All Due Respect by Vicki Hinze Page A

do.”
    She waited, but Seth didn’t say anything, so she went on. “Secondly, I want you to swear to me that you’ll never repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you.”
    He pursed his lips. “Will you believe me?”
    The man had no idea what he was asking from her. No idea. “I’ll do my best.” She swallowed hard. “That’s all I can promise.”
    “All right.” Seth set his glass down next to the can on the glass-topped coffee table. “I swear it.”
    She closed her eyes, prayed for the right words, the right way to tell him this and not destroy herself in his eyes. “I didn’t plan to just up and leave my job, Seth. I told you I had no choice about the way I left, and I didn’t.” She forced herself to look at him. “You asked why I didn’t contact you. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was that I was incapable.”
    “What do you mean, incapable?”
    “The day I left, I went to Destin, Florida. I don’t want to discuss why, so please don’t ask. I got there, and stopped to pick up a few groceries.” Immediate shopping. God, how she hated it now. “When I came out of the store, it was twilight. I’ve always loved twilight. Nothing is as it seems then, and you can imagine that your life is exactly the way you want it.” She let her gaze drift back to the rain splotched window. “It was a perfect twilight. Balmy and warm, and the sea breeze felt so good. I let down the car
    windows, cranked up the radio, and hummed along with Jewel. And I imagined that my life was perfect.”
    “Julia.”
    “Be patient, Seth. This is … hard.” Hard? Hard didn’t begin to describe it. Admitting to yourself that your husband had beaten and nearly killed you, had attacked you repeatedly during your marriage, that was hard. Admitting it to someone else, someone special—whether you wanted them to be special or not—that was hell.
    So don’t tell him it was Karl, Julia. That’s what’s got you terrified. There’s no law that says you have to tell Seth who attacked you.
    “I’m sorry,” Seth said. “I didn’t mean to push.”
    “It’s okay. This just makes me … uncomfortable.” Another monumental understatement.
    “I understand.”
    He looked as if he really did. “Everything was fine until I stopped at a stop sign.” Memories flashed through her mind. Her chest went tight, and sharp pains streaked through her arm. She rubbed at it and shut out the images. One … breath at a time. One breath … at a time. One breath at a time.
    “Julia?”
    She darted her gaze to Seth. He stared at her arm.
    She stopped rubbing it. “A man jerked me through the car window, Seth. He beat my head against the asphalt street. I kicked, begged, and pleaded with him to stop. I fought. God, how I fought. But I couldn’t stop him. I—I just couldn’t… stop him.”
    She took a drink of water, pausing to collect herself, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold on to the glass. “I woke up two days later in the hospital in Intensive Care. I’d had several surgeries. My arm, for one. When he pulled me through the window, he tore some tendons, did some muscle damage, and dislocated the joint at my shoulder. I have a pin in it now.” Images snapped in her mind. The hospital. Blinding pain so intense that drawing breath took a Herculean effort. And fear. Always fear. “They didn’t
    know at first whether or not I had suffered brain damage.”
    Seth’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you saying you had amnesia?”
    “No.” She looked over at him. “My brain swelled— trauma induced by my head impacting the street. They had to bore a* hole in my skull to relieve pressure. When the swelling went down, I regained consciousness and I knew who I was.” And she had remembered the attack in full detail. Only, to her, it was not something that had already taken place, it was happening then. “I spent months in the hospital, and several more months in physical therapy with my arm. It was a …