The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [45]
“I wish I’d learned all that,” Tess said softly. “I wish my family had been into those kinds of things. That I’d had an older brother or uncle or anyone to teach me about guns or self-defense or survival. Even how to read a compass. I wish I’d known it sooner.”
J.T. turned toward her. His eyes were empty and spiritless. “Yeah, Marion and I, we’re tough. We’re just so damn tough.”
He carried dishes to the house. “Tomorrow we start with handguns.”
TESS SLEPT AND, as always, Jim found her again in her dreams. In the shadows of the night she was back in Williamstown, lying in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin.
He’s going to come out of the closet, she thought. Her mother had told her there was no such thing as monsters, but her mother had lied because her mother hadn’t wanted to believe in such people as Jim Beckett.
He’s going to come out of the closet. Run, Tess, run.
But she couldn’t run. She had no muscle. She was a shapeless blob, a weak, defenseless feather pillow.
In the distance she heard a baby crying. She knew she had to move. You must protect Sam. You have to protect Sam.
It was too late. Her closet door slid open and he stepped into the room, grinning and golden and hefting the baseball bat.
“Did you miss me, Theresa? I missed you.”
She whimpered. She heard the plea bubble in her throat and she knew she was going to die. Samantha had stopped crying, maybe she sensed the danger. Please let her remain quiet. If she would just remain quiet long enough . . .
Jim leaned against the wall and bounced the baseball bat off his ankle. “Where’s Sam?”
“Gone,” she whispered. Don’t cry, Sam. Don’t cry.
“Tell me. I’m her father. I have rights.” He lifted the bat and stalked toward the bed.
“I am going to kill you, Theresa. Samantha will be all mine, and you’re too pathetic to do anything about it.”
The bat lifted and she whimpered and she remained frozen, watching it arch.
The house was silent, her baby was silent. No more crying.
“Discipline is the key,” Jim whispered, and the bat whistled down.
Tess woke up, terrified and already reaching for the phone. She wanted to call Difford and hear Samantha’s voice. Her fingers clenched convulsively around the receiver as she lay in bed, her chest heaving, the sweat rolling down her cheeks.
Slowly she forced her fingers to relax. It was dangerous to call Sam at the safe house, dangerous to do anything that would connect her daughter to her. If you really want to keep her safe, Difford had told her, you have to let her go.
So Tess let her go. Tess hugged her baby, kissed the top of her sweet-smelling head, and let her go.
And now she curled up in her bed, hugging her pillow as if it were her daughter, and thirsting for the scent of baby powder. Six A.M. Massachusetts time. Sam would be at the waking edge of slumber. Did she sleep well at the safe house, or did she have nightmares the way she sometimes did? During those times Tess would crawl in bed beside her and whisper the story of Cinderella with Sam cradled in her arms and smelling like Johnson & Johnson’s No More Tears shampoo. They would both make it through the night and in the morning, like any child, Sam would smile and be happy once more.
Tess wanted so much more for her daughter than running from city to city and living in fear. She wanted Sam to grow up feeling smart and strong. She wanted her daughter to know she was beautiful and loved because Tess’s parents had never told her any such thing.
She wanted Sam to be happy, and the desire made the darkness sweep over her like a wool blanket, stifling her. She wasn’t sure how to give the gift of joy. She wasn’t sure how to be a good parent. She had no examples to follow.
Four A.M. She crawled out of bed, shaking and shivering and feeling her leg throb. She saw Jim stepping out of the closet