Never Let You Go(23)

“What’s wrong with Daddy?”

I startled. I hadn’t heard Sophie sneak out of her bedroom. She was wearing pink pajamas, her hair mussed. She twirled one strand around and around.

“He’s just tired.”

She walked closer, leaned over him, and sniffed. Then she looked up at me and whispered, “He smells icky.” Her face was so innocent, but I could see the beginnings of awareness, the faint tone of accusation. How soon before she started to recognize the smell of beer? Would she challenge him about his drinking? How would he react?

I moved closer, pulled her away. “Come on, Sophie. Back to bed.”

Andrew’s eyes opened, and he swung his arm wildly, narrowly missing Sophie, and instead knocked me off balance. I fell backward onto the coffee table, then rolled off the edge. I lay stunned on the floor, sucking at the air. Sophie was beside me, hugging me tight. “Mommy!”

“It’s okay, baby,” I said when I could finally speak, but each word made my ribs hurt and my back felt as though it had been snapped in half. I looked over my shoulder.

Andrew was on his feet, his body swaying. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Daddy, stop!” Sophie cried. “You pushed Mommy!”

He stared at us for a moment, his eyes blinking slowly. “Sophie?” He reached out, and she cringed against me. His face pulled into a frown, and he took a couple of steps forward.

“Andrew,” I said. “Andrew, please go to bed.”

He focused on me, and I held my breath. Finally he spun around and lurched toward the bedroom. His hands fumbled for support against the wall. The bedroom door slammed shut.

I slept in Sophie’s room, curled around her body, and smoothed her hair every time she woke. I’d gone to the bathroom, examined the damage in the mirror, wincing as I pressed a cold cloth to the upper right side of my back. That long red mark would turn to a bruise.

When I climbed into bed with Sophie, I eased onto my stomach, keeping my back straight and holding my breath so I didn’t moan in pain. She reached over and tenderly touched my shoulder blade, her small hand drifting down my spine. “Does it hurt, Mommy?”

“A little bit.”

“It was an accident,” she said. “He didn’t mean to. He’ll say he’s sorry tomorrow.”

I choked back tears. My daughter, already making excuses for him. She’d learned that from me, I suddenly realized. She’d learned to forgive him. She wasn’t even six.



In the morning I snuck out of bed while she was still asleep. He wasn’t in our room. I found him in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee. He lifted the carafe. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” I sat at one of the barstools around the kitchen island. The black leather stools he’d picked out, which I hated because they felt cold and were too masculine-looking. “We need to talk.” I was jittery, had to brace my legs on the stool.

He turned around with a heavy sigh. “Sorry about last night. I didn’t eat dinner, and the booze hit me too hard. We finished a job and I wanted to celebrate with the guys. You know how it is. They kept buying me drinks.” I thought of the food spills on his shirt. More lies.

“You pushed me. I hit the coffee table.”

He looked shocked, his head jerking back. “No, I would remember that.”

Of course he would deny it, but I was surprised at how convincing he sounded. He was a much better actor than I realized. If I didn’t know how he always remembered every single time I’d failed one of his rules, even when he was drinking, I might have believed him.

“Sophie saw everything. She was terrified.”

Now he scrunched up his forehead like he was thinking over the night, trying to remember. His expression turned ashamed, and he sat down on one of the barstools. “I hurt you?” I nodded, and he rubbed his hands through his hair, his eyes wet as though he was going to cry. “I’ll take the day off, okay? We’ll talk about it, and we can take Sophie to the park.”

“The park isn’t going to fix this.”

“You’re right. I’m an idiot. How can I make it up to you?” He grabbed my hand. “I love you so much. You’re my heart and soul. I hate thinking that I scared you like that. Can you forgive me?” He looked so serious, so upset, that I found myself faltering for a moment.

“I don’t know,” I said. “What you did? It’s abuse.”

His eyes widened. “Hey, I’m not one of those guys. Don’t even talk like that, okay? I got too drunk and made a mistake, but I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“It doesn’t matter if it was on purpose, it still happened.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you I’m sorry a million times. I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. We’ll stay in the same house until Sophie leaves for university. Whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

“Your drinking is getting worse. I can’t deal with it anymore.”

“What are you saying, Lindsey?” He looked nervous now, more scared than I’d ever seen him. “You want me to slow down? I’ll stop drinking after work, okay?”

I took a deep breath and pulled my hand free. Maybe I should wait until later, when he wasn’t hungover. He hadn’t even finished his coffee. No, there was never going to be a good time. I had to do this now, while he was still remorseful, while I was still brave.