Heaven and Hell (Heaven and Hell #1)(14)

But, even though we ate four seriously delicious courses and took our time, he did not walk by our table.

And when we left, I made certain to get up and walk out without looking back. I put everything into doing it casually, appearing natural so Sam wouldn’t read the effort like he’d done at breakfast.

But it didn’t matter if I pulled it off or not. Even if he noticed and recognized me, it was highly likely he wouldn’t care. In fact, he told me himself such behavior would be a relief.

So there I was, having a nightcap, staring at the dark waters and the blinking lights dotting the sides of the lake and doing this because I was really full and would never sleep even if it was way late but also because, even if I was alone on the balcony and no one could see me, I really didn’t want to take my fabulous outfit off yet.

I lifted my snifter and took a sip. I’d always liked Amaretto. My mother drank Amaretto sours everywhere she went. She made desserts with Amaretto in them. Dad had bought her an expensive set of Waterford snifters for Christmas when I was ten years old so she could further enjoy her Amaretto. She was an Amaretto freak. We had a bottle in our house at all times.

This she had given to me. I loved Amaretto too. Though, when Cooter was alive, the bottle I kept in the house I hid because it pissed Cooter off I spent so much on a bottle of liqueur I sipped on a very rare occasion when he wasn’t around. Clearly, he didn’t think me going through a bottle of Amaretto once every year and a half and him going through a case of beer once a week was fair.

On this thought, my eyes welled with tears and I pulled in a deep breath, rethinking my solitude and my double of almond liqueur on top of three glasses of wine at dinner.

This had been happening unexpectedly, mysteriously and with relative frequency since the day after my plane touched down in Paris. I had not shed tear one since Ozzie came to the house and broke the news, I hadn’t even felt my nose sting but since I started my vacation, it seemed to happen all the time.

I had no idea why and I had, until that moment, been so busy I was able to power through it without giving any headspace to wondering why.

But now, alone, sated, a wee bit tipsy, relaxed, my guard was down and my head flooded.

And it flooded with a memory, years ago, of having dinner at Mom and Dad’s house. After dinner, Dad and Cooter had gone into the living room to watch something on TV and Mom and I had done the dishes. When we were finished, we sat down at the dining room table which we were wont to do when Dad and Cooter were lapsing into food comas in front of the TV (Mom was a comfort food cook, as in, that was all she ever made) and it was time to right all the wrongs in the world.

It was just that, that night, Mom had a specific wrong she wanted to right.

At that time, I’d been married to Cooter for a year and a half. Looking back, I couldn’t say Cooter treated me with love and affection in the three years we were together prior to getting hitched, he’d treated me being on his arm like it was his due. But he’d never been cruel. Then, for whatever reason it commenced, Cooter had started to tear me down three months after we got married. This started small, incidences I could easily sweep aside as bad moods or anxiety due to a change of life, marriage, mortgage, needing to grow up fast and hold down a job in order to take care of home and hearth.

But it quickly escalated.

So by that time, I’d had huge chunks torn from me.

And for some bizarre reason, I thought I was hiding it from the world. Even my mother.

I should have known that no way could I hide anything from Essie Rigsby. First, she was a Mom with two kids and had been, at that time, for twenty-three years. Second, she was far from stupid. I’d never been able to pull one over on her.

Not ever.

And that night, when she sat at the foot of our dining room table, her back to the living room and I’d sat at her side, the wall obstructing me from Dad and Cooter’s view, Mom had not delayed.

Her eyes settled on me, they were troubled, I instantly clawed at the tattered edges of the personality that my husband was stripping from me, pulling them close in the hopes of using them to protect me from what I knew was to come but I didn’t succeed before she leaned into me, her hand cupping my cheek and she whispered, “You know, your Dad and I are always there for you.”

Tears filled my yes and I looked away.

Her other hand came up so she was holding me by both cheeks and she made me look at her again.

“Kia,” she kept whispering, “no matter what, no matter where, no matter anything, we’re always there for you.”

“Okay,” I whispered back.

She said nothing more, just stared in my eyes.

I sat across from her and kept my mouth shut. I didn’t know why then and I didn’t know why while sitting beside Lake Como drinking my favorite drink which was also my mother’s favorite drink and therefore reminding me of her. Maybe it was pride that was not allowing me to admit I made a huge mistake. Maybe I still had hope that Cooter would show me the glory he’d promised to me. Maybe I was in denial and didn’t want to face what was happening to me.

But I said nothing.

And I never did. Not for seven years. Not one of the times I tried to escape him. I said nothing.

Seven years.

I’d lost seven years and that was on me because help was half a mile away.

A tear slid down my cheek and Lake Como went fuzzy.

“Not even a smile?”