Page 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It’d been that way for the last three hours. If I didn’t fall asleep soon, I knew I’d have to give up on the idea of sleep altogether and just get up to start my day.

Even though Hunter acted like he didn’t remember the night of the party or anything that happened, I couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t telling me the truth. It had awakened my deepest fears. The ones I usually kept at bay, but that pushed their way to the surface late at night, or when I was overtired. Tonight both were true, and my fears had left me in a cold sweat, tossing and turning.

Lots of women called themselves single parents after they got divorced, but I was the real deal. I’d never been married, and Hunter didn’t have any kind of relationship with his dad. He’d never even met him. He barely knew who he was.

And all of that was intentional.

Because Hunter’s dad was a scary, violent man. One I’d put in prison for life with no chance of parole, which was the only reason I didn’t live in fear every single day. He was the one who attacked me, left me bleeding at the bottom of a staircase. The one I had called my boyfriend when I was on the phone with the girl—but really, he was a cautionary tale against one-night stands.

The day my world changed forever started like any other day. I was fresh out of law school and had just started working as a clerk down at city hall. After work, a colleague and I went out for drinks at our favorite bar. That’s where I met James. He sauntered up to our table in his low-slung jeans and his tight T-shirt, clearly selected to show off all his muscles.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked boldly. Long dark lashes housed his dreamy eyes, and he had a crooked, irresistible grin.

There was an instant spark, which was all I cared about then. I was completely focused on my career and wasn’t interested in anything more than a little fun, and James and I had plenty of it that night. Drinking. Flirting. Laughing. He was only in town for the night on business, so he was perfect for a no-strings-attached situation. We hung out at the bar until it closed and stumbled down the street to his hotel afterward. I told him goodbye in the morning, and didn’t think I’d ever see him again.

But then I missed my period at the end of the month. I was working superlong days, barely sleeping, and surviving on coffee and protein bars, so it never occurred to me that the disruption in my cycle was anything but stress-related. Besides, I was diligent about birth control. But then I missed my next period, too, and I started having episodes of being so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. I’d be in court and suddenly feel like I got injected with tranquilizers. It took all my willpower to stay awake. I went to see my doctor because I was scared something was seriously wrong with me.

She wore a tiny smile on her face when she came back into the room with my blood test results. “Well, you’re not dying, so that’s good. But you are pregnant.” She shrugged noncommittally, unsure how I’d feel about the news and giving me space to process.

I was shocked. I shook my head at her. “That’s impossible. I’m on birth control, and the last time I had sex, I used a condom, too.”

I made her run the pregnancy test again, convinced there’d been a mistake, but the next one came back just as positive. So did the three at-home pregnancy tests I took that night. I was stunned. I’d always wanted to be a mother—it was one of the top three goals on my list of ambitions. But I wanted to do lots of other things before getting to it. I had a well-drawn-out plan for my life, and so far, I’d been following it to a T. An unplanned pregnancy from a one-night stand did not fit with that timeline.

I spent the next few days walking around in shock, but it wasn’t long before the shock grew into excitement. I still didn’t feel like it was the perfect time to have a baby, but the universe clearly had other plans. Pregnant, after using the pill and a condom? It felt a bit too miraculous. Divinely inspired. After that, my anticipation and excitement grew every day along with the baby.

I toyed with not telling James. After all, he was basically a stranger to me, and I was ready to take this on alone. I hadn’t seen him since the night we hooked up and we’d only exchanged a couple funny texts since then. But I figured it was the right thing to do. I didn’t expect him to be a part of the kid’s life, and I wasn’t sure if I even wanted him to be, but giving him a choice was the responsible adult thing to do, so I did it. I made it clear from the moment I told him that he was under no obligation to help me care for the baby. His response was shocking.

“Are you kidding?” He was back in town for work again, and we were at a restaurant called Mahogany’s. He jumped up from our table and raced around to grab me. He swooped me up and twirled me around. We spun until we were dizzy and he plopped me back down with a huge grin on his face. “I’m so excited, I don’t know what to do with myself. This is the best news!”

And he wasn’t kidding. He was over the moon about becoming a dad, and about being with me. He kept saying it was destiny because of the circumstances, and it was hard not to be moved by his enthusiasm. He made it clear he was serious about me and immediately started showering me with love and attention. Nobody had ever been that into me before, and it was incredibly mesmerizing and intoxicating. He called and checked up on me constantly, sending me flowers and meals. Cute notes at work. I’d never been a romantic—still wasn’t—but he swept me off my feet. Charmed the pants off me. Love-bombed me, even though I’d never heard the term at the time.

But then everything changed when he moved to Wisconsin.

He turned possessive the moment he stepped foot in Eagle Rock. He wanted to move in together right away, but to me it felt way too fast, even though we were having a baby together. We’d never even been on an official first date, besides the night we went out to dinner and I told him about the pregnancy. He wanted to know where I was going, what I was doing, and who I was with every moment of the day. He was jealous of any attention people gave me, and was convinced everyone I met wanted to sleep with me. He didn’t even like me talking to my parents or my sister. It was one red flag after another, and I pulled back immediately. That’s when things got scary.

I tried ending the relationship over the phone as delicately as possible, stressing that we’d moved too fast with things. “You’re more than welcome to be in the baby’s life if you still want to be and we can talk about what that might look like, but I’m not interested in a romantic relationship.” I knew exactly what I wanted to say and stuck to the script. I tried to keep my tone upbeat and light, as if we were any other couple that just hadn’t worked out.

“Oh, so you just used me to get pregnant, then? Is that it? You needed some kind of sperm donor? All you bitches are the same.” He said it like he was disgusted with me. His words were short and clipped. “I gave up my entire life for you, you know that? All the sacrifices I’ve made to be with you and this baby? Moving here. Taking care of you. Trying to give you everything so we can be a family. How dare you?” I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his rage through the phone, and I didn’t like it. “You’re not getting away with this. All you conniving bitches think you can just play us. That’s not going to happen. Not this time.”

None of what he was saying was based in reality, and I was terrified. He spoke like we’d been together for years rather than seven weeks, and his sweeping statements about women were shocking. But it was his anger that scared me the most.

That’s when I did a thorough background search on James.

Turned out, he’d always lived in Wisconsin, only a few hours away from Eagle Rock. His story about being a financial broker in New Jersey was a complete lie, much like everything else he’d told me that night at the bar. He had a criminal record spanning the last ten years: domestic violence and assault, drunk driving, aggravated assault, aggravated robbery. And those were just his felonies. He had misdemeanors spanning all the way back to his adolescence. He’d been in jail multiple times and served three years in prison. I was horrified, and the shame of being an intelligent and successful woman that had fallen for someone so awful was one of the hardest parts.

I went no-contact immediately after that phone call, but that didn’t stop him. I’d never forget the fury burning in his eyes when he showed up at my apartment unannounced and uninvited, and told me I couldn’t escape him. Or the way he had looked when he grabbed me by my hair and shoved me down four flights of stairs after I refused to talk to him or let him inside my place. I’d never been hit in my life, and even knowing what I knew about him, the punch to my face was a total shock. If it hadn’t been for my friend June worrying because I didn’t text her when I got inside, I probably would’ve died at the bottom of those stairs that night. I’m sure that’s what he intended.

Police officers camped outside my hospital room as the doctors and nurses tended to my injuries and did everything they could to save the baby. The trauma had sent him into distress. They found James at the bar where we’d met, drinking and carrying on as if he hadn’t just tried to kill me. I never went back to my apartment. I stayed with my parents until he was officially incarcerated. I was his third strike, and in the state of Wisconsin, that meant life without parole. I read my victim statement at his sentencing hearing, and I never saw or heard from him again.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t think about him. A violent monster was Hunter’s biological father, and no matter how hard I tried to forget that, it was always there, lurking under the surface. I never told Hunter the truth about his dad. It was the only secret I kept from him, but I didn’t want him to know where he came from. Instead, I told him his dad died before he was born. Maybe that made me a terrible mother, but I didn’t think so. Not when I was doing it to protect him.

When he got old enough to start asking questions, I came up with a plan. My friend Nick had gone into the military and died in Iraq. It happened when Hunter was a baby, so I told him Nick was his dad. My family and friends supported the idea. It was easier that way, and it assured that if there ever came a day when Hunter decided to check up on my story about his dad, there would be a man there when he looked. I even had a couple pictures of Nick and me together. I’d never felt guilty about it. Still didn’t. Hunter’s life was better thinking he came from two people that loved him.

I watched him like a hawk when he was younger, especially at the playground with other kids, analyzing his every move for the slightest sign that he’d inherited his father’s violent tendencies. What would he do when he was provoked? Did he lash out? Did he like hurting other kids? I thought of his predisposition to violence like any other developmental disorder—early intervention was key. If there was anything there, I was going to spot it and treat it right away.

But that’s the thing: there was never anything there. He had always been the sweetest kid. I waited for him to shove kids down the slide or hit them with sticks when he was mad, but he was the one who helped his friends up after they fell down, the one running to defend his friends against bullying. Over the years, I’d slowly relaxed and quit holding my breath and waiting to see if he was okay. I stopped analyzing everything he did. And there’d never been a single alarming sign.

Until now.

What really happened that night at the party?

After I picked Hunter up from the water tower, I never thought to check on his story. I trusted him. I always had. He’d never given me a reason not to. As he moved from middle school into high school, we had all kinds of conversations about the importance of me being able to trust him. And that in order for me to trust him, he needed to tell me the truth about things, even stuff that might get him in trouble. He’d never been in any serious trouble, though. Not at home or school. The worst thing he’d done was skip school to go to Noah’s Ark, the water park not far from where we live. He went with an entire crew of kids, which pretty much ensured they’d get caught—a reckless move, but hardly concerning. Beyond that? Eye rolls and a bratty attitude when I asked him to get off his phone or was nagging him about college applications were as far as his acting out went. He was a good kid. I knew he was.

I never checked with Shai’s mom, Ruby, about what happened either, and maybe I should have. I wasn’t close with her—I’d pulled way back on conversations with Hunter’s friends’ parents over the years, especially in the last few as he started developing his independence. He didn’t need or want me micromanaging his life, and as hard as it was for me to let go, he was right. He had to learn how to do things on his own and navigate situations without me acting as a buffer.

But the two of them getting into a fight was a big deal, and it was strange Ruby hadn’t said anything to me about it. I’d just run into her at the grocery store last week. Wouldn’t she have at least mentioned it? Like, “Hey, how crazy is it that the boys got into a fight?” or something like that?

Except I hadn’t said anything about it either. And not on purpose. It’d just never crossed my mind when I saw her. Maybe it was the same for her.

It was also possible she just didn’t know about it, and I didn’t want to overstep. But then what did she think when Hunter wasn’t there in the morning when they were supposed to leave for the college visit? I decided I was calling her as soon as it was a decent hour. I rolled out of bed and sat up, anxiously rubbing my face. There was no chance I was sleeping tonight. I was shocked when my phone buzzed with a text. Was it her? I hated not being able to save her contact information.

I can’t sleep

What a coincidence, I wrote back, I can’t either

Omg you’re up. I never thought you’d be up!!! Can I call you?

Of course. You can always call me. That’s why I gave you my number.

I headed downstairs to make coffee as I answered her call.

FELICIA: Hey, hon, I’m sorry you can’t sleep.

CHLOE: I never sleep anymore.

FELICIA: You will again someday, I promise. It just doesn’t feel like it right now.

CHLOE: How do you know all this stuff?

FELICIA: I told you, I’ve been through it. All of it. Not just the incident, but everything that happens afterward. The stuff people don’t talk about. You know, I slept in my closet for two months after my attack. With a bat in one hand and pepper spray in the other.

CHLOE: Really? [deep sigh] I kinda like knowing there’s someone else that’s been through it.

FELICIA: There’s lots of us. You’d be surprised. I know you feel all alone and that there’s nobody else in the world right now that gets it, but other people have been through what you’ve been through. Maybe not exactly the same, but there are so many sexual assault survivors. If we looked, we could probably find a support group for you somewhere. I bet they have one just for teenagers.

CHLOE: I keep trying to talk to my friend about what happened, the one who was there, but she doesn’t want to talk about it. She wants to pretend like it never happened. Which I get. Totally easy for her, right? She remembers nothing and she wasn’t in the video, so her life isn’t ruined. You know what’s wild? She acts like I made it all up. Looks at me like I’m crazy.

FELICIA: I’m sorry she’s treating you that way. Her response doesn’t have anything to do with you, though, you know that, right? She’s trying to keep herself safe. That kind of thinking protects her from having to admit the same thing happened to her.

CHLOE: I hate it. It’s like she doesn’t even want to talk to me. Not just about what happened. She’s practically ignoring me right now. Like, normally I’d be calling her, but instead I’m calling some old lady I don’t even know. I— Oh my god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— I was just…

FELICIA: [laughing] It’s okay, I get it. Trust me, I understand we’re in kind of a strange situation here, and I’m just glad you have someone to talk to, even if it is just some old lady.

[Small laugh from Chloe. Long pause]

FELICIA: Does anything help get you to sleep?

CHLOE: Thinking about what I’m going to do to them. Sometimes that’s the only thing that helps. But I just get really scared. [pauses] Did that ever happen to you? Like, you feel like it’s happening to you again, right in the moment?

FELICIA: Sometimes. There’s a word for that, you know? It’s called PTSD. Lots of people have it after they experience a traumatic event. I did. For a long time. Like I said, sometimes I still do, but it gets better over time. I know I keep saying that, but it’s only because I know it’s true, and if you can just hold on long enough to get there, it’ll happen for you, too. It won’t always hurt this bad.

CHLOE: Sometimes it gets so bad I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand it. That’s when I close my eyes supertight and I just picture myself shooting them in their faces over and over again. It’s this violent scene I let play out but it calms me down.

FELICIA: [swallows hard] I understand.

[soft sniffles]

CHLOE: I don’t know how I’m going to make it through tonight.

FELICIA: Do you like baths?

CHLOE: Um, yeah, sometimes.

FELICIA: What if you just got in the bath?

CHLOE: I guess I could…

FELICIA: Why don’t you try that? Just soak. Let the water hold you for a minute.

[pause]

CHLOE: Okay… I’m gonna go.

FELICIA: Text me in a few hours and let me know how you’re feeling, okay?

But there was nobody on the other end. She was already gone. Had she gotten into the bathtub, or gone for the gun?

A pit opened in my stomach.

A bath wasn’t going to help her with anything. Not really, but I was running out of things to say. I wanted to tell her how many nights I spent plotting James’s death while he was in prison. Imagining what I would do—how badly I’d torture him—if they found him not guilty, or if his lawyer could somehow get him out of there. The only reason I was able to live freely now was that my attacker couldn’t hurt me any longer. If he hadn’t landed in prison without parole? I might’ve taken matters into my own hands.

But I didn’t tell her that. I couldn’t. No matter how much I wanted to bury it, to return to the life we’d lived just twenty-four hours before, I couldn’t deny that we might be talking about my son.