Chapter 6
Paisley woke at six, like always, feeling more wrecked than she should have considering she’d been in bed by eleven.
But she hadn’t slept well. All she could see was Ethan’s face when the realization hit him that Trey was the one who’d betrayed him. And when he’d figured out that Trey was the abusive husband she’d run from?
His anger in that moment had threatened to blot all the stars in the sky. It’d taken everything she had not to jump into her car and lock the doors.
There hadn’t been much else to say after that, not really.
He hadn’t asked questions, and she’d been grateful for it.
If she’d had to explain how she’d fallen for Trey’s lies or, worse, why she’d stayed after the first time he hit her, she’d have cracked into a million pieces that would never be whole again.
Maybe she already had. Because she was trying every damned day to hold herself together and she’d thought she was doing a pretty good job of it. Seeing Ethan again in the Dawg, and then again yesterday, had made the illusion shimmer.
They’d said their goodbyes and she’d gotten into the car, asked him if he wanted a ride back to the Dawg because it was the decent thing to do after he’d carried Violet three blocks. She’d been relieved when he said he didn’t.
She’d left him standing in the parking lot, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her until she couldn’t see him in the mirrors anymore.
Then she’d cried angry tears, smearing them away with her palm, willing them to stop before she got home. If Violet woke up, she didn’t want her daughter to see her crying.
When Paisley cried, Violet got anxious. Because she was accustomed to bad things making her mommy cry. To seeing Paisley with black eyes and split lips, to having her yelp in pain because her ribs were bruised when Violet hugged her.
Usually, Paisley could redirect Trey’s anger, defuse it. But not always. That was when he lashed out, and when Paisley thought about her daughter in her room, her fingers in her ears and her eyes squeezed shut. In those moments, Paisley prayed that Violet would stay, that she wouldn’t come running.
So long as Trey didn’t touch Violet, Paisley could endure.
She’d shuddered, sniffling softly as she turned onto her street and then parked in front of the house.
It was small, only twelve-hundred square feet, but it felt like more of a home than any she’d had before.
Her home with Trey had been grand, because his business had made a lot of money, but everything in it was the way he wanted it.
She hadn’t been allowed to put any of her personality into it.
It was decorated, but only because he’d hired someone.
He’d wanted it to look like rich people lived there.
Everything was stale and modern and empty of soul.
Not like the bungalow. She didn’t have many possessions yet, but the rich wood accents inside the house made her happy. Maybe if she lived there long enough, she’d fill the house with beautiful things. She hoped so, anyway.
She’d left all the lights on because she didn’t want to enter a dark house. She always looked up and down the street before she parked. Her neighbors had been outside, setting off sparklers and bottle rockets in the street, and that had made her feel better. If she screamed, they would hear.
After getting Violet to bed, she’d poured a big glass of white wine and taken a book to bed. She’d fallen asleep quickly enough, but she’d kept gasping awake, straining to hear the noises she’d heard in her dreams, afraid they were real.
Shattering glass. Creaking wood. The sound of a pistol being cocked.
Fortunately, it was only her imagination.
Paisley got out of bed and went to the bathroom down the hall.
There was an ensuite bath in the main bedroom, but she’d had to shut the water off to the toilet because it kept running and she hadn’t gotten around to figuring out how to fix it yet.
She could mention it to Aunt Hettie, but she wasn’t going to because then her aunt would very likely send a plumber and insist on paying for it.
If the problem required a plumber, she’d call one.
But first she needed to Google running toilets and see if it was simple.
She added that to her mental checklist for the day, then took care of business and had a quick shower before returning to her room to get dressed.
When she walked into the kitchen to fix breakfast for her and Violet, the sunlight streaming though the windows helped chase away the lingering effects of fear from last night.
Everything looked better with sunshine to burn away the shadows. She went through the motions of making oatmeal, adding apples and cinnamon and butter, her mind constantly replaying the look on Ethan’s face when he’d learned the truth.
For a moment, he’d looked as shattered as she felt.
As broken. It was probably her imagination, because while she’d endured Trey and his systematic dismantling of her self-worth, Ethan had moved on.
He’d had other women, other lovers. His life had changed and grew.
Hers changed too, became smaller and harder.
“Dammit,” she muttered as her eyes stung.
She washed the dishes and let the oatmeal simmer.
Violet trudged in a few minutes later, looking grumpy in her pink kitty cat pajamas.
Paisley’s heart squeezed with love. Her child had never been a morning person.
She didn’t let Violet have coffee at four years old, but she was positive Vivi would be the sort of person who didn’t function without it when she was older.
“Good morning, honeybun,” Paisley said brightly. “You want some oatmeal?”
Violet propped her elbow on the table and put her chin in her hand before nodding. “Uh-huh.”
“And the magic word is?”
“Peas.”
“Please,” Paisley repeated, emphasizing the L and long E sound.
“Please,” Violet said.
Paisley scooped oatmeal into a bowl and set it in front of her daughter. “Blow on it before you take a bite.”
Violet dug in and lifted the spoon, blowing hard. Paisley bit back a smile. Nothing like a kid’s exaggerated interpretation to make you laugh. She was grateful she still could.
“Did I miss the fireworks, Mommy?”
Paisley got her own bowl of oatmeal and sat at the table. “I’m sorry, honey, but you fell asleep. I tried to wake you.”
Violet let out a long-suffering sigh. “Okay. Can we go again tonight? I really wanna see dem.”
Paisley reached over and squeezed her daughter’s hand. “I’m sorry, Vivi, but the fireworks aren’t happening tonight. It was last night.”
Violet’s eyes grew big and liquid. “You can’t make it happen tonight?”
“No, honey. I’m sorry. Independence Day is over.”
Violet’s lip quivered. “I wanna see,” she whispered, her little voice tortured and painful to hear.
“I know, sweetie. There will be other chances to see fireworks. Just not tonight.”
Violet’s chin and cheeks reddened. She dropped her spoon and bowed her head, her shoulders shaking as she cried.
Paisley’s heart broke. “Aw, honey, come to Mommy.” She opened her arms and Violet came into them, burying her face against Paisley’s white blouse. She’d probably have to change before going to the library, but that was the price of taking care of her baby. “It’s okay, sweetie.”
Violet cried far harder over missed fireworks than she probably should have, but Paisley knew some of it was a reaction to everything that’d happened in her life.
She’d been afraid of Trey, but she also looked up to him because he was a manipulative son of a bitch who’d doled out his affection whenever Violet needed it most. He’d lied to her constantly, and she’d believed because she was a child.
Which meant that Paisley held her sobbing baby, whose reaction to missing fireworks was over the top but quite possibly wasn’t about fireworks at all.
Paisley stroked Violet’s hair until she quieted. With a last hiccup, she pushed away and returned to her chair, moving her spoon around her oatmeal without enthusiasm.
“Eat, Vivi. You get to go to Lily’s house today and play. Her mom’s going to fix lunch and everything. You can play with Barbies, watch movies, whatever you like.”
“Okay.”
She didn’t sound enthused but Paisley knew, when she dropped Violet at the Parks’ house later, she would be bursting with excitement to spend the day with Lily Park.
Mrs. Park made Korean food for lunch, and Violet was learning to love pickled vegetables and bulgogi.
The Parks had lived in Sutton’s Creek for the past three years when Mr. Park took a job at LG Electronics in Huntsville.
They were frequent library visitors, and an absolute godsend when Paisley needed someone to watch Violet for a few hours.
Not that Aunt Hettie wouldn’t, because she would and did, but Paisley couldn’t expect her aunt to become a babysitter in her retirement.
There was a knock on the door. Paisley’s stomach dropped.
But Trey wouldn’t knock that way. He’d pound on the door and yell.
God, would she ever respond normally to random knocks or unexpected arrivals ever again?
This was the South. People dropped by, sometimes with tomatoes from the garden or with an extra loaf of zucchini bread or some other goody, simply because that’s how life was here.
Paisley smiled for Violet’s benefit as she stood. “Eat your breakfast, baby. I’ll see who it is.”
She laid her napkin on the table, smoothed her skirt, and made her way to the front door, her heart pounding. It could be a neighbor. A church lady. A kid selling something for band. Didn’t matter that it was July. They started early sometimes.
The knock sounded again. “Coming,” Paisley called. Still, she stood on tiptoe to look out the peephole. The top of the wood door was decorative glass, but she couldn’t see through it even if she tried.
The man standing on her front porch in a baseball cap and shorts wasn’t who she’d expected to see. She fumbled with the chain on the door, sliding it free.
Then she pasted on a smile and opened the door to face the only man she’d ever loved.