by Cora Black
“Because we don’t live with Daddy anymore,” she said.
“Right.” It was like a minefield, never knowing where to step. The next step might lead to an explosion.
“Because you and Daddy got divorced.”
“That’s right. And you know what divorce is.”
“Oh, yeah. Lots of people have divorces. I know what that is. How come I never get to see Daddy? Olivia and Madison see their Daddy on the weekends.”
I wanted to scream—not at my daughter, but at her worldliness. Why were three-year-olds talking about things like this, anyway? “That’s a very long story, sweetheart. Daddy and I don’t get along, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you.” Oh, I hated lying to her. I didn’t think her father was capable of love, but how could I explain that to a three-year-old? Hell, I wouldn’t have told her about it if she were thirteen, or eighteen. It was too much for her to handle. For all his distance, for all his neglect, Emma had idolized him. She’d learned to hang on every little bit of attention he gave her, the poor thing.
“I understand.” She sounded so old, so wise.
You’ll never understand, I wanted to say, because I’m going to keep it from you if it kills me. You’ll never understand the man he truly is. You don’t need to know. It’s too much for you to know.
“Things are okay for you and me, aren’t they?” I asked, glancing at her again as I drove. “I mean, you’re happy with us living together. Right?”
“Yeah, I love living with you.”
“Even though the apartment is small?”
“I like when we play games, and when we watch movies and sing songs and stuff.” She was so resilient, too. Looking for the positive in everything. Even though the apartment was roughly the size of the kitchen in the house she’d grown up in, she didn’t appear to mind. I hoped she hadn’t also learned how to lie to make her mother feel better when she learned about divorce and the way certain people looked down on others who were poor.
Once we got home, I didn’t have much time to think since my daughter’s needs eclipsed my own. I helped her with homework, which thankfully was still only a little bit at the age of three. The fact that she had homework at all was shocking to me at first, but that was before I heard kindergartners were learning about computers. A simple three-line synopsis of a book we read together didn’t seem like such a big deal in comparison.
I left Emma in the living room to watch her favorite show while I went in to take a shower. “I’ll get dinner started as soon as I get dressed,” I promised, knowing I couldn’t live another minute with the smell of food still in my hair from the double shift. I turned the water up as hot as it would go, and the heat helped my muscles relax. I tried to remember if I had a heating pad somewhere, and laughed at the thought of shoving one more thing into the cramped place I called home. There was nearly nothing in terms of closet space. Where would I store a heating pad?
I was still chuckling almost deliriously as I went back to the room I shared with my daughter. The mirror hanging on the back of the door told me what I needed to know about my arms. There were big, nasty bruises around both biceps. I dried off in a hurry, throwing a shirt on to cover them before Emma got bored and decided to visit me while I dressed.
I’d left my phone on the dresser, and it buzzed angrily with an incoming call. I looked at it, then recoiled in horror. Eric. No way I was going to take his call. A fist-sized ball of fear took root in my stomach, growing bigger and bigger. I stepped away from the phone like it was a deadly animal, until my back was against the opposite wall. It wasn’t very far.
Why was he calling? He hadn’t called in weeks, maybe even an entire month. What did he want from me? Did he plan to finish the job he had started at the diner? My stomach churned—had I had a bite of food in it, I might have thrown up. I closed my eyes instead, forcing myself to breathe. In, out. In, out. Slowly. Deeply. With purpose. Counting to four on the inhale, then four on the exhale. Over and over until the nausea and panic passed.
By then, the phone had stopped ringing. I picked it up, gasping to find ten missed calls. He’d been calling all day—I just hadn’t checked the phone carefully when I first woke up, in all my haste to get out the door. It was the first time I was paying attention. The horror grew.
A single buzz. A voicemail. I closed my eyes, trying to decide if I should listen or not. I knew what I would hear—blatant insanity. Evilness. Threats and ugliness. I didn’t need that in my life.
Still…I couldn’t help myself. I opened my voicemails and listened to the latest one.
“You fucking bitch.” I recoiled in horror, his words hitting me like a hand across the face. “You think you can do this to me? You think I’m gonna roll over and play dead while you keep my kid from me? Oh, no, sweetheart. Do you have another thing coming. Oh, do you have another thing coming to you. You’re gonna be so surprised when you find out what I have for you. And then Emma will be mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Enjoy her while you still can.”
I couldn’t listen to anymore, and deleted that message, along with all other messages. My hands shook almost uncontrollably as I did so.
What could I do? I felt trapped like an animal. I took even more deep breaths, telling myself to calm down, that there was nothing he could do to us. Still, I checked the locks on the door twice when I got back to the living room, just to be sure.
“Are you okay, Mama?”
“I’m just fine, sweetie. I’m gonna get dinner ready now. How about your favorite spaghetti and meatballs in the whole world?” We threw an impromptu dance party in honor of the spaghetti and meatballs, then I danced my way into the kitchen. As soon as I was out of my daughter’s field of vision, the dancing stopped. I leaned against the counter, arms around myself, shivering. What was I supposed to do?
***
“Mama? Did you quit your job? Did I quit school?”
“No, baby. Why do you ask?” It had been five days since Eric’s insane string of phone calls. He’d stopped calling since then, relying on text messages instead. The thing was, no sooner had I blocked one number then he’d started texting from another number. We’d played that game for the first two days, until I gave up. Still, he’d left us alone—physically, at least.
I looked up at my daughter, where she worked on a page in her coloring book. I looked forward to the weekend—at least then I wouldn’t have to feel guilty for keeping my child out of school. I did, however, feel guilty about calling out of work all week. I wasn’t sure how much longer our savings would last.
Emma kept her eyes on the page she colored while she spoke. “I was just wondering. I didn’t go to school anymore this week. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mrs. DeSilva. It was her last day before she has her baby.” I heard tears in my daughter’s voice, and the sound tore at my heart. I’d been praying she wouldn’t pay attention to the calendar, that Friday would come and go without her remembering that her teacher was leaving for months.
“I’m sorry, honey. Do you not like the time we’re spending together? Like I said, I thought it would be fun to have a vacation, just the two of us.” I did everything I could to make things sound as fun as possible, but even I knew how terribly I’d failed. Emma, at least, tried to make me feel better.
“I love vacation, I just don’t know why we took it. You didn’t say anything until Tuesday morning.”
“It was a surprise, like I said.” My patience was quickly wearing thin, and I told myself to stay cool for the sake of Emma. None of it was her fault. I couldn’t take it out on her.
“Will you get fired from your job?”
I slid off the couch, lying on my side on the floor beside my daughter. “How come you care about so many grown-up things, huh? That’s the sort of thing Mamas worry about, not their little girls. Okay? You let me worry about that. You just color in your book, and we’ll put on a Disney movie in a little while, and I’ll make popcorn. Okay? And tomorrow’s Saturday, and then Sunday. Hopefully by Mo
nday, we’ll have things worked out a little more, and vacation will be over. Okay?”
“Okay.” Emma went back to coloring in her book. I bit my lip, watching her. No way I could extend our “vacation” past Monday. I had a choice to make. Either I could pull her from the school, which wasn’t mandatory, or I could find some way to get Eric out of my life for good.
How could I manage that, though? Aside from murder—which I’d considered many, many times—there was no realistic way of getting rid of him. I couldn’t very well run even further away. I didn’t have enough money in the bank to fund a big move, and without my mother, I wouldn’t have anybody to watch Emma when I needed help. I didn’t think I’d be able to afford a babysitter or daycare—that was why I’d put her in school, even though I didn’t think kids needed to be in school so young.
I sighed, rolling over onto my back. I stared up at the popcorn ceiling, with its faint glimmer of glitter here and there. Why had anybody ever thought that was a good idea?
“What are you thinking about, Mama?”
“Hmm?” I looked at Emma, who watched me carefully. She was always doing that, watching when I least expected. The wisest little girl I’d ever known. “Oh, I don’t know. I was just thinking about bad choices. Like the paint on that ceiling.” And so many other things.
Chapter Eight
By Sunday afternoon, it seemed clear that I would have to remove Emma from school. I couldn’t risk leaving her there all day when her father could come swooping down at any minute to take her away from me.
My stomach turned at the thought, but it was a very real fear. I couldn’t dismiss it.
When I dared turn my phone on for a little while after dinner that night, since leaving it on only meant having to hear Eric’s texts coming through one after another, I called my mom. She needed to know what was up, if only because it would affect her over time.
“What do you mean you’re not sending Emma to school anymore? Did something happen there?”
“No, Mom. Not there. Promise me you won’t freak out when I tell you what’s been going on. Okay?” I pulled my feet up onto the couch while Emma worked on a puzzle I’d spread across the living room floor. I smiled when I saw the way she poked her tongue out of the corner of her mouth when she concentrated. I knew the puzzle would keep her busy enough that she wouldn’t listen in on the conversation.
“Oh, Jesus, Kara. I thought we talked about this, you and me. About not keeping things from me anymore. After all the time you never told me about Eric…”
I closed my eyes, sighing. “I know, Mom. But you don’t understand how hard it is. I never wanted to worry you, just like I don’t want to worry you now. I don’t know. Maybe I’m stubborn. Maybe it’s really hard for me to admit when I need help. I always want to solve my problems on my own, without bothering you. You have enough to deal with.”
“Never too much that I can’t help you when you need it. Please, honey. It’s better to tell me now than it is to hold it all inside and tell me later. Like when you called to say you had moved into a new apartment without even telling me you were going to leave your husband.” There was no missing the accusation in her voice, as though I had hurt her in some way by not making her privy to my plans. Like she felt slighted. It amazed me that she could take it personally.
“Eric’s been calling and texting for almost a week—ever since last Monday, after he came into the diner.”
“Kara! You didn’t say anything?”
“Mom, we just talked about this. I mean, he’s only calling and texting. No big deal.”
“All right. What else?”
“Well…I haven’t been to work since then.”
“And you say no big deal? Kara. What do they think about this?”
“Charlie understands. I mean, he was there when Eric came in. He knows what I’m up against. He would never fire me. Darlene and the other girls have been covering my shifts. Darlene even showed up here the other day with groceries. She knew I didn’t want to take the time to leave the apartment and walk around the store. She wouldn’t let me pay her back for them.” Again, I reminded myself to do something nice for her as soon as my situation turned around. If anybody ever deserved it, it was Darlene.
“That’s good of them. I’m glad you have good people in your corner.” Her voice changed. “What about Emma? I guess this is why you haven’t needed me all week?”
“Yeah, I was lying when I told you I kept her home because she didn’t feel well. I kept her home because I’m afraid to send her to school.” I cupped my hand around the phone, speaking low. “I’m pulling her from the school.”
“Oh, honey. Do you think this is a good idea for her? She’s already been through so much. Her whole little world has shattered, you know? Away from her father, her home. Now her friends?”
My jaw clenched and my nostrils flared as I breathed heavily. “You make it sound like this is all my fault. Like I decided to get up one day and ruin my kid’s life.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just think you have to take her into consideration.”
I let out a short, barking laugh. “What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? The reason I can’t send her to school is that I’m scared to death Eric’s going to show up and take her from me. I can’t let that happen.”
“Kara, do you think he would stoop so low as to kidnap her? I mean, he doesn’t know where she goes to school.”
“You always underestimated him,” I said, laughing bitterly. “Like he can’t find her in a heartbeat. Like he couldn’t call up one of his friends in the Department of Education. Like he couldn’t show up there, tell them he’s her father and watch as she ran to him. She misses him, Mom. She would go in a heartbeat. And nobody would stop him from taking her because Emma would tell them he was her daddy.” I laughed again. “Like I haven’t stayed up late at night just thinking about this over and over.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to underestimate him. I guess if anybody knows what he’s capable of, it’s you. And you’re sure that’s what he’s after?”
“Mom, if I read some of these texts out to you, it would chill you to the bone. He talks about how he’s going to take his daughter from me no matter what. I won’t be able to do anything about it. I don’t have to wonder too hard about what that could possibly mean. I’m pretty sure he wants to kill me.”
“Kara! Don’t even say that.”
I shrugged. “It’s true. If it were between me and her, he’d kill me to get to her. I really believe he’s that obsessed. If only you could have heard the hatred in his voice in the only voicemail I listened to. I deleted the rest—I couldn’t bring myself to listen to another word of it. Believe me. He sounded capable of just about anything. He hates me now.”
“Oh, honey. What do you need from me? I mean anything. I’ll do anything at all to help you.”
I smiled. “I appreciate that. Maybe visit tomorrow? I know Emma would like that—she needs to see another face beside mine.”
“I will. What about him, though? What are you going to do about him? You can’t lock yourself in your apartment forever.”
I looked at Emma, playing happily on the floor. “I don’t know. I really don’t. One day at a time, right?”
Chapter Nine
Dom
“Where have you been all week?”
I sat at the table in the clubhouse, with the rest of the club staring at me. We were taking a vote on whether or not to bring in another member. Rat was a good kid. He’d proven how valuable he could be time after time. I had no problem letting him in. I just couldn’t make myself concentrate on anything that used to be important to me. According to Spike, who glared at me from the seat next to mine, it had been a problem for more than just that night.
I ignored him. “I vote aye. Let’s bring him in.”
Chase pounded the gavel on the table, signaling the end of the vote. “The ayes have it. Rat’s an official member.” We brought him into the room, and Ch
ase presented him with a brand new patch for his kutte.
“It’s time to party!” The rest of the guys filed out to the bar area. I stayed behind—because Chase’s hand gripped my arm, holding me back.
“What’s really wrong with you?” he asked, sitting me down. “I mean, Spike’s not the sharpest, and even he sees it. What’s happening? Something on your mind? Anything I can help you with?”
I knew Chase saw himself as sort of a surrogate father to me, and I measured my words carefully. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t grateful for everything he’d done to keep me safe over the years. I wanted to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.