The last secret_ a novel - Mary McGarry Morris [124]
“Help you? Help you do what?” she asks, confused and biding for time. What she should do is reach inside the door for the phone—and call who? Ken? To come and rescue them from each other? From Eddie Hawkins?
“Call the police,” Robin whispers, barely moving her lips, sending a chill through Nora. She can't do that.
“What? You think I'm just gonna keep sitting here?” With that, he starts the car, pressing down on the gas so that the garage resounds with the acceleration.
“No!” Robin screams, and darts out to stand inside his open door. The only way he can back out is to knock her down in the process. “Don't leave. Please don't leave. Wait. Just wait,” she begs, palms outward, trying to soothe him. “I'm talking to her. Nora and me.” She points back. “See? We're talking. She's telling me what you said, everything, and now I understand. I … I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I mean, you of all people,” she says, and he turns off the engine.
She's good, Nora thinks in the silence. Such a good liar. Smooth. But then, of course, she'd have to be, wouldn't she? Because of her openness, deception comes easily. Caring, that's her skill. A hound on the scent, relentless. Frailty, her prey.
“What'd she tell you?” His angular face sharpens with suspicion as he peers up at Robin. Reaching, he touches her hair, combs his fingers into it, an almost tender gesture, and Nora feels Robin's abhorrence, reads in the practiced tilt of her head the strained forbearance necessary to placate a drunken husband. She even tries to smile.
“What you said, that you weren't trying to hurt me or anything.” Robin's hands have slipped behind her. Suddenly, there's a click, door buttons unlocking. Robin has managed to yank open the back door, at the same time, screaming for Lyra to get out, get out, but in the split second of the terrified child's hesitation, Eddie has leaped from the car. He lunges at Robin, pinning her against the hood.
“Bitch! You no good, lying cunt bitch.”
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Nora cries from the doorway, still only dimly comprehending. Or so it seems. There is the struggle and beside her, cowering, clawing at Nora's long sweater, as if to climb inside with her, this sobbing child in lime green boots. Nora pulls Lyra closer, holds her head to keep her from seeing. Robin is athletic and strong but no match for such crazed, ruthless anger. With every punch her head snaps back. She keeps trying, but she can't escape his viselike weight pinning her against the car. Finally, she brings her knee up into his crotch, but it's a weak, off-balance thrust that only seems to enrage him to new heights of savagery. Staring closely at her now, as if with necessary precision, he grunts as each blow of his fist batters her face, the side of her head. Her mouth and nose are bleeding. When she tries to speak, he roars with an almost childish rage, telling her to shut up, shut up, shut up, over and over and over again, but she keeps trying, even as his hands close around her neck, and Nora's eyes lock on those writhing, tightening fingers that are squeezing all the careless ardor and easy laughter out of her, she who in only wanting to love and be loved has destroyed everything. Robin's mouth sags open and she looks back at Nora in disbelief, shock, because how can any of this be happening? Now, as if in answer, he bangs her head back, smashing it against the car with a series of sickening thuds. Robin's arms hang limply at her sides.
“Mommy! Mommy!” Lyra shrieks. Tearing herself away from Nora, she bolts to her mother, and her screams seem to feed a last, weak flame in Robin. She lifts her head and in sickening gags tries to say something as if begging Lyra to go away. Screaming at him to let go of her mother, Lyra kicks Eddie's ankles and the backs of his legs, but it's futile. A mere swipe of his arm sends the little girl crashing into the garden cart. Finally released, Robin slides down against the