She smiled as she fished through the freezer, remembering how Zoe had gone on and on about Abby’s cousin Riley. Zoe had sworn her to secrecy, and Abby wouldn’t mention her name—but she planned to have a little fun with Riley when she saw him at church in the morning.
She put some chicken nuggets in the microwave and reached for a glass. The front door slammed shut, and the glass slipped from her hand, shattering on the wood floor.
Her dad entered the kitchen, and Abby froze. His eyes were bloodshot, and he wavered on the threshold, his eyes falling to the splintered mess on the floor.
He cursed, his face getting that red, pinched look she dreaded.
Abby’s heart pounded. “I’m sorry.”
“I can’t even go out without you making a mess of things.”
“I’ll clean it up.” Abby stepped around the glass and reached for the pantry door. “Where’s Mom?” She hated the way her voice shook.
He beat her to the door, sneering at her. “You can’t hide behind her skirts tonight. She’s helping your uncle . . . staying all night with your cousins, so it’s just you and me.”
She stepped back, putting the island between them. “I can go help her.”
His head disappeared into the pantry. “If she wanted your help, she’d have asked.” He kicked something to the side. “Where’s the broom?” he thundered.
“It’s—it’s on the left.”
He glared at her. “You think I’m stupid, girl?”
“No,” she whispered.
“You never put things back!”
“I—I didn’t take it.”
“You gonna argue with me? You don’t do anything around here but argue and break things and take things, and—” An ugly look washed over his face as he came out of the pantry. His nostrils flared. The pantry door snapped shut behind him.
“Clean it up.”
Abby wrenched her eyes from his. There was a dish towel hanging from the stove, and she moved toward it. As soon as she freed it from the handle, he jerked it from her.
She looked up at him. Her breath felt stuffed in her lungs. The microwave dinged and shut off. His ragged breath filled the sudden silence.
“Clean it up!”
Abby jumped.
She knew what he was asking. She knelt on the floor beside the mess and cupped her hand carefully around the broken glass, drawing it toward her. The pieces were scattered, and splinters dug into her palm no matter how careful she was.
Her eyes burned. No, Abby. You can’t cry. She reached for another handful, drawing the fragments into a glittering pile. Her hands trembled as he stepped closer. The glass crunched under his work boots. When he stopped she could see the scuffed toes of his boots in the corner of her eye.
She gathered another pile. Blood bloomed on her skin. Her palm stung as she swept it across the floor.
“Maybe you won’t be so careless next time you reach in the cupboard. Maybe you’ll put the broom back where you got it.”
Her throat tightened against the knot growing there. Her eyes stung. She blinked hard at the growing pile.
“Answer me, girl!”
“I will,” she whispered.
“Will what?”
She swallowed hard, the burn in her eyes growing stronger. A drop of blood trickled down her fingers. “I’ll—I’ll be more careful. I’ll put things back.”
“Look at me when you talk to me!”
She looked up at him. He towered over her like a big, scary giant. Her tears blurred his face, and she widened her eyes to keep them in place. “I—I’ll be more careful. I’ll put things back.”
He stared at her until she felt like a little bug on the floor. Her eyes ached. The knot in her throat was choking her, and the sting in her eyes grew stronger.
She didn’t mean to blink. But when she did a tear broke loose and trickled down her cheek.
Her lids fell over her eyes, and she lowered her head, but it was too late.
He grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. “Tears? What did I tell you about crying, you little baby?” His hand tightened on her arm until she was afraid he’d squeeze it in two. He pulled her in close until his sour breath washed across her face. She closed her eyes, but the pain didn’t go away, and neither did he.
“You’re gonna be sorry for that.”
He was right, she thought later as she shuffled to the bathroom, her heart pounding. The sound of his truck fired up, his tires squealing as he peeled from the drive. He’d be back later, but she’d be in her room where she couldn’t cause any trouble.
She wished she could go to her cousins’ house. But her mom would know what had happened, and she didn’t want Mom to know she’d been bad again. Her dad didn’t want her already. What if her mom decided she didn’t either? Where would Abby go then? The sound of white noise rose up from inside, raging in her ears.
She turned on the bathroom faucet, trying to slow her shallow breaths. Everything hurt. Her ribs ached with each breath, her knees threatened to buckle. She let the water run over her hands. Blood trickled down the drain. She winced as she loosened the splinters of glass.
When she was finished she dried her hands on toilet paper so she wouldn’t soil a towel. Her hands shook, and her teeth rattled in her head like she was outside in the winter without a coat.
Her eyes flickered up to the mirror. Her curly hair was a fright, and her ugly freckles stood out even more against her unusually pale skin. He never touched her face. Not when there were so many other places to hurt.
Longing for her sanctuary, she shut off the bathroom light and retreated to her room. She locked the door behind her and stepped into her dark closet, pushing aside her clothing.
She slid down the wall until she was curled into her favorite spot. No matter how wide she opened her eyes, there was nothing but darkness, and it swallowed all the bad things. It swallowed the walls, swallowed the pain, swallowed her dad and his terrible punishments. She imagined all the dark heaviness leaving her on each exhale. All the bad stuff, going out of her and being swallowed up by the closet. By morning all that would be left was safety.
Chapter Eighteen
RYAN SHIFTED THE PHONE TO THE OTHER EAR. MOM had wanted to know all about the anniversary party, and she’d caught him up on the goings-on in the family since they’d talked last. Jade’s twins had spent the night with them Saturday, Dad had strained his back working on a tractor Sunday, Madison and Beckett had started training for the regatta, and PJ was already in hot pursuit of the perfect wedding gown.
What had taken him one sentence to think, his mom had stretched into nearly an hour. His mind had wandered a lot. He’d been unable to stop thinking about the way Abby flinched away from her dad back at the house.
“Listen, Mom. We’re on the road, and I need to get off here.”
“When will you be home?”
“Late tomorrow. We’re driving through the night to make up for lost time.” The comment reminded him of how little time he had left. And he was spending it on the phone with his mother.
“Hey, Mom, I—”
“How are things between you two?”
He sighed, glancing at Abby. Her hands were curled tightly around the steering wheel, her body rigid. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Ah, she’s right there. Got it.”
Moments later he rang off, tucking his phone back into his pocket.
“Lots going on back home?” The perkiness in Abby’s voice sounded false.
“The usual stuff.” He replayed the moment back at the house, trying to determine if Abby had actually flinched. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, and he sure didn’t want to upset her by falsely accusing her dad.
They’d been getting along so well since their conversation late Saturday night. Since she’d kissed him on the sofa. Yeah, he’d initiated it, but she’d taken it a step further. He’d lain awake long into the night reliving the kiss, wondering what it meant. Hoping it meant she was softening toward him.
Back to the subject, McKinley.
No matter how many times he replayed that moment back at the house, he couldn’t call it anything but a flinch. And the more he thought about it, the more he recalled times early in their relationship. Times when she’d seemed jumpy. Times he’d startled her. He’d thought she was just easily spooked. But maybe it had been more than that.
And then there was her ex-boyfriend Kyle, who’d grabbed her arm at the party over a dance. Had he treated her that way when they’d dated? If he manhandled her in public, what had he done in private?
Ryan was no psychologist, but everyone knew abused girls often ended up in abusive relationships.
He shifted in his seat, nearly bursting with the question. His breaths were coming shallow, audible over the music she had on the radio. Emotions roiled, heat flaring deep in his gut. He had to know the truth. But he’d better tone it down. Way down.
He drew in five full breaths before he trusted himself to speak. “I’m going to ask you something about your dad, Abby.” He looked over at her, wishing she wasn’t wearing sunglasses, so he could see her eyes. “I want you to tell me the truth, okay?”
She regripped the wheel. Her pulse jumped on the side of her neck. “What is it?”
“Back at the house . . . when you flinched away from your dad—”
“What are you talking about?”
“When he reached for the mug, you flinched.”
“I didn’t. I was just . . . lost in thought, and I didn’t expect—”
“Did he hit you, Abby?”
“When?”
The question told him all he needed to know. His blood pressure shot up. His molars ground together.
“Of course not. Why would you ask that?” Her fingers slid along her throat to the side of her neck. It was her “tell.” She was an honest person, but sometimes, when she lied to spare someone’s feelings, that’s what she did.
He felt as if he’d been sucker-punched. He imagined Bud, his six-foot frame, his bulky build, honed from long days on a lobster boat. He imagined little-girl Abby, slight and innocent, needing love and receiving cruelty. He wondered how often? How bad? And he thought of her mom, who must’ve known and done nothing to protect her.
He looked unseeing out the front of the car. Heat flared inside, intense and all consuming. It spread outward until it encompassed him. His heart raced, his breath felt stuffed into his chest. His hands curled into knots.
“Turn the car around.” His voice was like gravel on his throat.
“What?”
“Turn the car around.” He felt Abby’s stare. His eyes burned, and he locked his jaw down tight.
“We’re not going back.”
“He hit you!”
Abby’s gaze bounced off him. Her fingers feathered against her neck, and she opened her mouth.
“Don’t. Don’t lie to me, Abby.” He gave her a long look, remembering the other things. “Early in our relationship you’d flinch away from me sometimes. And that tool you used to date was manhandling you like you were a rag doll. Like he’d done it before.”
She closed her mouth and turned back to face the road.
Ryan ran his hand over his face, thinking back to their marriage. Wondering what effects this had had, not only on her, but on them. It made him want to pound Bud’s face until he was a raw, bloody mess.
God . . . he prayed. But that was all he had.
No wonder she’d been so guarded. No wonder he’d had to pry her heart open like a clamshell. It all made so much sense now. The ache behind his eyes worsened.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.
She lifted a stiff shoulder, and he thought that was all he was going to get.
But then she spoke again, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s in the past.”
He gaped at her. “You can’t really believe that!”
“Stop yelling at me!”
He took a deep breath. Crawled out of the deep, dark well long enough to see her. To see the way she seemed to have shrunk in on herself, her shoulders hunched, her breaths making them rise and fall rapidly.
To see her face, set in a tense mask. She looked as brittle as an ancient scroll, rolled flat and crackling with age. He thought of all the abuse, verbal and physical, she’d endured, and he took a few more calming breaths.
Her hand trembled as she reached out to turn down the music.
“Pull over, Abby,” he said carefully.
She shook her head. “I’m not going back. I don’t care what you say.” There was steel under the quivering voice. “Three nights were more than enough.”
Much as he wanted to bash Bud’s face in, that wasn’t going to fix anything. And he wouldn’t subject Abby to her father again for the world.
“I know. Just pull over. There’s an exit right up there.”
He wasn’t sure if she would until she let off the gas and followed the ramp. He used the time to calm himself. To think about Abby and how upsetting this must be. Did anyone know? Did Beau know? Her other cousins? Or was this some secret shame she’d carried around for years?
Abby pulled into an empty cement lot with grass growing out of every crevice. There was nothing around. No reason for the exit, save access to a country road. She put the car in park, leaving her hands on the wheel.
Boo jumped up in the back, perching her paws on Ryan’s leg.
“I’m not angry at you,” Ryan said.
“I know.”
He turned her face to him, pulled off her sunglasses. Her green eyes, so distant and guarded, broke his heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She pulled her face away, and he let her. She uncurled her fingers from the wheel and slid her palms down the front of her shorts.
“It probably isn’t as bad as you’re thinking.”
“Did he hit you?”
She swallowed. Her hand came up to her throat.
“Tell me the truth.”
She looked away. Out the driver’s side window. “Sometimes.”
Are You hearing this, God? I want to kill him. I want to go back there and beat the man until there’s no breath left in his body. I sat right across the table from him. I made small talk with the man who beat my wife.
He worked to control his breathing.
“I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Who else knows?”
“No one.”
“Not Beau?”
“No one.”
“Except your mom.”
Pink blossomed in her cheeks. He’d always thought she was irresistible when she blushed. But now it was the stain of shame, and he hated it. He thought of his own family, his parents, so loving and patient. Not perfect but, good gosh, he couldn’t imagine them laying their hands on him in anger.
“It’s not all his fault, you know,” Abby said.
He blinked at her, frowning. Had she really just said that?
“He never wanted kids. Never wanted me.”
Ryan shook his head. Maybe if he kept it up, rattled things in there around a bit, the words she was saying would make sense.
“Mom always wanted kids, lots of them,” Abby said softly, staring out into the woods across the way. “She knew my dad didn’t, but she agreed to marry him anyway. Agreed they wouldn’t have kids. She thought he might change his mind. Or maybe she thought she’d change it for him. Women are always doing that, you know—thinking they can change their man.
“Only my dad didn’t change his mind. As the years passed my mom finally figured out she was never going to get my dad to agree. She loved him too much to leave. I guess they had a good marriage, and she was happy except for this one thing. So she just . . . did it.”
“Did what?”
Boo curled up in Abby’s lap, and she stroked the dog’s side. “Went off birth control without telling him.”
Ryan scanned her face, but she gave nothing away.
“I guess he was pretty mad when he found out. There was a
big argument. He figured out what she’d done and hounded her until she admitted it. He almost left her.”
“How do you know all this?”
She looked down at her lap. “Mom told me one night when I was twelve after—after a bad night. I think she thought it would make me feel better. Or that it would take some of the blame off Dad. I don’t know.”
“How could a mother tell her own daughter that her dad never wanted her?”
Abby gave a hollow laugh. “Oh, believe me, she didn’t have to tell me that.”
His chest ached at her words. At what she’d been through. Talk about misplaced anger. “No wonder you couldn’t wait to get out of the house.”
“It was overwhelming sometimes—his resentment.”
The word rang a bell deep inside. But there were too many other thoughts crowding it out. Ryan bookmarked the thought for later.
Abby pulled Boo into her stomach, comforted by the warm, soft body. She hated this. She should’ve known Ryan would see something when they were at her folks’. He was too perceptive. Too intuitive.
And now he knew the truth. She felt exposed. Humiliated. Why did he have to push so hard? What business was it of his now?
She reached for her sunglasses.
He held them out of her reach. “Stop trying to hide from me.”
She glared at him. “Can we go now?”
“Why are you angry?”
“I just want to go. We have a long drive, and I want to be done with this ridiculous Thelma and Louise trip.”
Hurt flashed in his eyes before she looked away. If he’d just leave her alone, they’d get along fine.
“You know it’s not your fault, right? You didn’t deserve that. No child does.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did he hurt your mom?”
“Shut it, Ryan.” She reached for the gearshift, her hands shaking.
He put his hand over hers. “You’re in no shape to drive.”
“I’m fine.”
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