My brothers and I usually stuck pretty close together during such events. Pierce hadn’t brought a date since Sarah died, and I was almost positive he never would again. Preston liked to “go solo” so he could find the hottest catch of the night, free and clear. Payden was too goddamn shy to ever ask a girl to anything. And I... I just hadn’t ever liked anyone enough to want to bring a date. It seemed a bit misleading – to take a girl I wasn’t that interested in to such a high-end extravaganza.
Anne.
I knew it was a ridiculous thought. One conversation in a run-down hardware store with a complete stranger didn’t mean it was okay to just ask them out. Then again, Preston, on occasion, slept with girls he’d barely known for two seconds. Most of them were girls he didn’t really have much intention of even seeing again, let alone dating.
My truck had only made it three blocks when I whipped it back around and drove straight back to Kate’s Supplies. I was walking through that door, the bell making its ancient jingle once again, before I had a chance to even try and think it through. I knew I would just talk myself out of it, and I was positive that I didn’t want to logic myself away from this idea.
Anne’s green eyes widened in surprise and her cheeks went pink.
“Hi again!” I greeted her cheerfully, unsure if the smile on her face was a good sign or a precursor to hysteria.
“Hi.” She backed away from the counter.
I took a deep breath, and spit out the words as fast as I could. “I’ve got this party to go to... for my father... It’s on Saturday night. I know I’m like, a total stranger but I just... I don’t have a date and I thought maybe you could... Do you wanna come with me? I mean. There can’t be a lot going on in Corydon on a Saturday night, right? Promise, I’ll get ya home in one piece before the clock strikes midnight. You can even keep both of your shoes,” I blabbered, sounding like an idiot, but hoping I was at the very least a charming idiot.
Anne’s face was a mixture of happiness and... something else. Whatever that something was, it seemed to have a rather tight grip on her mouth, because it felt like an entire hour had passed before she finally nodded her cute little head and said, “Sure. Why not?”
2
Valerie
When I had planned this escape, lying in bed at night and going over every detail with repetitive precision, everything had gone much slower. When the scene played out in my mind, I had time to shush Murphy, to convince him we were playing a game where silence was key. I had time to make it fun. I had time to shield him from the terror of what was really happening – Mommy was trying to get us somewhere safe (assuming that place even existed).
But it did exist. It had to. I had two bus tickets tucked into my jeans pocket and two more for the bus that would follow. After that, the plans got blurrier. There was enough money – just enough money – in my purse (stitched inside of a hidden pocket that I had sewed myself) to get us a room at a motel, and stay for at least a month if need be. By then, I hoped to have found some type of job where I could at the very least make enough money to get our own, real place to live. I had no idea how I was going to handle Murphy’s childcare, but it would work out. It had to work out. There were programs... assistance for single moms... And we simply had to leave. We couldn’t stay with Randall any longer. If we did, I was certain that eventually, on purpose or otherwise, he would kill me.
At this point I didn’t really care if I died so much as I knew it would leave Murphy defenseless against the world. Defenseless against Randall. I had prayed that the abuse would never filter past myself – that Randall would at the very least never hurt our son. But the years passed... One... Two... Three... Murphy was all over the place by then, getting into the same types of mischief that every other toddler on the planet seemed to find. And Randall’s patience with Murphy had grown increasingly shorter, to the point where he had, exactly one week ago, backhanded Murphy away from the TV.
“Little shit, you are gonna stop messing with those goddamn buttons! How many times have I fuckin’ told you?”
I’d known better than to fly at Randall in a rage, which was the one screaming instinct alive in me at the time. Murphy had come running to me, sobbing, the bruise on his little cheek already beginning to take shape. I’d pulled him into my arms, terrified that more was coming. But Randall had simply settled himself on the couch with a can of Coors Light and acted as though neither one of us existed, and I’d taken Murphy to his room. I hadn’t wanted to cry – I was trying so hard not to cry in front of Murphy. He was barely calming down as it was, and I didn’t want to scare him even more.
But I had cried anyway. I had sobbed into Murphy’s pillow while he unsteadily connected giant Lego blocks together on the floor. I had screamed – silently – with rage and fear and helplessness. Murphy had realized, eventually, that Mommy was crying, and held out a block to me, smiling sweetly. “Mommy play? Mommy okay?”
His face. His innocent, beautiful, loving little face, with the giant green eyes he’d inherited from me, had looked up at me with such deep concern. The bruise was turning darker shades of red and purple by the minute.
And that was it. I’d decided that day that I couldn’t just think about escaping anymore. I couldn’t let this ever happen to that face again – once was a million times too many. We WOULD escape. I had to make it happen – or die trying.
The “die trying” part was starting to seem more and more plausible as I ran down the trail. I’d tripped twice, and then fallen the third time, sending Murphy and I both to the rocky dirt path face first. I had managed to block his fall, taking the brunt of both hits. The wind was knocked out of me, and Murphy had started crying loudly at that point. I’d staggered, picked him up again, and whispered “sshh” over and over while I tried to regain speed. Randall would have noticed we were gone by now. Even with the Ex-Lax I had laced his beer with, he had to have been back from the bathrooms at this point. And I wasn’t even halfway to the hiding spot.
My hiding spot.
I’d picked it for the fact that it was very hard to get to, and I now worried that perhaps that would backfire. It was hard to get to – extremely. Uphill and off the trail to a steep ledge that curved back ever so slightly into a tiny cave-like hollow. It was impossible to see from the trail – I'd had to hunt it out myself – and I couldn’t see Randall ever going that far into the woods alone anyway. Big, tough man that he was, he hated the Tennessee mountains, and he hated the woods even more. The only way I’d even been able to spend any time alone at all in this environment – finding that tucked-away, nearly invisible haven that would be the beginning of our freedom – was to tell Randall I was going to the local church’s women’s group.
I’d told him that they were teaching me how to be a better wife (we weren’t even married), how to be a better servant to him – that the elder women knew what an old-fashioned man expected in his domain. Randall had loved the idea of being labeled the king of the castle and having a troop of religious old women to support him in this fantasy. He’d never been to a church in his entire life and neither had I. But the “God-fearing, husband pleasing woman” bit had him hook, line, and sinker – just as I had known that it would.