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I put my arm around her, telling her it will be okay, even though I can’t find it in myself to put words to the lie. I don’t know if she’ll be okay. I don’t know if any of us will be okay. If we’re caught, I’ll be charged as an accomplice to kidnapping a child.
“That might be true,” I tell her, “but I also don’t want anyone to know my real name. I don’t want the media knowing where to find me. And I…” I swallow the rest of my words, their taste bitter. Because it’s ultimately something Violet must be thinking. We don’t want anyone wondering why we stayed with our husbands for so long. Wondering why, if they were really abusing us, we didn’t just leave.
She nods and covers my hand on my lap with hers.
“I don’t want people to see me for my past. To judge me for something I had no control over,” I whisper through a dry throat. “I’ve been careful to cover my tracks. Fake ID. Change of hair color. Moving to a small town. Keeping off social media.”
“What about your banking information?” Violet asks, her face beyond pale. It’s a good thing she’s sitting. Sophie, on the other hand, is growing restless and squirms out of her mom’s arms and crawls onto the bed.
“Someone set that up for me, but they had connections.” And I’m not sure they would help me when it comes to Violet. Not when there’s a child involved like there is in this situation.
Violet deflates at that. “I don’t even know how to get a fake ID.”
“I know someone who might be able to help.” But that means telling Kellan what I’m up to. I trust him. But do I trust he won’t tell Troy? “We might need to hold out a few days, though. If we’re lucky, your husband will think you’ve left town. Does anyone know you were coming to see me yesterday?”
“No. The only way anyone would know I’m here is if they saw me. But I was careful to make sure no one did.”
“That’s good.” I glance down at Sophie, who’s looking out the window at the bird in the nearby tree. No one on the street or in the houses across from us can see us where we’re sitting. “I bought Sophie some diapers and Cheerios. I didn’t see anyone in the store who I recognized, so no one can connect me to your disappearance.” I’m sure Simone won’t say anything. She believed my lie about the diapers. I would order them online, but I don’t want to risk the boxes being left on my front porch for everyone to see. “And I’m going to check into women’s emergency shelters in the area that might be able to help you. And then we’ll figure out how to get you into one.” The tricky part will be Sophie. Her husband still has the right to see his daughter. That will need to change. “Did anyone else see your injuries?”
Her eyes fill with the same shame I felt due to my husband’s abuse. “No. I was scared what would happen if anyone did. There would be consequences. For me.”
So other than the photos I’ve taken, it will be his word versus Violet’s. Unless I can get her help before they heal.
“Do you know any family lawyers you can contact?”
“Lawyers?” The word falls out battered and bruised and defeated.
“You’re going to need someone who knows the legal system and who can help you.”
“I don’t know anyone. I can’t even afford a lawyer.”
I squeeze her hand. “Give me a day or two, and I’ll see what I can figure out.”
Sophie loses her grip on Violet’s arm and sits down hard on the bed. She cries out, the high-pitched noise either a protest or demand.
The doorbell rings downstairs. Violet’s spine straightens and her muscles turn rigid.
“It’s probably just Delores,” I tell her. “She drops by unannounced all the time.” I stand and walk over to the window.
A police cruiser is parked in front of my house, and my body turns cold. Cold enough to refreeze the polar caps. The red and blue lights aren’t on. From where I’m standing, it’s impossible to see who’s at my front door. But I know…know without a sliver of doubt whoever was in the vehicle rang the doorbell.
“It’s the cops!” I barely push the warning through my tightening throat.
36
Angelique
July 1943
France
* * *
“Are you ready for this?” Johann asks, and his eyes linger on my hand, almost as if he’s caressing it with his gaze. It’s much safer than a real touch the driver might witness.
“Yes,” I reply, a slight breathlessness to my voice, the same way it’s been every time Johann’s looked at me since we became lovers two weeks ago. “Just like we practised.”
The past fortnight has involved many rehearsals for tonight—many tips on ways to behave, what to expect…and many occasions of indulging in his touch.
