Baxter turned his head and surveyed her. Melissa met his gaze with meaning-filled eyes.
The light turned green. Baxter focused on the road. “She’s out tonight after dinner.” His tone was so casual. “Got some church volunteer meeting.”
Melissa’s heart flipped. “Oh. That’s right.” She pushed the purse around on her legs. “I’ll do the dishes for her.”
“You always do the dishes.”
“Well, then, all the more reason to do them tonight.”
Baxter smiled.
As they drove into the garage his mood darkened. Melissa could almost see the weight descend upon him. He slammed the Mercedes’ door. His jaw hardened, eyes turning cool as the moment when he faced his wife approached. Melissa trailed Baxter into the kitchen, giving him plenty of room. Not for herself, but to send a message to Linda.
They found her standing at the stove, fluffing rice in a pan with a fork. The smell of baking salmon filled the air. “Hi, honey.” Linda smiled at her husband, her eyes gauging. Melissa gave a slight shake of her head. Linda’s body tensed. “How was your day?”
“Fine.” He walked past her and left the kitchen, on his way upstairs to change.
Melissa and Linda exchanged glances. Melissa lay her purse on the counter and walked to a cabinet for plates. “Let me help. I hear you have a meeting tonight.”
“Yes, at seven-thirty.” Linda stilled and cocked her head. No sound from Baxter. “Did something bad happen today?” she whispered.
Work questions were one of the hardest parts of trying to keep balance in the household. Melissa couldn’t betray Baxter by telling Linda the truth. At the same time she needed to play Linda’s ally.
“I don’t know. I had a lot of copying to do. If he took some bad calls it was while I was out of the office.”
Linda set down the fork. “I just don’t understand why he’s gotten so bad the last few weeks.”
Melissa moved closer to the stove, one ear tilted toward the stairs. “I don’t either, but I’m so sorry. I mean, when I first came here I never would have guessed…”
“I know.” Linda’s voice tainted in bitterness. “You and the rest of the world.” She replaced the lid on the rice and turned down the heat. Such simple movements, but to Melissa they symbolized Linda’s life. Keep a lid on it. Try to keep Baxter from boiling over.
Why did adults have to be so confusing?
“When did he first hit you?” Melissa kept her voice low.
Linda stared across the room as if watching her own private screen. “Three months after we got married.”
“Nothing before that? Not a clue?”
“Not one. He had me fooled like everybody else.” She cradled her hands at her waist, watching one thumb rub over another. “The first time he did it I was so stunned. Just…shocked. He apologized later. Promised he’d never do it again. But of course he did.” Linda’s mouth twisted. “After awhile he stopped promising.”
Indignation rolled up Melissa’s spine. Linda was beautiful and smart. She could live her own life. “Why don’t you leave?”
Linda turned world-weary, resigned eyes upon her. “I love him.”
“How can you, when he treats you like that?”
A long moment passed as Linda’s gaze fastened upon Melissa, as if staring into the depths of her. “Why don’t you leave?”
Melissa’s jaw flexed. Just what was that supposed to mean? Anger bubbled within, her mind flashing through a series of pictures. The trashy trailer she grew up in…her drunken mother’s slit-eyed, hateful looks…bruises on Melissa’s body…her bedroom at the Jacksons’ house…Baxter’s face. Melissa stared back at Linda, her mouth hardening. “Because my life right now is a hundred times better than where I came from.”
A hint of a pained, knowing smile flickered across Linda’s lips. Her expression read so many things at once. That at sixteen, what did Melissa understand, and who was she to judge? That she could not begin to know Linda’s heartache, because she’d never been betrayed by the man she loved. (Stepfathers and a lousy mother didn’t count?) That Melissa would change her tune in a hurry if Baxter started mistreating her. (That would never happen.) Linda opened her mouth—maybe to say one of these things, maybe to say them all. Then she closed it. She turned away.
Baxter’s footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Melissa swiveled to a drawer and started pulling out utensils. Linda opened the oven door and slid out a pan of baked salmon.
Dinner went pretty well, although all three of them were quiet. Melissa figured the church meeting was a point for Linda’s side. It wouldn’t do for Baxter to hit her too close to her seeing her church friends. She might get all teary, and how to explain that?
Or maybe he just had other things on his mind.
Melissa could hardly eat. Her veins burned. She hated Baxter’s abuse of his wife, but neither did she like Linda’s know-more-than-you attitude. Fact was, Linda got hit because she wouldn’t stand up for herself. She was an adult, not the kid Melissa had been in her trailer days. If Linda really thought Baxter was so bad, she’d march into church and tell everyone the truth about her husband. Press charges against him. And if her friends and the police didn’t believe her story—show them her bruises. But she wasn’t about to do that, was she? Because Linda knew the truth. She was the only one in the world Baxter treated like that. Everyone else knew him as a great man. The problem lay with her, not him.
After dinner Melissa did the dishes while Linda prepared to leave. At exactly 7:25 she pulled out of the garage on her way to church. The perfect volunteer, never late.
Baxter was watching TV in the den, sitting on his end of the couch. Flipping through channels, as usual. Melissa went upstairs to brush her teeth, then joined him on the opposite end of the sofa. For five minutes they were silent, staring at the TV, seeing nothing. The air between them shimmied. Then it rippled. Melissa found herself breathing fast and shallow, trying hard not to show it. Baxter crossed his legs male-style, one ankle against the other knee. Feigning relaxation. A man in his castle at the end of a work day, chilling out.
His muscles itched. Melissa felt it.
The channels kept switching, as if all of Baxter’s energy released through his thumb. Local news to an old movie to a commercial to another commercial to a cop show. Baxter returned to the movie. Some oldie that didn’t look a bit interesting. They watched it for a couple minutes.
Abruptly Baxter leaned forward, as if yanked by a noose. Melissa watched from the corner of her eye. He focused on the remote, eyes searching for some button. His finger moved, and he pressed. The sound muted.
Melissa turned her head and looked at him.
Baxter dropped the remote. He gazed back at Melissa, lips pressing.
He rose and crossed the four steps to her end of the couch. Sat down beside her. His eyes darkened with guilt-ridden hunger.
The next thing she knew they were in each other’s arms.
FORTY-TWO
FEBRUARY 2010
“Who are you calling?” Suspicion sharpened Melissa’s voice. I’d already punched in the number, my stomach trembling. If this didn’t work, I had no back-up plan.
“My brother.”
Rain began to fall. A few drops, then steady. Perry switched on the wipers. We were on El Camino, a major street in San Jose.
“He doesn’t live in Vonita, does he?” Melissa pressed. “I’m not setting foot in Vonita!”
“If I’d wanted to take you to Vonita, we’d go to Perry’s.” The line began to ring in my ear. “He lives in Hollister.”