Never Let You Go(11)

I ran for my car, one hand holding my coat tight around my stomach, and kept my head down, but the rain still blew hard into my face. The November sky was dark and dreary, rust-colored leaves spinning and floating down the stream rapidly forming beside the road. My feet were soaked, my toes cold. I should’ve worn boots, but I’d thought it would be a quick trip.

I turned the key and the starter made a clicking sound. I tried a few times, feeling more desperate with each attempt. Finally I gave up and reached into my purse for my cell, which I now realized I’d left at home. I huddled in my damp coat and tried to think what I should do. We didn’t have roadside service and my mom couldn’t drive. I was going to have to use the phone inside to call Andrew. But I hated that he’d have to leave work to pick me up.

I slogged back through the puddles. My hair was drenched, and I was cold through to the bone. “Do you mind if I use your phone?” I asked one of the clerks. “My car won’t start.”

“Need a ride?” the man standing behind me in line said.

I turned around—it was Bob Irvine, who ran another construction company in town. Thank God. Now I didn’t have to bother Andrew. I’d known Bob for years. His daughter went to school with my brother. He’d always been nice.

“Sure,” I said. “That would be great.”

I was stepping out of a hot shower and drying off my hair, luxuriating in the steamy warmth of the bathroom, when I heard Andrew’s truck in the driveway. He must have decided to come home early. I pulled on yoga pants and a long sweatshirt, made sure to hang the towel, and straightened the blankets on our bed so there wasn’t one wrinkle. As I passed through the house I did a quick scan, and shoved my shoes into the closet. I liked our house to be tidy even though it was getting harder now that my belly was so heavy that sometimes it felt as though I were going to topple over. My favorite aisle at the grocery store was the one with all the household cleaners. Andrew was always teasing me that I was addicted, but in a way, it was true. If there was a new wax or polish or scrub brush on the market, I had to try it. I liked to stand at the end of a room I’d just cleaned and take in the gleaming wood surfaces, the perfectly vacuumed carpet, the sparkling windows, the lemon-scented air. There was nothing as satisfying.

Andrew was coming in the front door, the rain blowing in after him. I caught a glimpse of the trees outside, bending and swaying wildly. The storm had picked up.

“Hi, honey!” I said. “Do you want some chicken stew and biscuits?” I’d popped some biscuits into the oven before my shower and I could smell the buttery scent through the house.

I leaned up and gave him a kiss. He turned at the last moment. His face was ruddy, almost looked windburned, his cheeks cold under my lips. I stepped back, startled.

“Where’s your car?” he said.

“It broke down. I tried to call you. Bob Irvine drove me home.”

“You should’ve called a cab.”

“I didn’t think about it. He offered, and—”

“You’re my wife, carrying my child. Do you know how this looks?”

I didn’t understand what was wrong. I thought he liked Bob Irvine. “I was careful. I didn’t stress out the baby or anything.”

“God, for a smart girl you can be really stupid sometimes, Lindsey.”

My mouth opened, the pain so quick and sharp under my ribs it was as though the baby had kicked me, but she hadn’t moved. “That’s really mean.” My cheeks felt hot as I remembered all the mistakes I’d made lately. Was this what he really thought of me?

He pushed past me in the hallway, almost knocking me into the wall, and I caught the smell of whiskey. But that couldn’t be right—he was working all day. I hesitated, then followed him into the kitchen, watched as he took a beer out of the fridge. His balance was unsteady.

“Have you been drinking?” He liked to go to the pub after work with his crew if they’d had a hard day—and he’d had a lot of them recently—but he didn’t have more than two beers and always called and checked that I was okay first.

He turned around, opened the can. “I never want to see you getting out of another man’s truck again. I saw the way you smiled at him, your flirty little good-bye.”

“Were you watching me?” I hadn’t seen his truck in the driveway or on the road. Maybe he’d come home early, then left again. But why would he do that?

“You’ve had too many kilometers on your car. Where have you been going every day?”

“Sometimes I just drive around. I get bored.” Andrew had asked me about my day before, liked to hear everything I did and who I saw, but I thought he was just interested. I had no idea he’d been checking my kilometers. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t right, but the look on his face was scaring me, the way he was leaning against the counter, his hands gripping the edge.

“You had lunch with Samantha at the pub yesterday.”

He looked so angry, almost accusing. I was starting to get upset too. I didn’t like being spoken to this way, didn’t like feeling as if I was in trouble—and didn’t even know why.

“I told you we had lunch.” I rarely saw my friends anymore. Most of them were in college, or moved away with boyfriends, and Andrew didn’t seem to like the ones who’d stayed in town. When Samantha called, I’d jumped at the chance to meet with a girlfriend and chat.