Chapter 2
are you serious, mom?
BELL
december
“Are you serious, Mom?” A few weeks after Thanksgiving, Noelle’s voice squawked out of my phone’s speaker.
“I just told you Bradford cheated on me and got me put on leave for unethical conduct—which is totally not true. And now you’re saying you don’t want me to come for Christmas?
Because you’re back together with the guy who made your life miserable for years? ”
Noelle sounded like she was on the verge of tears, but I refused to budge.
“I’m sorry,” I answered, voice flat. “But I owe it to Dennis to give our relationship another chance without any distractions.”
I looked at the ex who’d shown up without warning over a week ago.
“You think I’m a distraction?” I couldn’t see Noelle, but I could hear the hurt in her question—then her anger when she said, “What do you think Dennis will be then? You’ve finally gotten your life together. How long before he ruins it again?!”
“That was a huge misunderstanding,” I insisted. “And I overreacted. I never should have divorced him. I should have tried to work things out, and now I…”
I had to swallow a couple of times to choke out my next words. “I finally have a chance to make up for what I did to him.”
“What you did to him.” Disgust filled Noelle’s voice. “Mom, he hit you, and he would have started hitting me, too, if you hadn’t left him when you did. I can’t believe you’re actually going back to that ass—”
“Don’t talk about Dennis like that!” I cut her off before she could say something we’d both regret. “He is a good man. And he deserves our respect.”
“Mom, have you lost your mind?”
“No.” I exchanged another look with Dennis, who was now beaming down at me. “I’ve finally come to my senses. I’m sorry if that’s hard to hear, Noelle. But I’m a grown woman, and this is my final decision. I’m not going to let you ruin my newfound happiness. Again.”
I added that last word to be extra hurtful, in the hope it would keep her from calling me back.
But instead of hanging up on me, Noelle’s voice turned pleading. “I’m not trying to ruin anything, Mom. I love you, and I’m just trying to understand why you would let that—”
I hung up on her, hands shaking so badly, I dropped the phone onto the table. I was too afraid of what Dennis would do if Noelle insulted him again.
He’d already told me what would happen if I disobeyed.
One call to the Del Gottis, the crime family he now worked for as a bookkeeper, and they’d hurt Noelle.
He’d shown me the photos to prove they could.
Noelle leaving the hospital. Arguing with Bradford outside her apartment. Hugging me at Babe Station—
“Oh God.” I’d clasped a hand over my mouth when I saw those photos, knowing they’d been watching her. That the notorious Minneapolis family could get to her anytime they wanted—without even having to cross state lines.
That was all Dennis needed to gain my complete cooperation.
So I knew what I had to pretend—to say and do—to keep Noelle safe. But...
Mom, I love you.
Those four words had threatened to break me. I had no choice but to hang up because I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish the conversation without crying, which would ruin everything.
If Noelle even suspected the truth, she’d tell Holly. And then there’d be nothing I could do to keep them from showing up here—and putting both of themselves in danger.
No, I had to do whatever it took to keep Noelle in the dark and Holly safe in Vancouver.
I knew Holly, especially, would not be surprised about me going back to her evil stepfather.
She’d spent most of her formative years watching me cover bruises with makeup and bend to Dennis’s every whim.
She’d seen firsthand how I’d let him control me without a word of protest. Until he’d hit Noelle.
So when she inevitably heard that Dennis got out early and I’d “chosen” to take him back, of course, she’d assume it was just more of the same.
They must both think I’m so weak....
But it didn’t matter. I squashed down that kernel of self-pity. I’d rather both my daughters think me weak, stupid, and heartless than risk them showing up here.
“Good job.”
Dennis’s voice brought my eyes up from the phone.
Dennis had put on weight in prison. His once-trim frame now carried a noticeable paunch, and his light-brown skin was much paler than I remembered.
But his smile was as genial as a campaign photo.
Nobody who didn’t know him would guess what he was capable of.
Especially now that he’d gotten out of jail.
Oh, God. What would I do if he sicced those mobsters on my baby? The tears that had only pooled in my eyes before began slipping down my cheeks at the thought of Noelle getting hurt because her father didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.
“Don’t cry.” Dennis bit out the order like emotions were something I could turn on and off. “You weren’t the one who had to spend ten years in jail because your bitch wife turned state’s evidence.”
Vacant Little Thing.
Back when we were married, that was what I’d named the role I’d perfected after I realized anything less than complete subservience would set Dennis off.
The role I was quickly learning to play again.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, choking back my emotions. “You’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” Dennis set the gun on the table between us. A test to see if I’d reach for it, I’m sure.
He didn’t have to worry about that, though. His plan was a sound one. As long as Noelle’s safety was on the line, I wouldn’t go against him. I’d be exactly who he wanted me to be to keep her safe. Vacant Little Thing. Vacant Little Thing. Vacant, vacant, vacant.
“First, I’ll teach you your lesson,” Dennis announced over my inner chant. “Then we’ll call Noelle down here, and we can all be one happy family.”
Over my dead body.
Most likely, literally.
But for Noelle, sitting innocent and vulnerable in Gemidgee...
I continued to grit my teeth.
Dennis was back, and so was the version of myself I’d played as his wife.
No more art. No more freedom. Just duty. The dreadlocks I’d been growing for ten years were scraped back into a tight ponytail that Dennis just had to settle for, since the alternative was cutting them off.
The only thing he hated more than my dreadlocks was short hair. So he decided he’d just have to endure “those Medusa ropes” until my new growth was long enough for me to get straight hair extensions.
Until then, isolation was the cornerstone of abuse, and he was determined to return me to his ideal: the meek, subservient wife he’d cajoled, insulted, and eventually hit me into becoming.
I was made to quit my job at the museum and only let out of the apartment for necessary errands, like grocery shopping and occasionally making special trips to the corner store for cognac and more cigarettes.
He paid for the rent, the groceries, and seven neat house dresses, like the ones I’d worn back in Saint Everette, to replace the carefully curated artsy capsule wardrobe I’d acquired over the last ten years. But the cigarettes had to come out of my quickly dwindling bank account.
He’d picked up a pack-a-day habit while in prison, so him needing to smoke was one more thing that was all my fault.
But I was grateful for the little time I got outside the prison he’d made of my cozy apartment.
He’d taken my phone, and we only watched what he wanted on TV, which was mostly sports.
The constant drone of announcers discussing plays became the soundtrack of my captivity.
I accepted smoke settling into the curtains, the couch, and my clothes.
I got used to the ever-present headache that came with keeping my long hair in a tight bun.
Other than grocery and corner store trips, I didn’t get to see or hear much about the outside world.
I didn’t know what movies were doing well at the box office or what shows were the hottest on streaming.
I had no idea how Noelle was getting along after her breakup, or if Holly was still concerned about being able to continue to work in Canada after her divorce, due to licensing issues.
A couple of days before December 25th, a package arrived in the mail addressed to me from Noelle with “Don’t Open Until Christmas!
!!” scrawled in her sloppy handwriting with a Sharpie marker.
She must have sent it to me before she got put on leave—before I told her she couldn’t come down for the holidays.
Dennis ripped into it anyway, like the present was for him.
He frowned when he saw what it was.
A gorgeous neon-orange winter coat with gold buttons.
Then he pulled out the note and read it aloud. “Mom, you’re right. Here’s a warm coat for the warmest mom I know. Please think about how much you and not Linda deserve this every time you put it on. What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Of course, he didn’t understand. Someone like Dennis could never understand. His lack of emotional depth had been the second major red flag.
“So what if he doesn’t have any poetry? He’s safe and reliable,” my sister, Joy, had pointed out when I called her in Germany where she was stationed while going back and forth with myself about whether to accept his marriage proposal—which had basically been a pitch about how he needed me to move in with him in Saint Everette and play the part of the dutiful wife while he campaigned to go from being their comptroller to their mayor.
“Don’t you want Holly to have a father?”
Yes, I had, which was why I’d agreed to marry him.
But Dennis had set a terrible example for Holly.
After seeing what I went through, Holly had picked someone the opposite of Dennis.
A useless Canadian who was happy to let her earn all the money while he sat back and pursued a dubious career as a street artist. I knew her marriage and divorce were partially my fault.
I’d taught her to distrust the safe choice.