Lulu's Cafe: A Novel

by T. I. Lowe

  Lulu’s Café

  By T.I. LOWE

  Copyright © 2014 T.I. Lowe

  All Scriptures taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  Dedication

  For any woman who has had to slay a demon that was spawned by an abusive past.

  In memory of Momma, Debbie Hardee. I kept my promise.

  Prologue

  Moonlight washed over the couple as they swayed in each other’s arms in the cool water of the lavish pool. The humid country night air enveloped them in their own intimate world.

  He kissed gently behind her right ear and then traced his fingertips along the thin scar tucked there. It resembled the same texture as her palm, so he assumed it was from some type of burn. “I want to know about this,” he whispered as he skimmed his lips over the scar slowly.

  Saying nothing, she shook her head slightly.

  He surprised her then by tapping the jagged scar she thought was hidden on her hip. “I want to know about this,” he murmured into her ear.

  She had no idea how he could know about that. He looked up and gazed at her intensely. She detected a deep sadness in his ocean-colored eyes. She didn’t want him to carry any burden of her pain, but he had obviously taken it on anyway.

  He pressed his lips to the faint scar tucked in her left eyebrow. “I want to know about this.” He worked his way to the scar no longer visible on her chin that had been in the process of healing when she had arrived in town last fall. “I want to know about this.”

  He had not forgotten about it.

  He looked into her eyes as they swayed in the water. He released her hip and pulled her scarred palm to his lips and brushed kisses over it. “I want to know about this.” He pressed it to his pounding heart. “I need to know about this.” The deep timbre of his voice was strained with emotion. Her body trembled from the longing in his husky voice.

  Lastly, he traced the long scar across her bottom lip with his thumb and then repeated the same gesture with his tongue. “I need to know about this,” he said again, passionately.

  Her breath hitched in her throat as tears pricked her eyes. He was too observant and too persuasive. She laid her head on his shoulder to hide the tears. “Why do you need to know about some old ugly scars?” she mumbled against his shoulder.

  He dipped into slightly deeper water so that she would have to raise her head and meet his eyes. “I need to know so I can help them heal.” He brushed his hand over her cheek to wipe away her tears.

  “Some scars don’t ever heal. No matter how awfully bad you want them to. They’re just too deep,” she whispered. She let him dance her to a gentle rhythm in the water for a while longer as she buried her face into the comforting crook of his neck. As she held tight to him, his words began to resonate. It was time to take care of the past, even if it meant losing the future she would do anything to have.

  Chapter One

  Donuts… Donuts make everything better!

  “It’s a perfect morning for a perfect donut. Welcome to the Donut Diner. May I take your order?” asked the perky drive-thru attendant.

  “Yes, I would like one dozen assorted and two small cappuccinos.”

  “That’ll be $15.76. Please drive around.”

  “Oh…” The drive-thru attendant opened the window and took in the view of the SUV pulling up. “Wow, those are some really hot wheels you’re sporting, Gabby.” The young woman couldn’t stop gawking at the shiny new Range Rover.

  “Thank you.” Gabriella Sadler nervously tried to hand the girl the money.

  Instead of taking the cash, the young woman studied Gabriella, as if seeing something she wasn’t supposed to. She had been serving Gabriella every week for the past year since Shayna’s parents added the drive-thru to the donut shop.

  “Hmm, I get it. This is one of those make-up gifts, isn’t it?”

  “I guess you could call it that,” Gabriella said. She gathered her scarf closer around her neck. Stop asking questions and just hand me the donuts. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, Shayna.”

  “I knew it was a make-up gift. I need to find me a honey who can afford a new Range Rover. You are so lucky.” Shayna giggled.

  “You have no idea,” Gabriella said under her breath and tried once again to hand the money over. Shayna finally took it and handed over the fresh treats and coffees.

  “I hope you and Mr. Sadler enjoy breakfast.”

  “I’m sure.” Gabriella carefully placed the box on the luxurious leather passenger seat. After placing the coffees in the cup holders, Gabriella eased the SUV away without another word. All she wanted was to be alone to enjoy her donuts. As she pulled out of the lot, she fished out a Bavarian crème–filled donut with chocolate ganache icing. She scarfed down the fresh fried dough in three bites and washed it down with some of the sweet coffee. Feeling a bit better, Gabriella headed towards the market. Today was Thursday, and Thursday was designated as grocery shopping day.

  As she parked at the far end of the lot, her phone rang. Not wanting to be bothered, she reluctantly fished the phone out of her purse and cringed at the number on display.

  “Hello?”

  “Where are you?” Brent asked in his cool, controlling voice.

  “I’m almost at the market.” Her stomach knotted as she sat there staring at the building in question. Her mouth watered as her fingers worked the donut box lid off. The apple fritter screamed her name. It was all she could do not to dig in at that moment, but he would know what she was doing. She didn’t feel up to the tongue-lashing that would surely follow.

  “You have one hour to be back home.” Brent hung up.

  “I hate you,” she whispered into the phone before throwing it back in her purse. She moved her seat back to have enough room for the donut box on her lap and then happily indulged on the remaining treats. She loved the privacy of the tinted windows on the silver Range Rover. It made her feel like she was in her own bubble. She refrained from inhaling the apple fritter in three bites. Gabriella savored each bite and then continued on to the homemade strawberry jam–filled one. It practically melted in her mouth. She washed the lemon curd–filled donut down with the remaining first cup of coffee. Trying to fill the void of her life, she moved through the donuts until the box was empty and both coffees drained. The dread of what she just did pointed its disapproving finger at her.

  After taking a few difficult breaths, Gabriella quickly checked for donut crumbs and reapplied her lip gloss. Easing out of her vehicle, she gathered her trash and placed it in the receptacle she had purposely parked beside.

  Before she made it to the sliding doors of the market, a wave of nausea and dizziness from the donut binge rushed over her. As she worked to regain her composure, Gabriella glanced in the store window. Standing at the produce area near the entrance was a group of local hens, clucking away. She couldn’t avoid them. They had already spotted her, and there was no escape.

  “Look who is about to waddle through the door.” The tall brunette named Junie smirked.

  “What in the world does Brent see in Gabby? I mean—really. Look at her.” Sara wrinkled up her nose.

  “What?” asked their clueless friend, Tiny. “Her dark red hair is gorgeous, and those eyes are ice-blue. With her creamy skin, I think she looks like a porcelain doll.” She shrugged as the other two laughed.

  “More like a fat porcelain doll.” Junie said.

  “Hello, Gabby. Honey, I just love that scarf. It really makes that big ole trench coat pop,” Junie said in her sweetest voice as she watched Gabriella grab a cart.

  Gabriella barely glanced at them as she eased over to the tomato sectio
n. She’d overheard their snarky exchange and tried to force the tears to stay at bay. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She wasn’t stupid, but she didn’t feel up to being sassy back. She heard them snicker as she moved on to the fruit section. Sweat beaded on her top lip and the wooziness grew more intense. She knew better than to eat all those donuts in one sitting, but she just couldn’t bring herself to toss any of them. Next time, she would only order a half-dozen.

  The hens moved to the checkout line, so Gabriella tried to focus on the task at hand. A wave of nausea slammed into her so forcefully she had to abandon her cart and rush to the restroom. She barely made it into a stall before vomiting up the donuts and cappuccinos. Severe pain radiated from her sore neck, causing another sudden bout of retching. She braced both sides of her neck and held her hair back at the same time. After the heaving passed, Gabriella shakily flushed the toilet. What a waste.

  Snapping out of the fuzz of the sugar overdose, Gabriella slowly moved to the sink to wash out her mouth. She glanced at herself in the mirror with disgust. She knew this qualified as an eating disorder. She gingerly rubbed her throbbing neck, feeling hopeless as to how to escape any of it.

  Knowing that time was rapidly ticking away, Gabriella made her way back to the produce section to retrieve her cart and resume the task at hand. She placed everything on the list—yogurt, fresh fish, lean steak, fruits and vegetables, gourmet coffee, and skim milk—in the buggy. Brent was very specific as to what brands Gabriella could purchase and was adamant she keep to his precise list. She also gathered a mental list consisting of Oreos, Fudge Rounds, Snicker bars, Twinkies, and canned sodas.

  Trying to pick a new cashier, Gabriella made her way to the cash register. She separated the two orders, paying with a credit card for Brent’s list and paying cash for her own. As the cashier bagged the junk food, Gabby looked around; she was relieved to not recognize any faces. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the Range Rover, loaded the groceries, and headed home.

  Home was an ultra-sleek loft in downtown Olympia, Washington. It probably had once been a nice rustic space with exposed brick and worn wood floors, but there was no evidence of that now. Everything was modern with crisp, straight lines and a monochromatic color scheme of greys and whites. The only other color that was sparsely placed throughout the loft was a deep orange. To Gabriella, nothing looked inviting. The furniture was more for design than function; there was no give to the surface when you sat on the couch or on the linear chairs. It was a space that rarely had any visitors.

  As Gabriella pushed through the doorway, the answering machine picked up. As that voice began to fill the space, sheer terror shot through her.

  “Where are you? You’re late,” Brent said.

  Gabriella threw the bags down and quickly picked up the phone. “I’m here. I was in the bathroom.”

  “What’s wrong with your voice?” Brent’s voice rose with impatience.

  Well, let’s see… You nearly choked me to death this week, you sick monster. I tried to forget it by downing a dozen donuts and two cappuccinos. I got violently sick, and now I’m worse for the wear because of it… Gabriella pulled herself together.

  “I have a very sore throat and neck,” she quietly said. “Brent, I think I need to go to the doctor.” Gabriella knew he wouldn’t allow it, but she hoped this would get him off her back.

  “Just give it a few days. You’ll be fine.” He almost sounded remorseful. Almost. “Did you pick up the fish like I asked?”

  Gabriella rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Good. My flight is scheduled to land a little after five. I want fish and sautéed vegetables served at seven.”

  “Okay,” she said, but he had already hung up. “I hate you,” she whispered into the phone, as she stared at her reflection in the shiny black-lacquered cabinet in the kitchen.

  Gabriella considered how her life had been a nightmare from the very beginning. After surviving the foster care system, aren’t I due some goodness in my life? Instead, I’ve moved out of hell and taken up residence with the devil himself in his fancy loft.

  After putting away the regular groceries, Gabriella grabbed up her junk food bags and headed toward the guest bedroom closet that served as a storage closet. It was also Gabriella’s holding cell when Brent couldn’t take the sight of her anymore. She poured the individually-wrapped cakes into empty shoe boxes and hid the other treats and soda in the far corner where extra water bottles were stashed. She gathered all of the trash, carried it outside, and stuffed it into her neighbor’s trash bin.

  Once she made her way back inside, Gabriella glanced at the clock. She had about seven hours before beginning supper. She popped a couple of Tylenol PMs that she had picked up earlier that day and headed to bed, hoping to escape the world for a while. She set her alarm clock and wiped away a tear. Her neck ached and her soul felt broken. She slipped the scarf off that concealed the deep-purple bruises and gently rubbed her neck as she stretched out on the bed. She mentally began to sing her theme song, “Fly Away” by Lenny Kravitz, as she waited for the medicine to kick in.

  Chapter Two

  A groggy Gabriella turned the alarm off and made her way to the shower. Making herself presentable was the first task before starting supper. After allowing the scorching water to massage her tender neck, she stepped out and dried off. She plugged in the flat iron, another one of Brent’s demands—Your hair is to stay a deep, dark red and as straight as possible. No curls, ever. Once she finished that task, Gabriella moved to the large master closet to find suitable attire for Brent’s return home. She chose a high-neck sweater, then thought twice about it and selected a scoop neck blouse that would remind him of the bruises. She didn’t want to provoke Brent, but she hoped he would keep his hands to himself. After sliding on black lounging pants and touching up her makeup, Gabriella headed towards the kitchen to prepare supper.

  She glanced at her watch. There was time for a short detour to the guest room closet. Her anxiety over Brent’s return was overwhelming. She opened the closet door and sat cross-legged on the floor. With shaky hands, Gabriella dug out a few snack cakes, hoping the treats would give her the courage to get through the night. She ate two snack cakes and then stared at the empty wrappers. Pangs of guilt and loneliness returned. She fish out a candy bar. Surely the chocolate treat would do the trick. She swallowed the last bite of chocolate and waited for the usual remorse to show up.

  Defeated and ashamed of herself, Gabriella made her way towards the unreceptive kitchen to mindlessly begin the tasks at hand.

  Supper awaited on the modern dining table as Brent entered the front door. He dropped his luggage and brief case onto the floor and faced Gabriella. She plastered her best smile on and hid her trembling hands behind her back as he took in her appearance. His eyes hit on her neck for one brief moment before averting his attention to the meal.

  “Go change that top.” Brent took his place at the table without another glance in her direction.

  Gabriella quickly slipped into the bedroom and traded the top for the sweater. She was glad this was the only response she had received. Her neck throbbed, and she hoped that the other top did the purpose of keeping him at bay for the night.

  She returned to the dining table to discover Brent had almost completed his meal. She took her seat beside him and tried to be pleasantly silent, as he preferred. When she reached for her fork, she noticed the tremor of her hand and tried to calm it before he noticed.

  “You need to get the kitchen cleaned,” Brent said.

  Gabriella was about to take her first bite of fish. She hesitated and then decided to take the bite. Before she could blink, Brent backhanded her, sending her flying out of her chair. She lay there, one hand caressing her cheek that felt on fire, while the other one held her jarred neck, which felt like it was broken in two. She still held the bite of fish in her mouth and didn’t know whether to spit it out or swallow. With her neck freshly jostled, she didn’t know if she could swallow.
The fish seemed as though it was growing in her mouth, but she felt like she had no other choice.

  Gabriella managed to get herself upright and began to clear the table as Brent made his way to their room to shower. She hoped it would sober him some. He was always harder on her when he was drinking, and tonight he smelled like a bar. She didn’t need to guess where he went until it was time for supper.

  She spit the fish back on her plate, and without eating anything, she meticulously cleaned the kitchen and dining area before Brent returned for his nightcap.

  She had already poured his usual, bourbon on the rocks, when he strode back into the room. His dark hair was still damp from his shower, and he had changed into only a pair of black night pants. He was a good-looking man who found great satisfaction in keeping himself in impeccable shape. If only that were enough. It was in the beginning. She couldn’t believe how shallow she had been with her choice of him. She had chosen not to look past the handsome shell and dollar signs.

  Gabriella was practically living on the streets when Brent walked into the casino where she waitressed. An orphan who had spent her youth shuffled between foster homes and children’s group homes in Chicago, she had spent her eighteenth birthday sitting on a park bench with a small tote bag, which held her entire life’s belongings. Earlier that day, the children’s group home director had congratulated Gabriella on her freedom and showed her to the exit.

  Growing up the way she did, street smarts were embedded in her. It only took her two nights of sleeping in the park to hook up with some girls heading to Vegas to begin their careers as dancers. Gabriella had no desire to be in any spotlight, but she fell into waitressing pretty easily. That only lasted four months before she jumped on the Brent Sadler ride to hell.

  He had sauntered into the casino with confidence and charm that night and couldn’t keep his eyes off Gabriella. After a few hours passed, Brent finally motioned her over. He stood to greet her as she reached him in the congested place.