“So much for that charming way you have with women,” I mutter to myself. I reel in my line and throw the half of piece of bait into the water, gather our supplies and heading to the garage.
What I didn’t mention to Bliss is that I have a deep freezer in here, full of fish, shrimp, and crab Cameron and I caught last fall. The meat’s good for a year, so I still have plenty of time to eat it, and no danger of food poisoning.
After cleaning up my equipment, I head to the freezer and take two bags of flounder out, then head up the stairs to defrost them. The house is quiet and, while I’m filling up one side of the sink with cold water, I’m wondering where Bliss has gotten off to. She can’t be far, because the island isn’t that big and there’s no way off.
“I’m sorry for running off like that,” Bliss says from behind.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I wash and dry my hands, turning off the water with my elbow. “Fishing’s not everyone’s favorite activity. Tomorrow you get to pick what we do.”
“I didn’t run away from you because I didn’t like fishing,” she says as I turn to face her.
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” I lean against the cabinets and cross my arms over my chest.
“But I do.” She walks to me, stopping just shy of touching me. “I’m tired of being ashamed of my past, of being homeless and uneducated. If I can’t be proud of me, then how can you be proud of me?”
“Do you really think, with all my faults broadcasted all the time, that I have any right to be ashamed of you?” Yeah, I’m answering a question with a question, because I’m wondering how people will react when it gets out that the nobody I married used to be homeless and never graduated from high school. My fans and the press will either love or hate Bliss. Some will even accuse her of being a gold digger. Hell, I’d thought that.
Will she be able to stand before those people, like she’s doing now?
Even bigger question—will I be able to stand up to those people and defend her? I’d like to think I could, but my past behavior, my past cowardice and selfishness, speaks volumes.
“That’s not an answer.” She sighs, and then turns away. “It’s getting late. I’m going to bed.”
“But it’s five in the afternoon, and we haven’t eaten.”
“I’m used to going to bed with an empty stomach.”
“Damn it, Bliss. Stand up to me. Tell me no. Tell me to go to hell. Quit being so damned nice and forgiving.” I’m so mad at myself, at her for being exactly what I need, and a system that let her down, that I lash out like a moron. “Stop being a fucking martyr. If I piss you off, say so.”
Suddenly, Bliss snaps, her face turning red and her gaze full of fire. “You know what happened to me the majority of the time I stood up for myself or voiced an opinion? I got smacked, dragged by my hair to my room, or worse. So I learned very quickly not to rock the boat, to always be sweet and agreeable, while forgiving the people who should be taking care of me. That’s how I survived my life,” she says, her chest rising and falling. “And that’s how I’ll continue to survive.”
Gutted. Now I know exactly how that word feels. “I didn’t know.” I can’t think of what else to say, so I apologize. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m done with your apologies.” Turning, she marches away from me, head held high. Up the third set of stairs she goes, the one that leads away from my bedroom and to the opposite side of the house.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I pick up the nearest object and throw it across the room. “Son of a bitch!” But the wooden cutting board didn’t satisfy my inner rage, so I start throwing everything around—glasses, plates, cutlery, knives.
I’m pissed and helpless, and pissed at feeling helpless. The only other person who has ever made me feel this way is my dad, and Violet, but that was entirely Everett’s fault.
A smear of red catches my eye, and I look at my hands. There are tiny cuts all over them, blood oozing everywhere. “Shit.”
I make my way out of the kitchen, to the closest bathroom, and bandage up my hands. Then I grab some cleaning supplies and start picking the debris left by Hurricane Jackson. By the time I’m done, the fish has thawed.
I’m not really hungry but Bliss might be later, so I prepare it as usual and bake it in the oven. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I head out on the deck. Only a sliver of the sun is left, casting dark orange light everywhere.
Movement catches my eye, and I spot Bliss. She sitting in the swing, inside a gazebo that the first property owner built for his bride. There’s even a picture of the Beaumonts, standing in that very gazebo, fresh from their honeymoon, in the town’s local history museum.