Page 14 of Griffin
I waited for the front door to shut and for my car to start. I glanced out the small window over the toilet and waited for my car to turn the corner before leaving the bathroom.
I put away the cut vegetables and made myself a piece of peanut butter toast. I was alone, possibly for a few hours, so I allowed myself to slip back into my other life, the one where I did what I wanted like eat a piece of toast for dinner, and I could eat that same piece of toast without fear. I sat on the back stoop and watched a few squirrels chase each other around the trunk of an oak tree. They stopped more than once, their tiny noses twitching in the air, trying to figure out where the delicious peanut smell was coming from. The night air was brisk, but I liked it. It helped wash away some of the sticky wretchedness of the last hour. When Tate stomped into the trailer, I wanted to sink into a hole in the ground. And when he barked at Colt about my salary, I wanted someone to quickly fill in the dirt as I tucked down in that same hole.
There was no doubt in my mind that I'd lose this job, and that made me so angry, tears started to fall. Deep down, I knew I had to get out of this marriage. I'd tried before and failed to shrug off this horrid, deadly disease. He always found me. Once, I snuck out and stayed in a motel for a week. Tate found me. A trucker knows every highway motel, every back country road, but it was a silly rookie mistake that caused him to show up at that motel. I'd used my debit card at a nearby gas station. He knocked the door down and carried me out kicking and screaming. The little old lady running the motel was too afraid to do anything. She just stood there, chin on the ground, as she watched Tate throw me in his truck. I ended up in the hospital with a broken clavicle and bruises. That was when I started getting really good at making up elaborate lies to explain my injuries. "I fell going downhill on a mountain bike," I told the very skeptical ER doctor. A nurse came in later to ask if I wanted to change my story, but I smiled politely and asked why I'd change it if it was the truth.
A night sky took over the smudged colors of dusk, and the autumn breeze intensified. I got up and went inside. I never knew how long my reprieve would be, and I never let myself think about his return. I didn't want to disturb my "other" life with worry.
I walked into the bedroom. Tate's duffle was sitting in the middle of the room, reminding me that I had to dig through his dirty clothes and get them washed and ready for his next trip. I carried the heavy duffle out to the service porch where a decades old washer and dryer sat. I opened the duffle and leaned back out of the stink cloud as I pulled the dirty clothes out and pushed them into the washer. My phone rang from somewhere in the house.
I walked in to answer it and saw Colt's name on the screen. My heart sank. This was it. I was going to lose a great job, and I had no other prospects. This time we wouldn't have to wait for the neighbors to run us out of town. The landlord would get that privilege after we failed to pay the rent on time.
"Hello."
"Shay? It's me, Fin. Hope it's all right that I called. I'm at my dad's, and well—he was all right with me calling you cuz, to be honest, and just tell me if it's none of my business—are you all right?"
My throat tightened. Friends used to call and ask me the same thing, but I'd always answered with lies, so they eventually stopped asking. Having someone, a man who barely knew me, call especially to ask made tears burn my eyes.
"Uh, I'm fine, Fin. Thanks. I'm sorry Tate was so rude. His social skills are lacking."
"Yeah, I'd say so, but it's not his social skills that had Dad and me worried." He left his statement at that. He knew.
"He can be a little gruff sometimes, but I know how to handle him." It was something I told people all the time, and it was quite possibly my biggest lie of all. "Is your dad terribly mad? I'd understand completely if he doesn't want me to return to the job."
"What? No, he wants you to stay."
"I'm glad."
"About the pay?—"
"Don't worry about that. It's a good, generous salary for a starting position. Tate has no idea about salaries because he's been driving a truck forever. He lives in a different world." If only that were the case, and a world far away from mine.
"Well, I'll let you go. I don't want to interrupt your evening. I just wanted to make sure?—"
"Fin, thanks for checking on me. Oh, and how was the lasagna?"
"It was brilliant. My mom knows how to make great lasagna. She always makes it for Christmas."
"My mom used to make blueberry waffles for Christmas. I know. It's a little untraditional, but Dad was always on the road. He was a trucker like Tate. So, Mom and I made the food we loved like blueberry waffles. We'd put the maple syrup on the coffee table, snuggle down under a blanket and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' while we downed sticky waffles. And wow, now that I've taken that long boring trip back to memory lane, I'll say goodnight. I'll see you in the morning, Fin."
"Not long or boring and—take care, and Shay—" There was a long pause. I could hear voices in the background, his family talking and laughing about something. "If you ever, you know, if it's ever not okay—just let me know. I'll set things right." He paused again, and my throat was too filled with a lump to speak. "Goodnight, Shay."
"Goodnight, Fin." The words creaked out. I hung up, sank down to my bottom and hugged my knees to my chest.
I took a long hot shower, read a few lines, mostly the same ones repeatedly, on the novel I'd started weeks ago and then pulled up the covers and fell asleep. The front door opened and shut, and like always, I closed my eyes tightly and wished that it was some intruder, a stranger breaking in to steal the television, instead of my husband.
Tate's heavy footsteps pounded the wooden floor. He pushed open the door, not caring at all how much noise or light he let into the room. I pulled the blanket tighter around me and closed my eyes so hard, it seemed they might get stuck that way. Minutes later, he crawled into bed. The entire mattress shifted his direction. He smelled of onions and sweat, and I was sure I smelled faint perfume. Other women still saw a tall, good-looking man who knew how to turn on charm when he wanted. What they didn't know was there was a genuine monster lurking beneath the handsome exterior, a monster who seemed to be getting less stable each day. Somehow, I needed to find a way to escape the monster for good.
NINE
GRIFFIN
I ended up staying late at my parents' house and fell asleep on the couch. Jules stood over me with a spatula in her hand. I squinted up at her. "That spatula better mean there are pancakes on the griddle and not that you were thinking of using it to smack me awake."
Jules pouted for a second. "Well, darn, I guess that was a missed opportunity. Yes, it's for pancakes, and I'm here to find out just how many you can eat this morning, and don't say twelve because I'm not standing at the stove all day."
I sat up and raked my fingers through my hair. Jules was wearing my mom's apron over a pair of jeans and a blue turtleneck sweater. She was one of those women who wore confidence with the perfect mix of humor and smarts. She'd recently saved a beloved surfing beach from being destroyed by a developer. While the rest of us were using our fists and tempers to claw back our local beach from, of all people, Nathan Walsh, the father of Bridget Walsh, Jaxon's girlfriend, Jules cleverly figured out a way to make sure the pristine stretch of coast was never touched by bulldozers or greedy developers. It turned out the beach we'd all spent hours on was also the nesting site of a protected bird species. That was all it took, and while the rest of us were standing around dumbstruck with bloody noses and black eyes, my little sister Jules became an instant hero.
Mom came downstairs. "Hey, sweetie, I didn't know you stayed the night. You should have told me. I would have cleared all those real estate brochures off your bed."
