I didn’t want to dredge up my childhood and live through it again. “Jackson, please, I have let go of the past. Haven’t we been happy? I’ll be fine, I promise you. I was just thrown a little. That’s all. I’ll be fine. Really.”
He arched a perfect brow. “I want to believe you, but I have to be sure.”
I gave him a wooden smile. “We’re going to have a perfect baby and all live happily ever after.”
His lips curled upward. “That’s my girl.”
Then something he’d said a moment ago registered. “How do you know it’s going to be a boy?”
“I don’t. But I’m hoping it will. I’ve always wanted a son—someone I could do all the things with that my father never had time to do with me.”
I felt a nervous stirring in my gut. “What if it’s a girl?”
He shrugged. “Then we’ll try again.”
Forty-Three
Of course, we had a girl—Tallulah, and she was perfect. She was an easy baby, and I reveled in being a mother. I loved nursing her at night when the house was quiet, staring into her eyes and feeling a connection that I’d never felt before. I followed my mother’s advice and slept when she slept, but I was still more exhausted than I’d anticipated. At four months, she still wasn’t sleeping through the night, and because I was nursing, I’d refused Jackson’s offer of a night nurse. I didn’t want to pump and have her fed from a bottle. I wanted to do it all. But that meant I had less time for Jackson.
That’s when things began to unravel. By the time he fully revealed himself to me, it was too late. He had used my vulnerability to his advantage, like a general armed for battle. His weapons were kindness, attention, and compassion—and when victory was assured, he discarded them like spent casings, and his true nature emerged.
Jackson faded to the background, and all my time and energy was focused on Tallulah. That morning, I’d pulled the scale out from under the vanity, thrown my robe off, and stepped on—139. I stared at the number in shock. I heard the door open, and he was standing there, looking at me with a strange expression on his face. I went to step off, but he put a hand up, walked toward me, and peered over my shoulder. A look of disgust crossed his face so quickly that I almost missed it. He reached out and patted my stomach, raising his eyebrows.
“Shouldn’t this be flat by now?”
I felt the color rush to my face as shame filled me. Stepping off the scale, I grabbed my robe from the floor and threw it on. “Why don’t you try having a baby and see how your stomach looks?”
He shook his head. “It’s been four months, Daph. Can’t use that excuse anymore. I see lots of your friends at the club in their tight jeans. They’ve all had kids too.”
“They probably all had tummy tucks after their C-sections too,” I shot back.
He took my face in his hands. “Don’t get defensive. You don’t need a tummy tuck. You just need some discipline. I married a size four, and I expect you to get back into all those expensive clothes I’ve bought you. Come on.” He took my hand and led me to the love seat in the corner of our bedroom suite. “Sit down and listen.”
He put an arm around my shoulder and took a place next to me on the love seat.
“I’m going to help you. You need accountability.” Then he pulled out a journal.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I picked it up for you a few weeks ago.” Flashing a smile, he continued. “I want you to weigh yourself every day and write it here. Then write down what you’ve eaten in the food journal part here.” He pointed to the page. “I’ll check it every night when I get home.”
I couldn’t believe it. He’d been holding on to this for weeks now? I wanted to curl up and die. Yes, I still wasn’t back to my pre-baby weight, but I wasn’t fat.
I looked at him, afraid to ask but needing to know. “Do you find me unattractive?”
“Can you blame me? You haven’t worked out in months.”
I held back the tears and bit my lip. “I’m tired, Jackson. I’m up with the baby in the middle of the night, I’m tired in the morning.”
He covered my hand with his. “That’s why I keep telling you to let me hire a full-time baby nurse.”
“I cherish that time with her. I don’t want a stranger here at night.”
He stood up, anger in his eyes. “You’ve done it for months, and look where it’s gotten you. At this rate, you’ll be as big as a house. I want my wife back. I’m calling the service today and getting a nurse here. You will sleep through the nights again and have your mornings back. I insist.”
“But I’m nursing.”
He sighed. “Yeah, that’s another thing. It’s disgusting. Your breasts are like two overblown balloons. I don’t want your tits hanging to the floor. Enough is enough.”
I stood on shaky legs, nausea overtaking me, and ran to the bathroom. How could he be so cruel? I took my robe off again and examined myself in the full-length mirror. Why hadn’t I noticed all that cellulite before? I took a hand and swiped at it on one of my thighs. Like jelly. Pushing both hands on my stomach was like kneading dough. He was right. I turned around and looked over my shoulder, my eyes drawn to the dimpling in my buttocks. I had to fix this. It was time to return to the gym. My eyes rested on the breasts my husband found disgusting. I swallowed the lump in my throat, got dressed, and went downstairs. Picking up the grocery list sitting on the counter, I added another item: formula.
Margarita had prepared a breakfast buffet that morning to rival the Ritz. When Jackson came in, he filled his plate to overflowing with pancakes, bacon, strawberries, and a homemade muffin. I thought about the journal he’d just given me and felt the heat spread to my face. He was crazy if he thought I’d have him dictating what I ate. I’d start my diet tomorrow and on my own terms. I grabbed a plate and picked up the fork on the pancake platter, ready to take one, when he cleared his throat. I looked over at him. He inclined his head ever so slightly toward the fruit platter. I took a deep breath, stabbed three pancakes with my fork, and dropped them onto my plate. Ignoring him, I grabbed the syrup and poured until they were swimming in it. As I lifted the fork, I held his gaze as I stuffed a fluffy slice of pancake slathered in syrup into my mouth.
Forty-Four
I paid for my little act of rebellion. Not right away, because that wasn’t his style. By the time he executed his plan three weeks later, I had nearly forgotten about it. But he hadn’t. My mother was coming for a visit. After my father died, she came often—every few months—and I encouraged her visits. The night before she was due to arrive, he exacted his revenge. He waited until Tallulah had been put down and came into the kitchen, where I was talking to Margarita about the menu for dinner the next night. He was standing in the archway, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with an amused expression on his face. When she left, he walked over to me, pushed a lock of hair from my forehead, then leaned down to whisper in my ear.
“She’s not coming.”
“What?” My stomach turned to jelly.
He nodded. “I just got off the phone with her, let her know you’re not feeling well.”
I pushed him away from me. “What are you talking about? I feel fine.”
“Oh, but you don’t. You have a terrible stomachache from stuffing yourself with pancakes.”
Was he really still holding a grudge from weeks ago? “You’re joking, right?” I said, hoping he was.
His eyes were cold. “I’ve never been more serious.”
“I’m calling her right now.” He grabbed my arm before I could move.
“And tell her what? That your husband lied? What would she think of that? Besides, I told her that you had food poisoning and asked me to call her. I assured her you would be better in a few days.” Then he laughed. “I also mentioned that you’d been a bit stressed and that having her visit so often was putting a strain on you, that maybe she should let a little more time elapse between visits.”
“You can’t do this. I won’t
let you make my mother think I don’t want her here.”
He squeezed my arm harder. “It’s done. You should have heard how sad she sounded. Poor, dumb hick.” He laughed.
I wrenched my arm away and slapped him. He laughed again.
“Too bad she didn’t die when your father did. I really hate having in-laws.”
I exploded. I raked my nails down his face, wanting to tear it to shreds. I felt wetness on my hands and realized I’d drawn blood. Horrified, I backed away, my hand to my mouth.
He shook his head slowly. “Now look what you’ve done.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he held it in front of his face. It took me a minute to realize what he was doing. “Thanks, Daph. Now I have proof that you have an explosive temper.”
“You intentionally provoked me?”
A cold smile. “Here’s a little tip: I will always be ten steps ahead of you. Keep that in mind when you decide you know better than I do what’s good for you.” He moved toward me, and I stood rooted to the floor, too shocked to move. He touched my cheek, and the look in his eyes grew tender. “I love you. Why can’t you see that? I don’t want to punish you—but what am I to do when you insist on doing things that are bad for you?”
He’s crazy. How did it take me this long to see that he’s crazy? I swallowed hard and flinched when his fingers traced the tears running down my cheeks. I ran from the room, grabbed a few things from the bedroom, and went into one of the guest rooms. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—white as a ghost, whole body shaking. Moving into the guest bathroom, I washed my hands, cleaning his blood from under my nails, and tried to come to grips with how I had let myself lose control. I’d never done something like that before. His cavalier comment about my mother dying made me realize there was no going back after tonight. I had to leave. Tomorrow I would pack up the baby and go to my mother’s.
After a few minutes, I went in to check on Tallulah and found him standing over her crib. I hesitated at the doorway, something about the picture not striking me as quite right. His stance was menacing; his face in shadow, ominous. My heart beat faster as I approached.
He didn’t turn toward me or acknowledge my presence. In his hands he held the enormous teddy bear he had bought for her when she was born.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
As he spoke, he continued to stare at her. “Did you know that over two thousand babies die of SIDS each year?”
I tried to answer, but no words would come.
“That’s why you put nothing in the crib.” Then he turned to face me. “I keep telling you not to put her stuffed animals in with her. But you are so forgetful.”
I found my voice. “You wouldn’t dare. She’s your child, how could you—”
He threw the bear onto the rocking chair, and his expression was neutral once again. “I was just joking around. You take everything so seriously.” He grabbed both of my hands in his. “Nothing will ever happen to her as long as she has two parents looking out for her.”
I turned from him to watch my baby breathing in and out, and was crushed by her vulnerability.
“I’m going to sit here for a while,” I whispered.
“Good idea. Do some thinking while you’re at it. I’ll be waiting for you in bed. Make sure you don’t take too long.”
I glared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not getting near you.”
A thin smile played on his lips. “You might want to rethink that. Tire me out, or I may sleepwalk and find myself back in the nursery.” He stretched his hand out to me. “On second thought, I want you now.”
Silent and dying inside, I took his hand, and he led me to our room and to the bed. “Take your clothes off,” he commanded.
I sat on the bed and began to pull off my slacks.
“No. Stand up. Do a strip-tease for me.”
“Jackson, please.”
I gasped as he yanked me by my hair toward him. He pinched my breast hard. “Don’t piss me off. Do it. Now.”
My legs were so jellylike, I don’t know how I remained standing. I made my mind go blank, shut my eyes, and pretended I was anywhere but there. I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, opening my eyes and looking at him to see if I was doing it right. He nodded, and as I stripped, he began to stroke himself. I didn’t know who this man was, sitting on my bed, looking like my husband. All I could think to ask myself was how he had done it. How had he played the part for over a year? What kind of a person can keep up a charade for that long? And why was he showing me the truth now? Did he think that I’d stay with him just because we had a child together? Tomorrow, I would go, but tonight, I’d do what he said, do whatever it took to make him think he’d won.
I continued the performance until I was naked. He reached out for me and threw me onto the bed. Then he was on top of me, his touch maddeningly tender and attentive. I would have preferred for him to take me roughly, and for the sake of my daughter, I forced my body to betray me and respond—for he was nothing if not perceptive, and I knew he would never abide my holding back.
Forty-Five
The next morning after he’d left for work, I raced through the house, packed up as much as I could, put the baby in the car, and began the long drive to New Hampshire. I knew my mother was going to be shocked when she found out the truth, but I would be able to count on her support. It would take us around five hours to reach the inn. My thoughts raced as I tried to sort out how this would all shake out. I knew he’d be furious, of course, but there was nothing he could do once we were gone. I would tell the police about his threats to the baby. Surely they could protect us.
He called my cell phone when we reached Massachusetts. I let it go to voice mail. My text tones kept sounding: ping, ping, ping—rapid-fire like a machine gun. I didn’t look at the texts until I stopped at a rest stop for gas.
What are you doing in Massachusetts? Daphne, where is the baby?
You haven’t hurt her, have you? Please answer me.
I didn’t think you were serious last night. Don’t listen to the voices.
Daphne, please answer! I’m worried about you.
Call me. Please. I’ll get you help. Just don’t hurt Tallulah.
What was he doing? And how did he know where I was? I hadn’t given him any indication that I was leaving. I had made sure that none of the staff had seen me. Did he have a tracker on my car somehow?
I picked up the phone and dialed him. He answered on the first ring.
“You bitch! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I could feel his fury over the phone.
“I’m going to see my mother.”
“Without telling me? You turn that car around and get back here now. Do you hear me?”
“Or what? You can’t tell me what to do. I’ve had enough, Jackson.” My voice shook, and I glanced at the backseat to make sure Tallulah was still asleep. “You threatened to hurt our baby. Did you really think I’d let you do that? You’re not getting near her again.”
He started to laugh. “You’re such a little fool.”
“Go ahead and insult me. I don’t care. I’m going to tell my mother everything.”
“This is your last chance to come back, or you’ll regret it.”
“Good-bye, Jackson.” I pressed end and put the car back in gear.
My text tone started pinging again. I turned the phone off.
With every passing mile, my resolve strengthened, and my hope blossomed. I knew I was doing the right thing, and no amount of threatening on his part would sway me. I was still in Massachusetts when a flash of lights in my rearview mirror gave me pause. As the police car closed the gap between us, I realized he wanted me to pull over. I was only going a few miles over the speed limit. I pulled the car to the side of the road, and the state trooper approached.
“License and registration, please.”
I retrieved them from the glove box and handed them over.
The officer returned to his car with them, and afte
r a few minutes he came back. “Please step out of the car.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Please, ma’am. Out of the car.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“An emergency confinement order is in effect. It claims you’re a danger to your child. The baby will have to stay with us until your husband arrives.”
“She’s my child!” That bastard had actually called the police on me.
“Please don’t make me cuff you. I need you to come with me.”
I got out of the car, and the officer took hold of my arm.
Tallulah had woken up and started crying. Her little face was beet red, her cries turning to screams. “Please, she’s frightened. I can’t leave my baby!”
“We’ll take care of her, ma’am.”
I pulled my arm away and tried to get to the car, to take her from her seat and comfort her. “Tallulah!”
“Please stop. I really don’t want to have to restrain you.” He pulled me away and into the waiting cruiser, and I had to leave her there with the police while they drove me to a local hospital.
I didn’t find out until the next day that Jackson had put a contingency plan into effect weeks before. He’d convinced a judge that I was suffering from depression and had threatened to harm the baby. He even had two signed statements from physicians—doctors I’d never even met. I could only imagine that his money had bought them. My claims that I’d been set up fell on deaf ears. Crazy people have no credibility, and I was now considered crazy. During my hold at the hospital, I was evaluated by a number of doctors who agreed that I needed treatment. No one believed me when I told them what he had done, how he’d manipulated the situation. They looked at me like I was a lunatic. The only thing they would tell me was that Jackson had picked Tallulah up right away from the police station and taken her home. I’d been informed that I was being transferred to Meadow Lakes Hospital, which was in Fair Haven, the town neighboring Bishops Harbor. After seventy-two hours of screaming, begging, and crying, I was no closer to being released than when I’d first arrived, and by then I was doped up with who knew what. My only hope rested in convincing Jackson to get me out.
The Last Mrs. Parrish Page 21