"I want to believe it. I really do. But I don't want you to get too far ahead of yourself."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean… take this thing one day at a time, please. Derek is a hardcore alcoholic. If he’s really going to stop drinking and get help, then he has a long road ahead of him."
"I know that, Hannah!"
"Do you? I mean, do you really? Or are you just wrapped up in the honeymoon of it all?"
"Why can't you just be happy for me? Is it too much to ask you to be supportive?"
"Believe me, sweetie, I am being supportive by trying to get you to be realistic. Derek's recovery could take years and you’re already talking about babies? He isn't ready for that. Trust me. How about one day without a beer? How about you start there?"
I lowered my head. "I know. You're right. I've just wanted this for so long and now that it's happening, I want it all at once."
"But it won't be like that. The chances of Derek succeeding aren't great. I'm impressed he wants to try. I just don't want you to get your hopes up. I don't want you to get hurt again, for like, the millionth time."
"I know." I nodded. I had to admit that I'd given Derek more than his fair share of second chances. "But he was so sincere. Derek had never cried before or said he was sorry."
She nodded. "Well, that is a new angle, even for Derek, I'll admit. But you know what this means, don't you?"
"What?"
"Poor little Landon is going to be broken-hearted." She laughed softly, teasing me.
Landon.
"You have to know he is in love with you," she continued as my heart kept sinking deeper into my chest.
You don't know how I feel about him either.
"Yes," I told her, instead of telling her the truth. "But Derek is my husband. I have to give him a chance. Landon will understand."
I said the words, knowing as they passed by my lips that they were a lie. Landon would never be able to understand. It didn't matter how many times I told myself that he was just caught up in the gratitude of having a job, the truth was that he was going to be badly hurt. I should have never given him any indication of hope. I knew better. I knew my life was too complicated. His pain was going to be all my fault.
Hannah let out a burp. Dropping my hand, she leaned back in her chair and crumpled up the paper for her sandwich, bringing me out of my thoughts of Landon.
"Apparently, you didn't see the vision I was sending you about bringing me an iced tea," she said.
"I knew there was something I was forgetting."
"No worries. I just brewed a fresh pot this morning. You want some?"
I held up my hand. "Uh...no." Hannah knew I didn't drink tea, but I think she still held out hope that I would convert. "I will take a diet soda if you have one."
"I most certainly do not. Hells Bells, one of these days I'm going to convince you of the damage that crap is doing to your body!"
"Do you think Derek really meant it?" I asked her abruptly. I needed to hear her say yes. I needed her to predict it.
"I don't know. Maybe."
I gave her a crooked smile. It was the best I was going to get.
"But there might be something I can do to help," Hannah quickly added. She stood up, went into her kitchen, and came back with a plastic baggie in one hand and her arm wrapped around three jars of herbs. I watched as she methodically scooped the contents from each jar into the bag, mixed it all up, and handed it to me. It looked like a bag of pot. If I were to be pulled over between her house and mine, I was certainly going to be arrested on suspicion of possession.
"What’s this?" I asked. With Hannah, it was always good to ask.
One time, I made the mistake of not asking what was in one of her concoctions. I ended up hallucinating that I lived on the ceiling of my house and I danced with a ballet troupe of pink elephants wearing tutus. When I came out of my delirium enough to ask her what went wrong, I found out that I was only supposed to use a pinch to help with my migraines. I had brewed the entire bag into tea.
"It's a mixture of St. John's Wort, Lemon Balm, and Valerian Root," she answered me. "Make it into a tea. One teaspoon per cup of boiling water. You can even sneak it into his coffee since I know that neither of you drinks tea. Either way, it’ll help calm Derek down. If he's going to stop drinking, he's going to need some help."
I knew Hannah would come through for me. I leaned over and gave my sister a long hug.
"Thank you so much, Hannah!"
"Just promise me one thing...,” she asked, smiling.
"Anything."
"Name your firstborn after me...even if it's a boy."
"Yes. Of course. Absolutely." I laughed.
It meant the world to me to have Hannah on my side.
After I had left my sister, I spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the house and preparing a special dinner for Derek. His favorite: beef stroganoff. The authentic kind with homemade noodles that required hours to prepare. It took me most of the afternoon, but I finished it just before he was due home. I left it on the stove to keep it warm and went to change my clothes — nothing fancy; I just tried to look nice.
I only allowed myself to think of Landon a handful of times during the course of the afternoon, and I considered it quite an accomplishment that I succeeded. I also hadn’t allowed myself to respond to his text message, and he didn't send another one.
Though it was hard, I knew I was doing the right thing.
I put the finishing touches on the dinner preparations, including adding a few flowers from the backyard that I put in a vase at the center of the table. I rearranged them for the third time, wanting them — and everything else — to be perfect. It wasn't too often we sat together and ate a meal. I wanted this to be one of our new traditions in our new marriage.
I stowed the concoction from Hannah in the spice cabinet, deciding to wait for the right opportunity to bring it up. Derek would be suspicious if I just brewed him a cup of tea out of the blue, since neither of us drank it. I figured it would be best just to tell him the truth about it…or, as Hannah said, I could sneak it into his coffee.
I was sitting at the table expectantly when I heard the truck tires in the driveway, then a door slam...and then another. Voices and double steps on the back porch. My husband wasn't alone.
Derek walked through the door...followed closely by his dad.
My disappointment was palpable. The nice dinner for two I planned dissolved into dinner for three.
"Hello, Belle." Derek's dad nodded in my direction.
"Hello, Carl.”
Derek, though, said nothing. He didn't even look in my direction. He was too busy putting a brand new 24-pack in the fridge and getting two out, one for each of them.
"Here you go, Dad." He turned around and saw me at the table. If he noticed the improvements, he didn't say anything. "Hey, Fanny. What's for dinner?"
"Stroganoff." I motioned in the direction of the stove. So, we were back to calling me Fanny.
"Oh, cool. Dad and I have to go through a few things for Astoria." He reached down and grabbed his plate off the table, knocking over the vase of flowers, went to the stove, heaped his plate full of stroganoff, and walked into the living room without so much as a thank you.
He called out over his shoulder, "Make Dad a plate, would ya?"
Carl took note of the dinner and looked guilty for just a moment as I handed him my plate.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Go ahead," I said and waved my hand. "I'm not hungry anymore." Maybe, if I was lucky, Carl might mention to Theresa that I actually did cook a real meal for my husband…but did I really care?
I reached over, put the vase upright, and used a napkin to wipe up the spilled water. I almost wanted to leave it, hoping Derek would eventually see it and feel bad, but I knew that would never happen. If anything, I would get scolded — or worse — for leaving such a mess behind.
After the men had settled in th
e living room, I cleaned up the kitchen and walked back into the bedroom feeling completely invisible and let down. I tried to tell myself that Derek was simply preoccupied with the job in Astoria and hoped that when his dad went home, we would have a chance to talk. I wanted to continue the conversation from last night, wanted to talk about his desire to get some help and rebuild our marriage. But somewhere deep inside of me, I knew it was all a dream.
I changed into sweats and a t-shirt and curled up on the bed, completely exhausted from working my ass off all day cooking and cleaning. I didn’t cry, though. I wasn't even that sad. Somehow, I knew this was going to happen.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, Derek was turning on the light. I blinked against the brightness.
"What time is it?" I asked him sleepily, sitting up on the bed.
"After nine, lazy."
"I can't believe I fell asleep for that long."
"I can." Derek snorted.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"It means you are by far the laziest fat ass I know."
"That's not fair, Derek. I worked really hard this afternoon to make a nice dinner for us. And you didn't even thank me."
"Thank you?" he asked me incredulously. "Let me get this straight. I'm supposed to thank you for doing your job?"
"My job?" I asked. "That's all I'm good for? Making you dinner?"
"Well, that and something else.” His smile was cruel as he reached over and pinched my nipple so hard I cried out.
"You're disgusting."
"So are you," he fired right back. "Look at you, ratty t-shirt and baggy disgusting sweatpants. You're nasty. I can’t believe I’m married to you. It’s humiliating."
"Derek, what happened? Last night you said you wanted to work on things. You said you wanted to get help."
He sneered at me and let out a callous laugh. In that instant, I was transported back to junior high when Derek had written ‘Fat Ass’, on my locker. All the boys had laughed at me when I discovered his handiwork, and I shrank down the hallway in humiliation.
"I was drunk, Fanny," he said, snapping me out of my distant thoughts. "Men will say anything when they’re drunk to get you stupid women to shut the hell up and let us drink."
"Derek..." I was horrified.
"So could you do that for me now, please? Shut the hell up, so I can go to sleep? Unlike some people in this room, I actually worked today." Derek climbed into the bed, shut off the light, and turned his back on me.
I had to try to get through to him. I had to get him to remember what he promised last night. I leaned down, put my arm on his waist, and brought my face down close to him so that I could look over his shoulder in the darkness.
"Derek, please."
"Please what? I said I was tired. Are you deaf and stupid? Leave me alone."
"You said you were going to stop drinking. You said you wanted us to work on our marriage. You said..."
Derek swung his elbow back and it struck me hard right across the mouth. I tasted the blood from my lip as it spilled into my mouth.
"I told you to shut up! Aren't you ever going to listen or are you just too retarded?"
I jumped up and ran into the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and wiped at the blood that was spilling down my chin.
I was so pissed off, but most of all I was hurt.
I came back into the bedroom and saw my husband lying in our bed without a care in the world — not bothered at all by what he’d just done.
I scanned the room, my gaze landing on his work boots at the foot of the bed. I reached for one, held it in my shaking hands, and before I had a chance to stop myself, launched it at his head. I heard the crack as boot struck bone in the darkness.
"What the hell?" He started to get out of bed.
"You asshole!" I yelled back, turned, and slammed the bedroom door so hard that a framed picture hanging in the hallway fell to the ground and shattered as I ran.
Out of the house.
Chapter Ten
I dove behind the wheel of my car, terrified that Derek was going to chase me out of the house. I locked all of the doors, held the key between my fingers, and fished around in the darkness for the ignition.
I couldn't find it in my panic.
"Dammit!" My hands were shaking too badly; I would never get the car going. Just when I had given up hope, the key slipped into its hole and turned. The engine roared to life. I backed out of the driveway quickly, rocks flying everywhere. Although I saw no sign of my husband, it didn't stop the terror in my heart.
I had struck Derek.
I’d hit him back.
I finally snapped and threw a boot at his head.
As I came to the stop sign at the end of my street, I pulled down the visor and took a quick moment to examine my face in the tiny, lighted mirror. My upper lip was swollen and there was a small gash where my teeth had cut into the skin from the impact with his elbow. The bleeding had stopped but still looked ugly. I looked ugly. My eyes were deep recesses in my face, accentuated by dark circles under my eyes. My hair was matted against my head where I’d been laying on my pillow.
Landon was right. I looked like a prisoner of war.
"What the hell!" I screamed, tears forming in my eyes. "Why do I let him do this to me? No more!" I began pounding on the steering wheel. "No... more!"
I sat at the stop sign for an indeterminate amount of time, trying to calm down. I glanced back over my shoulder…no Derek. It’s okay. He’s not coming after you.
I looked one way and then the other. I didn't know which way to turn. I didn't know where I was going to go. All I knew was that I had to get out of there.
Hannah's house was out of the question. I certainly didn't need to hear the inevitable, "I told you so."
I could have gone to the bookstore but if Derek came looking for me, that’s the first place he would check.
Therefore, without any particular destination in mind but needing to make a decision on which direction to turn, I clicked on the blinker, signaling a left turn...and changing my mind at the last minute, turned to the right. I spent the next thirty minutes or so, driving through the streets with no purpose and no direction.
I remembered a game my mom played with me when she was teaching me how to drive. I turned the radio on and when I came up to a stop, I'd randomly change the station. If a song was playing, then I went straight. If it were a commercial, then I would turn the car to the right. And if the station played the news, I would turn left.
The game was fine, at first, but it only worked as a distraction, not as a solution. The longer I drove, the more upset I became.
How could I have been such an idiot? Of course, the reason Derek said all of those things to me was because he was drunk. Lucid and sober, Derek was still an asshole. He always had been and he always would be. Drunk… he was even worse.
And I married him.
My wagon was hitched to his because I was too stupid to say no.
As I drove, tiny raindrops fell on my windshield and then they came down harder and faster, making it difficult to see. My windshield wipers were old, which in Oregon was as much of a hazard as a flat tire or no headlights. The rain poured down as hard as the tears that spilled out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I was sobbing, loudly, as I headed out of Cannon Beach and toward the Pacific Coast Highway.
I wasn't planning to go very far. I probably wouldn't even have made it to Seaside before I turned around and came home, but I needed to clear my head, if only for a few minutes. In-town speed limits and stoplights didn't allow for that kind of driving.
Just outside of the city limits, I wiped at my tears and forced myself to get it under control. What would my mom say to me if she were here, right next to me in the car?
"You’re strong, Annabelle Walters! You’ll get through this..." I said and pressed down on the gas and felt the car pick up speed.
"Mom. Where are you? Why did you leave me?" I cried out… "I need you."
<
br /> As I approached the last stop light before the PCH began, I felt as though I was losing my grip on reality. I was so overwhelmed that I worried at any moment, I might snap
"Get a grip, Belle!" I yelled at myself and let go of the steering wheel for just a moment to swipe the tears from my eyes, so I could see the road ahead.
The sound of a horn brought my vision back into focus and I saw headlights coming straight for me.
I’d run the red light.
I screamed and yanked on the steering wheel, pulling myself out of the path of the oncoming car. I swerved onto the shoulder, ran over a couple of big rocks, and bumped around in the car as I skidded to a halt in the dirt, my head slamming forward and into the steering wheel.
My heart pounded in my chest and I couldn't breathe.
That was too close.
I rubbed the bump left by the steering wheel. The other vehicle passed by, my headlights’ reflection on the windshield blinding me until the other truck was right next to mine.
I looked up, squinting against the light, and right into the familiar eyes of Landon.
He flipped his pickup around right in the middle of the road and started to pull up behind me.
"Great! As if this night couldn't get any worse!" I screamed. I slammed my foot down on the gas, rocks flipping up behind me as my tires struggled to gain traction in the wet mixture of gravel and dirt. I sped off down the highway just before Landon's truck caught up to me.
For all the smoke and dust that I left behind, I thought that I'd lost him for sure, but all my hope was dashed when I heard him, honking furiously, behind me. Landon wouldn’t give up.
About a hundred yards up ahead, I saw a turn-off for a scenic point where tourists love to stop and take pictures of the ocean. There would be no tourists to witness my death-by-humiliation tonight. I pulled into the deserted parking lot and turned off my car.
"Shit!" I yelled in the silent car, pounding on the steering wheel. "Of all the people!"
Landon pulled in right next to me, got out of his truck, and headed straight toward me. He was yelling at me before I could even get the door open to hear what he was saying. I stepped out into the rain and my clothes soaked through in seconds.
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