Hell Hath No Fury

by M. J. Schiller

  The light from the kitchen cast a glow on the carpet and framed his shadow. He was standing in front of the refrigerator with it open. I recognized the clangs and thuds of him drawing stuff out and putting it on the counter.

  I shuffled forward into the doorway. His right hand held the door, the left was on the freezer as he bent to search inside. He peered at me and raised his brows, smirking. When I didn’t say anything he straightened, still looking at me, then cocked a hip. “You got something to say, Samantha?”

  I hated him. I hated him so much. And I was mad at myself for falling for his crap for so many years.

  The words came out of my mouth, although I don’t remember thinking them. “I want a divorce.”

  He blinked, and his eyes widened. “You can’t be serious.”

  I turned away from him. I didn’t want to see his pig-like face anymore. Spotting my keys on the counter, I crossed the room.

  He slammed the refrigerator shut. “Oh, come on. You don’t mean that.”

  I whirled around with the keys. “I’m leaving. You have two days to pack your shit up and get out. Your daughter is crying.”

  “Sam…” His tone contained a warning. “You don’t want to do this.”

  I brushed past him without responding. I left the kitchen and trudged along the hall, and he followed. He gestured wildly. “You won’t last a day out there without me. You don’t know how to pay for electricity… or when the phone bill is due.” He was right about that. But I’d learn. He moved in front of me and smacked his hands on the walls on either side of us, blocking my path. “What’ll you do for money, huh? You won’t get paid jack shit without a college degree.”

  And unfortunately he was right about that, too. I’d married him at eighteen to escape a dysfunctional home. By nineteen, I was pregnant with Ryan and school was out of the question. I’d never held a job outside of working for a fried chicken place in high school. But I knew my brother would get me the best damned lawyer money could buy and I’d be all right. And even if I didn’t get much in the divorce, the kids and I could stay with one of my sisters.

  I dropped my gaze, summoning my strength and said quietly. “Get out of my way, Bill.”

  “Nah. This isn’t how this is going to go down. I’m—”

  “Get out of my way!” My voice shook with barely controlled anger.

  “What the hell? You need to calm yourself—”

  I pushed his chest. He was big and he was solid. He’d put on a lot of weight since we were married. But I was pissed. “Ya know what? You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.”

  “I don’t know who you think you’re—”

  And that’s when I jacked him. Flat out punched him in the face. His hands went to his nose and blood ran out from under them.

  “Son of a bitch!” he howled, stumbling backward.

  I didn’t waste time conversing. I almost turned into the bedroom to get my clothes, then I remembered seeing the two of them and my stomach lurched. I kept walking. Out the garage door, out the garage and over to my neighbor Kim’s. So much for needing my keys. But I was shaking too much to drive. The kids would be home soon, but I needed to pull myself together before I saw them. And Bill could find out how hard it was to parent by himself. Of course, I was going to be learning how to single parent, too. At some point Bill and I were going to have to talk about how we were going to tell the kids about the divorce, but I was a long way from that conversation.

  Damn him for making me put them through this.

  Imagine my surprise when not even an hour later two uniformed policemen knocked on Kim’s door to inform me Bill was charging me with assault. Kim stood behind me with her fingers wrapped around my biceps.

  “Did he tell you why she assaulted him?”

  The officer sighed. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And you’re still arresting her? After what he did?”

  “Ma’am, I don’t have the privilege to determine who was right and who was wrong. I have to follow the definition of the law, and unfortunately the law covers assault but not—” He glanced at me. “—what he did. Mrs. Neaman, please come outside.”

  Hollow, I stepped down onto the cold square of concrete in front of the door and out of Kim’s grip.

  “If you could turn around.”

  I stared at him blankly. Like I heard his words, but they didn’t make sense.

  “We need to cuff you.”

  That broke through. A lightning bolt of fear illuminated his words. I was heading to jail. I rotated slowly and looked at Kim with tears in my eyes. I was humiliated and never had I felt so alone and small.

  “Dave!” Kim screamed over her shoulder. “Do you really think that is necessary?”

  Kim’s husband Dave appeared behind her. “What the hell’s going on?”

  The cuffs clanked. “Put your hands behind your back.”

  I complied and the cold metal against my skin emphasized this was actually happening.

  Kim twisted and clung to Dave’s chest. His arm automatically came around her. “They’re—” she glanced at me, and she seemed teary, too “—arresting her for punching Bill.”

  “What?” He gaped at the policemen.

  “He pressed charges. We don’t have a choice.” The policeman grasped my biceps as Kim had, but not in a comforting way. He pulled me down a stair. “Let’s go.”

  “Well I hope you have room in that car for two because—hell, you might as well hang out—I’m gonna kick Bill’s ass.” He brought one foot onto the concrete and the other officer moved forward, blocking his path.

  “Sir. I suggest you don’t do that.”

  “Dave!” Kim screamed. “You’ve got to do something. They’re taking her away.”

  I twisted my neck, straining to see what was they were doing.

  “I know, honey.” Dave had the patience of a kindergarten teacher. He planted his other foot next to the first, completely out of the house. It was a cold November day, and the Illinois wind was whipping at his oxford shirt. A few small patches of snow remained on their lawn from an earlier storm. “Officer, isn’t there a way we can avoid this? Samantha has never attacked anyone else before and wouldn’t have hit Bill if he weren’t such a…” He seemed to scrounge around for a description, “…no-good, lying, cheating bastard. Surely—”

  “You need to calm down, sir.”

  I was already halfway to the squad car. My feet skidded on a patch of ice but the strong hand on my arm kept me upright. I peered over my shoulder. Dave was gesturing wildly. Kim clutched his shoulders. They didn’t need this headache. I swallowed.

  “Dave.” He made eye contact, and the policeman half turned. “It’s okay,” I said with more confidence than I had.

  “It damned well isn’t okay.” He lost it. “He fucking screwed her friend and you’re taking her away? This is ludicrous!”

  “I’d’ve punched him too,” the cop at my side mumbled. He opened the rear door of his squad car. I swung a foot into the car, still looking at the house. “Careful.” He put a palm on my head to protect it from hitting the roof of the car.

  “Dave, don’t,” I pleaded. I pulled my leg in and the door was closed.

  I could hear their voices still, but couldn’t make out the words. My officer left me alone in the car and climbed my neighbors’ steep driveway. Dave seemed to have calmed some and was listening to the police. He and Kim kept throwing worried glances my way. She had stepped out behind him and stood by his side. Then Dave glanced to his right and went nuts. Both policemen restrained him. I followed his line of vision. Bill was standing on our sidewalk, watching smugly with his arms crossed. Leaving his ten and six-year-olds in care of a two-year old when he was trying to pick a fight with his neighbor. Unbelievable. But I had to realize that, knowing him as I now did, he wasn’t above pulling something heinous.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said under my breath. The audacity of it.

  Shouts filled the air. Dave strained forward and pointed at Bi
ll over one cop’s shoulder, screaming at Bill, spit flying out of his mouth. He was pushed back but jerked his chin up, his gaze riveted on my asshole husband. He was barking out short sentences and gesturing to Bill to come fight him.

  I could tell by his arrogant expression Bill was taunting Dave, and Dave was seething. I’d never seen him even close to mad before. Bill would bait him right into a jail cell.

  “Shit. Dave stop,” I yelled, although no one could hear me.

  I caught a flash and checked the rearview mirror. A second squad car rolled to a stop behind me, lights on, but no siren.

  The policeman who led me away yelled at Bill which quieted him for a solid four seconds. The next time Bill opened his mouth, though, the cop let go of Dave, giving him to his partner to manage, and walked across the lawn toward Bill, pointing at the house. Dave made an end run around the cop holding him but the officer adjusted his position to again situate himself between Dave and Bill. My focus swung to Bill. By this time he was being walked to the door, although he was still glaring across the lawn. He might as well have stuck his tongue out like a second grader, the ass.

  Between the policeman and Kim, they talked Dave down, although he still seemed to be foaming at the mouth for a bit. The guy who walked Bill in came over to the other officers, who had exited their vehicle. Words were exchanged, and then the first set of policemen accompanied Dave while the other two chewed the fat in front of the car I was in. It seemed to take forever, but the first men came out finally, spoke to the other pair briefly then got in the car.

  “Man, that guy was pissed,” one said. The other grunted in response. The driver studied me in the rearview mirror for a moment, then started the engine. We pulled away from the curb and as we passed my house I saw an image burnt into my memory forever. Six-year-old Jake kneeling on the couch watching out the window as his mommy was being taken to jail.

  I swore I’d never forgive Bill for that, and I haven’t. He forced me—his wife and the mother of his children— to go through the degradation of wearing an orange jumpsuit, along with having a mug shot taken and fingerprints registered. Because of him, I suffered the indignity of a body search. He gets a freaking blow job, and I am terrorized by the thought of being beaten or raped or trapped away forever, confined in the metal and concrete which seemed to close in on me more tightly each minute, until I could hardly breathe. Something broke inside me that night. I went from unloading groceries to prison in a matter of hours. One peek through a bedroom door showed me my whole life was a lie and crumbling around me.

  But that night as I stayed awake in my holding cell in the McLean County Detention Facility—sounds much better than jail—I kept seeing little Jake at the window. The kids were the innocents in all this. They should not have to suffer the fallout of their parents’ marriage imploding. I reached deep inside myself for the strength I needed growing up and vowed that what Bill Neaman had done to me would not crush me, but it would also not affect our children, in as much as I could prevent it. I would deal with his bullshit so my kids could have a father and a somewhat normal life. I wouldn’t stay with the man—that would give the kids the wrong idea about how they should treat others, and how others should be allowed to treat them. But, for their sake, I would not push their father off a cliff, or hold his head underwater, or give him a spontaneous vasectomy, or do any of the other things I wanted so desperately to do to him.

  So, as a result, I was saddled with his loud-assed, condescending, domineering, ego-centric, unfeeling, uncaring, sometimes even irrational behavior. But I didn’t need to let him control me. That’s why I was so angry at myself for letting him manipulate me into a fight with Kyle. It bothered me the mere sight of a cracked door put me back in that place of betrayal. Hollowed out my stomach, made me hurt all over again. It wasn’t even the same door, as I’d moved, putting the whole state of Iowa and parts of Nebraska and Illinois between me and the house I shared with Bill. The house we raised our kids in. But, it was a tri-level like our old house was. And my bedroom was in the same place. It was the one thing making me hesitate when we were looking at buying it. But it was so close to my best friend Dani’s, I couldn’t pass on it.

  When I reached for the doorknob, I became conscious of my hand shaking. I curled my fingers into a fist, took a deep breath and closed my eyes, intentionally stilling the tremors my memories were conjuring up. Grasping the knob firmly, I pulled the door closed and exhaled. But as I continued down the hall I thought about how shaken I was.

  When will this stop? When will I be able to let go of the ache of that betrayal and move on?

  I shook my head and deliberately turned my mind to the task ahead. I entered the laundry room, opened Kyle’s bag, and almost fell to my knees.

  “Whoa!”

  Even Havoc whimpered at the stench and scurried off. The fragrance wafting from my husband’s duffle was a cross between a dead skunk on a pile of manure and rotting corpses on a hill of garbage. I leaned as far away as possible and didn’t breathe.

  Good Lord. What does the man do in these?

  I tossed the stuff into my washing machine and twisted away to inhale, fighting the urge to gag. Coughing, my eyes watering, I dumped an adequate amount of soap in the machine, then added more. I searched the canvas tote to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, and considered tossing it in, too. Desperate to get out into fresher air I groped around and discovered a zippered pocket.

  Shit.

  I could tell something was inside, but I’d fumbled too much with the zipper and had to stretch toward the hall to draw another breath. I still fought to get the damned thing unzipped, but it finally gave. I slipped my hand inside and touched papers and…something silky. Ice flowed through my veins from my fingertips to the ends of my hair, and I froze for a second then carefully drew out a pink negligee with black lace.

  Oh, my God. Bill was right. Kyle is seeing someone behind my back.

  I brought a hand to cover my mouth. Although we didn’t have children together or a long history, this was a bigger kick in the gut than finding Bill in the act. I never had the depth of love for Bill that I have for Kyle.

  I can’t believe this is happening again.

  I stumbled backward, still staring at the filmy garment. Pressing against the wall, I slid slowly to the floor and sat with my knees bent, legs drawn into my chest. Tears slowly began to track down my face.

  Why? Why does this keep happening to me?

  Chapter 3

  Elise and Hunter

  Elise

  And I thought school was torturous. It had nothing on summer, pool side, where all of the “in” kids congregated on one side of the chlorine water and pretended I didn’t exist. And I didn’t really. And to be truthful, that’s how I liked it. Most of the time.

  Mandy Cartwright climbed the ladder, rising out of the pool slowly so everyone could get a view of her wet look, the water rolling lovingly off her killer body. I glanced at my own suit. It was a navy tank with white and yellow polka dots, with a matching bottom that was like a skirt. So together the two pieces resembled a dress. I thought it was cute this morning.

  And therein lies the problem. Cute, not sexy.

  Mandy’s, in comparison, had a sort of Sports-Illustrated-Swimsuit-Edition quality to it. It was as if someone took a roll of gauze and crisscrossed it over her…headlights, and with the under-boobage sticking out of the bottom part of her top, it was clear she had some massive chesticles. The mummy-like cloth then dipped behind her, then back to the front to make an “X” on her impossibly flat stomach, marking the desired spot below with no subtlety whatsoever. It was more NYC than Lincoln, Nebraska, but Mandy could pull it off. She was a cheerleader after all.

  Heat fired my cheeks, making them the lobster-like color I’d be if I didn’t put on SPF 1000. Another strike against me. I couldn’t tan. I swung to grab my towel from a chair and cover myself, but I was so flustered I wasn’t paying attention and walked right into the path of an on-coming lifeg
uard.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” He grabbed my arms to keep me from doing a face-plant on the wet cement. “Careful.”

  I looked up to thank him and my breath caught in my throat. He was simply gorgeous. A bronzed body with muscle definition in all the right places. Sandy-brown hair long enough to shake out of his eyes, which were an intense gray-blue. I resisted the urge to drop my focus and check out the lower half, to see how well-defined he was down there. Barely resisted. “I…uh…uh…uh….”

  Brilliant, Elise.

  He chuckled, which annoyed the heck out of me, and I straightened my spine, daring him to make some kind of smart-assed comment I’d have to destroy. Tilting his head, he narrowed his gaze on me. “What’s your name?”

  I wasn’t expecting that. “What? Why?”

  “For the report I’ll have to file later.” He released me, glanced about, then walked backward to his elevated chair. “I have a feeling you’re a repeat offender.” He flashed me a smile so warm it could take yards off the polar ice cap then pivoted and walked away.

  Ho-ly shit! His ass was as perfect as the rest of him. He twisted his head, catching me mid-ogle. The grin grew. “What are you looking at?”

  “Who? What? Me?” I grabbed the towel from my chair. “I’m…umm…drying myself.”

  He put his hands on his hips and took a few steps toward me. “Funny, because—” he gestured, lowering his voice to this sexy growl “—you haven’t even gotten in the pool yet.”

  A shrill whistle blew. I jumped. It was the lifeguard he was to replace. “Hunter. Come on. I have a date.”

  “Coming,” he called, but he didn’t turn at first. Just kept staring at me. He was liquefying me with his penetrating gaze, and it wasn’t exactly unpleasant either. “Your name?”

  “Hmm. Oh…Elise.”

  “Elise. French or something?”

  I shrugged. “Or something.”

  The other guard was irritated. “Quit flirting and get your ass over here.”