quentin smiled a bit. It was a kind smile. “I thought you should know what you’re involved with,” he said.
She knew she should thank Quentin. He deserved her thanks. But she couldn’t give it.
“I just hope I didn’t speak up too late,” he added.
But the look in his serious brown eyes before he turned back to work told Isobel that he knew he had, indeed, spoken too late.
Chapter 53
It was well after midnight. Louise was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of warm milk. It was an old sleep aid her mother had sworn by. She frowned down at the mug. It was probably more effective when you used whole milk rather than the watery o
ne-percent version she had in the house. She pushed the mug aside.
Isobel was upstairs, hopefully asleep. She looked almost haggard lately. She had admitted to not sleeping well. And God damn it, Andrew hadn’t come through for Isobel like he had promised to, no big surprise there.
Louise sighed. Then again, had she been there for her daughter this summer? Not much. What had Isobel said to her just the other day? “I didn’t think you noticed me anymore.” Well, the wedding was in ten days, and once that was done with . . .
A sudden pounding on the kitchen door made Louise jump and yelp all at once. She looked around, and through the glass in the door she could see a familiar face leaning close. The face was familiar, but the expression was one she had never seen on it before. What was it? Panic? Fear? Anger?
Louise leapt to her feet and threw open the door. Jeff, she thought, must be in trouble. Maybe there had been a car accident, maybe he was hurt . . .
But face-to-face with her daughter’s boyfriend, she could clearly see that he was drunk. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused. His hair was on end. There was a dark stain, still damp, on his fine linen shirt. He swayed and grabbed the door frame with his left hand.
Louise’s gut recognized this for what it was. She had seen it before, a long, long time ago. This was trouble. She spoke, trying to keep her voice calm and soothing.
“Hello, Jeff,” she said. “What are you doing here? It’s after midnight.”
“I know what freakin’ time it is,” he spit. “I want to see Izzy.”
Chapter 54
Though she had been in bed for hours, she was still not asleep.
The words of Jeff’s last e-mail kept running through her mind.
“You’re a lying whore. I know you’re having sex with someone else. I’m going to hurt you if you don’t give it up to me. I’m going to hurt you anyway.”
It was a dirty and menacing message from a person who claimed to love her, but not a particularly surprising one. But he hadn’t shown up at the inn all day. Now, the silence felt more dangerous than any active harassment. At any moment he could appear, crash through her bedroom door, jump out at her from around a corner, and she would be helpless to resist. He was so big . . .
Finally, her body and spirit simply worn out enough to quiet her brain, she dozed off. But it wasn’t for long. Isobel shot up in the bed and sent the covers flying. She didn’t know exactly what had woken her so abruptly. But she did know that her mother was in danger. She knew that as absolutely as she knew that her name was Isobel.
She grabbed her bathrobe from the foot of the bed, a tattered old terry-cloth garment, and belted it quickly around her. Her feet still bare, she tiptoed out of her room to find the hall dark. There was no light from under James’s and Jim’s door. There was no light from under her mother’s door, either, but Isobel gently knocked and pushed it open.
The bed was empty; it had not been slept in.
Isobel went back into the hall and listened in the dark.
After a moment, she thought she heard a low voice from far off . . .
As quietly as she knew how, she snuck down the stairs. When she reached the front hall she heard it more clearly now. Jeff’s voice. He was in the kitchen.
Some instinct directed her to slide out the front door and dash around back rather than barge into the kitchen from the hall. The kitchen door was open, as were the windows. Keeping to the edge of the frame, she peered through one of the windows and gasped.
Jeff was drunk. That much was obvious; he was swaying and slovenly. And he was alone with her mother.
Isobel was sure her mother couldn’t see her from where she stood by the table. Jeff had his back to the window. Good. She didn’t want to alert either of them to her presence. She needed the element of surprise if she was to do anything . . .
“Isobel isn’t here, Jeff,” her mother said, calmly, and clearly. “Why don’t you go on home—”
Jeff laughed, though it sounded more like a bark. “I’ll do what I want to do, and what I want to do is to see Izzy. Now.”
“I told you,” her mother said, her tone still even, “Isobel is not here.”
Jeff took another step forward, weaving slightly but still on his feet. Isobel thought he had never looked so huge, so dangerous.
“Liar!” he shouted. “I know that bitch is here and you’re hiding her from me!”
Isobel’s teeth clenched so hard she thought they might shatter. She grabbed at the pocket of her bathrobe and realized that she had snuck downstairs without her cell phone— stupid! She was afraid to leave her mother alone with Jeff while she ran back upstairs to call the police. She was afraid—
“I’m not lying,” her mother was saying. Isobel thought that her voice betrayed some tension and fear now. “And I’m not hiding her, Jeff. Look, it’s late. I really think you should go now.”
And then Jeff slammed his palm against the fridge, knocking several of the magnets to the floor. “Tell me where that whoring bitch is or I’ll mess you up!”
Isobel’s hands flew to her face in horror. Her mother reached into the pocket of her robe and pulled out her phone. “I’m calling the police—”
“Thank God,” Isobel murmured.
But before her mother could press those three numbers, Jeff lunged at her, grabbing her arm and shaking her roughly enough to cause her head to snap back. The cell phone went flying and landed behind the trash bin.
The terror Isobel had felt was gone in an instant. The decision to act was made by her limbs. Isobel ran into the kitchen, screaming for help.
Jeff turned, startled by her sudden and loud entrance, and snarled. Roughly he pushed Louise from him. She stumbled backward, hit her head on the table, and fell heavily to the floor.
“Mom!” Isobel dashed toward her mother, but within a step, Jeff had grabbed her by her arm. “Let go of me!” she cried.
But Jeff was strong. And he was angry, out of control now.
Isobel struggled wildly for a moment until, through the clamoring of her panic (her mother might have a concussion, she might be dying!), she heard the unmistakable sound of an engine screeching to a halt and then, Charlie’s frantic barking.
“I’ll kill that stupid dog right after I kill you!” Jeff spat between clenched teeth. His breath was foul with alcohol. Isobel felt her stomach heave.
He released Isobel’s arm and clamped both hands around her neck and squeezed. Isobel choked and felt her eyes pop. She grabbed at his forearms and fought vainly to dislodge his hands from her throat. And then she began to black out. She had never blacked out before . . . Her vision grew fuzzy and then dim and her knees sagged and . . .
And then she was vaguely aware of a light that hadn’t been there a moment before, and voices . . .
Jeff suddenly released her, and Isobel felt herself being carried to a chair at the table. And then her mother, conscious, was being lifted into the chair next to hers . . .
It was Jim, dear, brave Jim . . . He was now on his cell phone . . . And there was James. He was holding Jeff’s arms behind him . . . She turned away.
And over by the door stood a disheveled Catherine with Charlie straining her leash, barking to raise the dead . . .
“Oh my God!” Catherine cried. “Louise! Isobel! Are they all right?”
James frowned. “They will be,” he said.
Isobel saw Catherine put a hand to her heart. “Charlie woke me up. She was whining something awful, and suddenly I got a feeling . . .”
Charlie had ceased her barking but she continued to growl menacingly at James’s prisoner. Isobel saw Catherine tighten her grip on the leash.
“I have half a mind to let Charlie have her way with this piece of crap,” James muttered. “But I don’t want to deprive the justice system of its fun, either.”
“Get your hands off me!” Jeff yelled, trying in vain to free himself from James’s iron grip. “I’ll have my father’s lawyers fucking destroy you all!”
“Sa
ve it,” James said in a voice that carried a big enough authority to make Jeff go silent, at least for the moment.
“It’s over,” Isobel muttered. She was breathing heavily. Gently, she touched her throat. “It’s finally over.”
“Izzy!” Jeff’s voice was harsh and loud.
She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t look at him. The very sight of him repulsed her.
“Izzy! Listen to me!” he demanded.
Isobel put her hands over her ears but was still able to hear the sound of sirens approaching. She kept her eyes closed and her hands where they were until the police had hauled Jeff away.
Chapter 55
Catherine came over to the inn mid-morning the next day. The two women were sitting at the kitchen table drinking what was a fourth cup of coffee for each of them. Neither had gotten more than an hour or two of sleep.
Princess Charlene lay on the floor, her head on Louise’s feet. Isobel was finally, mercifully, asleep in her room.
Catherine had insisted on going with Louise and Isobel to the hospital the night before, while James and Jim stayed awake with Charlie until the women’s return.
The bruises on Isobel’s neck, though nasty to look at and painful, weren’t serious. Louise was more banged up—there was an ugly cut on her forehead and a series of bruises along her right side—but miraculously she had avoided getting a concussion when her head had hit the table.
“Thanks to my thick skull,” she had declared to the attending doctor, just before breaking down in a torrent of tears.
There was a knock at the kitchen door. Louise startled; she thought it would take some time before a knock at that door didn’t frighten her. Catherine got up to open it. It was Flynn. The look on his face was one of shame and embarrassment, but he met Louise’s eye squarely when he spoke.
The Summer Everything Changed Page 30