“Are you sure you’re going to be okay at the party?” Olivia asks as she sits on Maddie’s bed, watching as her daughter applies a pair of silver-tipped false eyelashes. She is dressed up as a glamorous witch, with the standard black hat, draped black dress, and pointy-toed black shoes. Maddie has thrown a sparkly turquoise feather boa around her neck for a bit of pizzazz.
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” Maddie says, glancing at her in the mirror. “Jen’s parents are home, remember? You talked with them. They have your number if anything goes wrong. Which it won’t.”
“You just haven’t been to a party like this before,” Olivia says, unable to stop herself from fussing around her child. “There might be kids sneaking alcohol into the punch or getting high in the bathroom . . .” She trails off, then looks at her daughter with wide eyes. She’s afraid to mention what’s going through her mind—she’s never had to worry about anything like this for Maddie before—but she forces herself to say it. “You know about condoms, right? In case Noah and you decide—”
“Oh my god, Mom! I am not talking with you about this!” Maddie whips around and stares hard at her mother. “Please. Just trust me, okay? I’m not going to do anything stupid, and if other people are being stupid, I’ll call you to come pick me up.”
Olivia stands and walks over to Maddie, reaching out to straighten her long black wig. In full makeup, her daughter looks so much older than sixteen, and for some reason, this makes Olivia feel scared. What happened to her little girl? “Okay, honey. I’m sorry. I do trust you. This is all just very new to me . . . and you. I just want you to be safe.”
Maddie’s expression softens. “I want that for you, too.” She pauses. “Have you called anyone yet? Do you think we might be able to leave soon?” She says this quietly, stealing a glance at the door, even though she knows her father is at the office.
So many things—her illness, a life ruled by her father’s temper—have made Maddie a cautious girl. Olivia wants nothing more than to free her daughter from that fear, for her to get to live a life filled with openness and unbridled enthusiasm. But the truth is, a part of Olivia still feels stuck. A part of her hopes that if Maddie can just hold on until college, then Olivia won’t have to leave.
“I’ve made a few calls,” Olivia says, realizing that now she is not only placating James but doing it with Maddie, too. Understanding this makes her feel a little ill, like she’s moving farther away from the version of herself she’d like to be instead of closer to it. “Nothing definite, though.”
“What are you going to do tonight?” Maddie asks her.
“I’m making a nice dinner for your dad when he gets home,” Olivia says, trying not to let her worries show on her face. “Are you hungry? Do you need to eat before you go?”
“No, Mom. There’ll be food at the party.”
“What if there’s nothing gluten-free? You should eat something.”
“I’ll be fine!” Maddie sighs and grabs her cell phone from her dresser, sneaking it into the pocket of her dress. “Noah is going to be here any minute.”
Downstairs, Olivia waits with her daughter for Noah to arrive, which he does, not a minute later than he said he would. He stands on the threshold, dressed in what looks to Olivia like a priest’s floor-length black robe. His dark hair is slicked back, and opaque black glasses cover his eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Bell,” he says. “Thanks for letting me drive Maddie to the party.”
“Of course, Noah,” she says with a smile. She likes this boy for Maddie—he seems polite and respectful of her. James hasn’t met him yet, but Olivia is hopeful that because her husband likes Noah’s father, he’ll like Noah, too. “What are you supposed to be?” she asks him. This is the kind of question a good mother would ask, Olivia thinks. At least, I hope it is.
“Neo from the Matrix movies,” he says.
“ ‘There is a difference between knowing the path and walking the path,’ ” Maddie says in a deep, throaty voice, which makes Noah crack up laughing. Olivia must look confused, because her daughter says, “It’s a line from the movie, Mom.”
“Ah,” Olivia says, suddenly feeling older than she’d like. “Got it.”
Noah looks over Maddie’s costume. “You look great,” he says. “Very pretty. And wicked.”
Her daughter ducks her head a bit and smiles. “Thanks.” She leans over and gives Olivia a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be home by midnight,” she says.
“Eleven,” Olivia counters, and Maddie lets loose a heavy, irritated groan.
“Eleven,” Noah repeats. “We’ll be here.”
“Thank you, Noah,” Olivia says. She waves as they climb into his car and drive away, then she shuts the front door.
For a moment, Olivia stands in the quiet of the house, listening to her breath move in and out of her lungs. She knows Maddie is disappointed with her, but she can’t help but feel that James really has turned some kind of corner. He hasn’t raised his voice or touched her in any way other than with gentleness and affection for the past few weeks. Though he still works seven days a week, he has made an effort to come home earlier and to take Olivia out for dinner or just for a stroll together around their neighborhood. She knows he’s had months like this before and then something always set him off, but she’s hopeful that this time, now that Maddie is doing well and they’re back to being a normal family, things have truly changed.
When James arrives home around nine o’clock, which is later than she thought he’d be, Olivia is in the kitchen putting the final touches on his favorite dish—Hungarian paprikash with homemade noodles. Olivia had worked hard to master making it exactly the way he liked it, with plenty of smoked paprika and cayenne pepper to up the spice.
“Hi, honey,” she says as he makes his way from the front door to the kitchen. “Did you get hung up at work?”
“Something like that.” He takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie, hanging them carefully on the back of one of the breakfast bar stools. He stares at her as though he’s never seen her before.
“Dinner’s ready,” she says brightly, determined to snap him out of whatever foul mood he might be in. “Do you want me to pour us some wine?”
“Where’s Maddie?” he asks. His voice is gruff, and a shadow falls over his eyes.
“At her friend’s Halloween party . . . remember?” Every siren in Olivia’s body begins to wail. “She’ll be home around eleven.”
James strides up behind her and puts his hands on her hips, kissing the back of her neck. “You sure she’s not going to the mall?”
Olivia freezes. “What?” she says.
James moves his hands up and squeezes her waist. “Oh, right. She can’t go there. Because, even though my wife didn’t tell me, our daughter was arrested for shoplifting.” He digs his fingers into her flesh until it starts to hurt. Suddenly sick with panic, she tries not to cry out. How did he find out? Oh god, what else does he know?
“I didn’t want to bother you with it,” she says, hearing the desperation in her voice. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. Maddie didn’t actually steal anything, though. I promise you she didn’t. The friends she was with stuck a pair of earrings in her pocket and then they left her behind to get caught.” Her words come quickly, tripping over each other as they leave her mouth.
“You’re a liar,” James snaps. “And so is Maddie. A thieving liar.” Olivia cringes and tries to turn around, but James digs his fingers into her even deeper. She can’t move. “Imagine my surprise this afternoon,” he says, as though reciting a story to a child, “when my good friend Jacob from the prosecutor’s office meets me for lunch and tells me he ran across my daughter’s name in the system. Imagine how stupid I felt when I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.” He kisses the side of Olivia’s neck again, and a terrified shiver runs through her. The calmness in his tone frightens her—the eerily gentle precursor to disaster. She has to get out of this house. She has to leave, now. No suitcase, no plan, no lawyer in place. She just needs to run.
“And so,” James continues, “he kindly explained to me that my wife had paid my daughter’s fines in cash—from what account I don’t know, because apparently she keeps those secret from me, too.”
Oh god. I have to get out. What the hell was I thinking, that he had changed? A man like him isn’t capable of change. Olivia glances at the back door, wondering if she can manage to wrench away from his grasp and make it out before he can stop her. She realizes she’s still holding a paring knife—its metal handle has gone slippery in her sweaty grasp. If she has to, could she cut him? But before she can act on this thought, James lets go of her waist and slides his hand over the one of hers that holds the knife.
“Here, let me take that,” he says. “I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
The muscles in her chest clench around her heart as she squeezes her eyes shut and lets him take the knife. “Please,” she whispers. Blood rushes past her ears, and her entire body vibrates. “Please, I’m sorry.”
James sets the knife out of her reach and slowly rotates her around to face him. She keeps her eyes closed, but a tear slips out as he cups her face in his hands. “No,” he says simply, and with his next breath, he hauls back his hand and slaps her.
The impact jars her, but still, Olivia tries to get away. He wraps a long arm around her waist and jerks her back to him. “What else are you hiding from me?” he demands, delivering a swift kick to her shin. Olivia cries out with the impact.
“Nothing, James!” she sobs. “I swear, nothing else. Oh god, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Her breaths start to come in shuddering waves, their sharp edges tearing her insides apart. James hits her again, this time a punch to her stomach, and she bends over, gagging violently.
“How can I believe a word you say?” he bellows, grabbing her by the back of the hair and dragging her through the dining room and toward the living room. She trips on her own feet, trying to keep up with his pace. “How am I supposed to trust my own wife when she is clearly a lying bitch?” He yanks her hair with such force she’s sure her scalp is bleeding, then throws her to the couch, where she curls up in a fetal position, arms around her face, trying to protect herself.
There’s nothing she can do at this point, she knows. He’s gone over the edge, lost it completely, and so she does what she can to float above what he’s doing to her—the way he rips her arms from her face and punches her in the jaw with a closed fist. She tries not the feel the warm blood that runs down her cheek or the bright explosion of fireworks inside her eye when his fist lands there. She knows it’s happening to her . . . she knows he is kicking her in the ribs, that he shoves her so hard against the entertainment center she feels the bone in her forearm snap, but the only way she can get through it is to let her spirit leave her body—to try to make herself believe this horror is happening to someone else.
At one point, after he has pummeled her too many times to count, she passes out. When she wakes up, she is unsure just how much time has gone by. Lying on her side on the floor, she is barely able to open one eye—the other is swollen shut. Her entire body is in agony. She sees James sitting on the couch, watching her struggle. His hair is disheveled, and there are small sprays of bright red blood across his white shirt. He sips at a glass of Scotch, the ice cubes clicking as he takes a final swallow.
“I’ve done everything for you,” he says, still so calm it makes Olivia fear he might have truly lost his mind. “And I ask so little. Loyalty. Honesty. Affection. Is that too much to ask, Olivia? Tell me. Because if it is, I don’t know what to do.”
Olivia tries to open her mouth, but her jaw screams in pain when she attempts to move it. She closes her one eye against the nauseating wave that rolls through her. Her arm and ribs throb; her face feels as though her muscles are no longer attached to bone. She’s certain he’s going to kill her. She thinks about Maddie, her sweet daughter whom she was too weak to save, and all Olivia wants is another chance. She’d do the right thing this time—she’d walk out the door with Maddie wearing only the clothes on their backs. Nothing else matters, not money, not a divorce—nothing but keeping her daughter safe from this man.
“What?” James asks, sneering at her. “No answer for me? Nothing to say for yourself? Come on, Olivia. You’ve always known how to use your mouth.”
She opens her eye then, staring at him with more hatred than she’s ever felt in her life. She doesn’t know how her broken mouth is able to get these next two words out, but it doesn’t matter because she’s finally found the strength to say them. “Fuck. You.”
“Fuck me?” James yells. He slams his glass to the marble floor, and it instantly shatters. He lifts himself from the couch and storms over to her. He shoves her, rolling her onto her back. The pain is like a thousand knives stabbing at her flesh, and she struggles to breathe as he straddles her at the waist.
This is the end, she thinks. The last thing she remembers is the look on his face as he wraps his fingers around her neck. And then the world falls black.
