hovering just inside the door. I wondered if she could tell how stiff I was, how aware of the heft of Cyrus’s body next to mine.
“I’m here for you, Rachel,” Sarah said.
Somehow, those five words brimmed with meaning.
CHAPTER 5
R ACHEL
October 8
C yrus closed the front door with a soft click. “Looks like an interesting book,” he said, turning the study guide over in his hands. It was one I’d never seen before.
I made a vague, noncommittal noise and tried to calm my racing heart. Being with Cyrus when I couldn’t read his mood made me feel like I was surrounded by land mines, and I was so unsettled by my encounter with Sarah that I didn’t feel up to the intricate dance required to evade the many pitfalls and traps that marked life with my husband.His face was a mask of nonchalance, but I didn’t know if his deliberate calm was a ruse, or if he truly didn’t suspect anything devious in Sarah’s appearance on our front step. I hoped more than anything that he wouldn’t quiz me about the content of the book. I had no idea what it was or why Sarah had brought it for me.
“Supper will be ready in a minute,” I said, trying to direct a smile his way. It came out brittle and uneven. But Cyrus wasn’t looking at me anyway; he was flipping through the pages of the book.
“‘There is no fear in love,’” Cyrus read, quoting from the back cover copy. “‘But perfect love casts out fear.’” He snorted. “What are you afraid of, Rachel?”
The question caught me so off-guard I almost answered him. You. But that wasn’t entirely true. I was afraid of many things, but nothing so much as the sickening thought that I was the person he said I was. Good-for-nothing. Un-loved. I could only imagine the things he would say if he knew that I had been lying to him for the span of an entire week. I stifled a shiver and Cyrus mistook it as evidence of my cowardice.
“Your book is wrong,” he said with a smirk. “Love doesn’t cast out fear. Power does.” Cyrus took a quick step toward me and I flinched. But my apprehension was un-warranted, because all he did was reach around me, his chest pressing against mine in a cheap imitation of the intimacywe knew for such a brief time so many years ago. I held my breath as he yanked open the top drawer of the narrow desk in the hallway. Closed my eyes and willed my hands to stop shaking when I realized what he was doing.
Even though we lived in a small town where crime was virtually nonexistent, Cyrus insisted on keeping a gun in the hall drawer. Just in case, he said, but I had a hard time envisioning any scenario where that gun would be a welcome addition to our home. When Lily was little, he kept the drawer locked with a small silver key that he hid on top of the wide, wooden frame of the hall mirror. But when she turned ten, he showed her the drawer and the gun, and warned her to never, ever touch it unless there was grave danger. Lily was young, but the vein of iron in her daddy’s voice ensured that she gave the hall desk a wide berth whenever she had to walk through the entryway. It was a small consolation to me that my daughter seemed more afraid of Cyrus’s choice of protection than whatever it was he intended to protect her from.
Now, as my husband lifted the weapon out of the drawer, he did something he had never done before. He took me roughly by the wrist and slapped the gun in my palm. “This should cast out your fear,” he said.
The metal was icy cold and much heavier than I hadimagined it would be. Though the gun had collected dust in our entry for over a decade, I had never touched it or even opened the drawer where it lay in wait. “I don’t want this!” I gasped, trying to give it back to him.
But Cyrus took a step back, and if I hadn’t curled my fingers around the notched grip it would have fallen to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I met my husband’s eyes, trying to discern his motives, his strange reasoning for
“I’m here for you, Rachel,” Sarah said.
Somehow, those five words brimmed with meaning.
CHAPTER 5
R ACHEL
October 8
C yrus closed the front door with a soft click. “Looks like an interesting book,” he said, turning the study guide over in his hands. It was one I’d never seen before.
I made a vague, noncommittal noise and tried to calm my racing heart. Being with Cyrus when I couldn’t read his mood made me feel like I was surrounded by land mines, and I was so unsettled by my encounter with Sarah that I didn’t feel up to the intricate dance required to evade the many pitfalls and traps that marked life with my husband.His face was a mask of nonchalance, but I didn’t know if his deliberate calm was a ruse, or if he truly didn’t suspect anything devious in Sarah’s appearance on our front step. I hoped more than anything that he wouldn’t quiz me about the content of the book. I had no idea what it was or why Sarah had brought it for me.
“Supper will be ready in a minute,” I said, trying to direct a smile his way. It came out brittle and uneven. But Cyrus wasn’t looking at me anyway; he was flipping through the pages of the book.
“‘There is no fear in love,’” Cyrus read, quoting from the back cover copy. “‘But perfect love casts out fear.’” He snorted. “What are you afraid of, Rachel?”
The question caught me so off-guard I almost answered him. You. But that wasn’t entirely true. I was afraid of many things, but nothing so much as the sickening thought that I was the person he said I was. Good-for-nothing. Un-loved. I could only imagine the things he would say if he knew that I had been lying to him for the span of an entire week. I stifled a shiver and Cyrus mistook it as evidence of my cowardice.
“Your book is wrong,” he said with a smirk. “Love doesn’t cast out fear. Power does.” Cyrus took a quick step toward me and I flinched. But my apprehension was un-warranted, because all he did was reach around me, his chest pressing against mine in a cheap imitation of the intimacywe knew for such a brief time so many years ago. I held my breath as he yanked open the top drawer of the narrow desk in the hallway. Closed my eyes and willed my hands to stop shaking when I realized what he was doing.
Even though we lived in a small town where crime was virtually nonexistent, Cyrus insisted on keeping a gun in the hall drawer. Just in case, he said, but I had a hard time envisioning any scenario where that gun would be a welcome addition to our home. When Lily was little, he kept the drawer locked with a small silver key that he hid on top of the wide, wooden frame of the hall mirror. But when she turned ten, he showed her the drawer and the gun, and warned her to never, ever touch it unless there was grave danger. Lily was young, but the vein of iron in her daddy’s voice ensured that she gave the hall desk a wide berth whenever she had to walk through the entryway. It was a small consolation to me that my daughter seemed more afraid of Cyrus’s choice of protection than whatever it was he intended to protect her from.
Now, as my husband lifted the weapon out of the drawer, he did something he had never done before. He took me roughly by the wrist and slapped the gun in my palm. “This should cast out your fear,” he said.
The metal was icy cold and much heavier than I hadimagined it would be. Though the gun had collected dust in our entry for over a decade, I had never touched it or even opened the drawer where it lay in wait. “I don’t want this!” I gasped, trying to give it back to him.
But Cyrus took a step back, and if I hadn’t curled my fingers around the notched grip it would have fallen to the floor.
“What are you doing?” I met my husband’s eyes, trying to discern his motives, his strange reasoning for
Similar Books
