The Mother's Promise(25)

As if she weren’t humiliated enough.





17

As Sonja fed her prepaid ticket into the machine and the boom gate opened, she was thinking about Alice Stanhope. More specifically, she was thinking about Alice’s daughter. Supporting the patient’s family fell under Sonja’s job description as hospital social worker as well, and Alice had seemed, well, cavalier to say the least, when Sonja had asked about her daughter staying home by herself.

This concerned Sonja. Teenage brains weren’t yet fully formed, at least that’s what George always said. He should know. When he’d been in private practice he’d seen adolescents almost exclusively. In the state of California, there was no law that stipulated the age at which you could leave a child home alone, it come down to whether the child was considered ‘fit.’ And so Sonja determined it would be prudent to do a home visit, to determine how ‘fit’ Alice’s daughter was.

As she drove out of the hospital parking lot, Sonja’s phone began to ring. She tried to answer it, but it was harder than it sounded. George, who was far more technologically inclined than she, had paired it up to her car’s blue-tooth something or other, which in theory, made it “hands-free,” but in practice just made it unusable. She jabbed uselessly at the phone, which sat in its holster, taunting her.

“Answer,” she said, feeling foolish. She remembered George saying something about voice activation. But surely saying “answer” couldn’t connect a call?

“Sonja?” George’s voice filled the car.

“George?”

“Guess what?” he said.

“What?” Although the air conditioner was blasting, Sonja’s hands were suddenly sweaty on the wheel. She wondered if it was strange that her husband could make her feel that way.

“I’ve got an appointment with the student counselor at Westleigh,” he said. “She sounded very keen for my input on their young-people-in-crisis program.”

“Fantastic,” Sonja said, even though, in truth, she didn’t really understand his desperation to volunteer in the community. He wasn’t a student trying to get experience; he was a renowned psychologist who was asked to speak at functions all over the country. And he’d already done some work with two other high schools in Atherton. But if George was happy, everything was better.

“Tonight we celebrate!” he said.

“Can’t wait,” she said.

Sonja didn’t know how to hang up the call, so she was relieved when it disconnected of its own accord. She stopped at a crossing to let some schoolkids pass. Sonja didn’t want to celebrate. She’d be happy if they never celebrated again. It was probably just that she was exhausted. She thought about last night.

She and George had been eating oysters—oysters!—and drinking champagne outside on the deck. Shallow as it was, Sonja enjoyed the extravagance of it. Until she’d met George she’d never eaten an oyster. And she’d certainly never drunk real champagne.

“You’re easily pleased, Sonja,” George had said when she’d told him, again, how nice everything was. He liked being the one to provide her with nice things.

Afterward, they moved to the couch, ostensibly to watch a movie, though Sonja fell asleep within minutes—champagne always had that effect on her. But she was startled awake when she felt George’s hands on her hips. The sky outside was dark and the credits of the film were rolling on the TV. He pulled her to her knees.

“George, what are you—”

But she knew exactly what he was doing. It was silly of her to think that because she was asleep—because they’d had a very nice evening—she’d be safe. When had those things ever kept her safe before? She protested—sort of—in groggy surprise, but he’d just held her tighter. There was no use fighting. She knew George needed this. She just wished he didn’t need it to be so … aggressive.

It hadn’t always been this way. When she and George were dating, he had been a considerate lover. Before him, Sonja had only had a few lovers, and they’d been more like boys than men. Fumbling around, asking what felt good. George, on the other hand, was authoritative. In control. It had been a huge turn-on. And it wasn’t just her sex life that had turned around with George—her whole life became amazing. After living in an apartment on the wrong side of town for most of her adult life, suddenly Sonja lived in a beautiful home on two floors. She didn’t need to check her bank balance before she purchased anything. She drank good wine and had discussions about politics and medical science and the state of health care. And best of all, she did this with George.

A few months after they were married, George went on a business trip to Europe. He went on a lot of trips back then—conferences, meetings, addresses—but this was for two weeks, the longest they’d been apart since their wedding. He’d returned home in the middle of the night. When Sonja heard the bedroom door open, she started to rouse.

“There you are,” she said sleepily, blinking to let her eyes adjust. George was in the corner of the room, looking down at her. At first she couldn’t see his face. But when light from a passing car shone through the window, she noticed he looked a little … different. “George?”

And then, suddenly, he was coming at her. That startled her a little. He pulled back the blanket with one hand and with the other, ripped the underwear from her body in one stinging movement.