husband, who I adored.
I made fettuccine Alfredo, and I made the Alfredo sauce from scratch with cream and freshly grated Parmesan.
At least I tried. It didn’t quite come together. I had the heat too high on the skillet, and the Parmesan separated and the sauce got oily, and Alastair laughed at me and refused to eat it, and said that I was the worst cook he’d ever seen.
And when I cried, he said he was only teasing and what the hell was wrong with me to get so upset over nothing. He said I was a big baby.
It hurt, because I wanted to please him, and I hadn’t.
But I figured he must be right. After all, I had totally ruined the sauce. Although I tasted it and it tasted divine. It looked bad, but it was positively scrumptious. Didn’t matter, though. He had been teasing me. I had been too sensitive. It was all my fault.
It wasn’t a big deal, honestly. Not being nice about my failed cooking attempt didn’t mean he was an abusive asshole, of course.
But it was the beginning of the way he berated me and the way he put me down.
By the time he did hit me, he had already convinced me I deserved it.
Sometimes, when I looked back on my life with him, when I thought about how far under his thumb I had actually been, I thought it was a miracle that I had ever gotten away from him at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alastair’s house was a beige color. It was three stories and it was up on stilts on the bay, west of Atlantic Avenue, instead of east on the ocean. There was a dock behind the house and a speedboat was attached, floating in the water. It gleamed in the morning sunlight.
Detective Flint got out of the car and took off his sunglasses. He tucked them inside his suit jacket and surveyed the house.
I swallowed and put my hand on the car door.
Flint peered the through windshield at me. “You want to stay here?”
I flung the door open. “I’m coming with you.”
He shrugged. “Okay.” Without waiting to see if I was following, he strode over the driveway, up the sidewalk, and began climbing the steps to the front door.
I hurried after him. The breeze seemed cold now, and it was cutting through the light sweater I was wearing. I huddled inside it, hunching up my shoulders as I went up the steps behind Flint.
Flint rang the doorbell.
We waited.
My heart started to beat so loudly and so fast, I was sure everyone in the whole city could hear it.
Flint inspected his jacket. He flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve. He looked me over. “You cold?”
“No,” I said, my voice too high.
He shrugged again. He pressed the doorbell again. He banged a few times on the door. “SCPD,” he called. “Anyone home?”
Oh, God. I hadn’t even thought of that. What if he wasn’t home? What if I was getting all nervous here for nothing, and he wouldn’t come to the door after all? Then we’d have to come back, wouldn’t we?
I didn’t know if I could handle coming back.
Overhead, a seagull squawked as it flew by us.
I became aware of the sound of the traffic in the distance. The rushing sound of cars going past, a horn blaring.
I looked up at the sky above us. It was bright blue, dotted with fluffy clouds that looked like cotton balls.
I didn’t think I owned any cotton balls. Alastair would probably call that carelessness. He’d say that not having cotton balls was not being prepared. He’d say that there was no way that a spoiled brat like me could possibly take care of herself on her own, and that I was already screwing up my household so much—
The door opened.
My heart stopped beating.
But it was only the housekeeper. She had headphones around her neck. She smiled cheerfully. “I was listening to music. Almost didn’t hear you. Can I help you?”
Flint showed her his badge. “We’re here to see Alastair Cooper.”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay. Well, let me see if he’s available, I guess.” She looked behind herself into the house for a second and then turned back to us.
I made fettuccine Alfredo, and I made the Alfredo sauce from scratch with cream and freshly grated Parmesan.
At least I tried. It didn’t quite come together. I had the heat too high on the skillet, and the Parmesan separated and the sauce got oily, and Alastair laughed at me and refused to eat it, and said that I was the worst cook he’d ever seen.
And when I cried, he said he was only teasing and what the hell was wrong with me to get so upset over nothing. He said I was a big baby.
It hurt, because I wanted to please him, and I hadn’t.
But I figured he must be right. After all, I had totally ruined the sauce. Although I tasted it and it tasted divine. It looked bad, but it was positively scrumptious. Didn’t matter, though. He had been teasing me. I had been too sensitive. It was all my fault.
It wasn’t a big deal, honestly. Not being nice about my failed cooking attempt didn’t mean he was an abusive asshole, of course.
But it was the beginning of the way he berated me and the way he put me down.
By the time he did hit me, he had already convinced me I deserved it.
Sometimes, when I looked back on my life with him, when I thought about how far under his thumb I had actually been, I thought it was a miracle that I had ever gotten away from him at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alastair’s house was a beige color. It was three stories and it was up on stilts on the bay, west of Atlantic Avenue, instead of east on the ocean. There was a dock behind the house and a speedboat was attached, floating in the water. It gleamed in the morning sunlight.
Detective Flint got out of the car and took off his sunglasses. He tucked them inside his suit jacket and surveyed the house.
I swallowed and put my hand on the car door.
Flint peered the through windshield at me. “You want to stay here?”
I flung the door open. “I’m coming with you.”
He shrugged. “Okay.” Without waiting to see if I was following, he strode over the driveway, up the sidewalk, and began climbing the steps to the front door.
I hurried after him. The breeze seemed cold now, and it was cutting through the light sweater I was wearing. I huddled inside it, hunching up my shoulders as I went up the steps behind Flint.
Flint rang the doorbell.
We waited.
My heart started to beat so loudly and so fast, I was sure everyone in the whole city could hear it.
Flint inspected his jacket. He flicked a piece of lint off the sleeve. He looked me over. “You cold?”
“No,” I said, my voice too high.
He shrugged again. He pressed the doorbell again. He banged a few times on the door. “SCPD,” he called. “Anyone home?”
Oh, God. I hadn’t even thought of that. What if he wasn’t home? What if I was getting all nervous here for nothing, and he wouldn’t come to the door after all? Then we’d have to come back, wouldn’t we?
I didn’t know if I could handle coming back.
Overhead, a seagull squawked as it flew by us.
I became aware of the sound of the traffic in the distance. The rushing sound of cars going past, a horn blaring.
I looked up at the sky above us. It was bright blue, dotted with fluffy clouds that looked like cotton balls.
I didn’t think I owned any cotton balls. Alastair would probably call that carelessness. He’d say that not having cotton balls was not being prepared. He’d say that there was no way that a spoiled brat like me could possibly take care of herself on her own, and that I was already screwing up my household so much—
The door opened.
My heart stopped beating.
But it was only the housekeeper. She had headphones around her neck. She smiled cheerfully. “I was listening to music. Almost didn’t hear you. Can I help you?”
Flint showed her his badge. “We’re here to see Alastair Cooper.”
The housekeeper’s eyes widened. “Wow. Okay. Well, let me see if he’s available, I guess.” She looked behind herself into the house for a second and then turned back to us.
Similar Books
