The-Hummingbird-s-Cage(78)

“A second chance . . . sounds tempting.”

“You don’t understand. Neither does Olin. It would mean going back to . . . a monster. Jim wasn’t just a rotten husband and it wasn’t just a rotten marriage. Even here I’ve had nightmares about him. Laurel, too. She dreamed he was coming for her. She was terrified.”

Simon was watching me steadily.

“Do you recall the day I found you?” he asked.

“I don’t. Not everything.”

“Try. What do you remember?”

I tried to oblige him. To dig deep. Like Bree when she was remembering the trucker who had hit her head-on as she drove back from a rock concert.

“We were on the way to Albuquerque,” I said. “Running for our lives, really. Jim had threatened to kill me so many times. Even showed me how he’d do it. How he’d get away with it.” I downed more whiskey, my hand shaking now. “I remember looking in the rearview at his police unit. The flashing lights. The siren.”

Simon shifted on the sofa. His face was averted, but I could still make out the furious cast of it.

“Why’d you stay with him?” he asked.

“God, that’s a cruel question.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t answer it.”

But it was the obvious question, too. And now it was the bell he couldn’t unring.

“Because it wasn’t so bad in the beginning,” I managed finally. “Because I did love him . . . once. Because I was weak. All of the above.”

“Joanna—”

“Really, the first six months, the first year, it was great—or that’s what I thought. And I wanted so much to make it work, even if I didn’t have a clear idea how. I’d seen my mother fail at so many relationships, and I didn’t want to live like that. Jim was like the ideal husband at first—charming, attentive, handsome. So when things started to go bad, I thought it was me. That I was doing something wrong. Failing somehow. I thought all I had to do was change me and everything would be all right again.

“By the time I realized what was really going on, it was too late. I was alone, cut off. He had me trapped and wasn’t about to let go. Till death do us part . . .”

I tipped my glass in toast, but didn’t drink. Simon took my free hand and held it.

“It’s all right,” I assured him. “That’s all over. He’ll never do anything like that again. I’d kill him first.”

The words were out of my mouth before I realized they were ever in my head.

And I meant every one.

“Oh, God,” I said. “Does that shock you?”

He smiled. “Honestly, Joanna, it would take more than that to shock me.”

“That’s good. Because if Jim is unfinished business . . .”

I hesitated, and Simon waited for me to continue.

“This thing with Jim, a part of me knows it’s not over,” I said. “I get the feeling, even as I’m sitting here, that I’m still running. Sometimes when I try, I can almost feel the hard rocks under my feet, the dry wind on my face—I’m literally running. And I . . . I don’t know how to stop.”

Simon squeezed my hand gently.

“And to think I came here to talk about Tinkerbell,” I said.

“Aren’t we?” he asked.

“Simon . . .”

“All right—Tinkerbell. Is she the same dog you remember?”

“To the smallest detail.”

“And this dog was up there on the Mountain, sticking to your daughter when she was alone and scared.”

“But not in danger . . .”

“There are real dangers here, Joanna. Not always the kind you expect. So Tinkerbell stuck right with her. Till you came to the rescue.”

I shook my head. “No . . .”

“That’s right. Till you rescued them both.”

Rescued them both. Hot, grateful tears sprang from nowhere. “Yeah,” I said wryly. “I was the cavalry riding over the hill.”

“Hey, now. That’s just the booze talking.”

I laughed, and he smiled back. The whiskey was bolstering me, true enough. Its warmth was soothing. But it wasn’t only the drink.

Suddenly, as if for the first time, I was aware of Simon’s nearness on the couch, and it seemed to unstitch me. He was so close I could feel his breath on my face as he spoke. So close that, if I leaned toward him, I could kiss him without any trouble.