Unbearable (9 page)

“Prison life been good to you?” I snipped back. “How did you get out already? Who’d you use this time, Nikkolynn?”

“Bookie, I haven’t seen you in five years and that’s all you can do, insult me?” She pouted and strutted my way. Tess sat
frozen, her eyes wide. Her mouth twitched. Not sure if she fought a laugh or tears. I stepped aside and signaled for Nikkolynn to come in. She sashayed past me, shaking her moneymaker. Didn’t even faze me.

“If anyone calls, if anyone comes in needing to see me, if Mormon missionaries come knocking with promises of eternal life, please interrupt us.” I winked at Tess as she pressed her lips together, fighting a smile for sure this time.

Girding up my loins, I turned to my bombshell of an ex and snapped the door shut. “Why are you here, Nikkolynn?” I asked, no hint of caring in my voice.

She sashayed up to me. “Call me Nickel like you used to, baby,” she said in her infamous dumb blond voice as she walked her fingers up my chest.

I rolled my eyes and plucked her hand off me, dropping it in the air. “I repeat, why are you here, Nikkolynn?” I folded my arms over my chest.

“Still working out, I see.” She smiled and bounced her eyebrows. I paced to my desk and sat down, picking up a magazine with Justin Beaver, or whatever the heck his name was, on the cover that I’d been meaning to look over. Yeah, right.

“Okay. No need to be rude.” She plopped onto the corner of my desk and crossed her legs. Her skirt rode up, barely covering her—

“Bookie, I came to apologize for what happened with, well, you know who.” She shifted uncomfortably on the desk and her skirt rode up even higher. I reached over to the corner chair and grabbed the jacket I’d tossed there earlier and laid it across her legs.

“I still get to you, don’t I?” she said smugly.

“No, Nik. Not even a little bit. You’re embarrassing yourself, is all.” I turned my attention back to the magazine. Why do people read this drivel?

“Come on, Bookie. It was you I loved, not Josh,” she insisted.

“If that were true, and it’s not, you had a funny way of showing it,” I snorted, slapping the magazine closed and tossing
it in the garbage where it belonged as I stood. “You married me hoping to get confidential information about cases I worked on to help Josh, drug dealing Josh,” I reminded her. “You set me up. I could have lost my job if I hadn’t found out in time.” I pushed a hand through my hair. I needed a haircut. It was past my ears. I’d gotten lazy about it since quitting the MET.

“I admit I used you at first. But by the time we got married, it was you I loved, not Josh.” She tossed in a pout with her lie.

“And yet you still slept with him, in our bed, I might add, and you still tried weaseling information out of me to help him avoid being caught.” I didn’t mean to raise my voice, but the bitter taste of betrayal fueled me.

“I know, Bookie. You’re right. I should
’ve come clean when we got married. It was a lapse of judgment on my part.”

“You think?”

“I’ve paid my dues. I’m here to ask, no, beg you for another chance.” She sauntered in my direction, looking up at me through her thick fringe of lashes.

“Good bye, Nikkolynn,” I said stoically.

“But . . . but I love you,” she said. She actually had the nerve to force a few tears down her cheeks.

I softened my tone somewhat. “But I don’t love you. Not anymore.”

Nikkolynn dried her face, stomped past me, and bee-lined straight to the exit. “I’m not giving up on us, Bookie.” Dramatically, as per her usual style, she flung the door open, and with a turned up nose, left.

I turned to Tess. “Suppose you heard all of that?” I said, knowing how thin the old building’s walls were.

“I tried not to listen,” she said with a guilty edge to her voice.

I exhaled loudly. “You and me, we know how to pick ’em, it seems.”

She chuckled. “I do believe you’re right. She doesn’t seem your type. What drew you to her, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I chuckled. “I’m embarrassed to admit it but three things: short skirts, smoldering eyes, and great kissing.”

“That’ll do it every time,” she said with a wide grin.

I set my hands on her desk and, being the sadomasochist that I was, leaned in, hoping to catch the scent of her hair. “I’m starving. Do you want to go get some lunch?”

“So that’s it, huh? You got a thing going with your secretary.” Nikkolynn’s shrill tone reverberated in my ears.

“We’re just friends, not that it’s any of your business.” I straightened.

“Right,” she said, her arms stiff at her side.

“Why are you back?” I demanded.

“I forgot my coat.” She snatched up a white furry-looking coat from the chair in the reception area, glaring at Tess as she left.

“Sorry about that. She’s harmless.” Tess nodded stiffly. I wanted to tell her that not everyone dealt with
their issues using violence, but I’d had enough of Nikkolynn for one day. I’d had enough for a lifetime.

“Grab your coat. I’m treating you to steak,” I teased.
Sort of. She could eat her veggies. I had every intention of having a thick juicy steak.

Chapter 11

Tess

Five years ago

Garen insisted I go to counseling with him, pointing out that I too had faults that needed to be addressed if we hoped to have a healthy marriage. He asked me not to mention the physical abuse to the counselor, fearing that somehow it
’d be leaked to the press. Reluctantly, I agreed, although I told him that it’d be hard to get the proper help if we weren’t honest with the therapist.

After four sessions Garen stopped going, and demanded I quit, claiming the therapist blamed everything on him and not the underlying reason for our troubles: my inability to measure up. His agitation with my imperfections grew daily. He criticized everything from the way I cleaned the house to what I wore. It didn’t take long to lose myself under his visceral criticisms.

Gone was the girl who, in high school, had the world by the tail. In her place an uncertain screw up remained. I struggled to understand why Garen didn’t love me enough. Was I that bad of a wife? Had I disappointed him to the point that he no longer loved me? I truly believed that if I just loved him enough, everything would be better. Clearly, I failed. That guilt hung around my neck like an albatross.

One day, in the midst of one of his rages, he tossed all my clothes away. If it were possible, I’d have sworn the guy had PMS. He purchased boring pantsuits for me as a replacement. They weren’t exactly my style, and when I tried to gently mention that he said, “If it’s good enough for Jackie Kennedy, it’s certainly good enough for you. My wife will not dress like a slob.” It was a slap in the face. I liked the way I dressed. But then again, he did have a point. The conservative pantsuits did look more professional and I’d be looking for a job soon. I guessed it was time I stopped dressing like a
teenager. I swallowed my pride and wore them . . . as if I had a choice.

If anything was out of order at home, he still lost it, but never like the day on our half-year anniversary seven months ago. He’d just shove me against the wall and yell in my face, or push me down onto the couch in fits of anger.
By far better than being hit.

When I received a B- in a math class, he went on a tirade yet again. “I won’t have a stupid wife embarrassing me,” he said, jabbing my breastbone with his index finger. I was bruised for a week. My already fragile self-esteem slipped even lower. My drive to succeed, to never give up, had lost steam.

To make matters worse, my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I didn’t dare burden my parents with my troubles and we seldom talked anymore, fearing they’d catch on. They had enough to deal with. They didn’t need my failures to weigh them down, too.

It didn’t matter anyway. We were on a strict budget and therefore had the cheapest cell phone plan available. Garen would only allow me limited minutes on the phone each week because he needed the lion
’s share for work. I did write them regularly, and Garen mailed the letters from work since he didn’t want to squeak out the money for stamps. “I pay taxes. These can be mailed on Senator Graft’s dime.”

“Graft’s coming to dinner tomorrow. I want you to prepare a spectacular meal. He’s considering making me head of his reelection campaign. Oh, and he’s a strict vegan. No dairy, or meat, not even fish. Got that?” Garen laid out his demands before he even put his briefcase down. “None of your lazy vegetarian crap either. Unlike you, Graft has self-control.
”

Studying for a final at the table, I angled my chair to him. “Maybe we should go out for dinner. As you well know, I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“That’s not the only room you’re a disaster in, mannequin.” I bit my tongue at his reference to the bedroom. Apparently, I was a disappointment there also.

He took off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. “Maybe it’s about time you learned to cook, Terese. Between spending all of our disposable income on your ridiculous degree,” he pointed to my books, “to teaching you how to set up a proper household, I’ve been the only one giving in this marriage for the past thirteen months. I give and you take.”

“That’s not true, Garen.”

“Oh? Tell me then, what do you give in this relationship?” He sank his hands in the pockets of his pants as his foot tapped impatiently.

I didn’t know what to say. Not wanting to bring up the physical abuse, fearing it’d give him ideas, I sat there, forcing myself not to run out of the townhome and catch the next plane home to my parents. The counsel my father shared with me as we walked down the aisle together rang in my head. “
Tess, the first few years of marriage are tough as you merge two people from different upbringings into one family. More than once I wondered what I had gotten myself into after I married your mother, and she felt the same way about me at times. But with patience and love, things got better,”
he assured me.
“We Selleck’s are not quitters, remember that.”

“I’m waiting for an answer, Terese.”

“I’ll try harder,” I assured him quietly. After dinner, I drove to the library and checked out a couple of vegan cookbooks. I found a recipe for summer squash soup that looked fairly easy, and a recipe for an avocado salad that require no cooking, of course.

I stopped at the market to pick up the ingredients on my way home. Garen wanted to know why I’d taken so long, demanding to see the grocery receipt. More and more he’d check the time stamp at the
bottom to see if I’d gone anywhere else than the store. I found it insulting, but didn’t dare say anything about it. It was easier to just let it go.

I made the soup twice the next day, and both times it turned out terrible. I tossed the disasters into the garbage disposal, not wanting Garen to know. I went to the one and only neighbor I knew, Juli Coldwell. I didn’t dare talk to the other neighbors. Garen had a fit if I even looked at anyone of the opposite sex, but Juli, a single mother of three girls, was safe. In lieu of cash, I bargained several hours of English tutoring for her fifteen-year-old daughter in exchange for four meals along with desserts from Greens, a high-end vegan restaurant in Dallas she worked at. I placed everything in our crystal serving bowls as if I’d made the meal, and ran the containers out to the dumpster so Garen wouldn’t know.

“This is fantastic, Terese. It tastes just like the squash soup from Greens.” Senator Graft smiled broadly as he served himself up another bowl. My nerves were on end and I couldn’t eat much, leaving extra soup for him. “I’ll need to get the recipe for my wife, although I don’t know why. She can’t cook to save her life,” he added with a chuckle. “You’re a lucky man, Garen.”

Garen offered a terse grin, but said nothing. He knew. Somehow, he always knew. After dinner, I set out raspberry tarts, also courtesy of Greens. The men migrated to the living room as I excused myself to clean up dinner.

While loading the dishwasher, I could hear them talking about Graft’s reelection plans. The man was a dishonest slimeball. In other words, a typical politician. Graft spoke of illegal voter registration, paying off counting judges, even hacking into people’s emails and cell phones. When he left an hour later, I stormed in the living room as Garen typed away on his laptop.

“The man
is a scum,” I pointed out needlessly.

“Politics is brutal,” he said with a shrug.

“You’re seriously going to work with him after everything he said?”

He shrugged again as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

“Garen, he plans on spreading lies about this opponent at the last minute so she won’t have time to defend herself. How can you support that?”

“Terese, Graft has ideas that can help this country, only most people are too stupid to realize that yet. He knows what’s best for America, and I, for one, am going to help him.” Garen closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table as he stood. “Graft’s going places and I’m going with him.”

“He’s dishonest!” My bravery surprised me. I seldom confronted him anymore, fearing his wrath.

“
He’s
dishonest? What about dinner tonight, Terese? Do you expect me to believe you made that squash soup?” He came next to me. Instinctively I tensed.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” I
swallowed hard.

“Yeah, well, seems that’s all you do anymore. I’m used to it. I married beneath myself, that’s for sure.” He folded his arms over his chest.

Before I could stop myself, I said, “You know, you can be a real jerk sometimes.”

Garen’s fist plunged into my stomach. I doubled over as the oxygen purged from my lungs. He wasn’t done. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked my head up, shoving his face in mine. “You’d better watch the way you talk to me, do you understand?” he growled, low and threatening. Still gasping for air, I couldn’t answer. “I said do you understand?” He backhanded me across the face. I fell to the floor, tasting blood as I landed in a heap.

He slapped my head and back repeatedly as he crouched over me. I begged and pleaded, promising I’d be a better wife. After several minutes he stopped, as breathless as I was. He straightened and tugged his dress shirt back into place and smoothed his hair.

“I deserve someone better than you, you stupid whore.” He kicked my backside and grabbed his keys. Scooping up my cell phone from the counter, he hurled it against the wall. Bits of plastic and circuits rained down onto the floor as he stormed out.

I lay on the floor, unwilling to move for a long time. Finally, I forced myself up, each move met with pain. A little dizzy, I walked slowly to Juli’s townhome at the end of the hall. I’d had enough. Time to bring the police in and get some help. Only Juli wasn’t home, and I didn’t know any of my other neighbors, certainly not well enough to appear on their doorstep bruised and bleeding. I worked my way back to my townhome and dropped onto the couch as my body and mind gave out.

***

“Terese, wake up, sweetie.” The voice pulled me from a dark, disturbing sleep. One filled with nightmares and pain. I stirred, my stiff body protesting, as if I’d run a marathon. Or been slapped around. The dull throb in my head nauseated me. I opened my eyes, cringing as they met Garen’s. I slowly sat upright, and pulled into the corner of the couch, wondering what he’d do this time. He grimaced as if he felt badly before sitting next to me. I knew what was coming. Pleas. His, this time, as he begged for forgiveness. I’d heard it all before.

“Terese, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He took my hand gently in his and pressed it to his lips. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure at work with Graft’s reelection in jeopardy and everything. If I can help him win, he’s promised me a spot on his cabinet. It’s a step closer to the White House, Terese, and our dreams. Our Life Plan is alive and well if Graft wins.” He had tears in his eyes now. Tears I’d seen one too
many times before. “I can’t believe I hurt you like this. If you’ll forgive me, I promise, it’ll never happen again.”

“You’ve said this before, you’ve even promised to go to counseling, but you quit. I just don’t see an end to all of this.” Only because of his penitent state of mind did I have the courage to stand up to him. I shifted on the couch. “Maybe we were a mistake, Garen. I disappoint you in every way. Maybe we should just get a divorce now and call it good.” I wanted out. It was too much for me.

“No, sweetie, please.” He dropped to one knee in a panic. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll go to counseling again if you want, and I won’t quit this time, I swear. I love you. Please don’t tell me we’re through.” He dropped his head in my lap and sobbed like a little child, pleading and begging more. Making promises that I knew deep down inside he’d never keep.

Pulling himself together, he straightened. “I got you a gift. A token of my love.” He nodded to the kitchen table before taking a hanky from his pocket and drying his face. In a lovely crystal vase sat a dozen white Calla lilies,
his
favorite flower. He’d never gotten me flowers before. Although I preferred poppies, the gesture touched me. A little.

“And I thought we could take a trip into town and you can get your nails done, maybe even get your hair cut.” He kissed my temple. “And I got you this, too.” He reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a cell phone. “It’s the latest and greatest model.”

We stood as he tucked my hair behind my ears. I knew I must look horrible, but for once he didn’t complain. Guilt’s not always a bad thing.

“I planned on getting you a new phone for graduation, but, well, after my disgusting temper tantrum it’s the least I can do,” he said
in a soft voice. He placed the phone in my hands. “Please tell me it’s not too late. Please tell me you forgive me.”

“I don’t know, Garen. I’m afraid the next time you get angry, you’ll just hurt me again, or worse.” I twisted the phone nervously in circles.

“Sweetie, please, don’t act like this. My job is stressful right now.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “When you don’t support me, it makes things difficult. Don’t you see, I was worried that Graft would find out you didn’t make that dinner. And then when you went off about his political tactics, well, the pressure was too much and I freaked out. But it won’t happen again. If you put undue pressure on me, I’ll find a healthy outlet from now on. I’m a changed man. You’ll see.” Garen’s favorite thing to do after he went psycho on me was to blame it on everyone and anyone but himself.
I
caused the beating.