Page 12 of Stealing Home

“I don’t exactly feel like the heroine,” I mumble.

“Yet. With me by your side, we’ll get you there. Until then, we’ve got hot aliens,” she teases.

“Thank god for that,” I say laughing a little.

“Books can be your friend when you need one. Lucky for you, now you have both. Maybe it’s pregnancy hormones,” she rubs her barely noticeable bump, “but I feel like I was supposed to meet you today.”

Loneliness and I aren’t strangers. It’s amazing how alone you can feel when you’re with the wrong man. How boxed in your life can become when every cell in your body screams to be anywhere else. With anyone else. Maybe that’s why I keep feeling myself drawn to the young pitcher with navy blue eyes and dark blond hair.

“I could use a friend. Now if I could only find another job I’d say my life was looking up.”

Her lips purse. “What did you do before? I’m assuming you lost your job?”

“My husband is the baseball coach at the university. He was displeased I wasn’t fawning over him and acting my part as a coach’s wife. Whatever the hell that means. I worked in the bursar’s office at the university until this morning, and let’s just say they were more interested in keeping him happy than keeping me period.”

“So you have a business degree?” she asks.

I nod. “Yeah, I majored in finance.”

“This just keeps getting better. Our business is growing by leaps and bounds. We’ve got another location in my hometown of Harriston, and with the café I can barely keep up with everything. Especially since I’m pregnant again.”

I force a smile. I’ve mostly given up my dreams of motherhood. Nando and I haven’t talked about it in a couple years. When we discussed it before it was always something we’d do in the future, but now that we’re settled in a more financially secure lifestyle, we haven’t even brought it up. That’s mostly me, because I no longer want to tie myself to him anymore than I already am.

Wren holds out her hand. “Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in and after the baseball clinic we can discuss you coming to work here.”

I hand it over to her, and she texts herself from my phone. “Great, now I’ve got your number too. Text me the details of the clinic and I’ll see you on Saturday.”

I head home with more hope than I had when the day started. I’m not even sure about the job description. For all I know she might want me to work as a barista. But if it means Leena gets to stay in school, and Nando can’t hold it over my head I’ll take it.

When I get home I immerse myself in designing the website and linking the forms. I send all the information to Scott and text him to let him know I’m done.

I don’t expect him to text back for a while, but my phone dings moments later.

This looks fantastic. I’ll share it on the radio tonight.

There are so many things I want to text back, but the fact I want to keep the line of communication open is exactly why I don’t. He doesn’t deserve to be pulled into my shit. He’s young and has his whole life ahead of him. I might not be old, but I’m too old and too married for him. Even if I haven’t slept in the same bed as my husband for almost a year and haven’t had sex with him for longer than that.

I can’t use Scott that way, I’m not a cheater, although I’m nearly certain my husband is. Sad that I overlook that if it means he doesn’t push intimacy with me. Some things can be broken so profoundly there’s no hope of ever putting them back together again.

Why am I still here?

It’s not the first time I’ve asked myself that question, but I think it’s about time I come up with an answer. If I’m honest with myself, I know I’ve got one foot out the door. My marriage is doomed, that’s clear. It has been since I started dreaming of the day I could walk away.

My body tenses when I hear the front door creak open. I try to calm my breathing. Remind myself I’ve worked on the clinic, and got a lot done. Scott came up with the idea to ask for a donation rather than charge a fee, and use it for more community outreach. The university will be pleased, which will hopefully buy me some time before Nando finds something else to get pissed off about.

He comes in and drops his hat on the table. “No dinner?”

I was supposed to make dinner? I didn’t even know when he’d be home. More often than not he comes home after I’m already in bed. I don’t ask where he’s been, and he doesn’t tell me. I wouldn’t say it works for us, but nothing does anymore. We’re roommates and nothing more.

“I can order something. I didn’t know you’d be home for dinner tonight.”

He sneers, and I know there won’t be a lull between the storms of his temper. “Is this how it’s going to be? You’re going to sit around spending my money? You’ll get all the benefits of being married and not take on any of the responsibilities? You’re fucking useless.”

I don’t like to think of myself as abused. I don’t cower. Even if it might give me a reprieve in the short term, I won’t give in. But standing up for myself doesn’t mean he doesn’t abuse me. I do make excuses for him, lie about the way he treats me, and worst of all, I stay.

“If I’m so useless, make your own damn dinner.” I move to storm off to my room. Usually he lets me go.

He grabs my arm by my elbow and squeezes. “Shit’s going to change around here. I didn’t talk to the president about letting you go from your job just for the clinic. It’s time you start being a real wife to me again.”

---