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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Maybe you should call the police,” Paige suggested.
They were sitting at the kitchen table, Chloe across from Paige and Joan Hamilton, their dinner plates barely touched in front of them, the smell of leftover KFC lingering in the air like a malodorous gas.
“And say what?” Chloe asked, her fingers playing with the skin of an uneaten drumstick.
“That your husband threatened you…”
“Except he didn’t,” Chloe said, letting go of the drumstick and wiping her hand on her jeans. “Not really. I mean, all he said was that he’d be back.”
“He assaulted you,” Joan reminded her.
“He’ll say that I’m exaggerating,” Chloe argued, “that he was just trying to kiss and make up. He’ll make it sound like this whole thing is my fault, that I’m the one who entrusted our kids to an irresponsible drunk, and he’s the put-upon husband who had to leave work in the middle of his busy afternoon to rush home and protect them. I know Matt,” she continued before either woman could object. “I know how convincing he can be.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Paige pushed her plate to the center of the table.
Chloe stared at Paige and her mother. She’d called Paige in a panic after Matt left, and Paige and her mother had arrived at her door, complete with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, within the hour. “I don’t knowwhatto do.”
“You need to keep a record,” Joan said, taking charge. “That’s the first thing. You need to keep track…of Matt’s visits…the things he says…how they make you feel…everything. Write it all down…dates, times, everything that happens. Don’t leave anything out, no matter how trivial it seems. Be as specific as you can.”
Chloe nodded. Paige’s mother could always be relied on for sound, practical advice. She was everything a mother was supposed to be—loving, thoughtful, wise. Unlike her own mother, who was none of those things. Chloe pictured Jennifer, still sprawled across Josh’s bed, so drunk that Chloe hadn’t been able to rouse her. Still, she’d have to figure out a way to wake her up soon so the kids could get to sleep. They’d already watched more television in one day than she normally allowed in a week. Chloe glanced at her watch. It was almost seven thirty, their usual bedtime. She pushed herself away from the table and left the room. “Kids,” she called from the foot of the stairs. “Time to get ready for bed.”
“Awww,” came the expected response.
She returned to the kitchen to find Joan Hamilton clearing the dishes from the table and Paige putting the bucket of leftover chicken in the fridge. “No—you don’t have to do that. Please…”
“Please, please, please,”she heard Matt mimic.
“You’ve already done so much,” Chloe told them. “I can’t thank you enough for dinner, for being here…” She burst into tears before she could complete either the sentence or the thought.
“Any time,” Paige said, immediately at Chloe’s side.
“No thanks required,” Joan said, joining them.
“I feel terrible,” Chloe told Paige, “making you break your date…”
“You didn’t make me do anything,” Paige said. “It was just some guy I met online. I texted him that something unexpected came up and hopefully we could reschedule.”
“And what did he say?”
“Nothing,” Paige acknowledged.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. If he’s interested, he’ll try again.”
The three women formed a tight circle, their arms gripping each other’s waists, their foreheads touching.
“What’s going on?” a small male voice asked from the doorway.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Chloe said, whisking away her tears.
“What are you doing?”
“Having a group hug,” Joan said.
“Can I have one?” Sasha asked, her round little face peeking out from behind her brother’s wiry frame.
