Frank felt a surge of anger. He was tempted to interrupt her, to ask the series of questions flooding his mind, but held his tongue.
"The beatings became more frequent," she continued, "but I convinced myself to believe him when he swore each time would be the last. Another poor choice. One day I'd been out shopping, and when I got home he was waiting for me. He was wearing a peculiar pair of black gloves, and it wasn't until he'd hit me that I realized they were lined with lead. He nearly killed me, Frank. I spent two months in the hospital. The day I was discharged I left him. We were divorced and I relocated to Massachusetts. A few years later I met your father."
Frank lit a cigarette. "Why didn't you tell me about this before?"
"Your father never wanted me to."
"Why not?"
Connie shrugged. "He was afraid you might think less of me."
"That's ridiculous," Frank snapped. "Maybe he was afraid I might think less of him."
"Believe me, we had more than one or two arguments about it, but he made me promise I wouldn't tell you until after his death."
"I wish you'd told me sooner."
"I wanted to, but you know how your father could be at times. He had this idea in his head that we were supposed to be flawless, the perfect American family."
Frank looked out over the sea of graves. "Whatever happened to this Arthur Bertalia?"
"I haven't a clue. After the divorce I never saw or heard from him again."
Frank hugged her, pulling her in tight against his chest. She felt so small and defenseless; he found it inconceivable that anyone could ever raise a hand in anger against her. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said quietly, "but I want you to know that if anything, it makes me love you more."
"It took us so many years to have you," she sobbed. "I was convinced the beatings had left me unable to have children."
"It's all right," he told her. "I'm here."
Connie kissed his cheek. "I'm so worried about you."
"Never mind me," Frank said. "Are you going to be okay?"
"I hope so," she whispered. "I haven't been alone in a very long time."
"You're not alone." Frank stroked the side of her face and felt himself smile for the first time in months.
The night of his father's death, Sandy had finally ventured from her side of the bed to Frank's, and he'd fallen asleep in her arms like a child suffering nightmares. Although their union seemed a step in the right direction, the comfort both received in revisiting a familiar physical tenderness was short-lived.
Since that time Frank had done his best to submerge himself in work, usually staying at the office long after everyone else had gone home.
He leaned back in his chair, watched the streetlights turn on through the open blinds in his office, and casually checked his watch. Having run out of things to do, he decided to call it a night. Hopefully Sandy would be waiting for him, but his wife's continued presence was something he could no longer view with certainty.
The phone interrupted his thoughts. He had no plan to answer it until he realized it was his private line blinking. "Hello?"
"Frank," Vincent's voice said through the line. "What the hell are you still doing at the office?"
"I was just going over some contracts."
"We got a problem."
"My life's nothing but," he sighed. "What's up?"
"Where's Sandy?"
Frank hesitated. "Home, I think."
"You need to get her out of there. Get her somewhere safe."
"What the hell's going on?"
"I don't want to get into it over the phone," Vincent said irritably. "Just do what I tell you. Get her out of there and meet me at the rest area outside of town in one hour. And keep your eyes open, understand?"
Without bothering to set the alarm, Frank locked the doors to the office and hesitated at the edge of the parking lot. His eyes scanned the area and the surrounding block, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He bolted to his car and drove to the apartment as fast as his car would allow, parking on the street, a few doors down from their building.
Sandy was sitting at the kitchen table having a cigarette when he burst through the door. His entrance startled her, and she reared back as if expecting him to run right past her. "What's the matter?"
"Pack some things," he said, still trying to catch his breath. "Enough for a couple days. Hurry."
His instructions didn't seem to register, and she stared at him blankly. "What?"
"Just do it. Please."
Sandy butted her cigarette and stood up, the color draining from her face. "Tell me what's happening."
"We don't have time." He peered through the only window that faced the parking lot. "Do what I said. Now."
Sandy ran to the bedroom, pulled a small suitcase from the closet shelf and quickly began to pack.
"Did anyone call tonight?" Frank asked.
"No."
"Anyone stop by looking for me?"
"No."
"Was there any peculiar mail?"
"No."
Frank glanced over his shoulder and saw Sandy standing in the bedroom doorway holding a blouse with trembling hands. He went to her quickly and kissed her forehead. "It'll be all right if you just hurry," he told her. "I'm going to take you to your parents' house. I'll explain on the way."
While Sandy resumed her packing, Frank hurried back to the window. A pair of headlights sliced the darkness, and a car he didn't recognize turned into the small parking lot. It made a slow pass behind a row of tenant vehicles.
"I'm ready," Sandy said.
"Turn off the light."
"Frank, what – "
"Turn it off!"
In darkness the strange car came into clearer focus. Frank could make out two forms in the front seat, but not much else.
"What should I do?" Sandy asked, standing in the center of the room, suitcase at her feet.
"Stay quiet," he whispered.
The car pulled to the far end of the lot, backed into a space, and the headlights were extinguished.
"We'll go out the back," Frank said. Grabbing her by the arm he led her through the living room to the door. "I parked a little ways up the street. Don't make a sound and do exactly what I say, understand?"
She nodded quickly, and Frank pulled open the door. The rear hallway was seldom used, but he stepped out first and looked around anyway. A small staircase led to the end of the parking lot closest to the street. Just beyond the exit was a floodlight, but once they'd made it around the side of the building and into a row of thick shrubs, Frank felt confident they could reach the street undetected. Holding hands, they ran through a neighbor's yard and crossed onto the curb.
Once they were both in the car, Frank started it and pulled away quickly, not turning on his lights until he'd put a safe distance between themselves and the apartment.
Twenty minutes later he pulled onto a quiet side street and parked in front of Sandy's parents' house in the nearby town of Torlington. Satisfied that they hadn't been followed, Frank let his head rest back against the seat and took a deep breath. Neither of them had spoken during the ride and both found themselves at a loss for what to say next.
"Am I just supposed to show up on my parents' doorstep unannounced and with no explanation?" Sandy finally asked.
"Tell them we had a fight," Frank said. "They shouldn't have any trouble believing that."
"I need to know what's happening."
Frank rubbed his eyes. "I'm not exactly sure myself. I'll call you as soon as I know anything."
"I don't have my car," she reminded him. "How am I supposed to get to work tomorrow?"