Richard’s hands tighten around my throat, cutting off my supply of oxygen.
I thought I’d have time to scream. To bang on the door and summon Emma and Maureen, so they could witness Richard’s transformation. Richard would never be able to explain this violence away; it would be the physical proof that couldn’t be found in a notebook or a filing cabinet or a storage unit. This was the other insurance policy I needed to save us all—me, Emma, and the women in Richard’s future.
I was also counting on Richard to halt his attack when Maureen and Emma appeared—or that, at least, they would be able to stop him. Now there is no reason for him to deny himself his need to extinguish me.
My windpipe feels as if it is being crushed into the back of my neck. The pain is agonizing. My knees buckle.
My left arm helplessly stretches out toward Emma’s door, though I know it’s futile. She is twirling in her wedding gown for her future sister-in-law. Completely unaware of what is happening on the other side of her living room wall.
Richard’s assault is nearly silent; a gurgling noise wrenches free from my throat, but it is not loud enough to reach her or anyone else who may be home on this floor.
He thrusts me back against the wall. His hot breath brushes my cheeks. I see the scar above his eye, a silvery crescent, as he leans closer.
I am engulfed by dizziness.
I fumble for the pepper spray in my pocket, but as I pull it out, Richard bangs my head against the wall and I lose my grip on it. It tumbles to the carpet.
My vision recedes; it is being hemmed in by black borders. I frantically kick at his shins, but he is unaffected by my blows.
My lungs are burning. I am desperate for air.
His eyes blaze into mine. I claw at his body and my hand hits something hard in his suit jacket pocket. I wrench it free.
Save us.
I summon the last of my strength and smash the object against his face.
Richard releases a cry.
A splash of bright red blood erupts from the wound by his temple.
My limbs grow heavy and my body begins to relax. A calmness I haven’t felt in years—perhaps ever—overtakes me. My knees give way.
I am fading into the blackness when the pressure abruptly disappears. I collapse and draw in a ragged breath. I cough violently, then I retch.
“Vanessa,” a woman calls from what seems a great distance away.
I am splayed on the carpet, one of my legs bent beneath me, but I feel as if I am floating.
“Vanessa!”
Emma. All I can do is roll my head to one side, bringing broken pieces of porcelain into view. I see jagged pieces of china figurines—a serenely smiling blond bride and her handsome groom. It was our cake topper.
And beside them is Richard on his knees, his expression blank, a rivulet of blood streaming down his face and staining his white shirt.
I suck in a painful breath, then another. All of the menace has leached out of my ex-husband. His hair has fallen forward into his eyes. He is immobile.
Fresh oxygen returns a little strength to my body, though my throat feels so swollen and tender I can’t swallow. I manage to edge backward and pull myself into a sitting position, slumping against the hallway wall.
Emma hurries to my side. She is barefoot and, like me, clad in a white sheath. Her wedding gown. “I heard someone yell—I came out to see—but then . . . What happened?”
I can’t speak. I can only suck in shallow, greedy breaths.
I see her eyes drift down to my neck. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Richard doesn’t react to any of this, not even to the gasp of surprise Maureen gives as she suddenly appears in the doorway.
“What is going on?” Maureen stares at me—the woman she dismissed as unstable, as her brother’s cast-off wife. Then she looks at Richard, the man she helped raise and loves unconditionally. She goes to him. She reaches out and touches his back. “Richard?”
He raises a hand to his forehead, then stares at the streak of red on his palm. He seems oddly distant, as if he’s in shock.
I hate the sight of blood. That was one of the first things he’d ever said to me. I suddenly realize that in all of the ways Richard hurt me, he never once made me bleed.
Maureen hurries into the apartment and returns with a wad of paper towels. She kneels next to him and presses the towels to his wound. “What’s going on?” Her words grow sharper. “Vanessa, why are you here? What did you do to him?”
“He hurt me.” My voice is hoarse and every syllable feels as if one of the shards of porcelain is rubbing against the inside of my throat.
I need to finally say these words.
I grimace as I make my voice louder. “He choked me. He nearly killed me. Just like he used to hurt me when we were married.”
Maureen gasps. “He wouldn’t—no, not—”
Then she falls silent. She is still shaking her head, but her shoulders sag and her face collapses. I am certain that even though she hasn’t yet seen the fingerprint-shaped marks that I know are blooming on my neck, she believes me.
Maureen straightens up. She pulls the paper towels away from Richard’s face and examines his injury. When she speaks again, her tone is brisk, yet caring.
“It isn’t so bad. I don’t think you need stitches.”
Richard doesn’t react to this, either.
“I’ll take care of everything, Richard.” Maureen gathers up the shattered pieces of porcelain. She cups them in one hand, then wraps her arms around her brother and tilts her head close to his. I can just barely make out her whispered words: “I always took care of you, Richard. I never let anything bad happen to you. You don’t have to worry. I’m here. I’m going to fix everything.”
Her utterances are bewildering. But what shocks me most is the strange emotion infusing them. Maureen doesn’t sound angry or sad or confused.
Her voice is filled with something I can’t identify at first, because it is so out of place.
I finally realize what it is: satisfaction.
CHAPTER
FORTY
The building before me could be a Southern mansion, with its grand columns and wraparound porch lined with a tidy row of rocking chairs. But to gain access to the grounds, I have to pass through a gate manned by a security guard and show photo identification. The guard also searches the cloth bag I’m carrying. He raises his eyebrows when he sees the items inside, but merely nods for me to continue on my way.
A few patients at the New Springs Hospital are gardening or playing cards on the porch. I don’t see him among them.
Richard is spending twenty-eight days at this acute mental-health facility, where he is undergoing intensive daily therapy sessions. It is part of the deal he made to avoid being prosecuted for assaulting me.
As I climb the wide wooden steps toward the entrance, a woman unfolds herself from a chaise lounge, her limbs sharp and athletic looking. The bright afternoon sun is in my eyes and I can’t immediately identify her.
Then she moves closer, and I see it is Maureen. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.” I shouldn’t be surprised; Maureen is all Richard has left now.
“I’m here every day. I’ve taken a leave of absence from work.”
I look around. “Where is he?”
One of his counselors passed along Richard’s request: He wanted to see me. At first I was unsure if I would comply. Then I realized I needed this visit, too.
“Richard is resting. I wanted to talk to you first.” Maureen gestures to a pair of rocking chairs. “Shall we?”
Maureen takes a moment to cross her legs and smooth a crease in her beige linen pantsuit. Clearly she has an agenda. I wait for her to reveal it.
“I feel terrible about what happened between you and Richard.” I see Maureen glance at the faded yellow discoloration on my neck. But there is a disconnect between her words and the energy she is conveying. Her posture is rigid and her face is devoid of sympathy.
She doesn’t care for me. She never has, even though early on I’d hoped we would become close.