Page 35 of The Woman I’ve Become

I know what happens if I displease him . . . and I don’t want to be punished.

Unshed tears burn my eyes while I dance as if my life depends on it.

Because it does . . .

I force away the unsettling memories. Deep breath. And another. Stay in the present, I remind myself as I check the time. It’s half past two. I’m anxious to move forward with the next step. It’s time. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and I feel the urge to act prodding me.

I open the door and wave. The two trudge toward the house. Olivia will be ready for a snack, which works for what I need to do next.

“You won’t believe the fish I saw!” Olivia rushes to me. “It was big! And it had an orange belly! I tried to catch it, but it was way too fast!”

This explains her wet pants legs. “Wow,” I say. “Was it a monster?”

“A small monster,” she agrees, moving her head up and down firmly.

“It was a larger than average bluegill.” Acacia tugs at Olivia’s ponytail. “There are lots of them. No need to worry about those.”

Olivia makes a put-upon face. “That makes the story boring.”

I laugh. “It does actually,” I agree. “Olivia, change your pants, and we’ll take a little road trip.”

Her eyes light up. “Where’re we going?”

“For one thing, we’re going to Sunny Daes for ice cream.” The ice cream shop is not far from Balducci’s.

Olivia dashes off. The child loves ice cream.

“Should we take the convertible?” Acacia combs her fingers through her wind-tousled hair. Her cropped sweater and jeans make her look even younger, like a teenager almost.

I wonder briefly what made her the way she is at such a young age, then I blink away the thought.

“Actually, that’s a good idea. There are a few of my haunts from back in the day I want to check out for old times’ sake.”

The convertible is an eighteen-year-old mint condition BMW 6 Series. Black with black interior. Luxurious and sporty.

“Sounds fun.” Her smile is overdone.

I turn away and climb the stairs. No thanks to her, my energy level is better this afternoon. In my room I pick through the array of scarves in the storage bench at the foot of the bed. Lots and lots of scarves and gloves. Leftovers from past decades.

As I make my selections, I shiver at the memory of another time and place when I gathered several scarves for an outing. I shake off the piece of my past I’d just as soon forget and go back downstairs.

The pink is Olivia’s pick. I knew it would be. I tie it around her long, thick ponytail. She doesn’t really need a scarf, but she would feel left out otherwise. “There. You look very pretty.”

I give the red one to Acacia and use the green one myself. The task of tying my hair back isn’t easy considering the lingering stiffness in my right shoulder, but I manage.

We load up in the convertible. “You can drop me at Balducci’s, then take Olivia for ice cream. I’ll join you after I finish at the market.”

Acacia sends a suspicious gaze my way. “We can wait for you.”

“The walk will do me good.” Part of my therapy is to keep my body moving, so it’s a reasonable excuse.

As long as we’re not spotted by any lurking reporters.

The guard waves to us as we wait for the gate to open and pass through. Thankfully there are no reporters. I suspect they’re all following Phillip’s every move and antagonizing our neighbors or visiting the centers where I’ve volunteered.

As long as they aren’t here, I’m happy.

I lean back and enjoy the sun and wind as we make our way into town. Summer will arrive before we know it. The part-time residents and tourists will take over the streets. Barbecues in backyards, concerts at the pavilion, and fireworks on the beach. Crowds and traffic. Thank God for delivery.