Chương 2
Mara stared at him.
There were answers that would have pleased him.
I’m overwhelmed.
I’m hormonal.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean it.
She had used all of them before.
Each one had purchased a few hours.
Sometimes a day.
But every apology also became part of his version of events, another admission that the problem lived inside her.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Daniel’s face softened with such believable concern that Mara understood, suddenly, why everyone trusted him.
He was not pretending all the time.
That would have been simpler.
Some part of him genuinely believed he was the reasonable person standing in the hallway.
Some part of him could look at a terrified woman carrying his child and feel injured by her fear.
“Come sit down,” he said.
“No.”
His eyebrows lifted.
Mara felt the word echo between them.
“No?”
“I’m fine here.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I know.”
“You need to calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“You’re obviously not.”
Daniel reached for her arm.
Mara stepped back.
His hand stopped in the air.
For several seconds neither of them moved.
Then a lawn mower started somewhere outside, loud and uneven, its engine struggling before settling into a steady mechanical growl.
The ordinary sound nearly broke her.
Somebody was cutting grass.
Somebody had decided the lawn needed doing before lunch.
Two houses away, maybe three, a person was walking back and forth under the sun while Mara calculated whether she could scream before Daniel covered her mouth.
He lowered his hand.
“You’re scared of me.”
Mara did not answer.
His voice thinned.
“After everything I’ve done for you.”
There it was.
Not rage.
Woundedness.
The story he told himself.
She wondered whether he rehearsed it or whether it came naturally now.
“I need my phone.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
He gave a short laugh.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Mara looked at the table.
The phone lay six feet away.
Daniel stood closer to it.
The bag at her feet contained two shirts, underwear, a charger, eighty-three dollars in cash, her prenatal vitamins, a toothbrush, and a copy of her driver’s license she had made at the public library while Daniel thought she was buying groceries.
Her actual driver’s license was in the wallet inside her purse.
The purse was upstairs.
She had forgotten it.
For the first time that morning, panic gave way to irritation.
She had planned for weeks and forgotten her purse.
The stupidity of it was almost comforting.
She was still herself, apparently.
Still capable of messing up ordinary things.
Daniel followed her gaze toward the stairs.
“What else did you pack?”
“Nothing.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
His head tilted.
Mara heard herself breathe in.
Then out.
The bathroom recordings had taught her to notice breathing.
She hated that.
She had once been a person who noticed song lyrics and grocery prices and whether restaurant coffee tasted burned.
Now she counted seconds without meaning to.
Four in.
Four out.
Daniel picked up the canvas bag.
Mara grabbed the strap.
He looked at her hand.
“Let go.”
“No.”
“Mara.”
The lawn mower droned outside.
Her fingers tightened.
The bag jerked between them, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for the toothbrush inside to knock against something plastic.
Daniel’s eyes dropped toward the sound.
He pulled harder.
The zipper had not been fully closed.
Her folded clothes slid onto the floor.
The charger followed.
Then the white pharmacy bottle rolled across the hardwood and stopped beside his shoe.
Daniel looked down at it.
His expression changed.
Mara knew immediately that something was wrong.
He bent and picked it up.
“These aren’t your prenatal vitamins.”
She had forgotten about that too.
The bottle belonged to Dr. Reeves’s clinic.
Not medication.
Sample collection tubes.
Her obstetrician had given them to her after noticing burst vessels around Mara’s eyes for the second time.
Mara had lied about vomiting.
Dr. Reeves had not argued.
She had simply waited until Daniel left the room to take a work call, then said, “I’m going to give you something, and you can throw it away if you want.”
Inside the pharmacy bottle were two sterile swabs, a folded instruction sheet, and the business card of a domestic violence advocate who worked with the hospital.
Mara had hidden it at the bottom of the bag.
Daniel unscrewed the cap.
“No.”
The word escaped before she could stop it.
He pulled out the card.
For the first time since coming through the door, he looked frightened.
Not guilty.
Frightened.
His eyes moved over the printed name, the hospital logo, the number on the bottom.
Then he looked at Mara.
“What did you tell them?”
Mara’s knees weakened.
Daniel stepped toward her.
“What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I didn’t.”
“You have this.”
“They gave it to me.”
“Why?”
She backed into the wall beside the coat hooks.
He stopped an arm’s length away.
The phone remained on the table behind him.
Mara could see its black screen.
Daniel held up the card.
“Why did they give you this?”
“Because she asked if I felt safe at home.”
“And what did you say?”
Mara’s mouth went dry.
She had said yes.
The memory shamed her more than it should have.
Dr. Reeves had been standing there with one hand on the counter, not pushing, not rescuing, simply leaving a door unlocked.
Do you feel safe at home?
Yes.
Are you sure?
Yes.
All right.
If that answer ever changes, you can tell me.
Mara looked at Daniel now.
“I said yes.”
He searched her face.
Something in him relaxed.
Only slightly.
“Then why keep the card?”
She had no useful lie left.
Because I was afraid.
Because I needed to know somebody had noticed.
Because I wanted one object in this house that belonged to the truth.
Instead she said, “I don’t know.”
Daniel stared at her for a long time.
Then he tore the card in half.
The sound was small.
May you like
Almost nothing.
He tore it again and dropped the pieces onto her clothes.
