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Teresa stepped into the clinic. Metal bells clattered and clanged against the glass. A sign on the desk said, “Please take a seat. We will be with you in a moment.” It was punctuated with a grotesque smiley face.
Derrick had to let their receptionist, Whitney, go after the baby died. He couldn’t afford to keep her on. It was a zone of contention for them. Teresa always thought he charged too little, but he didn’t believe in inaccessible healthcare.
She didn’t let those thoughts ruin her mission. The front desk would be perfect for her now. On cue, the phone rang. Teresa hurried around and answered it.
“Thank you for calling Hart Medical. This is Dr. Hart. How may I help you?” she said cheerily into the receiver.
“Uh . . . hi. I was just checking to see what time my appointment is? I didn’t get a reminder call.”
Teresa nodded, confirming that this could be her job. Derrick was far too busy to manage the office and business side of things without her. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
You were too upset about losing—everything.
Her smile dropped from her face.
The voice on the other end said, “Hello? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. I can help you with that,” Teresa said. “What is your name?”
After helping the patient, she took the appointment book to the records room and pulled the charts for the next day. She sat in her old office and started making calls.
Derrick walked past her office to the waiting room.
“Huh.” It was a confused sound. He walked right by her office again, stopped in his tracks, and came back. She watched this take place while the dial tone droned in her ear. She hung up.
“Oh, hey,” he said. “That was you who came in?” His cheeks flushed. “Uh—”
“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” Teresa said. “About last night, I mean.”
“Oh . . . that.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at her mouth instead of her eyes. “I cleaned it up.”
“Derrick.” She rose to her feet. He met her gaze. “Everything’s okay.”
His brows lifted. One of them arched. An uttered huh? would have completed the picture. Teresa took tentative steps toward him and wrapped her arms around him. She gazed up at his chin.
“Maybe we can try again tonight?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” He gave her a small squeeze. “I need to get back to my patient. Sorry.” He let go of her and left the room.
Teresa frowned. He was just hungover. As far as she knew, he hadn’t drunk like that in at least a few years. She continued making calls until she had confirmed all ten appointments for the next day.
Derrick escorted his patient past Teresa’s door. The bells clattered. He came back and stood in her doorway.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“All of your appointments are confirmed for tomorrow, Dr. Hart.” She smiled and gathered the appointment book and files into her arms. He followed her to the record room and helped her file the charts. She turned to head back to the front desk, but Derrick grabbed her arm. He pulled her into a hug. She melted against him.
This. This was what she wanted. All this time. This version of them in which they supported each other and showed their love through actions.
He lifted her chin with his fingertips. She winced and pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Oh, nothing. Sorry.” She lowered her face. There was a bruise on her chin from McMichael’s meaty hand.
Derrick cradled her face in his palms and tilted her head back. “What happened to your chin?” He examined it with clinical eyes. She thought she’d covered it up well enough with concealer.
“I slipped on some ice,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Biffed it good, as the kids say.”
Do kids still say that?
“I’m fine.” She touched his hands. He let go and looked into her eyes, concern etched around his mouth and eyebrows.
“What is it?” Her voice came out small, uncertain.
Derrick backed away. His hand went to the back of his neck and he turned to the door.
“I don’t know, Teresa,” he said. His soft doctor voice disappeared. “After the kids at the cemetery, I thought maybe you got in a fight with an old man or something.”
She sucked in a breath. He turned back toward her, a smile on his face. He let out a laugh. She relaxed. A joke. Funny.
Derrick pulled her into a hug again and kissed her forehead. She could spend the rest of her life there. She lifted her face to his. His lips just touched hers when the bells on the front door jangled.
“Gotta go,” he whispered. “But I’m not through with you.” He pecked her so light she wasn’t sure his lips even touched hers.
Teresa composed herself and stepped out into the hallway. Derrick led Mrs. Grube toward an exam room. The old biddy was complaining about a pinching pain in her backside.
At the reception desk, a stack of mail sat neglected. Teresa rifled through it. Junk mail and insurance checks. Using a knife-like letter opener, she sliced open the checks and set them to the side. She would deposit them for Derrick later.
The community paper lay on the desk at the bottom of the pile. A four-page newsletter was clipped to the front.
The Local Inquirer written by Brent Winter.
Teresa scoffed. National Enquirer articles at a local level. Fun at the town’s expense.
The front page featured a photo of Ann Logan talking to Sheriff McMichael outside Ruthie’s house. There was a second photo of her close up with her hand raised to block the camera. The story claimed Detective Logan, the catcher of the Salida Stabber, was assisting with a local “misper” investigation.
Teresa scoffed, but couldn’t stop the pang of anxiety in her stomach. Ann Logan, the town’s beloved detective, was helping out. Of course, this was Brent Winter’s work. How credible was that? She swallowed the dryness from her throat and turned the page.
The headline on the next page read: Local Woman Rants About the End of Days. Harmony at the Center of the Apocalypse!
The article was accompanied by an image of Louise at the diner.
She flipped through the rest and scanned the headlines and found an article about the correlation between the weather—days flip-flopping between snow and warm temps—and extraterrestrial activities. Another claimed the bad cell service in Harmony was part of a social experiment. She paid little attention to the content until she saw a picture of herself. Heat flushed to her cheeks. She gripped the envelope opener so hard it dug into her palm.
Mrs. Hart lives in the abandoned funeral home . . .
The image, though from a distance and through the trees, portrayed her coming out of the house looking over her shoulder. An article didn’t accompany the photo. She flipped through the pages and found nothing else. Just a photo with a silly caption. But still . . . If Derrick saw it—after the mud caked slippers—he’d send her back to Mountain View like he said he would.
She remembered their strange conversation on the back porch and scowled. He was so night-and-day lately. One minute threatening her, the next pleasing her.
Exam room one opened, and Derrick escorted Mrs. Grube out to her car. Teresa tore up the newspaper and threw it away.
Derrick came back in, leaned on the front desk counter, and smiled at her. “Thanks for coming in,” he said. Warmth spread through her, and she actually felt herself blush. It was clinicals at Harvard Medical School all over again. “I’m really glad you made an effort.”
Cold replaced the warmth. She struggled to maintain her smile.
Made an effort.
She dropped her smile.
“What? What did I say?” Derrick asked. “I’m grateful you came in. Truly. Honestly.” He straightened and held up his hands as if in surrender. “What did I say?”
She shook her head and tried to smile at him again, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate.
“Tell me, Teresa. What is it?”
“I have made an effort. The other night when you were out of town . . . Didn’t you see Maggie in our bed? I rescued her from a nightmare. I slept in the chair, so she could have our bed. I took care of her. I fed her pizza. You act like I did nothing.”
He dropped his head back and sighed. “Teresa, please.”
“No, Derrick. Don’t you see? You do this to me on purpose. You make me feel like an outsider.”
“This again?” Exasperation filled his voice.
“Yes, this again. I just want to be included. I want to be part of our family, and you deny me that.”
“Deny you?” He let out a sharp laugh. “You denied yourself. Every time you escaped to your messed up little basement you denied yourself. Every time you chose not to come with us to do something you denied yourself. Every time you declined our invitations, you denied yourself. Maggie just wants—”
“Don’t you bring her into this.”
“She’s part of this family now. You agreed to adopting her. You have to accept her,” he said.
“I don’t have to do anything.” Teresa came around the counter.
“Stop it,” Derrick snapped.
“No, I won’t stop it.” She took in a breath. “I won’t stop until you understand how I’m feeling. I thought we had a connection last night. I was willing to let it go that you threw up on the rug. I was willing to let that go because I thought we were getting better. I thought things were changing.”
A cruel laugh seeped from his lips, accompanied by a hateful sneer.
“You think an attempted roll in the hay is going to magically change the last seven years?”
His words cut her. She stepped back.
“I . . .” Teresa resisted the urge to go back to her usual poor-me phrases, the ones she used to turn their arguments around. She wanted to face this head on.
“What can I do, then?” she asked, lifting her trembling chin.
Derrick’s sneer dropped from his face. He probably expected the same words she forced herself to swallow.
“I want to make you happy,” she said. “I want us to be happy again.” She took a step toward him and reached for him. He crossed his arms.
“Dammit, Derrick. I’m trying here.” She stomped her foot. “Say something, please.”
He met her eyes. “You’ve been acting weird, Teresa. You must be having some sort of imbalance in your brain. You’re acting—”
“Acting what?” She stepped toward him so fast he stumbled back and fell into one of the waiting room chairs. “Crazy? Is that what you were going to say?”
“I—”
“Go ahead. Call them. Call the doctors. Call Mountain View.” She stormed away, flung her hands in the air, and turned her back on him. Derrick shifted. Teresa whirled around and charged in one movement. She tried to push him back into the chair, but this time he didn’t budge.
“Put me back in,” she said, hitting his chest with flat palms. He raised his arms to block her, but she kept pummeling him.
With each hit, he flinched. “Stop!”
“Get rid of me. I know that’s what you want.” Her voice became shrill and screechy. “You . . . and Maggie—you don’t need me.” She raised her hands, fisted now, to strike his face.
He grabbed her wrists and squeezed so hard her fisted hands went limp. His nostrils flared. The muscle of his jaw clenched. She twisted and wrenched, and in the process, rubbed the skin until it burned. But she couldn’t break free from his grip.
So different than how he had held her wrists the night before.
“Derrick,” she cried. “You’re hurting me.”
At the sound of her pained voice, his eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. He pulled her against him.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a demanding tone. “You were going to punch me.”
Teresa didn’t respond. Her arms were pinned against his chest. The skin throbbed.
When Derrick caught his breath, he swallowed hard. His voice became low and soothing.
“You need to get back on something. Your mood swings are out of control. I’m writing you a prescription.”
She shoved away from him and backed out of his reach.
“I can’t fill that here.” The words burst from her mouth. “I can’t. They’ll spread rumors. The town will know.” Her lower lip trembled. “They’ll think I’m crazy.”
His features shifted, but not in understanding—in pity. He left her in the waiting room and walked down the hall.
“You are crazy,” she thought she heard him mutter. He disappeared into his office.
She touched the red marks on her wrist gingerly. Her heart shattered. They wouldn’t recover from this. She was better off at Mountain View, drugged up and oblivious.
But who would save Tiffany? Who would bring her back to them?
The entire walk home she struggled to keep herself together. Tears stung her nose and her eyes, but she kept it in until she closed the front door behind her. She sank to the ground, taking ragged breaths and blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
The phone rang. Teresa ignored it. When it stopped ringing, she rose to her feet and shuffled to the kitchen. She stared at the phone for a minute before picking it up and dialing her mother for the second time in as many days.
“Teresa, darling,” her mother’s voice said. Teresa broke down. Thick, guttural sobs erupted from her throat. She slid down to the floor and dropped her face into her hands. “What’s wrong?”
“H–he hurt me. He left marks on my wrists.”
“Oh, dear.”
Teresa got up and paced the kitchen. Sink to hallway and back.
“You realize this is twice in one week you’ve upset your husband. Do I need to go over the rules with you again?”
Teresa shook her head and then nodded. “Yes. Please.”
“From the beginning. Follow along.”
Teresa wiped a fat teardrop from her cheek and took a deep breath. Together they went through the lessons she’d learned many times over.
“Graduate high school, get married, have children.” Her mother paused. “What did you do that wasn’t in this list?”
“I went . . . to college,” Teresa whispered.
“Yes. You did. As a result, your first-born child was punished.” Her mother’s voice darkened. “You didn’t follow the rules.”
Renewed tears welled in Teresa’s eyes.
“But,” her mother’s voice took on a happy tone again. “God has forgiven you because in your time of desperate need you turned back to Him.”
Teresa let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. The anger and hurt welling in her chest released along with the exhalation.
“Now, tell me. What is your husband’s duty?”
“His duty is to provide for our family.”
“And your duty?”
“To make sure that is all he needs to worry about.”
“Very good, dear.” Her mother made kissing sounds into the phone and hung up. Teresa replaced the receiver and went into the bathroom.
The sight in the mirror was frightful. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, muddled with the foundation and rouge, and made a sloppy mess of everything. She looked like a drowned clown.
“Be a good wife,” she told her horrifying reflection. “ ‘Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives shall submit to their husbands in everything,’ ” she whispered. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks.