return from prayer until she heard the car leave once more.
It was all imagination, of course. Stress and abuse gradually destroying her mind. She knew that on one level, had even consented to it on one level. In her inmost soul she did not believe it and would never consent to it.
When the drone of the departing car dwindled away, sheâd gone to the window again and seen her husband jittering about the courtyard like a crazy man. Sheâd seen him go into what she called his butcher shop, his game room, and remain there for a time. She didnât wonder what he was doing because she didnât want to know. When he returned to the drive, he was jumping like a goat, the way he did when he had done something dreadful and gotten away with it. He thought she didnât know how he did things. He thought she was too stupid to know how her sister Greta had died, how her parents had died. Let him go on believing so. If he thought she knew something about him, he was probably capable of killing her now instead of later. She didnât mind the thought of his killing her, rather wished he had already done so, except for the deep, buried conviction that she had a duty yet to perform.
She heard him come into the house, heard his footsteps going past and a few moments later the sound of the shower, just the other side of the wall. She slipped out of her chair, out of the door, leaving it closed but unlatched, down the hall and into the kitchen. She desperately needed a cup of something warm. Quickly she boiled water in a saucepan, not risking the whistling kettle. Quickly she poured hot water into a small pot, added the tea bag, went back up the hall, and slipped into her room before the shower shut off.
The pot went into her bathroom, where she had cached a cup, a supply of sugar, a few cookies, some dried fruit, her bottle, filled by inches from the bar in the living room, her thievery hidden by watering the liquor. The bourbon-laced tea she drank gulpingly, almost burning her tongue in her eagerness, feeling the warmth, the sweetness, pour down her dryand aching throat into her knotted stomach. Tomorrow, after heâd gone, sheâd remind herself she was a human being. He did not allow her to have money, but she found coins sometimes, in the couch, in the laundry. She had almost a dollarâs worth hidden in the toe of one of her shoes. Tomorrow, after heâd gone, maybe sheâd walk down to the call box at the road and call Carolyn, just to talk to a friend, just to let Carolyn know she was still alive. But now, for the childrenâs sake, she must endure. For dutyâs sake, she must endure.
She said it as a litany, over and over. For Emilyâs sake, for Scottâs sake, you must endure, Helen. Jake had told her that if she didnât obey him, the children would suffer. She hadnât believed him until Emily had broken her arm and the doctor had looked at Helen strangely, saying something about spiral breaks coming from twisting, twisting with great strength. Five-year-old Emily wouldnât say how it happened. She, too, was frightened. That was how Helen learned that Jake did not make threats. He simply informed people what he would do, and if they didnât obey him, he did it. The children, Emily in particular, were only pawns to him, pieces to be sacrificed to whatever horrid game he was playing.
When he came to her door at midnight, she had endured. She was sitting by the window quite calmly, hands folded in her lap.
âWhat a stupid cow you are,â he said. âWhat a stupid cow, not enough sense to go to bed when youâre tired.â There was the tiniest shade of disappointment in his voice. She heard it if he did not. One time she had gone to bed before he told her she could. Did he think she couldnât remember? Even though he made up the rules as he went along, sometimes she knew very well what they were going to be.
I N N EW Y ORK C ITY , A PRIL was still
It was all imagination, of course. Stress and abuse gradually destroying her mind. She knew that on one level, had even consented to it on one level. In her inmost soul she did not believe it and would never consent to it.
When the drone of the departing car dwindled away, sheâd gone to the window again and seen her husband jittering about the courtyard like a crazy man. Sheâd seen him go into what she called his butcher shop, his game room, and remain there for a time. She didnât wonder what he was doing because she didnât want to know. When he returned to the drive, he was jumping like a goat, the way he did when he had done something dreadful and gotten away with it. He thought she didnât know how he did things. He thought she was too stupid to know how her sister Greta had died, how her parents had died. Let him go on believing so. If he thought she knew something about him, he was probably capable of killing her now instead of later. She didnât mind the thought of his killing her, rather wished he had already done so, except for the deep, buried conviction that she had a duty yet to perform.
She heard him come into the house, heard his footsteps going past and a few moments later the sound of the shower, just the other side of the wall. She slipped out of her chair, out of the door, leaving it closed but unlatched, down the hall and into the kitchen. She desperately needed a cup of something warm. Quickly she boiled water in a saucepan, not risking the whistling kettle. Quickly she poured hot water into a small pot, added the tea bag, went back up the hall, and slipped into her room before the shower shut off.
The pot went into her bathroom, where she had cached a cup, a supply of sugar, a few cookies, some dried fruit, her bottle, filled by inches from the bar in the living room, her thievery hidden by watering the liquor. The bourbon-laced tea she drank gulpingly, almost burning her tongue in her eagerness, feeling the warmth, the sweetness, pour down her dryand aching throat into her knotted stomach. Tomorrow, after heâd gone, sheâd remind herself she was a human being. He did not allow her to have money, but she found coins sometimes, in the couch, in the laundry. She had almost a dollarâs worth hidden in the toe of one of her shoes. Tomorrow, after heâd gone, maybe sheâd walk down to the call box at the road and call Carolyn, just to talk to a friend, just to let Carolyn know she was still alive. But now, for the childrenâs sake, she must endure. For dutyâs sake, she must endure.
She said it as a litany, over and over. For Emilyâs sake, for Scottâs sake, you must endure, Helen. Jake had told her that if she didnât obey him, the children would suffer. She hadnât believed him until Emily had broken her arm and the doctor had looked at Helen strangely, saying something about spiral breaks coming from twisting, twisting with great strength. Five-year-old Emily wouldnât say how it happened. She, too, was frightened. That was how Helen learned that Jake did not make threats. He simply informed people what he would do, and if they didnât obey him, he did it. The children, Emily in particular, were only pawns to him, pieces to be sacrificed to whatever horrid game he was playing.
When he came to her door at midnight, she had endured. She was sitting by the window quite calmly, hands folded in her lap.
âWhat a stupid cow you are,â he said. âWhat a stupid cow, not enough sense to go to bed when youâre tired.â There was the tiniest shade of disappointment in his voice. She heard it if he did not. One time she had gone to bed before he told her she could. Did he think she couldnât remember? Even though he made up the rules as he went along, sometimes she knew very well what they were going to be.
I N N EW Y ORK C ITY , A PRIL was still
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