The Last Mrs. Parrish(69)
He nodded. “I just got off the phone with her, let her know you’re not feeling well.”
I pushed him away from me. “What are you talking about? I feel fine.”
“Oh, but you don’t. You have a terrible stomachache from stuffing yourself with pancakes.”
Was he really still holding a grudge from weeks ago? “You’re joking, right?” I said, hoping he was.
His eyes were cold. “I’ve never been more serious.”
“I’m calling her right now.” He grabbed my arm before I could move.
“And tell her what? That your husband lied? What would she think of that? Besides, I told her that you had food poisoning and asked me to call her. I assured her you would be better in a few days.” Then he laughed. “I also mentioned that you’d been a bit stressed and that having her visit so often was putting a strain on you, that maybe she should let a little more time elapse between visits.”
“You can’t do this. I won’t let you make my mother think I don’t want her here.”
He squeezed my arm harder. “It’s done. You should have heard how sad she sounded. Poor, dumb hick.” He laughed.
I wrenched my arm away and slapped him. He laughed again.
“Too bad she didn’t die when your father did. I really hate having in-laws.”
I exploded. I raked my nails down his face, wanting to tear it to shreds. I felt wetness on my hands and realized I’d drawn blood. Horrified, I backed away, my hand to my mouth.
He shook his head slowly. “Now look what you’ve done.” Pulling his phone from his pocket, he held it in front of his face. It took me a minute to realize what he was doing. “Thanks, Daph. Now I have proof that you have an explosive temper.”
“You intentionally provoked me?”
A cold smile. “Here’s a little tip: I will always be ten steps ahead of you. Keep that in mind when you decide you know better than I do what’s good for you.” He moved toward me, and I stood rooted to the floor, too shocked to move. He touched my cheek, and the look in his eyes grew tender. “I love you. Why can’t you see that? I don’t want to punish you—but what am I to do when you insist on doing things that are bad for you?”
He’s crazy. How did it take me this long to see that he’s crazy? I swallowed hard and flinched when his fingers traced the tears running down my cheeks. I ran from the room, grabbed a few things from the bedroom, and went into one of the guest rooms. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—white as a ghost, whole body shaking. Moving into the guest bathroom, I washed my hands, cleaning his blood from under my nails, and tried to come to grips with how I had let myself lose control. I’d never done something like that before. His cavalier comment about my mother dying made me realize there was no going back after tonight. I had to leave. Tomorrow I would pack up the baby and go to my mother’s.
After a few minutes, I went in to check on Tallulah and found him standing over her crib. I hesitated at the doorway, something about the picture not striking me as quite right. His stance was menacing; his face in shadow, ominous. My heart beat faster as I approached.
He didn’t turn toward me or acknowledge my presence. In his hands he held the enormous teddy bear he had bought for her when she was born.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
As he spoke, he continued to stare at her. “Did you know that over two thousand babies die of SIDS each year?”
I tried to answer, but no words would come.
“That’s why you put nothing in the crib.” Then he turned to face me. “I keep telling you not to put her stuffed animals in with her. But you are so forgetful.”
I found my voice. “You wouldn’t dare. She’s your child, how could you—”
He threw the bear onto the rocking chair, and his expression was neutral once again. “I was just joking around. You take everything so seriously.” He grabbed both of my hands in his. “Nothing will ever happen to her as long as she has two parents looking out for her.”
I turned from him to watch my baby breathing in and out, and was crushed by her vulnerability.
“I’m going to sit here for a while,” I whispered.
“Good idea. Do some thinking while you’re at it. I’ll be waiting for you in bed. Make sure you don’t take too long.”
I glared at him. “You can’t be serious. I’m not getting near you.”
A thin smile played on his lips. “You might want to rethink that. Tire me out, or I may sleepwalk and find myself back in the nursery.” He stretched his hand out to me. “On second thought, I want you now.”
Silent and dying inside, I took his hand, and he led me to our room and to the bed. “Take your clothes off,” he commanded.
I sat on the bed and began to pull off my slacks.
“No. Stand up. Do a strip-tease for me.”
“Jackson, please.”
I gasped as he yanked me by my hair toward him. He pinched my breast hard. “Don’t piss me off. Do it. Now.”
My legs were so jellylike, I don’t know how I remained standing. I made my mind go blank, shut my eyes, and pretended I was anywhere but there. I unbuttoned my blouse one button at a time, opening my eyes and looking at him to see if I was doing it right. He nodded, and as I stripped, he began to stroke himself. I didn’t know who this man was, sitting on my bed, looking like my husband. All I could think to ask myself was how he had done it. How had he played the part for over a year? What kind of a person can keep up a charade for that long? And why was he showing me the truth now? Did he think that I’d stay with him just because we had a child together? Tomorrow, I would go, but tonight, I’d do what he said, do whatever it took to make him think he’d won.