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My hands went clammy.
Nicole’s covered mine. “Sweetie?” she asked in real concern.
I blinked the table back into focus. The women were all staring at me.
“Oh, dear. I really did ruin the surprise,” Luanne said with a smile. “I hope you’re happy about this? I could tell Tom to talk to Preston, give you some time.”
“No!” I yelled, just the thought of what would come of that conversation sending bile up my throat.
Even Luanne looked shocked at my outburst. I did not yell. I spoke in soft tones, barely audible, really.
I scrambled for my purse. “I just, um, I forgot about… dry cleaning,” I spluttered, standing from the table. I was the meek little mouse who only squeaked, never roared.
I spilled my iced tea once I got my purse, my throat closing up. “I’m sorry,” I apologized, mopping it with my napkin.
My skin was hot. Too tight. I needed to escape. “I’m… um. I’ve got to go.” I smiled tightly at the women who were watching me carefully. “I forgot about a waxing appointment.” The lie didn’t come out smoothly or convincing, but it didn’t matter at that point.
“We’ll do lunch next week, you can tell us all about the doctor appointment,” Luanne said, stretching her lips wide. Her husband would be hearing about this ‘outburst’ the second he got home.
I nodded tightly. “Of course.”
Then I turned on my heel and calmly walked out of there, got into my car and didn’t stop driving.
I was in Manchester.
Three hours away from the small, wealthy town of Carver Springs, New Hampshire, where I’d lived all my life. I’d never, not once, been this far away without Preston. We traveled, sure. Trips for the summer. Italy. Spain. France. Always with a group, either his parents or his business buddies.
But I never went anywhere alone. He kept my passport locked in his safe.
It was in Manchester that I realized what I was doing. That it had been three hours since lunch. Preston would be home in another hour. Maybe two if he was having drinks at the club as he did more and more often these days.
Not enough time to make it home without him knowing. And there was no lie I could conjure that would explain where I had been. Did he have some kind of tracker on my phone? It made sense if he did. He needed to know where I was at all times and likely checked against what I’d told him to see if he could catch me in a lie. He never did because I never lied. I behaved exactly as he expected me to. I was trained well. I never broke the rules.
Until now.
My heart was pounding as this set in.
I was screwed.
I could still go back. Try to lie and take the punishment if he didn’t believe me. He wouldn’t leave marks. We had that doctor’s appointment. And he was serious about another baby. He wouldn’t risk genuinely hurting me.
Eighteen years. Another eighteen years with him.
My blood thrummed with fear and dread as I even considered it.
I couldn’t do it.
Wouldn’t do it.
Although I’d never dreamed I would or could do this, I was running.
And I had nothing with me but the clothes on my back.
The credit card in my purse would alert Preston when and where I made a transaction. I was lucky the car was fully gassed.
The car.
The hideously ostentatious and expensive car. We traded up every two years. I was not the legal owner of the god-awful thing. And when he found out I was gone, he’d be able to track it. Track me.
