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Rolling out the crust, adding another twist of lemon or a pinch of sugar to the filling, I didn’t worry where Mike was and what he was doing. Or why I actually felt relieved that he no longer wanted to take me to hang with his crew. I didn’t wonder why I was happiest without him.
Instead, creating, mixing, tasting, I let myself daydream. Someday, maybe, when I brought pies to Romi’s, I’d see Jax. He’d ask me to sit and have a cup of coffee. We’d get a booth in the corner, somewhere private, and we’d talk for hours. I could look straight into those dark eyes, listen to his deep voice, and it wouldn’t stop there. Outside, he’d scoop me up onto the back of the chopper I’d seen him ride. I’d wrap my legs around him, not even caring where we went, just driving off with him, the motor rumbling between my legs while I held on tight.
§
The next Monday I didn’t work. Maria asked me to trade shifts with her so she could make a doctor’s appointment. I had no good reason to say no.
Tuesday morning I headed in, brightening up rooms with flowers and chatter. Most of the residents were so sweet, telling me how nice it was to see me, thanking me when all I was doing was my job. They didn’t know how much their appreciation lifted my spirits, too.
I spent some time with Ace. He was teaching me how to play Gin Rummy. It was slow going. I wasn’t exactly a natural card shark, but I enjoyed spending the time with him, as always. I breezed through the kinds of questions I had to ask, about what he’d eaten for breakfast and lunch and whether he’d taken his meds and done his daily walk. Ace was naturally social, so he tended to get up and about without too much prompting, and his upbeat sense of humor made going through my checklist easy and even fun.
On my way out, he told me, “Jax missed seeing you yesterday.” He waggled his eyebrows. Of course I wanted to ask more, breathlessly pressing him for details. “How do you know? Did he say so? Did he ask after me? Do you think he’s going to ask me to prom?” Recognizing the wide disconnect between the growing depth of my attachment and the reality of my life, I managed to say a neutral, “Oh.”
“If you weren’t married, I’d lock the two of you up in a closet. You’re just his type.” Ace winked at me. I promptly turned beet red.
“Ace.” I laughed as I stepped into the hallway, glad he couldn’t see my over-reaction to the idea of getting locked into a closet with Jax. My one request would be that Ace throw away the key.
I took some deep breaths, trying to forget the image. But how could I when there we’d be, in the dark, no one to stop us from falling into each other. A blur of hands and mouths, stripping off our clothes, panting, I’d rake my fingers down Jax’s back as he pressed me rough against the wall. Bad Sky. I had no idea how I could concentrate on anything now. Then I got to my cubby.
Every staff member had a little rectangle in a grid along a wall, dating back to the days when most communications were handed out via paper. We still got fliers from time to time—the medical profession might be one of the last to shift entirely to electronics—but mostly my cubby lay empty. Except when I checked it that morning, I had a note.
Written in a masculine scrawl, it read:
Sky,
I tried your strawberry rhubarb pie.
Ate the whole thing in one sitting. I’m not proud of myself.
You should open up your own shop.
Jax
I pressed the note to my chest, eyes closed, almost wanting to breathe in the moment so I could remember the happiness. I’d felt a little silly, going to all that trouble over ingredients and recipes and baking. Apparently he’d gone over to Romi’s and bought himself one of my pies. He’d loved it. And he’d taken the time to tell me and then encourage me to pursue my dream, the one I didn’t even talk about it felt so fragile and unrealistic.
I pictured him sitting in a kitchen, just him and my pie. But maybe he had a girlfriend. My smile fell, my eyes opening. Yeah, he probably had a girlfriend. I shouldn’t read anything special into the note.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Mike: Meet me at the club after work
Right on cue, hearing from Mike stuck yet another pin in my balloon. Which was good. I was married. My husband was reaching out to me, trying to spend time together. That was where I needed to devote my energy. Even if it felt as appealing as pushing a boulder up a mountain.
After my shift, I freshened up quick back at the apartment and pulled on a fitted T-shirt along with some slim jeans and sandals. I’d still look like a nun compared to the girls who hung out with the Skulls, but I wasn’t trying to compete with them, anyway. Some might think I was like an ostrich with its head in the sand, not wanting to know, but as far as I was concerned Mike had married me, not them. He’d made his choice. It wasn’t up to me to police that. Even if I did, I had no illusions that I could change his behavior.
I’d never cheated on Mike, not once. Even though I sometimes wondered whether he could say the same. But in my 24 years I’d already learned the lesson that you couldn’t control what other people did in life. You could only try to stay square with yourself.
Club headquarters was on the outskirts of town in a run-down, nondescript building. I figured the club had the money to fix it up, but that would only draw attention to the spot. They’d had to move locations twice that I knew of in the past three years. I didn’t want to know why. The less I knew about what Mike actually did all day and night, the better I felt about it.
Knocking timidly, no one answered. I rapped again, louder, and a giant the guys all called Tiny showed me in. The place was loud and crowded, filled with faces I didn’t recognize. Tiny grunted at me in welcome and jerked his thumb over toward the bar where I could see Mike drinking with a couple of guys.
Shy, I picked my way through the crowd. Standing behind Mike, about to say hello, I saw something on the bar in front of him. I brought up my hand to cover my mouth. The music and voices were so loud that no one heard me gasp.
It couldn’t be what I thought it was. Because from where I was standing, it looked like a finger laying there on the bar. A bloody human finger, severed off of a hand.
“You’re one sick fuck, Griller.” One of the guys next to him raised his beer bottle in a toast.
“You should have heard him squeal when I cut it off.” My husband laughed. “Like a pig. Bled like one, too.”
“Did he talk?” the guy on his other side asked.
“You know he did.” Mike sounded so proud I half-expected him to beat his chest. “I’m the motherfucking Griller.”
I spun away, a sickening lurch in my stomach. I needed to get out, get some air. I made it to the door and pushed my way out, leaning against the side of the building for support. My hands on my thighs, head down, I tried to take in big gulps of air. I felt like I might throw up.
I remembered Mike telling me, on more than one occasion, “No one gets away when I grill them.” He bragged about it, how tough he was. How he could get anyone to confess.
Now I knew how he did it. He tortured people. Cut off their fingers. And he enjoyed doing it.
Over at a trash can, I threw up, heaving and crying. Then I wiped my mouth with my shirt, stood up and walked over to our car. The car he usually didn’t let me drive because he never knew when he might need it. Like
when he had someone with him he had to torture.
I sat in the car shaking, remembering how awestruck I’d been when I’d first met Mike, amazed and impressed by him and his world. As a teenager, I’d watched TV shows about motorcycle clubs, and read plenty of romances featuring MC guys as the hero. What a dumb, naïve girl I’d been.
Not any more. Even before tonight, I’d seen more and more signs of Mike’s true character. I couldn’t hide from it any longer. My husband was a violent, unbalanced man. If he cut off a guy’s finger and brought it in to show his friends like some kind of a trophy, who knew what he was capable of? He was a monster.
Turning on the ignition, I pulled out, knowing what I needed to do. I had to get away from him. But that would take more than just driving away. That was going to take some planning. Mike wasn’t the kind of guy who just signed divorce papers.
I almost had to pull over to the side of the road and throw up again. But I told myself to toughen up. I had to use my head, be smart.
Step one was making sure I didn’t get pregnant. True, we barely ever had sex, but the last thing I needed was a baby with that maniac. The next day, I promised myself I’d stop by a clinic and get birth control. I’d gone off the pill a year ago when he’d said he wanted to try to have kids, but it was time to go back on. I’d just have to hide them from him. He’d hit the roof if he saw me taking contraceptives.
But I had to start taking them. It would buy me some time. It was just the first step, but it was an important one. Because now I knew with complete certainty, I had to leave him.
4
Jax
More and more, I started looking forward to Mondays. And then I stopped waiting for it to be Monday to visit Ace. I began coming by a couple times a week, bringing him his favorite beer or asking his opinion on something in person instead of over the phone. He had good instincts about people and though he’d never been a business owner himself, he gave great advice about how to deal with my staff at the bar. The fights they got into, the emotional ups and downs, I didn’t get it. But Ace reminded me to be patient, that most people just wanted someone to listen to them. And, when in doubt, a surprise bonus went a long way to keeping everyone happy.
