At least I have good news to tell him on that front. “Not bad.” I show him the envelope I’ve brought in with me and then lay it down on the table next to him. He gives me a brief look in response to the thickness of it and then opens it.
Sal gives a low whistle. “This is more than you usually take in on a weekday.” He lays the envelope back down. “You get some special orders or something?”
I open my mouth to tell him about Nick buying the pastries for the nursing home, but suddenly I don’t want to share that with Sal. Instead I say, “Some schoolteachers came in. Wanted some bread and pastries and stuff for the teachers’ lounge, and a meeting they were having or something. They bought quite a bit of stuff.”
“Well, good. Maybe I can still squeak a few bucks out of the place before we shut it down.”
Cold crawls along my stomach. “Shut it down?” I thought he’d dropped this angle. Apparently not.
“Of course.” He gives me a level look. “Sarah, you have to understand how business works.” His tone has gone soft and almost cloying, like I’m a five-year-old and he’s explaining to me why I can’t hit my little sister over the head and take her candy. “If there’s no profit then there’s no business. At some point, I’m going to have to cut my losses. You’re just not selling enough doughnuts or whatever.” He waves it off, as if it’s of no importance at all.
I know I shouldn’t say anything. Arguing with him never gets me anywhere but back up in my bedroom nursing bruises. “It’s my business, not yours.”
His eyes narrow. “Not unless you can pay me back for the little business loan we arranged. You know that. And you’re pretty deep into back payments at the moment.” He swirls more spaghetti around his fork. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter in the long run. When we get married, it’ll be half mine anyway in the eyes of the law.”
“Married—” I start, almost choking on the word, but he’s still talking.
“Even though technically it’s mine already. I paid for it.”
He’s right. Sort of. His money paid for it; my money hasn’t been sufficient yet to pay back the loan. Otherwise I wouldn’t be putting up with him on a daily basis. Otherwise I wouldn’t be living in his house and allowing him free access to my body. He has me bent over a barrel. Between a rock and a hard place. Whatever cliché you prefer, but none of them quite match the level of anger, hatred, and despair that’s become the everyday normal for my life over the last several months. The backs of my eyes start to burn, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to break down in front of Sal.
“So, we’ll get married,” Sal continues, and my stomach lurches, “and then I’ll take care of the bakery. I’ll figure out some way to turn a profit, even if it means collecting on the insurance money.”
I know exactly what he’s talking about. “Well,” I spit, and I know, again, that I’d be better off if I just kept my big, stupid mouth shut, “I guess you know best.”
I turn on my heel and head upstairs. At least I have my own room—I can lock the door and not have to worry about Sal busting in and demanding sex, or just busting in and hitting me. I flop ungracefully onto the bed and sob, because there’s not one damn thing else I can do.
#
Sal doesn’t bother me that night—thank God—and the next morning he seems pretty even keeled. Which is a nice change. I go about my business, trying to pretend my business is really mine, trying to believe I can really accomplish something with my life. It’s a nice delusion, I guess.
Things stay quiet for a couple of days, which is a welcome relief. Then, one morning when I’m on my way out the door to go to the bakery, Sal says, “We’ve got dinner tonight. Try to be home a little early so you can be sure to be presentable.”
Great, I think. What the hell has he got going on now? But when I get home, early as requested, he’s all smiles.
“Did you forget it’s your birthday, Sarah? Go get changed—I’ve got a big surprise for you at dinner.”
My brain is just stupid enough to jump a little in anticipation. Maybe he’s actually going to do something nice for me. After all, it’s my birthday. I hadn’t forgotten, of course, but I hadn’t been thinking about it much, either.
I change into a lacy black dress and heels and drape a string of pearls around my neck. I look good. Damn good, if I do say so myself. Sal makes an approving noise as I come down the stairs, and as we head for the car, he actually takes my hand. It’s almost affectionate.