Page 27 of Trapped and Tackled

“And a good fucking riddance,” Anna Louise declares, not looking the least big chagrined for her foul language.

Not that she should. No one should.

Mr. McIntyre hit his sweet young wife and Adeline saw.

Knots tighten in my stomach and nausea rolls up into my throat.

I clasp my hands in my lap, as if pressing my palms together will somehow keep me from coming apart at the seams.

“Will Adeline still attend?” Mom whispers, most likely hoping she isn’t being punished for her grandfather’s fuckup.

“I didn’t realize Adi received an invitation,” I murmur.

Marylee smiles gently. “You’ve been gone a long time, Leni.”

Beside me, Mom reaches for my hand and I let her take it. Things are different now.

“Old McIntyre wanted to ship her off to boarding school immediately after the incident, but Marlowe put her foot down.” Anna Louise bangs the end of her fist against the table to punctuate her words.

“Anna Louise,” Sarah says gently.

“Sorry.” Anna Louise doesn’t look the least bit sorry.

“Marlowe intervened?” I ask, wondering why my friend didn’t tell me…any of this.

Like you’ve been honest with her?

I shake the hard truth out of my mind.

“Sure did. She’s been taking Adeline to the dance rehearsals herself,” Marylee confirms.

“She’s a good sister,” Sarah remarks.

“What about—” I start to ask about Marlowe’s mother, but Mom squeezes my fingers and I swallow back the rest of my question. We’re talking about things no one speaks of in the openness of the club.

At least, not without martinis in hand.

Marylee glances at me, her eyes brimming with sadness.

How many women here have suffered at the hands of our boyfriends, husbands, or relatives? I glance around the table and hate the heaviness that hangs over it. Over us.

Because we all know someone. And in my case…my throat tightens and I curl my fingernails into my palms.

Marylee clears her throat. “Mr. Stanson will do the opening remarks.”

“Right,” Sarah agrees.

And we get back on track with the meeting. With the planned ceremony of events.

With talking about floral arrangements and table linens.

But a stone lands heavily in my stomach and stays there for the rest of the day.

It weighs down my limbs and clouds my mind. So much so that after the long meeting and lunch with the ladies, I change into my swimsuit, pack a bag, and head to the pool.

When I leave the locker room and approach the swimming lanes, two gray-green eyes meet mine and I smile.

For the first time all day, some of the pressure eases. Some of the guilt of not knowing what Marlowe’s been managing lessens.

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