Page 10

Chapter 9

Not-so-happy hour

Maddie

A year later

A t some point during my long and tragic marriage, my comfort around strangers evaporated. My social skills are kaput.

It’s not so much the actual communication that vexes me. It’s the ability to interact naturally. Everything feels so forced. Tense. Uneasy.

Outside of my family, the only person I feel relaxed with is Alan. It’s probably because he’s easy to talk to. So protective and kind. He never judges me or makes me feel unworthy.

I can’t wait to get to Florida. And to him.

Once I’m away from this town and everyone in it, I just know I’ll finally be ready for our someday .

I’m so close.

Leaving Maine will be hard, though. Drew and his family are here. And my sweet Sammy.

While Drew’s firm in his decision to stay here, there’s a chance Sammy might come. Leo said he’ll go see her this weekend to try to convince her. I think I’ll bake some banana bread for him to take. And if he can’t get her to come, I’ll apply the mom guilt.

I want as much of my family with me as possible when we start this new chapter of our lives.

Janice sets her glass of wine on the table and jumps out of the booth, flinging her arms around a tall man with slick-backed hair and a well-tailored suit.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume this is her boyfriend. It’s better than believing my coworker throws herself at random men in bars.

She keeps one arm around him and pats his chest with her open palm. “Madeline, this is my boyfriend, Rick.”

My shoulders hunch forward on instinct, but I force them back. I will not cower from another man.

This one is harmless.

Probably.

Well, as harmless as any man can be, which is minimal.

I raise my hand in a half-wave and lower my head in silent greeting.

Once they slide into the booth on the opposite side of the table, he extends his hand. “Hi, Madeline. Nice to meet you.”

Finding my voice, I eke out, “Same to you, Rick. Janice speaks fondly of you.”

It’s true. My coworker is incessantly rambling about how wonderful her boyfriend is. I attempted to use her infatuation with him to escape this absurd happy hour idea. Rather than agreeing with me that he’d be lonely at home without her, she called him to join us.

Talk about a backfire.

Now I’m stuck here with the both of them, forcing meaningless conversation when I’d rather be anywhere else.

Like packing for the big move to Florida.

Janice beams at him, tucking her hand around his elbow and snuggling close. “Isn’t it adorable how he came right out when I called?”

I widen my eyes and nod, forcing a smile.

At the risk of being overly critical of their relationship, is it possible for a man to be as perfect as she paints him out to be? I doubt it. Every story is more fantastical than the last. From the way he showers her with gifts to his sexual prowess. I’ve heard it all.

Once upon a time, I did that sort of thing too. Minus the sharing of our bedroom activities. For whatever reason, I’d rave about Travis to anyone who would listen.

Lies. All of it.

We were still in the early years of our marriage when the abuse started, but it never stopped me from telling wild stories about how he doted on me and treated me like his queen. Oddly enough, the more he hurt me, the more I painted him as my savior to any open ear.

Silly, isn’t it? Did I do it to hide my shame? To give myself an escape? Was it pure delusion? Was I trying to convince myself of those lies or will them into existence?

I wonder if people saw through my bull.

After a while, whether or not they believed me became irrelevant, considering I wasn’t permitted to see them very often. Eventually, not at all.

As my therapist said, Travis used isolation as a tool to further his goal of controlling me and making himself the center of my world. It kept others from becoming concerned about me. And once I felt alone, I was too scared to seek help. I was trapped. Especially when my sister stopped providing me refuge, rightly so after what happened the last time.

My gut twists at the memory.

The lesson about isolation was the first and last thing I learned from my therapist. She started out as easy to talk to. But the more of my truth I confided, the more judgment I saw reflecting in her expression. During one session, I talked about hiding in the closet while Travis went after Leo.

Her condemnation suffocated me almost instantly. In retrospect, since she was a mother, it had to be especially hard for her to look into the eyes of another mother who could fail her children so tragically.

How could she not judge me for such an atrocity?

She didn’t say it in so many words, but I saw her disgust. It was right under the surface with every word she spoke from that moment on. The slight narrowing of her eyes. The curl in her upper lip she struggled to suppress. The tone of her voice. Judgment and revulsion permeated her every nonverbal message.

I never went back after that session. Unsurprisingly, neither she nor her assistant called to see why I missed my next appointment. That cemented my decision to move on. My truth was so treacherous that a trained professional could no longer help me.

Can’t say I blame her.

Janice’s booming laugh shakes me back into the here and now. Nervously, I sip my glass of chardonnay, my eyes scanning the area. She and Rick are canoodling. There’s no other way to describe it. Giggles, lingering touches, heated gazes, and hushed words.

I’ll flag down the server and get my check. I had two drinks, thus fulfilling my happy hour obligations. I can leave in good conscience.

Rick’s arm shoots up suddenly, and his voice thunders. “Here he is.” He waves his beer around to get someone’s attention. “Isaac. Over here.”

I crane my neck to see who he’s calling to. My eyes land on a tall, lean man barreling toward us.

Janice taps her nails on the table in front of me, leans close, and winks conspiratorially. “You’re welcome.”

“What do you mean?” I whisper.

She waggles her brows. “That’s Rick’s friend. For you. A little goodbye gift.”

My heart launches itself into my throat, cutting off my airway.

Rick waves the man over and directs him to my side of the booth.

No, no, no.

Reaching beside me, I swipe my purse and scoot to the edge of the booth in a frenzy to leave. Unfortunately, I don’t get there soon enough.

The man lowers himself three-quarters of the way toward the booth before he notices me so close to the edge. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello,” I answer automatically, my voice flat and emotionless.

“Scoot over. I’m coming in,” he announces, lowering the rest of the way to the seat and leaving me no choice but to move toward the wall.

I plaster on a smile and work to keep my breathing in check. Although his cologne is pleasant, it nauseates me. Or maybe it’s the wine on an empty stomach. Or the fear of being trapped in the booth.

If Janice is trying to set me up, does this man think I’m a willing participant? Does he think this is a date? No, no. I can’t. I’m not ready.

I do not want this.

What if he tries to touch me? Hold my hand? Kiss me? Insist I go home with him?

I shimmy my body closer to the wall and keep my purse in my lap. As if that could protect me.

Conversation flows around me, and I pick up bits and pieces here and there. I might even laugh a time or two. Can’t be sure. It’s all a haze.

The server brings me another glass of wine, and I grip it with sweaty palms.

“Tell me about yourself, Madeline.” Isaac points at my traitorous coworker with the top of his beer bottle. “Janice says you’re an underwriter.”

Trembling, I respond, “Yes. I am.”

He nods slowly, his forehead wrinkling as he takes me in and waits for me to expand. Too bad for him; that’s all he’s getting out of me. I can hardly breathe, let alone speak.

When I don’t add any details, he shares his life story. He’s a project manager for an IT firm, and he’s known Janice’s boyfriend for a little over two years. Blah, blah, blah.

I nod along as he talks, barely following his train of thought. He seems nice enough. Handsome. It’s not his fault I’m crawling out of my skin.

“Shall we?” he asks out of nowhere, his eyes warm and voice tender.

My gaze sweeps around the table. Rick and Janice appear to be waiting for me to respond as well.

Janice smiles warmly at me. “You like Italian, right?”

“Italian?” I parrot, my voice cracking.

“Positanos can get us in now. Rick just called. They’re holding a table for us.”

I glance at Rick, and he shakes his cell phone.

Oh. I see.

They want to go to dinner now. But I don’t.

I want to go home. Immediately.

This isn’t a damn double date. It was supposed to be a few drinks to say goodbye before I leave for Florida. That’s all.

Rick and Janice slide out of the booth. Isaac does the same, extending his hand for me to join him.

Moving on autopilot, I let him help me from the booth. Once I’m standing, his hand lingers on mine. I dare to glance into his eyes, surprised to find them tender and kind. No rage simmering there. No disdain for me.

By all accounts, he’s a decent man. I have no reason to suspect he means me any harm.

Then why does his touch feel like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin?

I dart my gaze to the floor, struggling to swallow the moisture pooling in my mouth. The tips of my fingers tingle. My knees buckle, and a tremor runs through me.

And I snap.

Without conscious thought, my feet lurch me across the room. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to leave.

Need to run. Must hide.

I shoulder past strangers in my frantic quest to escape. The crashing sound of a glass breaking behind me makes me jump and cup my ears with both hands. My purse strap dangles in front of my face, making it hard to see where I’m headed. Moisture splashes onto me when I slam into a server with a drink tray. Someone yells.

But I keep running.

If you stop, he’ll find you.

The raised voices, music, and clamor of the bar fade into nothingness. I dive into the first open room I come across, shutting the door behind me and pressing my back against it. My breath comes in craggy waves, and I blink frantically, attempting to free myself from the darkness closing in.

Looks like the ladies’ room. Maybe he won’t follow me in here.

The thin door alone won’t keep him away, though. He’s broken through doors to get me before. Easily.

I race into the last stall, lock the door, and climb onto the toilet seat. I keep my feet off the ground so he can’t see them. And I wrap my arms around my shins.

In the same way I trained myself to do when I was young, I force my breathing to grow shallow. Gasping for breaths is easy to hear. Learned that the hard way. Now, it’s an automatic response.

Just hide in here. You’re safe now. He won’t find you as long as you’re quiet.

A chiming sound comes from my purse, causing me to yelp and my muscles to jerk. In my panic, I slip from the toilet seat and slam into the side of the bathroom stall.

“Are you okay in there?” an unfamiliar female voice asks.

I crane my head, bending down to see if I recognize the feet. And to see if his steps have caught up to me yet.

She’s just a stranger using the restroom stall beside me.

After I climb back onto the commode seat, I whisper, “I’m okay. I’m hiding.”

“Hiding? Do you want me to call the cops?”

Shit.

Never the cops. Never.

“No, please don’t. He’ll leave if he can’t find me. If anyone comes in looking for me, you haven’t seen me, okay?”

“What’s he look like?”

My purse chimes again. It’s my phone.

Fumbling with the zipper, I find my cell, press the power button, and zip my purse.

She asks again, “What’s the guy look like? I’ll go tell the manager so they can kick him out.”

My fingernails slice into my palms. “No, please don’t do that,” I beg, needing her to drop it before he finds me. “It’ll make him angry. Just let me hide. He’ll go away if I hide. Trust me. I’m fine.”

She doesn’t respond.

Ice clogs my veins, threatening to stop my heart.

The toilet flushes, and she exits the stall. The faucet turns on, and the sound of running water reaches my ears. Next comes the mechanical clapping sound of the soap dispenser clicking. Then the paper towel dispenser.

A sudden banging sound breaks through the relative peace of the restroom, and the din of the bar suddenly spikes.

Someone opened the door.

Was it her leaving, or is he coming to find me?

“Madeline? Are you in here?” a female hollers. Her voice is familiar, but I can’t place it over the ringing in my ears.

Every muscle in my body tenses. I hold my breath.

“No one’s in here but me,” the other voice answers confidently.

“Did you see a brunette? Thin? About this tall?”

“Nope. Only me in here.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Footsteps move away from me. The door opens. And when it closes, there’s only the muffled sounds of the bar on the other side of it.

And I wait in silence.

Until it’s safe to leave.

Just hide, Maddie. Run and hide so Daddy doesn’t find you.

I will, Mama.