Chapter 40
40
TEGAN
THREE DAYS AFTER THE CRASH
After my failed attempt to get out of bed, I spent the rest of the night racking my brain, trying to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, when Polly comes down the stairs first thing in the morning, I still don’t have any bright ideas. She’s got her hair in a perfect braid behind her head again, but I can’t help but notice that she has circles under her eyes and her skin looks splotchy.
“Good morning!” Her usually cheerful voice sounds strained. “Do you want the bedpan?”
“Yes,” I say.
As Polly helps me, I notice her right hand is bandaged where I stabbed her, and I feel a jab of guilt. Hank is the one forcing her to keep me here. God knows what he does to her when they’re upstairs. Sometimes I hear thumps or crashes up there, and I always cringe. Hank is an incredibly terrifying man; I’ve seen it myself. I can’t imagine what would happen if she ever defied him.
But maybe that’s the key. Maybe Polly and I can help each other.
“How long have you and Hank been married?” I ask when Polly emerges from the bathroom after emptying the bedpan.
She freezes, taken aback by my question. “Just over ten years.”
“How did you meet?”
“He fixed my car.” She usually seems so chatty and friendly, but now there’s a wariness to her tone. “And then we went out to dinner.”
“Ten years is a long time,” I muse. “And marriage isn’t always easy.”
Polly looks at me for a long time before finally answering, “No, it’s not easy.”
This is my chance. She’s not happy in her marriage. I can help her. Even though she’s older than me, maybe I can give her advice. Maybe we can both have a happy ending here. “Sometimes husbands can do things to hurt you.”
She nods slowly. “Yes…”
“But that doesn’t make it right, Polly.”
“No,” she agrees, “it’s never right. A husband should never hurt you.”
I give myself a little pat on the back. I’m actually getting through to her. I can work on this woman. I can convince her to call the police when her husband goes to work. Maybe even today.
“Polly,” I say slowly, “you don’t have to do what Hank tells you to do just because you’re afraid he’ll hurt you.”
Her head snaps up. I should not have said that—it was too soon. I can almost see the walls crashing down. “What are you talking about? How dare you! Hank would never hurt me. Never . He’s a good man.”
“Yes, but…” I gesture at the fading purple on her wrist. “Obviously, sometimes he gets out of control.”
She looks down at her wrist, and her face turns pink. She yanks down the sleeve of her sweater. “Hank didn’t do that. That was… It was an accident.”
“An accident?”
“That’s right,” she snaps, but she doesn’t elaborate, and I can’t imagine any “accident” that could cause bruising like that. “Anyway, you should worry about yourself. You’re going to get bedsores if you spend much more time in that bed. And you don’t want your muscles to atrophy.”
It isn’t an idle threat. There’s a dull ache in my bottom from lying in the bed for so long, and I am getting weaker every day. I desperately want to move around more, but my ankle isn’t even the tiniest bit better. I can’t even imagine attempting to walk. “What can I do?”
She points at the wheelchair in the corner. “Let me get you up. It’ll be better than lying in bed all day.”
As much as I hate lying in this bed, the thought of moving my left ankle makes me nauseated. But she does have a good point. It doesn’t look like I’m getting out of here today, and it would be a good idea to move around a bit.
Maybe I can figure out a way out of here.
“Maybe after lunch,” I say.
Polly brightens. “That’s a great idea. I think it will be really good for you.”
As Polly walks back up the steps to fetch my breakfast, I run my hand over my belly. I feel a reassuring kick from my baby. She’s okay. That’s all that matters.
Don’t worry, Tuna. Mama is getting you out of here, one way or another.