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Teresa got home and paced up and down her hallway like an angry lioness. How dare he? How. Dare. He. She took deep breaths and tried for rational thoughts, but her mind was overblown with worst-case scenarios.
He’s cheating.
No. Not cheating. Not yet anyway. A public place with a child was not exactly an affair.
Teresa went down to the basement and clicked on the nursery lamp. She sat in the rocker with the nursing pillow on her lap and worked to shift her mind to Tiffany.
“We’ll be together again soon,” she whispered. “We’ll have our life back the way it was before. We’ll be happy again. All of us.” She hummed a lullaby and stroked the pillow.
She rocked in the chair until she heard Derrick and Maggie’s arrival home above her. Then her throat went dry. How could she bring up what she saw? How could she confront him? Wretched despair weighed her down.
Maggie’s rapid footsteps ran up the stairs, and Derrick’s heavier footsteps stomped down the hall. A hard knock came from the other side of the basement door. Then Derrick’s muffled voice yelled through it.
“Teresa, come out of there,” he said. “Now.”
She didn’t like his tone. He had no right to yell like this. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He had. She went upstairs and opened the door. Derrick stood in the hallway, his arms crossed tight.
“I ran into Sheriff McMichael today after lunch,” he said through his teeth. His nostrils flared.
“Sherriff McMichael?” She didn’t know what the significance of this might be.
“He said you assaulted some kids at the cemetery.”
Her scalp tingled. “I did nothing of the sort.” That man would do anything to continue to tarnish her reputation, like he’d first done when the baby died. She pushed past Derrick into the hallway and went to the kitchen.
“He said one kid’s mother called him. Said you threw rocks at them.” He followed her and grabbed her arm. She jerked away from him.
“I didn’t do anything. I went to Tiffany’s grave since it was seven years ago yesterday she died.” Teresa instilled her voice with scorn and balled her fists. “I cleared away the leaves and straightened the stones.” Her voice hitched on the last word. Derrick’s face didn’t change. “You don’t believe me, do you? You never believe me. You always take the other person’s side.”
She stormed down the hall to avoid his glaring eyes and racked her brain, trying to figure out if any of the dream had been real. She got her coat out of the closet by the front door.
“Where are you going?” Derrick followed her. “You can’t leave. We need to talk about this.”
Teresa reached into the pocket of her coat and drew out the paint-spattered rock. It dropped from her trembling hand and hit the hardwood. Not paint. Blood. She covered her mouth and sank to her knees.
“What’s that?” Derrick picked up the rock. “What is this?”
“Oh God,” Teresa whispered.
“Is this . . . blood?”
“They were taunting me.” She hated the way her voice trembled. “They told horrible jokes about dead babies. I felt threatened. I had to protect myself.”
“Goddammit, Teresa, they are kids. Kids.” He walked away, turned, and came back. “What is going on with you?” His voice drained of anger. His eyes softened. Placing his hands on her arms, he helped her stand. Was he finally going to listen?
Don’t be fooled.
“I saw you at the diner,” she said. “With another woman.”
He halted and stared at her. “Ann? She’s an old friend I haven’t seen in decades. We were just catching up.”
“She was your high school sweetheart, Derrick.” Her voice was an octave too high, bordering on hysteria.
“Teresa, please,” Derrick said. “I married you. I chose you. Don’t you trust me?”
Did she? She never had reason not to. Not until now.
“I try, Derrick.” She gripped his sleeves. “I try so hard.” The opportunity had arrived, and she found herself unable to tell him what she wanted to say. How she did everything for him. How he pushed her away. How even when she did try it wasn’t good enough. “It’s never enough,” she whispered.
“What’s never enough?” he asked. The usual tone returned, full of disdain.
“The effort I make,” she said. “Making lunch, taking care of the house, looking nice for you.” Her voice grew smaller, became a whisper. “It’s never enough for you. Is that why you’re . . . having an affair?” She stared at the front of his shirt.
He threw his hands up. “Lunch with a friend is not an affair.” He shook his head and paced. Here it was. The disbelief. She was wrong to think he would understand her pain.
“What happened to us?” she asked. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks. She wiped them away. “Why do you hate me so much?”
He barked a short laugh.
“You sit in your damn dark basement and brood.” He didn’t deny hating her. “You sit down there, and you feed yourself lies and stories and stupid . . . shit! Then you come up here and fill this house with your pain. Your pain.” He held out his hand. “Give me the key.”
Teresa backed away. She held the key to her chest, attached to her like an umbilical cord by a coiled lanyard around her wrist.
“No,” she said. “No, you can’t.”
“Give it to me, or I swear to God, Teresa.” His fists clenched.
Derrick had never struck her or ever threatened to. Her mother’s words screamed through her mind.
Keep your husband happy, and he will never have a reason to discipline you.
“No, you can’t have it. You can’t take this from me.” She dodged by him and ran for the kitchen. Her socks slipped on the hardwood. Derrick grabbed her arm and pulled her against him.
Fire in his eyes, he grabbed her wrist. She squeezed her hand so tight the key dug into her palm. He pried her fingers open and jerked it. The lanyard dug into her skin then broke. His breath came in bursts through his flared nostrils. He went to the basement and locked the door, then came back to her, a crazed look in his eyes. Teresa backed away from him until she bumped against the counter.
“You will not be going down there anymore. Do you understand me?” He stuffed the key into his pocket. “Monday, you are coming to work.” Teresa opened her mouth to remind him she couldn’t come back. He held up his hand. “You will come back to work to help out in the office. I had to let Whitney go, remember?” He didn’t let her reply. “You will be a part of this family from now on, and you will stop obsessing down in the basement. Do you understand?”
She wanted to yell that he needed to include her if he wanted her to be a part of the family.
They were both panting from the grapple over the key. He was treating her like a child. She felt scolded, like she should cower before him and beg forgiveness. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Sensations that heated her through. She wanted to kiss him. To touch him. To feel him.
“Kiss me,” she said, meeting his eyes for the first time since his accusations.
“What?” Confusion replaced the anger on his face.
“Kiss me.”
His confusion dissolved into a combination of disgust and disbelief, like she was some kind of monster. She knew her makeup was smeared and runny from her tears, but it couldn’t be that bad.
“Please.” She stepped toward him until she stood right in front of him. She tilted her face up and closed her eyes.
Please.
She waited for what seemed like long minutes, wishing and praying he would just kiss her. His arms wrapped around her. His heart beat in her ear.
“Listen to me, Teresa.” His voice rumbled under her cheek. He stroked her hair. “Things need to change.”
They stood in silence for a time.
“The parents of the kids you assaulted aren’t going to press charges. For that, you’re lucky.” He took a deep breath. “You need to wake up.”
Make an effort. Wake up.
She couldn’t do anything right.
He loosened the embrace and looked into her eyes, then lowered his mouth toward hers. Anticipation tumbled in her stomach. They hadn’t shared a moment like this since Maggie arrived. Derrick had been too preoccupied with getting the girl settled in. The whisper of his breath caressed her lips.
“Can I come down?” Maggie called from the top of the stairs, her voice timid.
Derrick released Teresa. “Yeah,” Derrick called. “Come on down.”
No kiss. The moment gone. Defeat sank into Teresa’s body and pulled her into unfathomable depths. She stared at the basement door, and ragged anger fought to break through the wall despair had built inside her.
Maggie tiptoed into the kitchen with wide eyes. Derrick asked her something. Maggie responded. Teresa couldn’t understand their muffled voices as she walked past them. They didn’t notice her. She was a ghost.
She climbed the stairs and, in the master bedroom, picked up the phone on the nightstand. She hesitated over the numbered keypad. It had been years since she dialed this number. She put the phone to her ear.
Her mother answered on the third ring. Her voice filled Teresa with relief.
“Hi, Mom.” She sat on the edge of the bed and bit her thumbnail.
“If it isn’t my long-lost daughter.” Mother didn’t sound angry or sad. Just matter of fact, as usual. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t hear from you for years and now you decide to call. Something dreadful must have happened. Are you ill? Are you dying?” Her mother’s voice broke from its happy-go-lucky-borderline-told-you-so tone that was stereotypical of the 1950s housewife.
“No. I’m fine. My husband is mad at me. He did something horrible.” She filled her mother in about Ann and taking away the key.
Mother’s regular tone returned. “It sounds like you’re the reason he’s upset. I told you, Teresa, time and again. Keep your husband happy. I gave you all the lessons you needed to become a good housewife and make a decent life for yourself.”
“Mom, I—”
“Cook, clean, keep the children clean and quiet, please him. You’re allowed to enjoy sex, too, don’t forget.”
Teresa could see her mother counting these things off on her fingers.
Sex. Indeed. When was the last time?
“Are you doing these things?” her mother asked.
“Yes.”
“All of them?”
Teresa sighed. “No. Not all of them.”
“Teresa, dear. A happy husband means a happy home. You know that. Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Have you forgotten what the Bible says?” She cleared her throat. “Ephesians 5:22 to 5:23. Say it with me.”
“ ‘Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church.’ ”
“Very good.” Pride in Mother’s voice. “Now, darling, go make amends. Make that husband of yours happy, and keep him that way. Do everything right and you’re guaranteed marital bliss.”
Her mother hung up before Teresa could say another word. Teresa looked at the phone. Sadness welled inside her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She put the phone down and thought of Tiffany and her powerful friend. Tiffany said he could help her.
You need to change.
Oh, things would definitely change.