It wasn’t until months later that I checked out the knitting site Rachel had recommended. I probably never would have, either, if Martin hadn’t come home one day carrying another one of those stupid cards.
“I ran into Rachel Coffey at the supermarket today. She said you haven’t returned her calls.”
I was sitting on the living room couch, bouncing Lily on my lap. I didn’t like watching TV whenever Martin was home, or else he called me lazy. But now that Lily was almost four, she’d taken a hankering to cartoons, especially Doc McStuffins.
“She was my m-midwife once, M-Martin. An oc-ccasional babysitter…We weren’t fr-friends. I’m so b-busy around h-here that I r-really don’t have time to ch-chat, and that woman likes to t-talk.” I was saying what he wanted to hear. The real reason I cut off contact with Rachel was the same reason I lost contact with everyone else. You couldn’t maintain friendships when your controlling husband was always around and watching, and Lily really did keep me busy most days. Since Martin was opposed to preschool, I was teaching her things myself. ABCs and 123s, who knew it would be so hard to explain these things to a child? I was a terrible teacher, impatient at times and Lily hated sitting still. She hadn’t displayed any signs of a stutter yet, but I wondered if it was only a matter of time…
Martin set his briefcase down in the kitchen and came over to the couch beside us.
“What’s that in y-your hand?” I asked, scooting over so he had room to sit down.
“Rachel gave it to me. She really wants you to join her knitting group.” He handed a small white card to me.
“I don’t knit, Martin. I’m n-not g-good at sewing, you know that.”
“But it couldn’t hurt to try, could it?” His face softened, and for a moment, I caught a glimpse of the pseudo-Martin, the one he’d murdered years ago when the real one emerged.
“I s-suppose not. But the internet is down again a-and…why do y-you w-want me to learn how to knit?”
“Rachel said it would be good for you, babe. And she said that sometimes knitting little booties and stuff can help put women in a motherly mood.” Martin glanced down at my newly flattened tummy then wiggled his brows. I’d worked my ass off getting back in shape and letting my body heal from the traumatic delivery. I’d watched outdated exercise tapes with Lily during the day, slowly repairing my body. The truth was, he probably wanted me to get pregnant again, so I wouldn’t feel attractive anymore. He had brought up the idea of having another child last year and had been bugging me about it ever since. Since I didn’t have a gynecologist anymore, I’d been unable to refill my birth control pills. Not getting pregnant yet was just me getting lucky.
“Here. I’ll download the app on your phone tonight and I’ll make sure the internet is working properly. Tomorrow, you can join this little knitting club. It would be good for you to chat with some other mothers and learn a thing or two about knitting, don’t you think? That would really please me.”
I nodded, staring straight ahead at the screen. Doc was trying to help a pretty Flamenco dancer named Flora overcome a fear of leaving her box; I’d seen the episode six or seven times now. I know the feeling, Flora, I thought. I was scared to live in my little box with Martin, and scared to live out of it, too.
That night, Martin downloaded the app on my phone, as promised. He entered a code for the Apple store—a code he refused to give me—and handed the phone back to me. When Lily went to bed, and Martin fell asleep on the couch, I clicked on the app. What did Rachel say that day? It had been so long since we’d had that conversation. She said that it wasn’t really for knitting. I suspected it was something silly, like an erotic book club or a lingerie site. I swear if I catch a beating because of this site, I’ll kill her myself.
As soon as I clicked on it, it prompted me to enter a username, password, and promo code. I clicked the “set up a new account” option in small print at the bottom, then laid back on my bed as I waited for it to load. This is stupid. I don’t want to knit. And I don’t want to chat with Rachel or her prissy friends. Period. The only reason I was doing it now was to get Martin off my back.
I had to choose a username and set up a password. I thought for a few moments. I didn’t have too many passwords anymore. I didn’t have accounts on social media and I stopped checking my email years ago. None of it was worth it with Martin around, questioning my every move and motive.
Finally, I decided on PrettyPeaches for my username and my childhood phone number for my password. Within seconds, I was into the site. Eyes wide with fear, I looked over at Martin and then back down at the screen, stunned by what I found there…