The Happiness in Between

by Grace Greene

  “I liked that dog a lot. He was faithful. Obedient.”

  Liked? Was? Sandra felt ill.

  “But when it came to it, I put him down.”

  Had Trent moved closer? He seemed closer. She felt herself shrink a fraction. “Leo got sick?”

  “No, the hard truth is he made poor choices.” Trent shook his head and spread his arms as if indicating he had no choice. “After you left, he had to go, too.”

  She tried to calm herself. She had to think. Trent had mentioned Leo in the truck. What had he said? “Do you mean because he snapped at me?”

  “He shouldn’t have snapped at you, true. But what got him killed was that he snapped at me. I can put up with a lot, but I have my limitations.”

  She wanted to clutch her stomach, to force the bile back to where it belonged. She didn’t want to shake. She refused to retreat into silence.

  “Leave, Trent. Don’t threaten me—not directly or obliquely. I’m going in the house now, and I’m calling the police. It’s that simple.” She put her hand on the doorknob. The warmth of Honey’s body was between her and the door. She pushed open the door. Honey scrambled inside.

  “Don’t waste your effort,” he said. “By the time they arrive, if they bother to come, I’ll be gone. They’ll see right away that you are foolish and a liar. If I do decide to be here to greet them, then what?” He mimicked, “Your husband, you say? You’re not even separated? And he rescued you and your dog from a muddy drowning?” Trent resumed his normal voice. “The vet will vouch for me.” He laughed. “Think about it, Sandra. You will expose your own character and competency to questions. I’m leaving now anyway. Oh, and by the way, that treat? No worries. It was fine. Not tampered with or anything. But you might want to keep a closer watch on that old dog. Because next time . . . Well, let’s agree there’s always danger waiting for the unwary. Being unwary and assuming you know the rules of the game—that’s definitely a point of failure, wouldn’t you say, Sandra?”

  He left. Finally. She was nearly destroyed in his wake. She was so angry and frustrated she couldn’t breathe, and her knees gave way. She caught herself by clinging to the doorknob. She fought the weakness and pushed back up. The sobs began in her diaphragm and ripped their way up through her lungs and throat, jagged and immense. She choked and coughed, nearly drowning in the tears that erupted.

  Blindly, she stumbled inside, slammed the door, and fell back against it. She huddled on the floor, and Honey licked the salty tears from her face, and then sat on her. As if she were a lapdog. As if doggy weight and furry warmth were some sort of cure for self-pity and misery.

  Not self-pity, but frustration. The inability to make stuff happen the way she wanted it to, the inability to make Trent get out of her life, was too much to accept.

  Sandra wrapped an arm around Honey. Her fur tickled Sandra’s face. She’d stopped crying, mostly, but the storm had left an ache in her chest that she didn’t think would pass soon.

  What would she say to Colton? Colton wouldn’t care about Trent’s threats, not for himself, but what about Aaron?

  Could she insist Colton and Aaron stay away? No, she rejected the idea of it.

  Was it her selfishness or cowardice that made her willing to put them at risk?

  And Honey. Clearly, the dog had no defense against Trent. Maybe she’d remembered him from the rescue? Or from the vet’s office. Trent had gained her confidence, but dogs often served unworthy masters. Even children adored bad parents. And what about spouses who stayed long after they should’ve moved on?

  Would he really poison Honey? He was capable of almost anything, and there was something new about his manner. He’d moved from smiling manipulation to overt threats. She’d have to keep Honey inside. And when outside, make sure she was on the leash and not allowed to pick up anything outside, not to sniff or nibble.

  That was no way to live. But she had to protect Honey.

  If she left . . . if she ran away again, Trent would follow her. He’d forget about her friends here. He’d forget Honey. They’d be safe.

  No. She wouldn’t run again.

  Trent had gained Sandra’s confidence at least twice, well enough for her to marry him. He could be charming, and he looked so honest and intelligent and down-to-earth.

  There was no risk she’d be fooled by him again. There’d be no third try. But Colton had the right to know Trent was fixing his attention on him and his son as being part of the problem. As part of what might be keeping her from going back to him.

  She moved Honey gently off her lap. She got onto her hands and knees and pulled herself upright.

  The nightgown. It was ruined, covered in tears and dog hair and dirt. She stood over the kitchen sink and ran the water, wetting and rewetting a towel and holding it to her face over and over. She breathed in the moisture. It soothed her windpipe; it cooled her hot, wet eyes. When she took it away, the window before her showed the backyard, framing the view, green and grassy in the morning sun. The oak offered its welcome shade. The table and chairs below the spread of the branches would return to the garden—its former spot, which was so very different now—later today. Sandra wasn’t expecting Colton and Aaron until afternoon, so she had time to think.

  Not this time, Trent, she thought. Not again. This time you don’t get to win.

  Sandra stripped off the gown and dumped it in the washing machine, and then went upstairs to get ready for the rest of the day.

  It was early yet. Who knew what else he might have planned or what he might do?

  Sandra showered quickly, not lingering because how could she know Trent was truly gone or wouldn’t come back? Something had to be done. Should she call the county police again? Deputy Wilkins? That was the best choice. But what would happen? Could she actually accuse him? Of what? There were strict laws about domestic violence, but there hadn’t been any actual violence, except for Trent scaring Honey. Scaring her, too. But that wouldn’t translate well in the telling. If nuance were enough, her parents would’ve understood. Trespassing, though. Trent was guilty of making threats and of trespassing. That should be enough.

  She’d seen a TV show where someone was arrested because the spouse said they’d been attacked. The woman was the one accused and the one arrested. Sandra wouldn’t lie about Trent, but Trent was capable of saying whatever would accomplish his purpose. She couldn’t imagine being handcuffed and taken to jail. She couldn’t risk it. Who would rescue her? Her parents?

  Speaking of her parents—it would be humiliating, but she could beg her mother for money and make the divorce happen. Despite their differences, Mom would help. An official divorce filing would make her position stronger if Trent continued to stalk her.

  Stalk. Yes, that summed it up. He was a stalker. She’d call the county offices and ask how to proceed. With a protective order, any subsequent complaint she made would be less of a he-said-she-said situation.

  Trent would be angry.

  Trent’s feelings weren’t her problem. Correction. He wouldn’t be her problem. She was erasing him from her life. He might not believe she could fight him, but lack of imagination and underestimating her—those were his personal points of failure.

  By noon, Sandra had called the county and had gotten the info she needed. Protective orders were issued at the state level, and the easiest way was to fill out the forms online.

  The Internet. The world turned on it. She’d use a computer at the library, as soon as she located the library. She couldn’t wait to have her life back and the means to get a smartphone, computer, and Internet access. Nature was nice, but it was hard to do what she needed to without the connectivity. For now she’d find the library or whatever would work because she refused to be sidetracked by obstacles or derailed by self-doubt.

  How would she explain this to Colton? His first concern would be Aaron, as it should be. Trent had relied a great deal on charm to cover his failures and selfish motives. If charm was failing him now, then who knew what he might do
?

  Colton and Aaron wouldn’t arrive until afternoon. Increasingly, she was on edge. It was the waiting. Waiting for Colton because she needed to tell him, to warn him. And waiting to see if Trent would return.

  As the early afternoon passed, she went out to the patio table and sat in the shade of the oak. Honey was nearby. She’d been uneasy at first and spent some time with her nose to the ground, going round and round until she was satisfied, and then she relaxed. She’d become Sandra’s barometer. If Trent were nearby, Honey would surely react, whether in fear or welcome, and Sandra would know. She reattached the leash to Honey’s collar, uneasy that Trent might try to lure her away and into trouble. At the moment, the dog, her aunt’s dog, napped peacefully in the sun, clearly not worried about anything. She’d left that to Sandra.

  Idle hands. Waiting. She hated it. As soon as she’d spoken to Colton.

  Making decisions. Living with the choices, the outcomes. It frightened her. And waiting made it worse.

  Sandra walked along the edge of the woods, trying to see into them, past the brush and foliage. This was the section Honey had repeatedly displayed interest in. Due to Trent? There was a hint of a path inside. She walked back in the other direction, past the side of the house and her car, and down a bit farther.

  There it was. The beginning of the path.

  A few steps in, the foliage surrounded her. Glimpses of the house were visible between the leaves and branches. They’d had so much rain that everything and anything green and growing had overtaken the season. Spring was rushing into summer, at least in terms of lushness.

  She picked her way forward, watching her step and carefully moving branches aside, until she was near the area Honey had repeatedly shown interest in.

  Her phone rang.

  Sandra stopped and pulled it from her pocket. Colton’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Are you OK, Sandra?”

  Odd greeting. “Yes, I’m fine. What about you and Aaron?”

  “I found my tires slashed this morning. The deputies left a few minutes ago.”

  “Trent.”

  He gave a long sigh. “That was my first thought. But in fairness, in construction you run into a lot of odd characters, some with real issues, and sometimes you piss people off. They tend to react in a physical way. A punch in the face can get them arrested. Sometimes sneakier methods of getting even, like slashing tires or keying a vehicle, are methods of choice.”

  “Did you mention Trent to the police?” She tried to sort out her thoughts.

  “I didn’t. I wanted to talk to you first.” He spoke to someone nearby. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Aaron is all worked up.”

  “Of course. He must be scared.”

  “Scared? No, but he wants to catch whomever did it. He’s decided he’s an expert in forensics. I’ll call you later?”

  The call disconnected.

  She hadn’t had the chance to tell him about her own visit from Trent that morning. But he had more immediate concerns. She could tell him when he called back.

  A leafy branch brushed her face and tried to entangle itself in her hair and ear. She dropped her phone into her pocket. She moved a few feet forward, thinking again she should leave.

  Slashed tires? Of course it was Trent.

  She wasn’t doing anyone any favors by standing up to him.

  Her knees went weak. She didn’t fall, but she knelt and pressed her hands to her face. Breathe. Breathe. It struck her that it had been a while since that awful constriction had tightened her chest. It wanted to start up again, and she felt it gripping and pinching her lungs, wanting to spread across her chest. She pushed back up to her feet and screamed, “No!”

  Honey bounded up onto all fours and barked and barked at the woods where Sandra was.

  She called out to reassure her. “I’m fine. Hush, Honey. I’ll be right there.”

  But it wasn’t OK with Honey. She continued barking.

  “Calm down, girl. I’m coming.”

  Sandra looked around where she stood, seeking the fastest way out. That was when she noticed the scuffed leaves. Barely noticeable, but nothing that nature would’ve caused, and she hadn’t stepped in that area yet.

  Trent had stood here spying on them. He’d probably parked down the road, maybe by the school, and walked up to the house. He would’ve seen the narrow path from that angle. Day and night? Why not? It was another point of failure for Trent, because compulsion of any kind led to bad judgment and mistakes.

  Out of nowhere, she saw the plastic bags in his truck bed again. The ones she’d shoved aside to make room for herself and Honey before Trent pulled her away.

  You made bad choices here, Trent. You should’ve moved on—gone back to Martinsville, or even back to Arizona, while you could, before you took this too far.

  Did he disable Colton’s vehicle as a warning? As revenge? Or because he had more immediate plans for Sandra that he didn’t want Colton interfering with?

  Nearby, a twig snapped. She spun around. Nothing but trees. Most likely a squirrel. Nothing more. Nothing except the sound of a motor from the direction of the dirt road and the front of the house.

  Blood roared in her ears. Her breathing quickened, but none of the air-stealing tightening returned. Her hands turned into fists, and her nails bit into her palms.

  Fight or flight? It was her choice.

  Honey barked.

  Sandra forced her way through the branches, scratching her arms and legs, taking the most direct path where there was no path, to reach Honey. Honey was fine. Her leash was still secured to the table leg, at least for the moment. But Trent was right. Caring about people, even dogs, made one vulnerable. She would take Honey into the house.

  “Hold still, girl.” Sandra worked quickly to free the leash. Blood was dripping down her arms from the scratches. Honey was agitated, no doubt smelling the blood and sensing Sandra’s urgency. Did she also sense Trent? Sandra cast a quick look around.

  Enough, she told herself. One bad choice, repeated, shouldn’t condemn her for the rest of her life. He had no right to deprive her of any chance of ever finding happiness. She didn’t just want to find happiness, she wanted to live happiness.

  Inside, finally, with the kitchen door closed and locked, Honey looked bewildered. She stood in front of the closed kitchen door while Sandra went to the sink and grabbed a paper towel. She wet it and held it to her arm. The bleeding was minimal, but the briar scratches stung like crazy.

  “We’re good, Honey. We’re safe.” She said the words to reassure herself as much as Honey.

  The front door latch clicked. It stole Sandra’s breath, but she had the presence of mind to reach into the knife drawer and pull out a long, shiny blade. She turned as Honey trotted through the living room to the front door.

  “Sandra?”

  She closed her eyes. Mother.

  Mom came directly to her. “I knocked, but there was no answer. I used my key.” She stared at Sandra. “You’re hurt.”

  Sandra was acutely conscious of the knife she was holding. “I’m . . .”

  Her mother took the used paper towel from Sandra, got a fresh one, and wet it. She held Sandra’s arm while she dabbed at the scratches, asking, her voice harsh with disbelief, “What have you been doing? Have you lost your mind?”

  Sandra put the knife on the counter. “Yes, I believe I have.”

  Her mother frowned. “What does that mean? What’s going on?”

  Sandra’s lip quivered. She caught it between her teeth to hold it still, but of course, she couldn’t talk that way, so she didn’t say anything.

  “You’d better sit down. You’re awfully pale.”

  Sandra allowed her mother to guide her to the sofa, and she sat, but she was thinking again. Rational, clear thoughts. Lovely words. “I’m fine, Mom. Really. But I need a favor.” She had to ask. This was the moment. “It’s Trent. I know you don’t approve or understand, but he’s been stalking me. I’m getting a protective
order against him.”

  “He’s here? In Louisa?”

  She nodded. “He won’t leave me alone. He refuses to accept that I won’t come back to him. He even threatened Honey. I don’t need money for the protective order but I do for the divorce.”

  Her mother was staring at her.

  “Remember my things that were stolen from the car?”

  She nodded.

  “Most of it was clothing, but some of those things were precious to me. I put them in plastic bags. I saw those bags in Trent’s truck bed. I saw them, Mom.”

  Her mother’s frown deepened.

  “I’m serious, Mom.”

  “I know. I should’ve told you. One reason I came here today, in person, was to do exactly that, but I didn’t want to worry you without reason.”

  “What else is wrong?”

  “Nothing . . . Well, clearly that’s not true. Right after Barbara got to Florida, she answered my phone. I was with your dad, so she grabbed it. She didn’t see a name on the caller ID, only digits, and answered, ‘Barbara speaking.’ It was Trent. He must have called from a different phone, because otherwise the caller ID would’ve identified him. He asked for you, and Barbara told him you weren’t in Florida. He told her who he was and asked where he could reach you. She was shaken and wouldn’t tell him. He hung up. He must’ve put two and two together. Her being in Florida and you nowhere to be found.”

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “She didn’t tell me. Not until we were talking about how you were doing.” Mom shook her head. “I decided to come here and see for myself, to talk to you face-to-face. You mentioned getting a protective order. Do you think that will keep him away?”

  “It might deter him. It might hammer some sense into him. Or at least he’ll see that jail is a real possibility and would be a major inconvenience.”

  “Morris Ward handled the divorce last time. I’ll have him call you, and I’ll help with those expenses.”

  Sandra closed her eyes and held her free hand over them for a moment. They stung like the bleeding scratches on her arms.