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Until he took away my phone and made it impossible to call for help. My car was next.
I feel the weight of each word like a sledgehammer against my skin. I was a victim of domestic violence. I fell into a trap, thinking that this man loved me. That he loved me more than anything in the world.
“You divorced him,” she finally says, and a ray of hope lights me up. “You got a restraining order against him. We repaired our friendship, Mel, but you… You were different. Softer, less secure. Not like now.”
“How am I now?”
“You’re alive again.”
We pull up beside the arena, and the driver opens first Lucy’s door, then mine. Theo meets us on the sidewalk, and he curls his arm around her shoulders.
I feel alone.
I’maliveagain? Because I don’t have the weight of abuse on my shoulders? Because I can’t remember a horror-filled past? I still have what Thomas did to me, and the man on the train, and the awful realization in the hospital that someone tried to kill me. I touch the scar on my throat, probing it with my fingers, and a wave of nausea hits me.
“I’m so sorry, Mel,” Lucy whispers. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. I knew I was going to mess this up—”
“Lucy,” I interrupt. “It’s okay. I’d rather know.”
Maybe I was a coward before. But his name doesn’t strike fear in my chest. I’ve got no attachment to it, which makes mestrong.
Henry Armstrong.
I write his name down on my list. Another thing to search when I’m feeling brave enough. And now my mother, too. An unexpected name to add. Once I have her obituary, I’ll be able to unlock the rest of it. My family history, maybe, or just blow away the mystery surrounding them.
Me.
I allow Lucy to loop her arm through mine, and we head into the arena.
“Do you have more questions?” she asks, once we’re through security and following Theo to the right section.
“Of course.”
I scan the list again.
“Do you know my favorite drink?”
“You’re partial to a margarita. Coffee can go two ways—I think you like cream and two sugars, but if they have hazelnut flavoring, you’re a goner.”
Jacobdoesknow me.
“What else?”
“Coconut is on the Do Not Fly list.” She laughs. “Write that down. Youhatecoconut.”
I smile. I hadn’t got to coconut yet.
“Oh, oh!” Lucy does a little skip. “Your favorite book. Which is freaking hard to narrow down, by the way, Ms. English Professor.Circeby Madeline Miller.”
I type that into my list, too. My excitement is rising swiftly, matching Lucy’s. A book. I bring up the book’s details and read the description. My heart skips.
“Oh, what I would do to read my favorite book for the first time again,” Lucy moans. “You’re lucky in that regard.”
“We like to read, then.” It’s not really a question—if I was an English professor.
“We love it.”
What else do I love?The question is on the tip of my tongue. Before I can get it out, though, Theo is leading us down a set of steps. All the way down, down, down.
