They parked on the street beside the entrance. Jonathan opened her door for her and pulled a blanket from the trunk. By the pond, Jonathan spread out the quilt, tossed the chips and Cokes in one corner and motioned for her to sit. She did, pulling her knees up in front of her chest.
He sat down beside her, plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. “Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Hide yourself.”
She avoided his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“The clothes you wear. The way you hunch your shoulders. The way you’re hiding behind your knees right now.”
Face hot, she kept her gaze on the grass in front of the quilt.
“You’re beautiful, Audrey,” he said. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of in that.”
They stayed for a good two hours, talking about his work, her hopes for the future. Despite their age difference, they shared many of the same interests, good books, art.
He didn’t kiss her that day, but she knew in her heart that he wanted to. He took her home a little before six, and she hated for the day to end, knowing she’d probably never see him again.
“Thank you, Jonathan,” she said when he stopped in her driveway. “For the ride. And the afternoon.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, watching her with considering eyes. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his wallet. Handing her a business card, he said, “If you ever need anything—”
“Thanks. Have a good trip back.” She got out of the car and ran up the walk to her house.
FOR THE NEXT WEEK, she looked at the card every night before she went to bed. She debated about writing to him, talking herself out of it at least five times before deciding there wouldn’t be anything wrong with a thank-you note.
She went to the drugstore and bought a pack of stationery cards with a pond on the front and ducks standing by the water’s edge. She kept the note brief.
Dear Jonathan,
I just wanted to thank you again for taking me home last Saturday night and for the picnic on Sunday. I really enjoyed our conversation.
Audrey Williams
She agonized over sending it, but finally forced herself to put it in the mailbox and push it from her mind.
Four days later, she heard back from him.
Audrey,
I’m coming home next weekend. If you don’t have to work Saturday night, I’d love to take you out for dinner. If you’d like to go, give me a call at the number on the card I gave you.
Jonathan
Audrey reread the note three times before letting herself believe it was true.
She ran to her room and pulled the card out of her jewelry box where she’d hidden it. She went downstairs to the phone in the kitchen and dialed the number.
THAT AFTERNOON, she went into the den where Mrs. Colby was having tea and knocked at the door. “Excuse me, Mrs. Colby?”
“Yes, Audrey?”
“May I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course. Come in.” She put down her cup and motioned for Audrey to sit opposite her on the sofa. “What is it, dear?”
“I wondered if I might have next Saturday night off.”
Mrs. Colby smiled. “A young man, I presume? As pretty as you are, I’m surprised you don’t need every Saturday night off. Of course you may.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Colby,” Audrey said, smiling in relief. She wondered what the woman would think if she knew Audrey was having dinner with her son and felt a stab of guilt for not telling her. But maybe that was Jonathan’s place.
Mrs. Colby reached for the teapot, refilling her cup. “You’re welcome, dear. You’ve done an awfully good job for us. I hope you know we appreciate it.” She leaned forward to put the pot back on its tray. The neckline of her dress slipped aside, revealing an almost blackish bruise on her left shoulder. It was horrible looking, the worst bruise Audrey had ever seen.
“Mrs. Colby,” she said, before she could stop herself. “What happened?”
The older woman jumped, her cup clattering in its saucer. With her free hand, she hastily pulled the dress back in place, her expression closing like a door to a storm wind. “I slipped on the terrace steps the other day and landed on my shoulder. I’m afraid it left an awful bruise.”
“Oh,” Audrey said. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, dear. I’ve had worse falls than that,” she said. “Now, if that’s all, I’m sure Mary is wondering where you are.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Audrey said, then went back to the kitchen. She didn’t think about the incident anymore until that night after she’d gone to bed. There was no reason not to believe Mrs. Colby. But something about the way she’d acted hadn’t felt right, as if she were trying to hide something. She thought of Mr. Colby, the few times she’d passed him in the house, his face stormy, as if he were always angry about something.
For a moment, just a brief moment, Audrey wondered about their relationship, and whether Mr. Colby had anything to do with the bruise on his wife’s shoulder.
But that was crazy. Jon Colby was a highly respected member of the community. And Mrs. Colby didn’t seem like the kind of woman to put up with something like that.
Audrey put the questions from her mind and focused on her upcoming dinner with Jonathan.
It was a mistake she would live to regret.
CHAPTER FIVE
SAMMY WAITED until his mother had left the room and closed the door before he opened his eyes. She’d sat there a long time, not saying anything, just brushing her hand back and forth across his hair.
He’d kept his eyes shut so she would think he was asleep. If he’d opened them, he’d have started crying like a baby again. He didn’t want her to see him crying. And besides that, he couldn’t look at the ugly purple bruises on her neck. His mommy had the prettiest face in the world, and he hated his dad for hitting her.
Beneath the covers, he pressed his palms together, the tips of his fingers touching his chin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he whispered into the darkness the words she had taught him when he was little. He usually asked God to watch over his grandma and grandpa Williams. And sometimes he wished for a brother or sister so that when he felt scared they could huddle in the dark together instead of just him here alone. But then he always felt guilty for that part because he didn’t want a little brother or sister who had to be scared all the time.
Tonight he didn’t ask for either of those things. “Dear God, please take care of Mama. Don’t let Daddy hurt her anymore. Please make me strong so I can take care of her. Please make it fast, too, because I’m afraid he’ll hurt her really bad soon. Please, God. Amen.”
Sammy turned his face into the pillow and pulled his knees up against his chest. He didn’t want to cry. He’d asked God to make him strong. But the tears came anyway because it would be a very long time before he would be big enough to take care of her.
ON NEW YEAR’S DAY, Nicholas drove to PetsMart and spent an amazing $477 on dog stuff.
Collar. Leash. Food and water bowls. Dry food. Canned food. Bed. Various and assorted forms of entertainment: chew toys, tennis balls, Frisbees.
A friendly woman from the clinic had called mid-morning to say his dog was ready to be picked up. Nicholas had spent his entire adult life avoiding commitment of any kind. Commitment meant being responsible for something or someone. And failure to meet expectation inevitably meant letting that something or someone down. A long time ago, he’d vowed never to put himself in that position again.
And to date, he hadn’t.
Yet here he was.
His dog.
He sat in the waiting room for a half hour before a young man in a white lab coat walked out.
“Hello,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Dr. Earnest. Dr. Filmore brought me up to date on everything she did for—” He glanced at the chart. “Does she have a name?”
“No.”
“Your dog. Anyway, the left hind leg di
d show a fracture. Ribs were okay. Just bruised. The more immediate concern seems to be the fact that she won’t eat or drink. We’ve given her some fluids and had her out of the crate trying to cheer her up a bit this morning, but she’s having none of it.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Patience, I guess.” He sighed. “Sometimes it takes a very long time for animals who’ve been where this one has probably been to trust again. If ever.”
Suddenly awash in doubt about what he was taking on, Nicholas said, “Maybe I should leave her here for a few days.”
“This is an emergency clinic only. I’m afraid we’re not set up for that. You can pay up front, and I’ll bring her out.”
Nicholas did as requested, and within two minutes, Dr. Earnest pushed back through the swinging door. Two feet behind him was the dog Nicholas had come to pick up, following on a blue nylon leash. His heart dropped. The dog hunkered as close to the floor as was possible in a splint, her tail tucked between her legs, ears pressed flat.
Dr. Earnest handed Nicholas the leash. “Good luck. I’d take her in to your regular vet in about a week to have the leg checked.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t expect an overnight miracle. My guess is she had it pretty rough.”
Nicholas looked into the dog’s wary eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I suspect she did.”
AUDREY SAT at the kitchen table, sipping from a nearly full cup of lukewarm coffee. It had no taste this morning, no appeal. Through the window, she watched Sammy climb a tree in the backyard, his skinny arms pulling him from limb to limb until he reached the tree house where he spent far too much of his time. But then, how could she protest when she understood why he would rather be there than in this house?
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. Her stomach fluttered. She gripped the handle of her coffee cup, forcing her gaze to the newspaper in front of her.
Jonathan pulled a glass from the cabinet and sat down across from her. He poured himself some juice, then reached for a section of the paper. Still, she did not look at him.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice neutral, as if he were asking whether the forecast predicted rain today.
“Fine,” she said, equally neutral. This was the way it went. Cautious concern the next day. Let’s get things back to normal. She stood, wincing at the soreness in her ribs. She pressed her lips together and walked to the sink where she rinsed out her coffee cup.
Jonathan flipped through the paper, finally slapping it closed and abruptly pushing his chair back from the table.
“Let’s not do the silent treatment, okay?” he said, irritation underscoring the words. “I’m sorry for what happened last night.”
Anchoring her hands to the sink, she closed her eyes, fighting back a wave of fury so intense she thought she might actually drown beneath it. Sorry. And that fixed it. Sorry always fixed it. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice barely audible.
He crossed the floor, put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “Let’s just get past it, okay?”
She made herself look at him, saw the reprimand in his eyes, and for the life of her, could barely hold back the scream erupting inside her.
He glanced away, dropping his hand. “You know, none of this would ever happen if you didn’t always find a way to push my buttons.”
The audacity of the statement unraveled whatever threads of control she’d managed to stitch together throughout a sleepless night. Her fault. Always, it was her fault.
She gripped the edge of the kitchen counter. Stay calm. She had a plan to carry out. There was too much to risk now by saying anything at all. “Forget it, all right?” she said softly.
“I think that would be best,” he said, lifting her chin with his hand. “Samuel. He’ll like the school, you know. You’ll see that I’m right about it.”
Audrey stiffened, forcing herself to say, “Maybe so.”
“When I was his age, I would have given anything to get out of my house,” he said, his voice distant with memory. “Going away to school was the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Why?” she asked, unable to stop herself. “Because your father treated your mother the way you treat me?”
Surprise widened his eyes. A shadow passed across his face. He stared at her for a moment, and then said, “That was different. I’m not like my father. He was—”
“What, Jonathan?” she asked quickly. It was the first time he’d ever made any allusion to the situation he’d grown up in, a situation that to Audrey’s knowledge continued to this day. For years, Jonathan had made excuses as to why they couldn’t go home to Lanier for a visit, but on the rare occasions when his parents came to Atlanta, Audrey saw the two of them through different eyes from those of the naive girl she had been when she’d worked in the Colby home. And even though there was no answer that could change this existence masquerading as a life between them, she needed to hear one.
But he stepped away, walked back to the table and picked up his glass. “Different,” he said again. He reached for the paper, tucked it under one arm and set his glass in the sink. “I’m going in to the office. I’ll be back later.”
For a long time after he’d gone, Audrey stood in the exact same spot. And then she made herself move, stacking dishes in the dishwasher, wiping off the counter, putting away Sammy’s cereal, each task a link in the seconds, minutes, hours that would lead to tomorrow and the step she would take to change her life, her son’s life.
THE DAY AFTER New Year’s, Audrey drove to the library. Sammy didn’t have school and was happy to go with her. It was one of his favorite things to do. During the short drive, he said little, but stared out the window most of the way. The look on his face made her heart ache with love and sympathy. She wanted to reassure him, tell him everything would be okay, that this time, she would make certain.
The Buckhead Trace-Matherson Library was a brick three-story structure with tall-paned windows and an arched doorway. An enormous piece of modern art sat at its entrance. Audrey walked Sammy through the double doors and to the children’s section on the first floor. “You’ll be okay?” she asked, smoothing a hand across his blond hair.
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s like being left at Disneyland.”
Sammy loved to read, but rarely did so at home to avoid his father’s ridicule for being a bookworm instead of getting outside and playing ball like other boys. Just the thought sent a fresh twist of resentment through Audrey. She told her son she would be back in a little while and headed for the elevator.
There were several computers set up on the second floor. The stations were all empty, and Audrey sat down in front of one, thankful that no one was here today.
She put one hand on the keyboard, anxiety making her nearly lightheaded. She blinked it away, logged onto the account she had set up under a fake name, clicked on Write Mail and typed in the address she had memorized. Several minutes passed before she could bring herself to type the words. Doing so felt like jumping off a cliff, with no guarantee of ever hitting bottom.
Hello. I am told you might be able to help me.
She sat for a moment, her mind blank. How to say in a few words what her life had become? She wanted to make her case without going into any more detail than necessary. Somehow, writing it down for another human being to see left her feeling scalded with shame.
She put her fingers on the keyboard again, her hands shaking.
I am in an abusive marriage. I have made other attempts to get out of the situation. Each of them failed. I want to leave the country with my son February 7th. Please. Can you help me?
Footsteps sounded on the tile floor. She glanced over her shoulder, terror tripping through her. She hit Send and exited the screen.
A janitor emptied a small trash can at the station next to her, then walked on.
One hand to her heart, Audrey looked back at the computer. A message popped up.
Your mail has been se
nt.
She stared at the words. Too late to take it back now. Somewhere out there, another individual would receive her e-mail, read it and judge whether or not she deserved to be helped.
She thought about the kind-eyed nurse she’d met during her last trip to the emergency room. The young woman had slipped inside Audrey’s cubicle, pulling the curtain closed, her gaze knowing, sympathetic.
“Here,” she had said, pressing a small piece of paper into Audrey’s hand, her voice little more than a whisper. “I’ve been where you are. If you need a way out, use this address.”
“What is it?” Audrey asked.
“It will connect you with a group of people who help women like you and me make a new life in another place.”
Audrey studied the woman, not sure what to say. “Did you—?”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “For five years. My daughters and I. My husband was killed two years ago. We don’t have to hide anymore.”
Audrey heard the relief behind the woman’s words, and yet at the same time, saw the conflicting emotions of pain and regret in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.
The nurse shook her head. “For me, there would have been no possibility of a happy ending if he had found me. You know where you are. If you take this step, make sure you’re ready. It will be permanent.”
That had been three months ago. Since then Audrey had been preparing for this day. Saving money. Obtaining passports for Sammy and herself.
During the course of their marriage, Audrey had made three attempts to leave Jonathan. Each time she had believed she would never go back.
The first time she’d packed up her things and driven home to Lanier. Jonathan had waited until her mother and father left the house one morning before pulling into the driveway and knocking at the door.
He’d appealed to her at first with soft words and apologies. “Audrey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I know you’re upset. I’ll make it up to you.”
A Year and a Day (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 5