The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [21]
She cried. She said no, she’d never do such a thing. She could tell he didn’t believe her. Later that week she committed her first act of blatant rebellion: She bought a diaphragm and hid it under the bathroom sink. The week after that she pulled it out and discovered a pin resting delicately on top. Jim stood behind her, his face implacable. She couldn’t take it anymore. She hadn’t slept in two and a half months. She was exhausted, overwhelmed, and frightened she would fail as a mother. She began to sob. Jim finally moved. She cringed, but he just took her in his arms. He stroked her hair, touching her gently for the first time in months, and told her everything would be all right, he would help her. He lowered her to the bathroom floor. He pushed up her skirt. He took her while she lay there, too exhausted, too shocked, and too much in pain to move.
Afterward, he told her he wanted a boy this time. A boy to name Brian, after his father.
Jim’s absences grew longer, and his returns crueler. Whatever she did, it wasn’t good enough. She was a bad wife, a horrible mother. She was a stupid, stupid girl who should be grateful he’d agreed to marry her. A handsome, charming, well-respected man like him could certainly do better.
One day he sat her down in the living room and told her he was going out. He would be gone for a while. Maybe he’d return. Maybe not. He hadn’t decided yet. No matter what, she was not to go down into the basement.”
“The basement? Why would I go into the basement?”
“Because I told you not to go there, so now you’re thinking about it. And you’ll think about it the minute I leave. ‘What is in the basement? Why shouldn’t I go into the basement? What is he hiding in the basement?’ I’ve planted the suggestion in your mind, you won’t be able to rest until you go into the basement. I know you that well, Theresa. I can control you that much.”
“No. I won’t go into the basement. I won’t.”
But the minute he left, her eyes fell on the basement door. She put her hand on the doorknob. She twisted. She opened the door and stared down into the gloom—
Tess quickly cut off the rest of the memories. She pressed her fingers against her temples, already tasting bile.
Some days she could recall things objectively. She could distance herself, analyze the scenes as if they’d happened in somebody else’s life. Some days she couldn’t. Now she concentrated on breathing and the feel of the warm Arizona sun.
Down the hall, Marion and J.T. continued to war.
“He is dying, J.T. It’s not some twisted ruse.” Marion’s voice was brittle. “Our father is dying.”
“Our father? I don’t think so. I gave him to you when you were fourteen. We were playing poker, as I recall, and I was beating you quite badly. You threw a fit. So I said fine, what was the one thing you really wanted—”
“Fuck you, Jordan Terrance.”
“—and you said you wanted ‘Daddy’ all to yourself. So I gave him to you lock, stock, and barrel. To this day I believe you got the bad end of that deal. Or tell me, Marion, did you forget that as well?”
“I didn’t forget anything, J.T. I just choose to remember happier days.” There was a long pause, then Marion said, “It’s because of her, isn’t it?”
A second pause. “She had a name, Marion. She was a human being.”
“She was a lying, manipulative prostitute who caught Daddy in a weak moment. He’d just retired, he was vulnerable to . . . to female attention.”
“Mom will be happy with this analysis.”
“Mom has more bats in her belfry than a gothic church.”
“Finally we agree on something.”
“The point is, Daddy made a mistake—”
“A mistake? He got a seventeen-year-old girl pregnant. Our father, the pedophile.”
“He took care of her.”
“Is that what you call it?” J.T.’s voice dropped to a low tone that prickled the hair on the back of Tess’s neck. Marion didn’t recover quickly this time, but when she did, her retort was sharp.
“Oh, that’s right. Daddy is the root of