I touched my hair. “It’s damp out.…” He sat back in his chair, still looking at me. “I’ll fix myself up.” I walked down the hallway, trying to think. He was pissed off about something. Was it because I wasn’t home? Had I left something out? I’d been so careful to clean the kitchen.
I pushed open the bathroom door—and stopped. My cosmetics had been dumped everywhere, powders and blushes smashed onto the floor, the colors smeared on the white tile. The cupboard doors under the counter were wide open. Shampoo bottles, soaps, mouthwash, and lotions had all been tossed out. One of the bottles had broken open. Pale blue iridescent bubble bath leaked into the mess, and the scent, “Mountain Breeze,” hung sickeningly sweet in the air.
I knelt down and dragged my tampon box toward me with shaking hands. No, no, no.
Boot steps behind me. They stopped at the doorway. He knocked on the frame. I closed my eyes, squeezed them tight before opening them, then slowly turned around.
He was holding the shiny silver packet of pills out in the air.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “How come Lindsey got pregnant so easy the first time, but now it’s so hard? The doctor says it isn’t me.”
I got to my feet, braced my back against the counter, the hard edge biting into my skin. “I wasn’t ready for another child. I tried to tell you.”
“You let me think it was me.”
“No! I didn’t mean—”
“You’re a lying bitch.”
My body recoiled at the hatred in his face. “You made me lie.” My own anger was rising. The resentment I’d been stamping down for so long fighting to come loose. “Why would I want to have another baby with you when you treat me like this?”
“Treat you like what, Lindsey?”
His voice was so cold and I knew I was going too far and warning bells were going off in my head, but it felt good to finally strike back.
“Like I’m nothing. Like I’m just your maid, or some child who doesn’t get to decide anything for herself. Like you don’t really love me.”
“It looks like you’ve decided a few things for yourself, doesn’t it? But that’s going to change.” He moved toward me and I cringed against the counter, but he brushed past.
He stood over the toilet and popped the pills out of the package, dropping them into the water. Then he came closer, stood right in front of me, and braced his hands on the counter on either side of me. “You don’t seem to realize how fucking good you have it. No one else would want you, Lindsey. You’re not that smart, and not all that pretty anymore either.”
“Then let me go,” I said. “Divorce me. We can share joint custody.”
“I’ll never let that happen.”
“It won’t be up to you,” I said, surprised by how strong I sounded. “The courts will decide.”
“You think I’d sit around and wait for that? If you ever leave me, if you even try to leave me, Sophie will only have one parent, do you understand?”
I couldn’t talk anymore. My heart was hammering so hard in my chest I thought I might pass out, but I forced myself to nod. He was inches from my face, his eyes staring into mine. He grabbed a hunk of my hair and tugged it back painfully, then whispered into my ear. “I’m going to get Sophie from school and we’re going out for my birthday dinner. You’re not invited.”
He released me, and I sagged against the sink. His boots were loud as he walked back through the house. I followed after him, ran through the hall. He was already outside, down the stairs. I searched the counter for my keys, rifled through my purse, turned in a slow circle and scanned the room, searched the hook by the front door. They were gone.
Headlights streaked across the living room wall. I met them at the front door. Andrew came in first. I checked his face, noticed the flush to his cheeks and nose. From the cold? Or had he been drinking? God, please tell me he wasn’t drinking with Sophie in the truck. Sophie trailed behind her father, dragging her school backpack. She was huddled in her pink winter coat and shivering slightly, but her eyes were bright and happy as she said, “Hi, Mommy!”
“Baby, I was getting worried.” I dropped to my knees in front of her, rubbed her shoulders. “Why are you so cold?” Her braid was askew, and the baby-fine hairs around her forehead floated free. I smoothed some of them back. I searched her face again. She didn’t seem upset, but she was twirling one strand of hair and looking up at her father. Lately she’d started to follow him around the house on the nights he came home drunk or she’d sit beside him on the couch, until I urged her to bed or bribed her away with a promise of a new bedtime story.
“I’m okay, Mommy.”
“She’s fine.” Andrew’s boots hit the wall behind me with a thud as he kicked them off. I tried not to flinch, aware of my daughter’s gaze. I listened to his socked feet walking into the living room. I couldn’t tell if he was stumbling.
“Where did you go?” I said to Sophie, trying to use a cheerful voice.
“Leave her alone,” Andrew said from the living room. “She needs to go to bed.”