Because she felt Eli stiffen, she rubbed her free hand on the arm wound with hers. “I saw his temper as passion, and his possessiveness as a kind of flattery. The second time he hit me, I left because once might be a terrible mistake, but twice is the start of a pattern.”
Reaching over, he closed his hand over the one she’d laid on his arm. “Some people don’t see the pattern when they’re in it.”
“I know. I talked to a lot of women in support groups, and understand how you can be persuaded to accept the apology, or begin to believe you deserve the abuse. I got out, and quickly.”
“You didn’t report it.”
Now she sighed. “No, I didn’t. I wanted the leaving to be enough. Why damage his career or put myself into a scandal? I took a short leave of absence rather than explain the black eye to coworkers and friends, and I came here for a week.”
“To Whiskey Beach?”
“Yeah. I’d come here with my mother years ago, then again with my aunt and her family. I had good memories here, so I rented a cottage and walked the beach, gave myself the time, I thought, to heal.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Not then. I’d made a mistake, and told myself I’d fixed the mistake and to get on with my life. And, as foolish as it was, I was embarrassed. After my leave, I went back to work, but nothing seemed exactly right. Friends started asking what was going on, that Derrick had contacted them, told them I’d had a breakdown, which put me in what I considered the humiliating position of telling them he’d hit me, and I’d left him.”
“But he’d planted seeds.”
She glanced up at him. “It’s another pattern, isn’t it? Yes, he’d planted seeds, enough some sprouted. He knew a lot of people, and he was smart, and he was angry. He dropped little hints here and there about me being unstable. And he stalked me. The thing about being a stalkee is not always knowing it’s happening. I didn’t. Not until I started dating again, casually. Very casually. Look.”
She pointed to a pelican, soaring out over the water, then his fast dive for his evening meal.
“I try to feel sorry for the fish, but I just love watching the pelicans. They have the oddest shape, and it strikes me as ungainly—like a moose—then they compact that way and dive down like a spear.”
Eli turned her to face him. “He hurt you again.”
“Oh God, yes. In more ways than one. I should finish it. No need for all the minute details. My boss got anonymous notes about my behavior, my supposed abuse of drugs, alcohol, sex, my using sex to influence donors. Enough of them he eventually called me in, questioned me. And again I had to humiliate myself—or so it felt at the time—by telling him about Derrick. My superior spoke with his superior, and all hell broke loose.”
Now she took a long, careful breath. “Nasty little things at first. Having my tires slashed, my car keyed. My phone ringing in the middle of the night, repeatedly, with hang ups, finding someone canceled my reservations for lunch or dinner. My computers, work and home, were hacked. The man I was seeing casually had his car windows smashed, and anonymous complaints—ugly ones—sent to his boss. We stopped seeing each other. It wasn’t serious, and it seemed easier.”
“What did the cops do?”
“They talked to him, and he denied everything. He’s very convincing. He told them he’d ended things with me because I was too possessive and had gotten violent. He claimed to be worried about me and hoped I’d get help.”
“A decent cop should’ve seen through that.”
“I think they did, but they couldn’t prove he’d done any of it. It kept going, little things, bigger things, for over three months. I was on edge all the time, and my work was suffering. He started to show up at restaurants where I’d be having lunch or dinner. Or I’d look out my apartment window and see his car drive by, or think I did. We ran in similar circles, lived and worked in the same general area, so because he never approached me the police couldn’t do anything about it.
“I snapped one day when he strolled into the place where I was having lunch with a coworker. I marched over, told him to leave me the hell alone, called him names, created a terrible scene until the woman I worked with got me out.”
“He broke you down,” Eli stated.
“Completely. He stayed absolutely calm through it, or I thought he did. And that night he broke into my apartment. He was waiting for me when I came home. He was out of control, completely out of control. I fought back, but he was stronger. He had a knife—one of mine from my kitchen—and I thought he’d kill me. I tried to get out, but he caught me, and we struggled. He cut me.”