Chapter 6
CATHERINE
“Delete and done.” I tap the button on my screen, erasing the SnapTok app. I should have done this yesterday after I helped Wilder with his dad’s article. But temptation got the best of me and I stayed up all night in the closet, watching every one of his videos, one last time. That’s when I realized, I’m crazy. I mean, who stays up all night watching their student’s social media? If anyone knew how often I’m viewing his account, they’d think I had a thing for him. When I started to think so myself, I knew it was time. Now it’s done.
I set my phone down on the center console in my car, so I can drive, almost wishing I’d waited a few days to delete the app off my phone. Troy is going out of town for the next four nights and I’m going to need something to do to keep myself busy. Even if I’m never watching Wilder’s account ever again, there are many others I enjoyed. I’ve actually fallen down the rabbit hole of watching farm animals more times than I care to admit.
Regardless, I’ll have to find something to do to occupy my time. Chances are, Troy will arm every camera in, and around, our house, so going out isn’t an option unless I want to be hammered with text messages and phone calls asking where I’m at and who I’m with.
After all this time, you’d think my own husband would trust me. I’ve never given him any reason not to. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just because of his own insecurities, or his own guilt.
Honestly, I don’t care what Troy does. I prefer he just stays the hell away from me. And for the next four nights, he will.
A sense of peace settles inside me knowing he’ll be out of my hair soon. Now I just have to get through this lunch with him. It’s all for show. Troy wants the community to see us out, together and happy. I’m forced to put on a smile and pretend life is dandy. That my husband doesn’t smack me around behind closed doors and that the reason I own so many turtlenecks really has nothing to do with the way he seems to get off on strangling me.
A few days ago, it wasn’t so easy to pretend. We went to Big John’s for pizza and before we left, I couldn’t find my wedding ring. I took it off before scrubbing a stubborn bloodstain out of my favorite pair of white jeans, and I forgot where I put it.
To say Troy was livid is an understatement. The fact that I even took it off in the first place had him raging. He completely lost it and accused me of taking off my ring so I could fuck another man. Not just any man, though—Mr. Chen, one of the history teachers at our school.
The insanity in that statement alone had me dumbfounded!
Mr. Chen is getting married soon. Where Troy came up with that is beyond me. Sometimes I think he just sits in his office and creates scenarios in his mind that he actually believes. Mr. Chen has never even made a pass at me, or vice versa. We hardly even talk. Actually, I don’t talk to anyone just so I can avoid Troy losing his shit. Yet, it still happens.
As we approached the front door to leave for dinner, out of nowhere, Troy thrust his knee into my stomach. The unexpected blow knocked the wind out of me and I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
Of course, then he apologized and pulled my damn ring out of his pocket. Apparently he found it on the kitchen counter when he got home. I have no doubt he had it the entire time he was screaming at me.
It doesn’t matter, though. At least not for the next four nights because I’ll be free of him. Just to be a bitch because I can, I might not wear my ring the entire time he’s gone.
Now to get through this next hour.
The town is pretty quiet this time of day. Students are in school, adults are adulting. So I make it to the city hall in less than five minutes. Not that it’s a far drive, but certain hours are busier than others downtown.
I maneuver my car into a parallel parking spot in front of city hall. Before getting out, I give myself a quick glance in the rearview mirror. My makeup is intact, my hair is tame and neat, and my wedding ring is on. Hopefully he doesn’t give me hell for my casual outfit. I’d hate to embarrass him in front of his colleagues for not looking like the perfect Stepford wife.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever mood he might be in today. It's not often I see him during work hours, so there’s no telling how he’s going to act at lunch. It could be good because he is at work and has to put on a fake smile. However, I know better than to feel safe here. Troy has his own private office with a nearly soundproof door. This place is no safer than my own home.
As soon as I open the car door, a gust of wind jerks it from my grasp. Reaching out and grabbing the frame, I hold to it tightly as I step out. I don’t even need to close the door because the wind slams it with a thud. Looking up, I notice the dark clouds rolling in. The threat of a storm looms and I’m oddly excited for it.
Maybe I’ll start a fire in the fireplace this evening and read a book with takeout food. The possibilities are endless. I’m giddy inside just thinking about it.
Moving quickly, I go through the front entrance, the smell of fresh-cut paper and political garbage immediately flooding my senses.
As soon as I enter city hall, I’m immediately greeted by Beth, Troy’s assistant. “Hi, Catherine.”
She looks adorably professional in a crisp white blouse and it’s impossible not to notice the growing bulge of her stomach. If I had to guess, she’s expecting. But I won’t guess, nor ask because of the possibility I’m wrong.
“Good afternoon, Beth. It’s so nice to see you,” I say kindly.
Flashing a toothy grin, she sets down her tall tumbler. "You as well," she chirps. “I had no idea you were coming in today. Don’t you have a class to teach?”
“I took an hour of personal time today. Troy wanted to take me out for lunch before he leaves for Chicago.”
She claps her hands to her chest, awestruck. “How thoughtful! Such a selfless man he is.” I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or serious, but I vote for the latter. Everyone loves Troy. They think he’s this heroic man sent to save our town from doom. Everyone but me.
Holding up a finger, she says, “Give me just a moment. I’ll shoot Troy a message and let him know you’re here. I believe he’s on an important phone call with the chief of police.”
It’s odd hearing her call him Troy. Almost everyone refers to him as Mr. Jenkins, or Mayor Jenkins, because that’s what he prefers. He’s a true pompous asshole. But he works closely with Beth, so I am sure they are closer than most.
“Thank you, Beth.” I fold my hands in front of me, prepared to wait awhile. When Troy gets on the phone, he will talk as long as the person on the other end will listen—mostly about himself and his good deeds.
Beth stands up behind the desk, and I catch another glimpse of her stomach. There is no doubt she is very pregnant. It’s been a couple months since I’ve seen her, but I definitely didn’t notice she was expecting then.
“Almost six months,” she says with a smile, noticing my stare at her stomach.
I breathe a sigh of relief, thankful she is pregnant because I would have looked like a fool just staring if there wasn’t a baby there.
“Congratulations,” I tell her excitedly. “Is this your first?”
She nods. “It is. It was quite a shock, but I’m getting more excited as time passes. He started kicking a couple weeks ago and I immediately felt this instant bond.”
“He?” The idea of a little boy bouncing around brings me so much joy for her.
“Yes.” She rubs her adorable bump. “We’re having a baby boy.”
“I’m so happy for you, Beth. Please let me know when your baby shower is, I’d love to send a gift.” I can just imagine a cute little sweater vest with khaki pants. I’m excited just thinking about walking around the baby section to get things for her. She puts up with Troy’s shit and has for four years, she deserves all the gifts.
“Nonsense.” She sweeps her hand through the air. “You have to be there. I’ll be sure to mail out an invitation.”
“That’s so kind of you. I’ll keep an eye out for it.” My chest burns slightly thinking about Beth going on maternity leave. Troy does not handle change well, so it is good to know this is coming up so I can prepare. Maybe I can cook him his favorite meal and buy a new dress he might like to help keep him calm.
I put a hand on my stomach, then quickly drop it and make sure Beth didn’t notice. I’d give anything to be a mother one day.
Unfortunately, a baby is not in my cards because I make sure it isn’t. Troy and I tried for a while before things got bad. Then two years ago, while Troy was at work, I went to a fertility specialist. Turns out, I can have babies. The doctor said the problem was likely with Troy’s sperm.
At the risk of him being wrong, I immediately went to my gynecologist and got birth control implanted. My husband thinks I’m infertile, and he loves nothing more than to throw in my face how broken my body is. He’s even gone as far as telling me God made me infertile because I don’t deserve a baby. That hurt more than his fists ever could, even if I knew it wasn’t true.
Troy’s office door opens and I’m immediately met with the biggest, cheekiest smile. “There she is,” he gushes with wide open arms. Closing the space between us, he wraps his arms around me and I’m forced to hug him back. “I’m so glad you could get away from work, honey.” He kisses my cheek softly.
If only this were real. This charm and adoration. It’s not, though. It’s as fake as the smile on my face. This is not our life. This is a show for anyone Troy thinks is watching. Which is hilarious because Beth is the only person here and I have a feeling she knows our life isn’t so perfect.
I wish it were real. I wish Troy wasn’t a monster and he loved me as much as I once thought he did. I even wish I loved him, too. Maybe this is just a phase he needs to get through and then he’ll go back to being the man who would dance with me in the living room after a long day.
Troy steps out of the hug and grabs my hand. “Shall we, my love?”
I notice Beth walking quickly past us down the hall as she gags, her hand over her mouth. Those pregnancy hormones are probably a bitch.
“It was nice seeing you, Beth.” I speak loudly so she can hear me as she jogs.
Looking over Troy’s shoulder, I watch her wave her hand in the air before she enters the bathroom.
“My car is out back,” Troy says with a nod of his head. I follow him down the short hall, and when I pass the bathrooms, I hear Beth crying.
My gut tells me to check on her, but I don’t want to upset Troy by making him wait. I have no idea what could be making her feel so emotional. Maybe seeing Troy be so sweet to me made her think of her partner and she must miss them.
I debate on asking Troy if we should invite them to dinner, but he would probably just get angry and say it’s not a secretary's place to eat with her boss. He likes to remind me often that women should work in education or serve as secretaries until they become mothers. He knows better than to say that on stage, but behind closed doors, he brags about how ninety-three percent of the workers in this town are men. As it should be, according to him.
When he found out that Wilder’s new stepmother was going to be the new district attorney, he hit me so hard her name felt branded on my skin. He blamed me for having to work in the same building as the woman, as if I had anything to do with the decision to bring her in.
We make it to the bottom of the back stairs when I realize he has been quiet for too long. The air goes rigidly cold around me, as if my body can sense the storm brewing in him before he lashes out.
With a venomous snarl under his breath, Troy shoves the back door open and glares at me. "Could you be any more fake?"
I gasp, stopping in my tracks as he palms the door, holding it open. “Excuse me?”
“It was nice seeing you, Beth,” he mocks me. “Come on, Catherine. For once could you act like you’re not better than everyone else?”
“Wow,” I drag the word, completely dumbstruck. “You are…unbelievable.” I walk past him, knowing damn well he’s not going to make a scene out here on the sidewalk in his town.
Rain falls lightly, and a roar of thunder booms in the distance, so I move quickly toward Troy’s car. In a matter of seconds, he’s at my side, grabbing my upper arm and squeezing the hell out of it as he drags me to the passenger door. He’s seething as he pulls the door open and tosses me inside.
Before I can even get my legs all the way in, he slams the door closed. Fortunately, I kick my foot out just in time to stop it from crushing my shin. While he’s rounding the car to the driver’s side, I pull it closed.
Thank I’d love nothing more than to scream at him. Punch him, insult him, bite his fucking arm off. I want to do anything to hurt him as much as he hurts me, but nothing I do to him will ever touch the pain I feel inside.
Troy slams his door shut. After a quick glance around, his fingers dart out and wrap around my throat. “How dare you try and walk away from me like that.” Spit flies at me from his mouth as he seethes mere inches from my face. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is when my wife throws a tantrum in the parking lot of my city hall?” His words drip with malice as he tightens his grip.
I gulp, feeling my throat bob against his palm. “I’m sorry,” I choke out, my eyes nearly popping out of their sockets while I suck in as much air as I can in his vise grip. I still want to hurt him, but I know that if I dig my nails into his hand, he will keep squeezing until I pass out. I’m not sure what he will do after that, but I cannot risk him postponing this work trip for his “sick” wife.
So, like an obedient wife, I stay still. He glares at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching as darkness creeps around my vision. After a long, forced breath, his eyes start to change.
With a forceful shove, he pushes my head away and retreats to the driver's seat of his car. As he starts the engine, I pull my turtleneck down slightly and graze my fingers over my already tender skin.
I don’t allow myself to think much of it; instead, I just stare out the window while he continues to huff and puff, every few moments tossing out an insult or two. This is his calming down phase, I know it well.
I’m at the point where I’m no longer fazed. Nothing Troy does surprises me, and I no longer live in a state of fear and panic because this is the norm for me. But as I look out the window, pain shooting down my throat to the point where I am unsure if I will be able to eat anything, I think about ending him—even prison would be better than this.
Sure, there might be fighting, but there is no way it could be as often as the fights that occur in my own home. I could probably sleep in my own bed and not in a locked closet with my knees pulled to my chest.
No more turtlenecks that make me feel itchy inside and out. No more long dresses. No more pretending.
Then I sigh because I have thought this same thing before and I’m not sure I’d have the guts to do it.
It’s a quick ten-minute drive to Moonwalk Cafe, and in that ten minutes, Troy has calmed himself down.
He gets out of the car, and I remain seated with my door closed because if I dare open it myself in front of onlookers, he’ll lose his ever-loving mind.
Like the gentleman he pretends to be, he buttons his suit jacket, then pulls the passenger door open for me. Reaching inside the car, he takes my hand, helping me to my feet.
We both put on our proverbial masks and head inside the cafe as the happily married couple everyone believes us to be.
“Good afternoon, James,” Troy beams at the host. Unlike myself, he knows everyone in this town by name, and they know him, too.
Could you be any more fake? For once could you act like you’re not better than everyone else?
I don’t say it, but I would love to repeat the words he said to me only minutes ago. The thoughts I have. Oh, the things I wish I could say to this man. If he only knew how deep my hatred for him runs.
“It’s great to see you, Mayor Jenkins,” James gushes as he grabs two menus and napkin-rolled utensils. “And you, too, Mrs. Jenkins.”
I smile politely as we follow behind him to our table. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut and to only speak when necessary. Something as little as “it’s great to see you, too” could hit a nerve with Troy and in that same breath, I’ll be accused of flirting with another man in front of my loving husband.
Troy’s thumb grazes over the skin of my knuckles, a clue that he’s over his fit and we might actually have an enjoyable lunch together. It helps the tight ball of anxiety in my stomach ease. Living in constant fight or flight is exhausting, to say the least.
We stop at a high-top round table beside the window, and Troy pulls out my chair for me. I smooth my hands down my pants and take a seat before he sits down in the chair across from me.
After ordering our drinks—ice water for me, and an iced-tea for Troy, he reaches his hands across the table and lifts a brow.
I take that as my cue to hold his hands. Naturally, we are picture-perfect once again.
“You look beautiful today,” he says softly. I’m pleasantly surprised at not only his words, but the sincerity in them. I thought for sure I’d get slack for dressing so casually. He also spoke low, not for show. He is likely feeling bad for hurting me in the car and trying to make up for it.
I respond with a simple, “Thank you.”I do not want to trigger him again. I just want to get this meal over with so I can get away from him.
The server returns with our drinks—a beautiful blonde lady, middle-aged, with a low-cut tee shirt. She’s got bright pink lipstick and a big wad of gum smacks annoyingly between her teeth. “If it isn’t my favorite customer.” She winks at Troy and I just roll my eyes to look out the window.
“And if it isn’t my favorite waitress. How has everything been, Hillary?”
I’m not sure if he knows her name by heart, or if it’s because she’s wearing a name tag, but the conversation between them irks me. Only because the phoniness of it makes me want to vomit. Hillary is being kind because he’s the mayor and she wants a fat tip. Troy is being kind because he wants her vote. And that’s as deep as their kindness for each other actually goes.
Without even looking at the menu, Troy orders for us both. Two ham and cheese paninis and a side salad with ranch. I can’t even remember the last time I ordered off the menu and got what I wanted to eat.
Troy says it’s common courtesy for husbands to order for their wives while getting the same meal. He argues that it shows compatibility. Whereas I think it’s bullshit and I want to scream at him that this isn’t 1950.
I keep my lips sealed, though, because it’s a battle I don’t want to fight, and one I won’t win either.
Instead, I opt for a more positive conversation. “How has the campaign planning been going?” I ask, lending him the opportunity to talk about himself.
“Marvelous. Couldn't be better. You know, I thought it would be stressful having an opponent this term, but it turns out, it’s enlightening. It will be all the more satisfying when I win.”
“Absolutely,” I agree with him. “You’re a brilliant mayor, Troy. I have no doubt you’ll come out on top.” Lie. Troy has done nothing for this town but make the rich richer and the poor poorer. Then he takes those said poor people and forces them to move to the neighboring town where violence and gangs cause many issues.
He calls it “cleaning up the city” whereas everyone else calls it prejudice.
“We,” he corrects me. “We will come out on top. I couldn’t do this without your support, Catherine. I know I don’t say it enough, but I’m extremely grateful for you.”
His words touch a spot in my heart that I rarely feel. A lonely corner that begs for adoration and praise. This is the man I fell in love with years ago. This is the man who saved me.
“That means a lot to me,” I tell him truthfully. It’s moments like these that I mourn the loss of the man I once loved. It hurts so much and it leaves me with so many questions that have me second-guessing my feelings and our marriage.
Maybe Troy really does love me and he’s just overly stressed with work. He wasn’t abusive until after we moved here. Maybe something happened that he isn't ready to talk about. Maybe something changed him.
I can help him. I can change him. I can love him.
Maybe it really is my fault and I deserve to feel his wrath on occasion because it puts me in my place. Troy grounds me.
I can do better. I can be better. I can be worthy of his love.
He squeezes my hands, his eyes looking tenderly into mine. “I love you, Catherine. So much.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper, and in this moment, right now, I think maybe I do love him.
He releases my hands and unravels his silverware. “I know you do.”
The waitress returns with our food, placing our dishes directly in front of us.
“Thank you, Hillary,” Troy says as he fluffs a napkin and rests it on his lap. “This looks delicious, doesn’t it, Catherine?”
He eyes me, and I clear my throat. “Most definitely. Thank you so much,” I tell her as I mirror Troy and rest my napkin in my lap.
Troy watches as Hillary walks away, his eyes on her ass. Once she’s out of sight, he returns his attention to me. It makes me want to call him out, but he is trying, so I want to try, too. Anything to make this lunch peaceful and not a total shitshow.
He takes a bite of his salad and I do the same. I used to save the salad for last in my meals. There is something about ending the meal with a belly full of veggies that made me feel good. However, Troy helpfully informed me that that’s not proper, so I just do what I can to mimic him in hopes that he will stay calm.
When Troy looks up at me, he smiles. Victory in his gaze. It’s candid and I can’t help but smile back.
“I had a call with Dean Hathaway, the police chief today,” he says, the change of topic throwing me off a bit, but I go with it.
“Oh?” I say, waiting for him to elaborate.
I remember Beth mentioning he was on a call with the police chief when I arrived at the city hall.
“Let’s just say, my win is the bag. Dean is faxing over some info on one of those bratty Cromwell kids and let’s just say, boy do I have some dirt on him. Not to mention, the adored district attorney.” He makes a face and my brows pinch slightly.
Oh no. I remember hearing about some trouble Rome got himself into, but I’m not sure what he could mean about the district attorney. Everyone loves Celia Cromwell and she is practically a saint.
Troy continues, “Once I threaten to expose his son and his wife, I guarantee Grant will be dropping out of the race.”
“That good, huh?” I ask, digging for more information. As much as I want Troy to win and save me from having to deal with who he becomes over a loss, I also don’t want Wilder’s family thrown under the bus if it can be helped.
“Good?” His tone shoots up. “It’s great. Celia Cromwell, Grant’s wife, is the district attorney and she worked the case that had her stepson’s charges thrown out. Now if that isn’t a conflict of interest, I’m not sure what is.”
This is bad. This is very bad for Grant, Celia, and Rome. I can’t allow Troy to do this. I’m not sure how conflicting it is, but blackmail is not the way to win an election. At least, not in my eyes. I’m not sure how other politicians deal with this sort of stuff, but it’s wrong.
I grit my teeth, holding back everything I want to say. This is such a Troy thing to do. He’d love nothing more than to paint the Cromwells as horrible people when he’s done so much worse. If the residents of Willow Creek knew what a monster he is, they’d never give him their votes.
“Are you sure this is how you want to win?” I ask, forgoing what I really want to say. “You said yourself, beating Grant will be all the more satisfying when you win. Don’t you prefer to win with votes?”
He quirks a brow. “Are you questioning my abilities? Because it sure as hell sounds like you are.”
I keep my head down, hoping if I can express my concern maybe he won't do this. “I’m just saying, I think you should?—”
His fist hits the table, enough to startle me but not quite enough to attract attention. Troy glances around when my panicked gaze meets his, and the second he realizes no one is looking at us, he grabs his knife and grips it tight.“Don’t pretend you know a damn thing about what it takes to win an election. You know nothing about what I do, Catherine, so keep your ignorant thoughts to yourself.”
I nod in response and continue to eat with my head down because if I look at him right now, I just might lose my fucking mind. His breathing is heavy, that knife held out almost like a threat. He wouldn’t do anything in front of witnesses. At least, that’s what I try to tell myself as I force another bite down my throat.