Never Let You Go

  “It’s been so many years, though,” she says.

  “He’s still dangerous.”

  “What if he’s changed?” Something about the way she says it stops me cold. It’s the hope in her voice, maybe even a little doubt, as though she’s not sure my concerns are real.

  I think for a moment. She knows what prison he was in, so she could have written—or even gone to see him. It had never occurred to me that she would do something so important without telling me. But she’s a teenager now and might have been curious.

  “Have you talked to him? If you have, it’s okay to tell me. I won’t be upset.” I’ll be furious, but if I share that, she won’t tell me anything.

  She shakes her head. “I just feel bad you’re so scared of him.” Meaning she isn’t. My heart is twisting and turning on the end of a sword. I don’t want her reassurances. That’s my job. But she’s not afraid. I can see it in her face, and that means she could make a mistake. I need her to be careful. If Andrew sees that there’s a crack, he’ll turn it into a window.

  “I don’t believe a person can change who they are at their core,” I say. “It doesn’t matter how many years it’s been—he hasn’t forgiven me for divorcing him. He’s angry, and probably dealing with a lot of problems and emotions now that he’s out of prison. That means he’s unstable.” I think of him sending that message through his lawyer, how he must have sat in his cell so smug and satisfied, knowing that he’d yet again managed to fool me.

  “I know you’re upset,” she says, fiddling with her pens. “It just seems like if he was really mad at you, he’d do something else. Not, like, stalk you or whatever.”

  “Sophie, look at me.”

  She raises her head, meets my eyes.

  “Your dad loved to scare me. It wasn’t just about him hurting me. Making me afraid is exciting for him. It gives him a powerful feeling. I’m hoping that he’ll go away now that he’s made his point, but we need to keep an eye out. You’ll tell me if you ever see him, right?”

  She nods. “Yeah.” Then picks up her pen and starts to draw. I watch her fingers. They seem hesitant, unsure, but I don’t know if I’m imagining it. Her strokes become more confident, her expression smoothing out, her body relaxing. I sink down onto the pillow.

  It’s going to be okay. We’ll get through this together, just like we always have.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SEPTEMBER 2003

  “Daddy parked the truck in the mailbox again.” Sophie was standing by the front window, still dressed in her pink Barbie nightgown, her hands and face pressed to the glass.

  I stood beside her. The wooden post was sticking out from under Andrew’s front tire, the wood splintered, our cheerful red metal mailbox knocked partway across the lawn. The first time it happened, he told me he just took the corner too sharp. The second time it was because I parked in the wrong spot in the driveway, didn’t give him enough room.

  “Come on, baby. I’ll turn on the TV, okay?”

  “When’s Daddy getting up?”

  “Soon.” I glanced at the clock. I couldn’t let him sleep too long—he liked to spend Sunday mornings with Sophie, but I liked the peace and quiet. It had been a hard week. He lost a couple of workers, had problems getting permits, got outbid on another project.

  Sophie jumped onto the couch, burrowed under her blanket. “Can I have milk, please, Mommy?” The word came out “Mulk,” which always made me smile. Andrew thought we should correct her when she mispronounced words, but when it was just the two of us, I never said anything, wanted to keep my baby a little longer. She’d started preschool that week, only half days, but I missed her terribly, would watch the clock until it was time to get her.

  I brought her milk, set it on the coffee table. Sophie was digging around in the couch cushions, pulled out my silver charm bracelet.

  “Oh, no, Mommy! It’s broken!”

  “It’s okay, baby. It just fell off.” I kept my smile in place, my tone upbeat. “Thank you for finding it.” I took the bracelet from her, tucked it into my housecoat pocket. The bruise wasn’t too bad, should fade in a few days, but I’d have to wear long sleeves. I should have known better, should have remembered to text him in the afternoon to let him know we were okay. I’d just gotten so busy, taking Sophie to a birthday party, making all those cupcakes.

  I poured coffee into the mug Sophie had made Andrew for Father’s Day, a dark blue painted disaster, and carried it down the hall. As I passed Sophie’s room, I caught a glimpse of her white antique rocker, remembered how when she was born Andrew would sit and rock her for hours, change diapers without even making a face, gaze at her with adoration when she made her soft little grunts and coos. He’d come home from work with milkshakes or fresh bread from the bakery, slather it in butter and feed me pieces. He was so happy back then.

  I padded into our bedroom, set the coffee on the night table. He didn’t stir, so I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth with the water running slowly. I flicked my gaze around, checked where my makeup bag was on the counter. A few times I came home after errands and found my bag in the wrong place, the contents out of order, my clothes shifted around in the drawer as though he’d been searching for something. When I cautiously asked if it was him doing this, he’d accused me of being paranoid. Now I kept careful track of everything.

  “Lindsey?” His voice startled me. I dropped my toothbrush, splashing water onto the mirror. I grabbed a cloth, wiped at it.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Coffee is on the night table.”

  “Where’s Sophie?”

  “Watching TV.” I walked out, let him tug me down beside him in bed. His body was warm, his chest muscles hard under my cheek. He pressed his lips against my forehead and slid his hand down my arm, gently circled my wrist, stroking the tender skin.

  “Your wrist okay?”

  “Yeah. Sophie found my bracelet.”

  “You shouldn’t have pulled away so fast like that. I could have really hurt you.” His voice is raspy from sleep, but there’s another tone. One I know well. Remorse.

  “I know. I’ll be more careful.” He hadn’t meant to grab me that hard when I started walking away, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Just like when he knocked over the hand-blown glass vase my grandmother had given me for our wedding, or dropped the ceramic owl I’d had since I was a little girl and always kept perched on my dresser. He glued it all back together, piece by piece, spent hours with a magnifying glass and tweezers, but I could still see every crack.

  The sound of Sophie’s cartoons drifted through the open door. She was watching Caillou, would be absorbed for a little while longer before she came looking for us.

  “I’m worried about you,” I said. “You’re drinking a lot lately.”

  “I’m fine. I’m just under a lot of stress because of the north island project.”

  “Maybe you can slow down a little and not take on so much at once.”

  “How can I do that when I’m supporting you and your family? Your parents are carrying a lot of debt and I promised your dad I’d have work for him for years.”

  I looked up at him, surprised. He’d encouraged my parents to buy a new car and renovate their house. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “Of course. I mean, we’d be all right if I shut down the company. I have my trust payments, but what about your dad and brother? There’s not much work out there.…”

  I felt unsettled, panicky. He’d never spoken about shutting down the company before. I thought he could pick smaller projects, lay off some of the new guys. My father was almost fifty and had a bad shoulder. No one else would give him a job as a foreman.

  “Maybe you can hire someone to help you. Then you’ll have more free time.”

  “That’ll ruin my business. People in the industry have always thought I was just some rich kid who had everything easy. If I hire someone, I’ll be proving them right.” He looked upset, and I felt like I’d let him down. Of course he didn’t
want to risk his reputation.

  He tugged on my hair, tilted my head. “You’re worrying about nothing, I swear.” He held my gaze, his expression serious. “I’ll cut back, okay?”

  “You always say that, but—”

  “I will, Lindsey. This time I will.”

  I rested my head against his side. He hummed a few bars of a tune, his deep voice vibrating his chest. You know our love was meant to be … I recognized the song by Chicago. It was on our wedding CD. Andrew had an uncanny knack for remembering lyrics, could quote a verse for every occasion. He knew what song was playing in the restaurant on our first date, what songs we made love to, what was playing in his truck when he picked me up.

  He stopped singing. I tensed, waiting. What was wrong now?

  “It must be hard for you, now that Sophie’s at school,” he said.

  “The house is really quiet.” I wanted to say more, but it was too hard to talk, all my emotions building in my throat, the relief of having my best friend back—the sweet Andrew, the loving Andrew. This was my husband. Not the man who gripped my wrist like he wanted to snap it.

  “Remember how I said we were working near a farm this week? The owner has a border collie with a litter of puppies. We should get one.”

  I sat up straight, stared down at him. “You’re serious?” I’d wanted a dog for years. We’d had one when I was little, a spaniel named Hurricane because he destroyed everything, but after he died my parents didn’t want another. I borrowed all the neighbors’ dogs and played with them. Andrew and I had talked a few times about getting a dog, but he wanted to wait until Sophie was older and we’d settled in one house and didn’t have to worry about damage.

  “I just want you to be happy, Lindsey.” He stroked the side of my face, so much tenderness in his eyes I wanted to cry. “We’ll pick one out tomorrow.”

  * * *

  His name was Blaze, a roly-poly ball of black fluff with floppy ears and a white star on his forehead. We visited him a few times over the next couple of weeks—he wasn’t old enough to take home yet. Sophie and I usually went together, but sometimes Andrew would meet me while Sophie was at preschool and we’d have lunch in the barn with the puppies. I laughed, watching him throw small sticks for Blaze, talking about all the things they were going to do together. “We’ll go camping, buddy. You’ll like that. I bet you’re a good fishing partner.”

  In the evenings, I read puppy books, researched the best food and training methods for border collies. Andrew bought the puppy a leather collar and leash, got him an engraved silver name tag. I was thrilled that Andrew had kept his word—I hadn’t seen him drink once.

  The day we were supposed to pick up Blaze, Andrew didn’t come home at five like he promised. I called his cell. No answer. We waited until six. Then seven. Sophie was getting more upset, more impatient. “Why can’t we get the puppy, Mommy? Where is Daddy?”

  Finally I loaded her in the car and we went and got Blaze by ourselves. When we came home, Andrew’s truck was in the driveway. Sophie, holding Blaze tightly in her arms, ran inside. “Daddy! Daddy!” I followed her into the house, started putting the dog food and treats into the cupboard. I was so angry at Andrew, I didn’t think I could talk to him without revealing my fury.

  Sophie came into the kitchen. “He’s sleeping.” She sounded so confused, so disappointed. This was my fault. I should have known he’d do this. I’d been talking about the puppy too much. Not giving him enough attention. Why didn’t I see it building?

  “That’s okay, honey. He’s probably having a nap. Why don’t you show Blaze the backyard?” While she went outside, I checked on Andrew. I could smell the whiskey as soon as I walked into the bedroom, saw the empty glass on the floor where it had slipped from his hand.

  I cleaned up the mess, blotted the wet spot on the carpet, and went to make dinner. Andrew didn’t come out of the bedroom. I put a covered plate for him in the fridge.

  Sophie wanted to sleep with Blaze in her room, but I told her it wasn’t a good idea. Andrew and I had agreed we would crate-train Blaze in the laundry room. Not my wishes.

  After I set up the dog bed inside the metal pen, with newspaper all around, I tucked Blaze in with a teddy bear for comfort. Then I eased into bed with Andrew, listened to the rain outside. It was a miserable night, fall just around the corner. I was going to miss the long warm days. I closed my eyes, tried to go to sleep, but I could hear pitiful whimpers from Blaze.

  I sat up, swung my legs around the side of the bed. Andrew’s arm latched around my middle. I gasped in surprise as he pulled me backward onto the bed.

  “Leave him. He has to learn.” He rolled over, yawned. “Can you get me some water?”

  Water. He wanted water? No explanation, no excuses even for coming home drunk. I gritted my teeth. This wasn’t a good time to get into it. I’d wait until tomorrow.

  I filled up a glass in the bathroom, brought it to the side of the bed.

  He took a sip, his watch flashing in the dim light. “This is warm. I want ice.”

  Of course he did. I slipped out to the kitchen, the floor cold on my feet. Blaze was howling now, pitiful high-pitched whimpers. Sophie was going to wake up.

  I left the glass on the counter, snuck down the hallway to the laundry room. “Shush,” I whispered. “It’s okay.” Blaze was wiggling and grunting, trying to get out of the pen.

  “What are you doing?” Andrew, standing in the doorway. “I told you to let him be.”

  “I was just checking on him.”

  Blaze was barking now, clambering up on the side of the pen, rattling the metal.

  “Fucking dog.” Andrew reached into the pen, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

  I stood up, snatched at his arm, trying to pull Blaze back toward me, but Andrew was holding him up high in the air. “What are you doing?” I said.

  He didn’t answer, just spun around and walked out of the laundry room. Blaze was crying, his legs kicking in the air. I followed them down the hall, hissing, “Andrew, stop!”

  Andrew opened the back door. Wind and rain swept inside, blew my nightgown against my legs. “You can’t put him outside!”

  Andrew looked over his shoulder at me—and dropped the puppy. Blaze landed with a small thud, a yelp, and rolled onto his side. I squeezed past Andrew, reached for the dog. My fingers were on his fur. Andrew grabbed me around the waist, yanked me back, and shut the door.

  I pushed against Andrew’s chest, hit him without thinking. He shoved me against the wall, grabbed my shoulders, and shook me hard. My teeth bit into my cheek.

  He leaned closer, breathed whiskey into my face. “If you go out there, I’m going to smash his head in with a shovel. Got it?”

  We stared at each other in the dark hallway until I nodded. He let go of my arms. I slumped against the wall. “Come on,” he said. “I’m tired.”

  I followed him back to the room. I couldn’t breathe, wanted to cry. Made myself put one foot in front of the other. I’d wait until he fell asleep. I’d go get the puppy.

  I tried twice to sneak out of the bed, but he heard me move each time, held me down with his leg, his arm across my chest like an iron band. The hours ticked past. I stared at the ceiling, tears rolling down my face. I wanted to be stronger, to shove him away from me and fight for the dog, but I was too scared that he’d make good on his threat. I couldn’t forget the look in his eye, like he was daring me. Like he wanted me to make one false step so he could kill the puppy.

  Finally it was morning and he got up for work. I pretended to be asleep. The moment I heard his truck leave, I went outside and found the puppy hiding under the front deck, shivering and sodden. I fed him warm food, tucked him against my chest in a towel, crooned my apologies, and swore that he’d never be hurt again. I’d make sure of it. When Sophie woke I gently told her that the puppy was sick and had to go back to his mommy. She was heartbroken.

  I cried when I drove Blaze back to the farm and explained to the owners that my
daughter had allergies we hadn’t known about. I didn’t know if they believed me, but the wife looked sympathetic and promised she would find him a great home. I gave them all of his belongings, the food, his dishes, even the collar. Every last item. I couldn’t look at any of it.

  When Andrew came home, I told him that I realized I didn’t have enough time to care for a puppy right now. I wanted to focus on Sophie. He never asked about him again.

  * * *

  I watched as my mom poured hot water into the teapot with a trembling hand. I wondered how much longer she’d be able to do this. The doctors said she might manage for years, but no one really knew. The October sun streamed through the window, lighting up her blond hair and pale skin, so fair I could see the faint blue veins in her neck.

  “Let me get the tea, Mom.”

  “Stop. I’m not completely useless.” She smiled, and I made myself smile back, but my thoughts were all over the place, my nerves raw. I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t be long. He might come home at lunch. I mentally scanned through the items in our fridge, trying to decide what I could make quickly. He didn’t like me to drop anything off at his job site anymore. He said it wasn’t safe, that a beam could fall on me, but that wasn’t true. He didn’t like how the men looked at me. I saw it in his face, felt it in the way he’d hurry me to the car.

  A few days after I gave Blaze back, Andrew told me he’d listed the house with a real estate agent. It sold quickly. It had been a week since we’d moved into our brand-new house, even bigger than our last one. Our third in as many years. I’d wanted Sophie to grow up in the same home for all her childhood like I had. Everything in my parents’ house was familiar. I gazed around at the pretty yellow curtains, the cow cream-and-sugar containers, the chicken salt-and-pepper shakers. My mother loved anything country, and for years we bought her the most obnoxiously cute things we could find for birthdays and Christmas. She cherished every one of them. She poured my tea from a pig-shaped teapot, gave my hand a pat as she sat across from me.