12. Sammie
My mouth lost all moisture and my legs trembled at the sight of my husband. After all these months away I’d almost forgotten what he looked like. Objectively speaking, his strong jawline and full mouth might have made him handsome if not for the look of utter malice coming from his eyes. He’d gained weight on top of his muscular frame since I’d last seen him. I didn’t think it was possible, but he was even more intimidating.
“Well, look what we have here. My wife. Guess what? I’m alive.” His voice sounded rough and hoarse. Given the bags under his bloodshot eyes, I suspected he’d been drinking. Not unexpected. “You must have been so broken up all this time, thinking the father of your child had been killed.”
“How did you find me?” I knew my script without anyone having to tell me. I had to make him feel as if he had the upper hand. As if he’d surprised me.
“That’s not your concern.”
“What do you want?” I asked. The tremble in my voice was real. No acting required.
“It’s time for you and Chloe to come home. This little game of yours is over.”
“What game? You mean the one where I was trying to stay alive? The game where you hit me almost every day of our marriage?”
“I gave you everything. A home. Money. A baby. And yet you betrayed me.” He drew nearer, not touching me but forcing me backward until I ran into the bed. “You left me for dead and ran away. Changed your name. Took my child from me. Still, here I am, not ready to give up on you. Not everyone in my life understands, but I forgive you. Now it’s time to go home.”
“You think I’m going back with you, only to have you beat me to death or shoot me like the night I left? Are you out of your mind?” I knew putting up a fight would infuriate him. I would get him to confess; I could get him to strike me. I’d had enough practice.
The first time he’d hit me, I hadn’t expected it. But I’d never forget the way his face changed, reddened, and contorted, right before he started in on me. He’d split open my lip and given me bruises up and down my arms instead. After he’d passed out, I’d locked myself in the bathroom. The next morning, he’d begged my forgiveness, blamed it on the drink, and swore he’d never do it again. That promise lasted all the way through the rest of our honeymoon. I was pregnant. I’d vowed to make it work. More than anything, I’d wanted my daughter to have both parents, something I hadn’t had.
Isn’t that like all women, though? We want to give our children everything, especially what we didn’t have growing up.
“These fantasies you’ve made up in your head are disturbing,” John said. “Makes me wonder if you’re fit to be a mother, you know what I mean?”
“That’s a good one,” I said. “There’s an unfit parent in this room, and it’s not me.’
“You’ve gotten real sassy since you left. Tell me, did you feel bad at all about killing me?”
I thought about what to say before I said it—I’d go right for the jugular. After all, provoking him was the goal, even if he hurt me in the process. “As a matter of fact, I didn’t. I hated you by then. I was relieved you were dead, and I could finally get away from you. My only worry? That your psycho family would come after me.”
“That’s why you left? You hated me?”
He looked so baffled that it took me aback for a moment.
“How else would I feel about you?” I asked, equally baffled by his reaction. “You nearly killed me more times than I can count. All I wanted was to leave you. The gun going off was an accident, as you well know.”
“I didn’t think you had it in you to fight me like that,” he said. “You broke my heart, leaving me for dead.”
“I broke your heart? That’s a good one. You pulled out your gun, ready to kill me, but I was ready for you that time. It took you by surprise, which gave me a fighting chance. We struggled and the gun went off, and yeah, I thought you were dead. And yes, I ran. Only to find out that it’s true what they say—only the good die young.”
His face turned red, then purple. A vein in the middle of his forehead throbbed. I knew what that meant. He was about to hit me. I’d let him. Take it one more time so I could be free.
He lifted his shirt to show me the scar from the gunshot wound. “Do you see what you did to me? The surgeon said he didn’t think I’d make it. He told my daddy that his son was a goner. Do you know the hell you put him through?”
“If you hadn’t pulled the gun on me, it would never have happened. You know that’s the truth.”
“You don’t remember it right. You came after me with my own gun. I was the victim, not you.”
“You think anyone’s going to believe that a 115-pound woman wrestled a gun from my husband’s hand and shot him in cold blood? Is that what you told your daddy? Your wife overpowered you? I can only imagine how that went over.”
“I didn’t tell him that because it wasn’t true. I had you trapped with a gun to your head.”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“That’s right. You were angry I talked about you to someone else. So angry that you came home ready to kill me. It was only dumb luck that the gun didn’t go off when you were holding it to my temple.”
“Shut your fat face,” he said though his teeth.
All of it was so familiar. We’d played his game so many times. Only this time there was a sheriff and his deputies waiting outside to help me if I needed them. Thad too—watching all of this happen and probably losing his mind—wishing he could put a stop to it right now but trusting Winthrop’s ways instead. He’d fallen in love with me even though he knew I wasn’t truthful with him about my past. He’d loved me through all of this madness, as steady as anything or anyone I’d ever known. He wanted me. If I could get out of here alive, I was going to spend the rest of my life showering him with all the love in my heart. I’d stifled my true self for too long, but I’d found her in Montana. I’d found a family, too. One who loved me and Chloe. Everything I wanted was within reach. I just had to keep him from killing me.
John yanked me away from the side of the bed and slammed me against the wall, knocking the breath out of me. This was always his first move. I had to get him to say more before he hit me hard enough to knock me out.
“What if I’m not quiet? What if I tell everyone who you really are?” I asked him once I caught my breath. He smelled of stale booze and perspiration, as if he’d not showered since I’d last seen him. “What if I just keep on talking? What if I tell the whole world what you did?”
“No one would believe you. I’m John Underwood. You’re nothing but trash. Your dad was trash and your whore mother was trash. Everyone knows I married you because you were pregnant. People pitied me. Having to marry waiflike Sammie with her limp hair and ghostly skin and mousy personality. Everyone knew you’d gotten pregnant on purpose so you could live a life of luxury. And I gave you everything. What did you do? Left me. Shot me and left me for dead.”
“The life of luxury? That’s a good one. You kept me trapped in that cracker box of a house like you were such a big man. But you’re not. You’re small and insignificant. Even your daddy knew you weren’t smart enough to do anything but work for him.”
“Shut up. You’re the stupid one. The one nobody wants.”
One of his best moves—gaslighting and lies. What he said wasn’t true. My father was a great man. Like Thad and his brothers. Like Jasper Moon. This here in front of me was a bad man. It didn’t matter how much money a man had. That had nothing to do with a man’s character; his capacity for love and fatherhood could not be measured in wealth but in action. All John Underwood had ever done was hurt me.
“I documented your abuse over the years,” I said, telling a lie of my own. “I wrote down every single incident. I’m going to tell the whole world what you did.”
“No one will believe you.”
“They believe me here. I have friends here, and I’ve told them what you did to me. If anything happens to me now, they’ll know it was you. See, I can finally tell the truth, because I’m not trapped. I got out, and you can’t hurt me ever again. We’re not in your town any longer. We’re in mine. And in Bluefern, you’re not above the law.”
He laughed, cruel and high-pitched, reminding me of a hyena on steroids. “You think anyone cares about you? It’s obvious you’re as worthless as you always were. You’re nothing without me. Living in this cheap motel. Jesus, it stinks of mold in here. This is what you think is best for our daughter? You left me for this?”
“Chloe’s fine because she’s with me, and her daddy isn’t knocking the crap out of me every night.”
“No, you’re still all nervous and skinny—a frightened little bird—that’s all you are. My God, you’re such an idiot. And you grow uglier by the day. Your looks are gone, babe. No man’s ever going to love you or take care of you like I did. There’s not a soul alive that’ll even notice you’re gone. No one but me ever wanted you. Admit it.”
“My daughter wants me,” I said. “And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her away from you.”
“I never laid a hand on her.”
“Liar. You almost killed her—that night you hurled her against the wall—remember that?”
“Where is she?” He pushed the barrel of the gun against my chest.
I yelped from pain. “I’ll never tell you.”
“She’s my kid.”
“You never cared about her. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let your horrible family raise my daughter.”
“Don’t say anything about my family.” He raised his arm and then smacked me hard across the face with his empty hand. For a moment, I saw stars. Please don’t come yet, I thought, trying to send a silent message to Winthrop. We need more.
“What are you going to do about it? Kill me? Because that’s the only way you’re getting near my daughter again. She doesn’t even remember you. In fact, I have a new man in my life and she’s starting to think he’s her dad. Not the loser who donated his sperm.”
I’d never spoken to him like this. For a moment, confusion showed his eyes. I’d knocked him off his game. He didn’t know what to do.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Kill me. Do it. You know you want to. Finish off what you started so many times. Leave me here to die like you were planning to do the night I left.”
“Shut up.” He banged my head against the wall.
I cried out in pain, but I wasn’t giving up. Keep goading him, I told myself. “You remember how it went. Don’t pretend you didn’t. You pistol-whipped me, and the pain was so bad I thought I was going to pass out, but then I don’t know what happened—maybe it was Jesus by my side—but I found the strength to fight you. I’d been practicing kickboxing so I could finally fight back, and it worked. I got you on the ground like you were a drunk little girl. When that gun went off, it was meant for me, not you.”
He reared back as if I’d hit him. In the next second, he reached for his gun, cocked it, and pushed it into my forehead. “Any last words, you stupid bitch?”
“Yes, John Underwood. I have a whole bunch to say.” I said his name a little too loudly. For a split second I thought I’d tipped him off, but then chaos broke out.
The door banged open, and the sheriff and his deputies charged into the room. John turned his head, but the barrel of the gun remained where it was, pressed against my flesh. Tension and heat radiated from his body as he grabbed and forced me in front of him. His free arm snaked around my neck. His breath hot against my skin. With his other hand, he brought the gun to my temple.
“I’ll shoot her. I will,” John shouted.
“Put down the gun, Underwood,” Winthrop said. “It’s over.”
“Don’t come closer or she’s dead,” John said.
I held my breath, waiting for the bullet to tear through my flesh and into my brain.
“Give us the gun,” Winthrop said calmly. “Just come peacefully and it’ll be a lot better for you.”
“No, this isn’t the way it’s going to go.” John thrust me aside and turned the gun on Winthrop. Before he could pull the trigger, the deputy shot him right through the head. John crumpled to the floor. Blood and parts of his brain splattered the wall and pooled beneath his head onto the ugly orange shag carpet.
I sobbed, violently shaking. Black dots danced before my eyes.
The deputies knelt near John. One of them said, “He’s dead.” As if that wasn’t obvious.
Thad ran into the room. I sobbed harder and reached out to him, wanting nothing more than the safety of his arms. He picked me up as if I weighed no more than Chloe and stormed across the room out the door into the bright sunshine of the June morning.
“It’s over.” Thad sat in one of the chairs by the table and held me on his lap. “He’s gone. You’re safe now.”
I placed my head against his chest and wept. The ugliness of this day would never leave me. I knew that with certainty. But I also knew I never had to go back to it again. I was finally free.