“He has a lot of people fooled,” she whispered.
“Not the ER doc,” Beau said. “Could he ruin his reputation?”
“Nah. Privacy laws.”
“Too bad,” Beau said. “Well, he’s screwed. If he thought there was any hope of restoring his sad marriage, it’s impossible.”
“I think he knows that now. I think he finally realized it was the end of the line and he left me with a reminder of how cruel he can be.”
“Was it twenty-four years of that, Lauren?”
She sighed. “Like many troubled marriages, maybe like yours, there were times it wasn’t awful. But when you live with someone whose mission it is to control everything, even the good times were just a place holder.”
“That’s going to change,” he said. He massaged her neck, her shoulders. Softly. “For now, just let go and see if sleep comes. If you have to think at all, just think that you’ve turned a corner and from now on you’ll accept only the most perfect treatment. Because you’re a good person and you deserve it. You’re a good, beautiful person and no one gets to treat you like you’re not. I’m not just talking about the man you’re finally leaving for good, I’m talking about all people. You’re not without options anymore.”
“Turned a corner,” she repeated.
“Headed for a better life,” he said.
She gave a huff of laughter. “I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.”
“Maybe not, but in the end it’s going to be better. You can’t have a person like that stalking you. We’ll work out some details tomorrow...”
She sighed softly, relaxing into his hands. The same hands that dug in the ground, drew designs of beautiful gardens, remodeled his fixer-upper house, raised his stepsons—those hands, gently caressing her shoulders and neck. She began to doze off, then jerked in her sleep.
“Shhh,” he said. “You’re okay.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I’ll lock the door. I’m safe.”
He eased down behind her, spooning her, one arm sliding lightly over her waist. “I’m not leaving you, Lauren. I’m right here if you need someone, if you’re afraid, or if your head hurts, if you need a fresh ice pack.”
“I shouldn’t let you stay...”
“It’s okay if you want me to,” he whispered. “And I want to. Don’t worry. No lines will be crossed.”
“With my lip like this, I’ll probably snore...”
“It should be a regular symphony with my snoring.”
“Some people would call this an affair...”
He laughed sharply. “And what would they call what happened to your face? A love tap gone too far? Just relax and feel safe. If that’s an affair, you should have had more of them.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I should have. I never did.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Beau had his assistant, Cheryl, move his morning appointment. There was only one and it was to review a plan. He pled a personal matter that wasn’t too complicated, just had to be taken care of today. He was not the secretive sort so when he offered no further explanation, Cheryl didn’t ask any questions.
He heard Lauren call her supervisor, heard her say she’d fallen and had a black eye and split lip and needed a couple of days for the swelling to go down. She explained she was released from the hospital after getting some stitches but was still in pain. He fixed a soft breakfast for her and they had to make do with some frozen corn while he refroze the peas.
She was feeling a little bit better but looked worse. Her lip was still grossly swollen and the bruising around her cheek and eye were intensified, which was what happened with bruises. They started out bad and only got worse for a couple of days. It was horrific. He insisted she take a picture of her face.
“The police already did,” she said.
“Have one of your own,” he said. “You might need it. Email it to your lawyer. You should think about an order of protection.”
“And what? Wave a paper at him while he’s coming at me?”
“No, I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” He went to his truck and came back with a baseball bat. “Be glad I don’t clean out the truck bed too often. This has been in the storage box since last spring. If he comes here and somehow gets past the locked door, call the police first and start swinging second.”
“I hope the police have their A-game on,” she said. “I can barely lift the bat.”
“Well, if all that transpires, tell him goodbye because it will be hard not to kill him. And really, I’d hate to kill even a bad man. I’m not a fighter. I’ll be back after I get some groceries for you—soup, eggs, yogurt, ice cream, that sort of thing. I checked your fridge—you need some soft foods.”
“You’re really going above and beyond...”
“I’m glad I happened along,” he said. “You have to talk to your family right away. Both daughters. Show them what happened to you when you defied your husband. If you have to explain, which you shouldn’t have to, this is not normal behavior. And they should beware of him. If he’ll hurt you...”
“I know. I know. Listen... I can order groceries. The market delivers.”
“If you don’t want me around, just say so. But wouldn’t you rather not show the delivery boy your face today?”
She looked down.
He lifted her chin with a finger. “Lauren, it’s not your fault. But you need ice packs and privacy, not a lot of panic and questions.”
“Of course you’re right,” she said.
“Those cards the doctor gave you, you might want to check in with some of those people. I’m afraid you might be downplaying this. You’ve gotten so good at keeping the peace, it could leave you unprepared for the kind of violence he’s capable of.”
“I will call someone, but I’m not unprepared. You might want to run for your life. It was seeing me walking home with you last night that set him off.”
“You didn’t mention that,” he said.
“I wasn’t going to but this is crazy. If we’re not honest with each other, we’ll just be starting the same cycle all over again.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me about your life before today.”
They talked for another hour, then he got her resettled into the bed with a bag of frozen Italian cut beans, nice and soft.
Before going to the grocery store, he drove toward Mill Valley, to Divine Redeemer. He hadn’t called ahead. Part of him hoped Tim was busy, then he’d just check in at his office and maybe return some phone calls.
Tim was in the sanctuary. It being summer, school was out and he was meeting with some altar boys, having a quiet discussion about their duties. They seemed awfully young. He sat in a pew nearby and waited until Tim noticed him.
Tim raised a hand and excused himself from the kids. He leaned on the pew. “This is a surprise,” the priest said.
“I can see you’re busy,” Beau said.
“I’m done.”
“I’m looking for someone to talk to,” Beau said.
Tim raised a tawny eyebrow. “Office or parsonage?”
“How many people at the house?” he asked.
“Just Mrs. Johnson, cleaning. She’s pretty much deaf. Father Damien is away today.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get arrested for making little old ladies work like that? Elder abuse.”
Tim just smiled tolerantly. “I can make us some coffee.”
“Got anything stronger?” he asked.
“Of course, but isn’t it a little early?”
Beau stood. “I want to invoke the Seal of the Confessional without getting in that damn little box.”
“Come on,” Tim said, leading the way out the back door to the parsonage kitchen. Once there, he set about making a fresh pot of coffee while Beau took a seat at the table. “When have you ever had to ask me to keep a secret?”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Beau said. “I bet your ears are burning with juicy stuff.”
“Spit it out before Mrs. Johnson smells the coffee.”
“Remember Lauren? From the garden? I spent the night with her last night.”
Tim was silent for a long moment. “What do you want from me? To say you sinned and give you ten Hail Marys?”
“It wasn’t for sex. We had dinner together and ten minutes after I left, her house was surrounded by police and emergency vehicles. I’d stopped at the market for bread and in the space of a few minutes, she’d been assaulted. She was battered.”
“Dear Mary,” Tim said.
“Her face,” Beau said, a catch in his voice. His eyes filled with tears. “It’s indescribable. It’s horrible. Her husband did it.” Beau wiped impatiently at his eyes, not sure if it was the pain of grief or rage that brought the tears.
“Listen, Beau, you don’t have to tell me, but are you involved with a married woman? A married woman with a violent husband?”
“Not exactly,” Beau said, sniffing loudly and wiping the tears from his eyes. “One of the first things we learned about each other was that we’re both going through divorces, both separated. She’s living in her own house now, one she rented. Coincidentally not too far from my house. A complete and unplanned surprise.”
“On the island?” Tim asked.
Beau nodded. “I ran into her at the market. We shared a bottle of wine. I stopped by a few times. She always saved a chore she needed help with—changing locks, hanging shelves, that kind of thing. Nothing serious. No dating, no texting or calling. Well, just texting to see if she wanted to walk down to Park for a drink or sandwich. She’s been out of her house about a month. Pam’s been out of mine over six months. We’ve both served papers, so I thought it was possible we might date. Down the road.”