“I don’t know. There’s so much to do before Christmas.”
“Christmas is almost two months away. Think about how much Sophie will love it. The ocean, the pool. She’ll have a blast.”
I stared at him over the table. He was using Sophie again, twisting the knife.
He leaned closer. “Lindsey, I’m really sorry about what happened, okay? Please let me make it up to you. We can spend the whole week relaxing. You can use the spa, get a massage every day, facials. Remember how much you liked those margaritas on our honeymoon? We can take one of those night cruises and watch the rhythm dancers on the beach. I’ll even dance with you. Whatever your heart desires, it’s yours.” He smiled hopefully, his voice teasing, but I saw the fear in his eyes. He knew he was losing me. His fear didn’t make me feel safe, though. It scared me even more. He would do anything to keep me from leaving.
“It sounds lovely.” When he released me to reach for his beer, I rested my hand in my lap and dug my nails into my palm until the urge to scream had passed. It would be okay. Maybe it would even be better if he thought I was looking forward to a vacation with him. He’d feel more confident that everything was fine and might not watch me as closely. Soon. I’d be free soon.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DECEMBER 2016
It’s been a long day of cleaning. Wednesdays I have two houses, neither of which are small, and I’m looking forward to the weekend. Maybe Sophie and I can go to a movie or do some cross-country skiing. She doesn’t love the skiing, prefers to sit in the lodge by the fire and draw, but I can usually get her out for a few hours. It would be nice to see Greg too. He was busy last weekend working on his truck—the transmission blew right in the middle of his Christmas rush. He’d joked about borrowing money. “Don’t suppose you have a few thousand dollars lying around, do you?” But when I asked if he was serious he said, “No, I’ll work it out.”
When I told him I saw Andrew in town he was concerned and reassuring, which was nice. “Try not to let it worry you too much, but call the police next time.” He offered to come over that night after his truck was fixed, but he sounded so tired, I said that I’d be okay. I figured he could use a break. Later, walking around my silent house, I wished I’d said yes.
When I arrived at Marcus’s this morning for our workout, he took one look at me and said, “That bad, hey? I’d hug you, but you look like you might burst into tears.”
I nodded, held my mouth in a grim line. “I need to toughen up.”
“No, you’re great, but I am going to show you how to fight mean, okay?”
“What have we been doing all these months?”
“Baby steps. Now I’m going to turn you into a lethal weapon.” He smiled, and I appreciated the humor so much, I almost did give him a hug, but he was probably right. I would cry. I took a step back, pretended to dance around and box the air, uppercuts, jabs.
He watched me for a moment. “Okay, maybe I’ll just show you how to kick a guy.”
I drop my purse on the kitchen table, grab a water from the fridge, and lean on the door for a few moments, considering my dinner options. Quesadilla for one? Frozen pizza? Maybe leftover sausage and potato stew with toast—I burned enough calories today. Sophie texted me that she was going to Delaney’s for dinner and would be home around eight. I pop the stew into the oven and make my way upstairs to do some online Christmas shopping.
My bedroom is cold and I shrug on a sweater and pull on my favorite fuzzy socks while I wait for my computer to boot up. I sit at my desk and check my e-mails, but nothing downloads, which is strange—I always have a few e-mails, even if they’re mostly junk. Then I realize some of the emails in my in-box are new—one is a potential client looking for an estimate, but the messages have already been opened, the subject headings no longer in boldface. I stare at the screen. Did Sophie come home at lunch? Why would she use my computer?
I scan down the list, check the time and date. A bunch were from the night before—e-mail flyers, Groupons, winter clothing discounts, Christmas sales. The inquiry about the cleaning was sent at six in the morning, just before I woke up. Then I check the time on the two other e-mails. They were sent while I was at work this afternoon, but they too are showing as read.
One is from Jenny about Christmas presents, chatter about what she’s getting each of her daughters. The other is from Greg. I click on it, skim the content. He’s sorry about the weekend, can’t wait to see me, thinks I should spend a night at his house soon.
I’ll make you breakfast and deliver it in bed.