Chapter 18
18
I’ve spent most of the morning crying.
Not continuously. But every thirty minutes or so, a lump forms in my throat, and before I know it, the tears are flowing freely.
The latest thing that got me crying is a game of solitaire.
Polly fetched me a deck of cards and set up a tray in front of me. The television is all snow, so I needed something to occupy my attention instead of just concentrating on how intensely uncomfortable I feel. I dealt out the cards to play a game of solitaire, but it got me thinking about how Dennis was the one who taught me how to play solitaire when I was about five years old. He loved playing cards, and he taught me every game there is to know. From go fish to Texas Hold’em. He also tried to teach me to shuffle one-handed, but I never quite got the hang of it no matter how many times he showed me.
And of course, that got me thinking about Dennis. About how he’s probably pacing his apartment right now, sick with worry. I wish more than anything that I had my phone. Even if the cell service is spotty, eventually maybe a text would have gone through and I could let him know I’m okay.
I wonder what is going on with Simon Lamar. I wonder if he’s worried that I’m going to the police to report him. I wish I could have heard what Jackson was trying to tell me right before I crashed.
Around noon, Polly comes down the stairs with a plate of food. Whatever it is smells incredible. I wipe the tears from my eyes and gather the cards into a pile so that I can eat.
“Lunchtime!” Polly calls out.
She deposits the plate on the tray in front of me. It looks like a barbecue chicken sandwich, with the bread perfectly toasted, and a side of french fries. She even cut the sandwich into quarters.
“Thank you,” I say. “It smells great.”
“You’re very welcome!”
I glance from my sandwich to the snow-covered window. “Has the plow arrived yet?”
The smile drops off her face. “I’m so sorry, no. Not yet.”
Polly picks up the deck of cards to get them out of my way, but I reach for her wrist to stop her. It’s the same wrist with the purple bruise on it, and she winces when I touch her.
“Sorry,” I say. “Could I keep the cards though? It’s really boring here, you know?”
“Yes, of course.” She pauses, still holding the deck of cards. “Would you like to play a game together while you eat?”
“Sure.” Anything is better than more solitaire. “What do you like to play?”
Polly taps her finger against her chin. Her nail is bitten down to the quick. “I know gin rummy, old maid, crazy eights…”
In spite of the pain, I almost laugh. It sounds like the selection of games that somebody’s grandmother would enjoy playing. But then again, there’s something very old-fashioned about Polly, with her flower-print sweater and long braid. “Let’s play gin rummy.”
Polly deals ten cards each while I take a bite of the sandwich. It tastes just as good as it smells. I used to enjoy cooking, and I always imagined that when I got married, I would make fancy meals for me and my husband.
Of course, that will never happen now. I’ll probably never get married. Why should I? From now on, it’s just going to be me and Tuna.
“You’re an amazing cook,” I tell her as I pick up my cards. It’s true—this barbecue sauce might be the best I’ve ever had.
Polly settles into a little wooden chair next to the bed. “I have to be. Hank is hopeless in the kitchen. We would starve!”
At the sound of her husband’s name, I get a sour taste in my mouth, despite the delicious food in front of me. How can she talk about that monster with a smile on her face?
“Maybe Hank should learn how to make his own food,” I say as I pick up an ace from the deck. “You don’t have to do everything for him.”
“But I enjoy cooking for my husband,” she says quickly. “He works hard, and he deserves a big, hearty meal when he gets home. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No. It’s just that… Don’t you work full-time as a nurse already?”
“Actually…” She looks down at her hands with their fingernails chewed down to the quick. “I don’t work full-time. Or…at all. Not at the moment anyway. Hank… He wanted me to stay home. He prefers it that way.”
An alarm bell is sounding off in my head. Isn’t that what abusive, controlling men do to their wives—force them to give up their jobs so they don’t have their own source of income? Judging by the sad expression on her face, she clearly did not want to give up her job, but I’m sure Hank wouldn’t have wanted Polly’s coworkers to catch sight of the bruises he left on her.
Instead, she’s all alone out here, in a dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t even have a cell phone to connect her to the outside world.
“I just think you shouldn’t have to feel obligated to cook him every meal,” I say. Polly is staring at me, so I joke, “That’s what microwaves are for.”
“Microwaves!” Polly looks affronted as she discards a card into the pile in front of us. “Oh no, Hank would never… I mean, I don’t think microwaves are a good way to cook meals. Do you make dinner in the microwave for your husband?”
No, I don’t. But to be fair, I don’t have a husband.
“I’m joking,” I finally say as I pick up an ace from the pile. “But… Hank is… I just think he’s lucky to have you.”
I study her face for her reaction to my statement. It’s clear to me that Polly has been brainwashed into believing she must wait on her husband hand and foot. She even gave up a job she loves for him. She gets that sad look on her face again, and when she opens her mouth, I’m certain that she’s going to confide in me, but then she shakes her head, almost to herself. Clearly, the time is not yet right.
I want to help Polly. Nobody was there for me, but I can be there for her at least.
“Hank and I are lucky to have each other,” she finally says as she inspects the cards in her hand. “How about your husband? He must be excited about the baby.”
I push back a surge of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. It’s going to be so hard doing this on my own. Sometimes it feels completely overwhelming. At least before, I thought I was going to have money to help me out. But now it’s going to be just me and Tuna—dead broke. “Yes, of course he’s excited.”
The words come out a touch more defensive than I intended.
“That’s wonderful,” she says. “Have you been married long?”
Tuna presses an elbow or a knee against my rib cage, and I squirm, which sets off that electric pain in my right leg. “About two years.”
“And now a baby on the way.” She discards a king, which I snatch up. “How perfect.”
Once again, I am seized by the urge to tell her everything. Like, everything. About meeting Simon in that bar, the positive pregnancy test, and then the gut-punch recollection of the way he drugged and raped me. The only people I have told are Simon himself and Jackson, who didn’t believe me. But I’m certain Polly would believe me. She will get it.
Maybe I’ll tell her after this game is over.
“Gin,” I finally say as I lay the cards down on the table.
Polly frowns. She looks over at my cards on the table and shakes her head. “That’s not gin.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.” She taps on the cards. It’s like she’s speaking to a child. “Ace is low only. Queen-king-ace is not a run.”
“Ace can be high or low.”
“No.” She purses her lips. “Ace is low only. I’ve been playing this game my whole life, and I’ve never played it that ace can be high.”
“Sorry—that’s not how I play it.”
“Well, that’s just cheating.” For a moment, her eyes flash. She seems quite upset over what is just a silly game of gin. But a second later, her shoulders relax. “Okay then. You’re the guest, so we can play by your rules.”
I nod, wondering how often she is forced to compromise in this house. She seems very used to it.
My left ankle throbs painfully within the boot, and I wince. Polly notices my reaction and follows my gaze to my left foot. “We really should get that boot off,” she says in a worried voice. “If there’s an injury under there…”
“No,” I say before she can finish her thought. I don’t want to see what’s under the boot. It’s like when I was a kid and I used to drop a heavy book on a spider to kill it, and then I was afraid to move the book for days after—I’d finally get Dennis to do it for me because he had no problem killing insects or wiping up their guts. But I couldn’t help it. I knew whatever was under that book wasn’t going to look good, and I was scared to see it.
I feel exactly the same way about my ankle. Considering how much it hurts, there’s nothing good under that boot. Eventually, I will have to take it off, but for now, I want to postpone it as long as I possibly can.
“It’s your decision,” Polly says gently. “But I’m worried about it. At the very least, your leg is so swollen that the boot is putting pressure on your nerves and blood vessels. If it were me, I would want it off.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be at the hospital tonight or tomorrow morning.”
“Yes,” she says slowly. “That’s true.” She clears her throat and nods. “Do you want to play again?”
“That’s okay.” I let out an exaggerated yawn. “I’m feeling pretty tired anyway. I might take a nap.”
Really, I was trying to get rid of Polly. But as I let out another yawn, I realize that I actually am very tired. I suppose it makes sense, considering I hardly slept last night, and also, I’m growing another person inside me.
She flashes me a sympathetic look. “Of course. Go to sleep. I’ll shut off the lights on my way upstairs.”
“Actually,” I say, “I’d rather keep the lights on.”
She nods. “Of course. Whatever you want.”
And then she collects my empty plate of food and climbs the stairs. Just before shutting the basement door, she forgets my request and flicks the lights off. I am plunged back into darkness.
“Polly!” I call out. “Polly!”
But she can’t hear me. She’s already gone, and I’m worried if I keep yelling, Hank might be the one who responds. And the truth is it’s easier to sleep in the dark.
So I close my eyes and allow myself to drift off.