She rinsed and cut the green beans and put some olive oil in the frying pan. She would start the beans when the steaks went in the broiler. She tried again not to think about the phone beneath the sink.
She was removing the baking sheet from the oven when Kevin came back in the kitchen. He was holding his glass and it was half empty. His eyes were already glassy. Four or five drinks so far. She couldn't tell. She put the sheet on the stove.
"Just a little bit longer," she said, her tone neutral, pretending that nothing had happened. She'd learned that if she acted angry or hurt, it only enraged him. "I have to finish the steaks and then dinner will be ready."
"I'm sorry," he said. He swayed slightly.
She smiled. "I know. It's okay. It's been a hard few weeks. You've been working a lot."
"Are those new jeans?" The words came out slurry.
"No," she said. "I just haven't worn them for a while."
"They look good."
"Thank you," she said.
He took a step toward her. "You're so beautiful. You know I love you, right?"
"I know."
"I don't like hitting you. You just don't think sometimes."
She nodded, looking away, trying to think of something to do, needing to stay busy, then remembered she had to set the table. She moved to the cupboard near the sink.
He moved behind her as she was reaching for the plates and rotated her toward him, pulling her close. She inhaled before offering a contented sigh, because she knew he wanted her to make those kinds of sounds. "You're supposed to say that you love me, too," he whispered. He kissed her cheek and she put her arms around him. She could feel him pressed against her, knew what he wanted.
"I love you," she said.
His hand traveled to her breast. She waited for the squeeze, but it didn't come. Instead, he caressed it gently. Despite herself, her nipple began to harden and she hated it but she couldn't help it. His breath was hot. Boozy.
"God, you're beautiful. You've always been beautiful, from the first time I saw you." He pressed himself harder against her and she could feel him. "Let's hold off on putting the steaks in," he said. "Dinner can wait for a little while."
"I thought you were hungry." She made it sound like a tease.
"I'm hungry for something else right now," he whispered. He unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open before moving to the snap on her jeans.
"Not here," she said, leaning her head back, letting him continue to kiss her. "In the bedroom, okay?"
"How about the table? Or on the counter instead?"
"Please, baby," she murmured, her head back as he kissed her neck. "That's not very romantic."
"But it's sexy," he said.
"What if someone sees us through the window?"
"You're no fun," he said.
"Please?" she said again. "For me? You know how hot you make me in bed."
He kissed her once more, his hands traveling to her bra. He unsnapped it from the front; he didn't like bras that snapped in the back. She felt the cold air of the kitchen on her breasts; saw the lust in his face as he stared at them. He licked his lips before leading her to the bedroom.
He was almost frenzied as soon as they got there, working her jeans down around her hips, then to her ankles. He squeezed her breasts and she bit her lip to keep from crying out before they fell onto the bed. She panted and moaned and called his name, knowing he wanted her to do those things, because she didn't want him to be angry, because she didn't want to be slapped or punched or kicked, because she didn't want him to know about the phone. Her kidney was still shooting pain and she changed her cries into moans, saying the things he wanted her to say, turning him on until his body started to spasm. When it was over, she got up from the bed, dressed, and kissed him, then she went back to the kitchen and finished making dinner.
Kevin went back to the living room and drank more vodka before going to the table. He told her about work and then went to watch television again while she cleaned the kitchen. Afterward, he wanted her to sit beside him and watch television so she did, until it was finally time to turn in.
In the bedroom, he was snoring within minutes, oblivious to Katie's silent tears, oblivious to her hatred of him, her hatred of herself. Oblivious to the money she'd been stashing away for almost a year or the hair dye she'd snuck into the grocery cart a month ago and hidden in the closet, oblivious to the cell phone hidden in the cupboard beneath the kitchen sink. Oblivious to the fact that in just a few days, if all went the way she hoped, he would never see or hit her ever again.
19
Katie sat beside Alex on the porch, the sky above them a black expanse dotted with light. For months, she'd tried to block out the specific memories, focusing only on the fear that had been left behind. She didn't want to remember Kevin, didn't want to think about him. She wanted to erase him entirely, to pretend he never existed. But he would always be there.
Alex had stayed silent throughout her story, his chair angled toward hers. She'd spoken through her tears, though he doubted she even knew she was crying. She'd told him without emotion, almost in a trance, as if the events had happened to someone else. He felt sick to his stomach by the time she'd trailed off.
She couldn't look at him as she told him. He'd heard versions of the same story before, but this time it was different. She wasn't simply a victim, she was his friend, the woman he'd come to love, and he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
At his touch, she flinched slightly before relaxing. He heard her sigh, tired now. Tired of talking. Tired of the past.
"You did the right thing by leaving," he said. His tone was soft. Understanding.
It took her a moment to respond. "I know," she said.
"It had nothing to do with you."
She stared into the darkness. "Yes," she said, "it did. I chose him, remember? I married him. I let it happen once and then again, and after that, it was too late. I still cooked for him and cleaned the house for him. I slept with him whenever he wanted, did whatever he wanted. I made him think I loved it."
"You did what you had to do to survive," he said, his voice steady.
She grew silent again. The crickets were chirping and locusts hummed from the trees. "I never thought something like this could happen, you know? My dad was a drunk, but he wasn't violent. I was just so … weak. I don't know why I let it happen."
His voice was soft. "Because at one time you loved him. Because you believed him when he promised it wouldn't happen again. Because he gradually grew more violent and controlling over time, slowly enough that you felt like he would change until you finally realized he wouldn't."
With his words, she inhaled sharply and lowered her head, her shoulders heaving up and down. The sound of her anguish made his throat clench with anger at the life she'd lived and sadness because she was still living it. He wanted to hold her, but knew that right now, at this moment, he was doing all she wanted. She was fragile, on edge. Vulnerable.
It took a few minutes before she was finally able to stop crying. Her eyes were red and puffy. "I'm sorry I told you all that," she said, her voice still choked up. "I shouldn't have."
"I'm glad you did."
"The only reason I did was because you already knew."
"I know."
"But you didn't need to know the details about the things I had to do."
"It's okay."
"I hate him," she said. "But I hate myself, too. I tried to tell you that I'm better off alone. I'm not who you thought I was. I'm not the woman you think you know."
She was on the verge of crying again and he finally stood. He tugged at her hand, willing her to stand. She did but wouldn't look at him. He suppressed his anger at her husband and kept his voice soft.
"Listen to me," he said. He used a finger to raise her chin. She resisted at first then gave in, finally looking at him. He went on. "There's nothing you can tell me that will change how I feel about you. Nothing. Because that isn't you. It's never been you. You're the woman I've come to know. The woman I love."
She studied him, wanting to believe him, knowing somehow he was telling the truth, and she felt something give way inside her. Still …
"But … "
"No buts," he said, "because there are none. You see yourself as someone who couldn't get away. I see the courageous woman who escaped. You see yourself as someone who should be ashamed or guilty because she let it happen. I see a kind, beautiful woman who should feel proud because she stopped it from happening ever again. Not many women have the strength to do what you did. That's what I see now, and that's what I've always seen when I look at you."