Jane Doe(39)

Them or me, and it wasn’t ever going to be me again.

“That’s when I started going to church,” I lie. “I knew something was wrong. I just wanted someone to protect me, and God was . . . Well, I started going to church with a friend from school, and it felt like God was the only good man in my life. I prayed so hard. And my stepdad eventually left.”

Steven squeezes my hand. He turns into a long driveway and parks behind a line of shiny new cars. He lifts my hand and turns to me before he gives a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m good at protecting people, Jane.”

I nod and press my lips tight together as if I’m trying not to tear up.

“And I’m a good man.”

“I know.”

“Maybe God brought me into your life to take care of you.”

“Oh, Steven,” I sigh. I drop my head and sniff, letting my breath shudder out of me. “That would be really, really nice.”

“I know we’ve only been dating a few weeks, Jane, but it feels like I was called to take care of you. Guide you. I’m not like other guys you’ve dated. I believe in commitment. I believe in love and respect.”

I breathe shakily and nod, keeping my face covered. “I love that about you.”

“And my dad already likes you. That means the world to me.”

“I like him too.”

“Make me proud tonight, baby.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.

“I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

This was all Meg ever wanted. A nice man who’d protect her. A decent husband who would take care of his family and home. That had been her dream since childhood. I’d seen the notebooks she’d kept as a little girl, with pictures of wedding dresses and Victorian houses and adorably decorated nurseries. I teased her and she laughed about it, but she kept those notebooks her whole life.

Steven had dreamed those dreams with her. They spoke of marriage and how many kids they’d have. He told her how much he wanted to be the kind of father his own dad was. He even painted a picture of having their first son baptized in the United in Christ Church, the baby’s head cleansed of sin by the hand of his own grandfather.

I have no idea if he believed in those dreams too or if he was just toying with her. I don’t care. Either way, he built her up on good days and then used the fantasy of their future together to tear her to pieces when he was angry. He knew just what Meg wanted and he terrorized her with her own childhood dreams.

He thinks he knows what I want too. He thinks I’ll do anything for it.

We walk through the dusk toward a big white house with a wraparound porch. The lights glow with welcome and warmth. I can hear faint laughter from inside.

“Steven,” I whisper, tugging him to a stop. It’s time to make clear just how eager I am for the smallest bits of affection. He turns toward me and I gaze up at him, stars in my eyes. “I love you.”

He smiles and cups my cheek, holding me tenderly for a moment before he gives me a gentle kiss. He doesn’t reply in kind, but he does gaze fondly at me for a long time before putting his arm around my waist to lead me toward the front stairs. He looks pleased, and he should be. I’m vulnerable and he has the power.

The party is exactly what I expect. There’s soft, vague music playing beneath the murmur of conversation. There’s a room off the entry where everyone leaves their coats. Many square feet of middle-aged white people stretch out before us. I see a few children darting between the adults.

I stay close to Steven as he picks a trail through the guests. Most of them hold wineglasses, but I’m not allowed to touch. I will absolutely be imbibing in the bathroom within the hour. I’m not good at watching other people do things I want to do.

If I were really Low Self-esteem Jane, this party would feel magical. The Hepsworths probably call themselves upper-middle-class, but through the eyes of almost anyone else in this country, they’re rich. The lights of an outdoor pool glint through a back window, and they can probably only use it a few months a year, if they bother using it at all. The floors are all hardwood and crowned with molding that looks like icing on a wedding cake. There’s a dining room and a study and a media room, and of course a huge kitchen, complete with two sinks and a fridge that blends in with the cabinets.

This is the kind of life I can look forward to someday if I can just learn to be what Steven wants me to be. If I can please him, if I don’t make him mad, if I live in the right.

Steven finds his father and raises a hand to hail him from across the room like a long-lost college buddy. As far as I know, Steven saw him on Wednesday for Bible study. They love each other excessively, and I’m beginning to think their relationship may be my key to Steven’s downfall.

“Dad!” We’ve worked our way through the crowd to Pastor Hepsworth for the requisite father-son hug and backslaps. I stand demurely aside.

“I see you brought your pretty friend,” the pastor finally says.

I smile shyly. “Thank you for the invitation, Pastor Hepsworth.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear. I’m happy you could make it.”

“You have a beautiful house. Steven was just telling me he didn’t grow up here, but he got the chance to stay for a while during college.”

“Yes, we lived a little more modestly when Steven was young, but the Lord does provide.”