Appalachian Magnolias by Emily Bartrum
This is unedited, btw
CHAPTER- The Pendant.
How did I get here? I sat in my living room, dumbfounded at the mess I had finally been forced to look at, trying to wrap my head around it all. The mess. The broken glass. The shouting that seems to still echo long after it was all over with. The hatred in my heart that makes me want to plan – and get away with – murder. That little caveat of ‘unconditional’ built into love and marriage that guilts you into staying much longer than you should. I would say more than you deserve, but nobody deserves this. Not this. This… this mess, this unnoble gas of narcissism. Invisible and harmless looking, to anyone none the wiser.
But just like noble gases and narcissists, both can kill you quietly and without warning. Noble gases suffocate you by pushing the oxygen out of the way. It makes the elements you need am-scray, displacing from your lungs. Other noble gases can leave you looking like a forgotten piece of meat at the bottom of your grandma’s freezer. Then you got the noble gas radon. Radon is a real nasty piece of work.
Radon is radioactive, and it causes you to rot from the inside out. Completely undetectable to anyone. No smell, no color, no indication it’s even there. By the time you realize you have problems, it’s too late. Even small amounts of exposure can cause long-term lung cancer. There’s no safe amount of exposure for radon. Just like a narcissist. I heard something from the other room. Craig left twenty minutes ago, so I know it wasn't him. I guess he left the door unlocked.
“Meryl, are you there?” I heard my neighbor from across the cul-de-sac come through the foyer. She was a sweet, lovely lady. Everything I wanted to be but would never be. It really is true that the widows of filthy rich men have the best setup. When I grow up, I want to be the widow of a very wealthy rich man. I looked around the house, trying to decide what story I will go with this time. What could’ve possibly caused all of this aside from what actually happened?
A lot of the time with people, it’s best to just let them fill in the blanks for themselves. Many times, manipulation is the act of not correcting instead of misdirecting. It’s not misdirection if they never started out on the map anyway, is it? So, you let people think whatever it is that they need to think to move on from your dirty secrets. Secrets make us sick.
“Meryl, what on earth happened here? Did you let a raccoon into your house?” She already made the most logical conclusion she could, and she went with animal. How creative. How fortunate it is to never know what it feels like to have your husband beat you and hate you.
“Funny you said that, Miss Barbara. Our housemaid accidentally forgot to lock the doggy door. I came into the house to this, and now I have to explain to Craig why on earth the house is wrecked.” I said back without even paying attention to the real words coming from my mouth. I fucking hate my husband. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I truly, truly hate every strand of deoxyribonucleic acid in his body. I often pray the laminin in his cells refuse to hold.
“Meryl, Craig was here an hour ago, wouldn’t he have bene here to see it? Maybe he left the mess with the help to handle, and they weren’t here when it happened?” Barb was a quick thinker. It’s easier when people think faster to lie. You can let them fill in the blanks.
“I’m not too sure about anything right now, if I am being honest.” I didn’t want to be rude, so I went with vague.
“Meryl, if you ever need any help, come by for a cup-pa tea. I want to share a story with you sometime when you are ready for it. I know you have this mess before you right now, so I understand why you can’t come now. But, if you could, please carve out about fifteen minutes for me this week. It may change your life.” Miss Barbara made her pitch, and I almost instantly denied it. Something in me told me not to, though.
Later on, I would know what that something was. But at that point, I had no idea. I just felt this strong pull to go to her house for tea.
“You know what, Miss Barbara, I would love to come for tea sometime. I am free right now if you want. The mess will be here regardless of what I do. Ever.” I laughed a little out of habit. After you put on a smiling face with a fake laugh to make people more comfortable with your existence for so long, you eventually do it without effort.
Miss Barbara laughed in the same manner, her smile never dropping.
I looked around the room one last time. The marble floors. The winding staircases that met at the top for a his-and-her fairytale. The chandelier… that took two hours to clean, four hours to replace. The mirrors on the walls with goldleaf accents. Furniture that cost arms and legs, that butts never sat on. What a fucking waste of life. My profession was Barbie minus my own career or identity. To survive, we feed our identity to the monster in exchange for safety. Safety isn't free. It costs compliance, conformity. Look, wave, smile. Bigger smile. Bigger tits. Bigger butt. Smaller gut. No children, but be motherly. No children, but have childbearing curves. No carbs. If we feed the beast all of our interests and stay beautiful, we live. We keep breathing.
So we disguise our hope as happy. But then, we drown in pretending.
The flowers that Craig has brought in weekly to make it look like my husband loves me, instead of beating me, leaked water all over the marble. He threw them. He paid for them, too. He reminded me of both of those facts before launching both vases that weighed about sixty pounds each at my face. I told him I could see fine and didn't need a closer look at the flowers, but he didn't care.
I hated everything about this house and that man. I was ready to burn it all down.
“Meryl, you okay?” Miss Barbara asked me as I stood there, stuck on the side entrance door off the mudroom that Craig used to bring in his other women. His favorite thing was to bring them home to our bed. He loved to humiliate me more than anything else on the planet.
I snapped out of it instantly. Smile big and wide. From the eyes to make it real. Voice steady and solid, no wavering of emotion. You cannot show any other emotion from happiness. If you show any other emotion than satisfaction, you will suffer the consequences. How dare you find fault in anything, ever? Even if there is just cause.
“I’m wonderful, thanks for asking! Are you okay?” I responded in a way to stress the ‘you’ back at her, as if to check the ball back into her court. She was scanning the room and the immediate damage, as if making mental notes of every single discrepancy for whatever potential lie I would soon feed her.
“Oh, I’m fine, just fine. Better than I deserve, for sure. I was just wanting to make sure that you were okay.” Ball checked back into my court, I see.
We were walking the cul-de-sac to her manse on the hill. Her house was the beacon of hope for all of us Stepford wives on the street. I was fortunate to get to live so close to her. The other wives envied my station here on this corner lot. Our house was the last house on the right, and then it went into a dead end with Miss Barbara's house being to the immediate right of us as we walk out our door.
Miss Barbara was the pinnacle of what could be if we just held out. If we just kept our heads down, our voices low, our smiles bright, and our waists small. If we just nod and smile long enough, eventually, eventually enough, our abusive drug using narcissistic husbands would ultimately slip up in a way that brought freedom. Whether it be death or discovery, eventually, if we shook enough hands and allowed enough bosses to grab our tits and butts, we could have what Miss Barbara had one day.
Funny thing about it is, none of us were quite sure exactly what ‘it’ was that Miss Barbara had. None of us Stepford wives ever went up to visit with her from what I understood. But then again, she could’ve had a very close relationship with each of them and I wouldn’t have known. Miss Barbara moved silently. She didn’t spill secrets like other people. She never gossiped. She never shared more information than she had to, either. She was a masterclass in etiquette and svelte upper-society mobility.
She moved like how velvet sparkled next to a Christmas tree. She sparkled like the Cullinan I… and II. She was grace wrapped in mercy boxed in love, and she had a way of making you forget that she was born again.
We made it up the walkway of her expansive manse, and there was a servant waiting for her at the door. Her driveway went up a rather steep, large hill. While the staff were dressed to the nines, they weren't in a uniform. The man was probably no more than 30, and the housemaid was no more than 25. She was surrounded by young staff. Yet, she had just as many older people working around her home. It was as if she had strategically triaged each position to fit each person. Everything about this, about her was fantastic. The servant took our shoes and coats, and we were brought into the massive foyer. The whole house was art deco inspired with geometric shapes. I walked into the circular shaped rotunda and looked up at and even bigger chandelier than the one Craig has. WE were led straight down to the hall. We then turned left into a library that was filled with books and a giant acacia wood table.
“Meryl, before we have tea, I have a gift for you. Before you start to protest, though, let’s get seated. I want to tell you a story before you refuse. You may change your mind,” she said all that as she was unpacking the sterling silver serving cart.
The young man who took us down the hallway and into the library had already pulled my chair back from the long acacia wood table that we were to dine upon. She position me at the head of the table, and she was sitting to the immediate right of the guest-of-honor placement. Everything had been set up properly, prior to me ever agreeing to the tea. I was getting suspicious by now.
Miss Barbara was a good woman. She helped out anyone and everyone. She was the Dolly Parton of South Port. She made quilts for disabled veterans. She gave food and money to shelters. She ran initiatives for raising presents for kids at Christmas. She was generous beyond measure, and she employed people at excellent rates. People retired from her services. I couldn’t be mean to this woman if I wanted to; she made her life look so irresistible.
“Oh, before we begin with the food… do you mind if I pray?” she was in her own home and asking me if I minded if she prayed over the food.
“By all means, pray. Put in a few good words to the Big Guy about me for me, would you?” I joked.
She didn’t find it funny. I quickly noticed she never laughed at jokes about Jesus.
After she prayed, we both sat down in the green velvet and golden chairs that could only be described as coming out of Bridgerton. They looked so miserably uncomfortable, yet when you sat on them, it was as if you were sitting on a cloud.
“Odd, isn’t it?” She asked me. I was a bit confused, but I assumed she meant the surprising comfort of the chairs.
“Yes, it is. I never in a million years would’ve expected these chairs to be so comfortable. Do you mind me asking if they’re truly antiques or if you had them custom made?” I was using my prim-and-proper voice without even realizing my pitch and voice had instantly switched.
“They are custom-made replicas of the originals,” Miss Barbara made a face that I knew all too well. She was wincing in pain from a memory. My suspicious nature now on hyperdrive. Even though I had been paying attention, I hadn’t been paying attention with the right mind frame.
I can’t quite explain it, but there was a flash of a second on her face where she was sad and in pain. It happened so fast I couldn’t have taken a picture of it, but I know that it flashed on her face. I knew that look because I spent decades of my life hiding that same look. It’s impossible to do. But if you learn to train your mind to focus on the stuff that makes your face react the ways you want people to see, you can get through it.
“Meryl?” I didn’t realize she had been talking to me this whole time while I put it all together.
“Miss Barbara?” I asked back. She looked out the bay windows of the library and gazed at the weeping willow trees around the pond that sat off to the very far right. The yard immediately around the grounds of the house was hilly, so the pond formed naturally there long before there were snooty rich ladies like us here to look at it. The house sat on a hill, and the yard expanded acres with rolling hills so subtly, only southern Ohio could have. Peppered on those hills were varieties of magnolias that could thrive on the property.
She shifted in her seat, and she turned her head back toward me and the bookshelves behind me. Her head looked back over her right shoulder, and she rich-lady waved to an older woman who was dressed like an attorney. The attorney-looking lady’s dress was a Chanel tweed dress suit in baby blue. She had matching baby blue eyes and hair that could only be described as being English cream blonde. Her nose was pointedly crooked. Her frame was small, and her lips were thin by today’s standards.
By today’s standards, my lips were thin, too, though. It seems like everyone had huge lip injections everywhere in town.
In her hand was a manilla envelope with a small box in it. The box was no more than three inches wide, maybe five inches tall. Maybe five inches deep. She handed the envelope and the box to Barbara as she sat there. The servant that brought us to the library offered to serve the tea, but Barbara cleared the room of everyone but the lawyer lady in the blue dress suit who smelled amazing. Her perfume was familiar. I was compelled to ask about it.
“Miss, do you mind if I pry into your personal life and ask what fragrance you are wearing?” Asking a woman her signature scent could go awry if you’re not careful in this world. How a woman smelled told you everything about her. Figuring out the why of the scent is unlocking the who behind the wearer. For example, Craig’s last mistress wore a perfume that smelled almost identical to Love Spell by Victoria’s Secret. It was more complex, but it was almost identical. It smelled… richer. That told me she was under 24 because no respectable woman would ask for a custom copy cat of a $30 perfume from Victoria’s Secret when going to Le Nez. Which means they didn’t pay for it. So their father bought it for them.
When your husband cheats on you so much he has a side entrance and mudroom for his whores, you get to smell A LOT of fragrances. I could be my own Le Nez by this point. Blonde lady was wearing something I had never smelled before.
“Do you like it?” She quipped back with a smile.
“I adore it. It smells like the sunny day you always wanted. It smells like a blue sky with a summer breeze that brings with it notes of honeysuckle, magnolias, wisterias and lilacs, hydrangeas maybe. There’s something that has an odiferous hint that brings a lemony peppery note, too. I can’t quite put my finger on it.” I realized the stress from the previous fight had leeched through my performance, and I was rambling. I should’ve stopped at ‘I adore it’. I couldn’t explain it. There was something about that fragrance that brought something to life in me.
“Let me get you your own bottle, my dear. Life is too short to go on living without the things we adore most.” She spun around on her baby blue matching heels.
As she walked down the hallway into the bathroom, she spoke with a raised voice back to Miss Barbara. She didn’t shout or yell. Rich ladies never shout unless there’s a really good reason to. Even in a fire, they only raise their voices to a slight bellow. You would be lucky to get a rich woman to pipe above a screech if they were being mugged anymore.
Even when they’re angry, they don’t shout. The richer they are, the lower the whisper, the madder they are. If they’re sad, the softer the cry the harder the sadness. Rich women shrink whenever they emote. It’s how they survive.
“Barb, I like her. She pays attention to details! I am impressed!”
“I agree, Donna!” Miss Barbara leaned far back from me in her seat, as if to further propel her slightly raised voice in response.
Barbara looked at me and asked how I liked my tea. As she poured three cups of tea, I realized Donna would be joining us. Why would she need her attorney here? Maybe she wasn’t an attorney for Barbara. I know how to read people. I know lawyers. I know people. And I know she’s an ambulance chaser. I know it. There is something vicious beneath those icy blue eyes and that almost-glowing like a halo-honey colored highlight job. I realized then I was enamored by both Barb and Donna. They were fantastic women.
“Can I have mine the London Fog way? If you don’t mind. I just saw that you have all of the ingredients for a true British tea time, and I couldn’t resist to take you up on what you were offering so graciously,” I hope I didn’t come off sounding too much like a trained dog on competition day.
“I’m impressed you know what goes down in a proper London tea. Have you been abroad much?” She asked with genuine curiosity. She reminded me of Patty. Patty had this way of making people feel as if they were the only people that mattered on the planet to her. God how I missed her. I realized I was doing that thing I did whenever I was playing my Stepford Wife part.
“Nope. Craig goes often and brings back little trinkets that he knows I would love should I ever get to go myself. But, I haven’t ever gotten away from the house to go with him it seems.” I keep thinking of happy things in order to make my face look the way it should, to match my words.
The truth is, I can’t leave the country. Craig has me in a chokehold and over a barrel because of several things. One of them being my passport credentials. It’s not that he has my passport; he has me blocked from ever getting one in the first place. Craig has powerful friends in all kinds of places, and I’ve tried to leave many times before. He couldn’t ever allow that. I know where all the bodies are buried. I know more than he knows, I think. By the way he acts, it says it all. He will make little hints that if I ever show any reaction whatsoever, he will know that I know.
He used to do it when he’d cheat on me. For example, he’d be like “Hey Meryl, I met a friend named Dina at the gym. She’s a domestic violence survivor, so we sponsored her membership.” That actually means he met a girl at the gym named Dina that hooked up with him, and he got way too rough at the gym. So, to prevent her from suing him and telling me, to stop her from filing a police report for his assault and misconduct, he will do something grand like pay for her membership for the next three years. Then, in a few days, I will see a few thousand here or there go out from my bank account. He tries to act as if he is doing something generous. He is buying their compliance. I know better. I must’ve been making a face because Barbara looked confused .
“Here you go, love!” Donna handed me a bottle of the fragrance she was wearing, and the bottle was beautiful. It was made of sea glass, I think. On the side of the bottle read ‘Appalachian Magnolias’.
“Appalachian magnolias?” I asked Donna as she sat down to take tea with us. The sky was beginning to turn; the weather was far more dramatic these days. Just like Craig.
“Yes, which brings me to your gift.” Barbara interrupted before Donna could tell me more about the fragrance’s name.
Barbara first handed me the box, and I opened it to find a beautiful pendant. It looked very similar to a southern magnolia, but it was different. The petals weren’t as thick. They looked skinnier than a traditional fleshy floral magnolia. Still beautiful, but different. The leaves were made of emeralds, peridots, and glitter enamel. The petals were made of white mother-of-pearl with light yellow diamonds forming the stamen. It was on a white gold mounting with a white gold chain. Baguette diamonds lined the frame. It was stunning, and it looked expensive.
She held onto the manilla envelope, and I wondered what was inside of it. For all I knew, she could’ve done an entirely deep dive into my background, and that could be my own discovery. After all, she did have her attorney present. And I have an innate ability to get these things right.
“Miss Barbara, this is beautiful! I couldn’t possibly accept this!” I didn’t know what else to say, and I wanted to know what was in the envelope.
I looked at Donna, and back at Barbara as Barbara opened it.
“Meryl, I hope you don’t mind me, but I’ve put you in a very sticky situation as of right now. Because I’ve given you an invitation to teatime, you can appreciate the nature of the meeting itself carries some clandestine attributes. Should you refuse, you would have to be sworn to secrecy. Otherwise, we will have no choice but to become litigious. You seem to be a woman of your own means. You seem to know how to get places.” She paused. What I found funny about all of this was how cloaks-and-daggers these women were trying to be over some necklace. And then it hit me.
Donna had the same necklace on. So did Barbara. And so did a few of the people I saw in the house. As a matter of fact, I knew several women and a few men that either had the pendant or a brooch version. South Port had these Appalachian magnolias all over the place, and I never knew what they were.
I still didn’t really know what they were until the envelope was opened.
It was exactly as I suspected it to be; Miss Barbara had an entire dossier about my life in her hands. I could see from my guest of honor seat. There were pictures of Craig and his teenage dirtbags that came and went. There was a copy of my criminal past, as well as a plethora of information about how and where I grew up.
“Meryl, I don’t want to belittle you. I don’t want to make you think I put you in a position of secret-selling or something here. If anything, I hope the information you see that I have can show you how serious we are about helping you reclaim yourself,” Miss Barbara wasn’t trying to blackmail me into participation. She was trying to unlock my cage and let me fly out. Before she could do that, though, she needed to know if any of my wings were broken.
“Yes.” All I could muster out of my mouth was ‘yes’.
Donna looked at me from across that designer acacia wood table. She looked back at Miss Barbara, and she looked back at me.
“You don’t know anything yet. You may want to listen first. You may not agree toward the end.”
Donna was beginning to grow on me. Her baby blue hues and her English crème platinum blonde were all reminiscent of a woman with a mission. But one thing sat apart from her more than anything else. She had a scar on her cheek that looked very similar to a Nike swoosh. Miss Barbara also had scars visibly seen on her face and body. As a matter of fact, it gave me pause to wonder what happened.
“Craig will be home soon. I have less than an hour, even less when you consider the state of things before I came to tea. Yes, whatever it is, yes. I want it. I can’t do this anymore.” And then, I broke down.
CHAPTER. The Offer
The smell of food began to waft through the air of Miss Barbara’s manse. It smelled delicious, but it smelled as if they were already preparing for my impending arrival. I wondered if this was the usual time of day they cooked the meals, because it was fantastic. I looked up at the mantle opposite me. On the wall with all the pictures of Miss Barbara’s life were plastered pictures of various women throughout the decades. In the corner of the room there stood a glass case that held a gold-leaf shovel the size of a regular shovel. Everything here was a bit eccentric, and I loved it. I lived for the adventures in life. Or I used to. Now, I found it hard to see joy in anything.
“Alright there, it’s alright to let it all down here. This is a safe space, and we are here to help.” Miss Barbara had risen from her chair by this point to bring me some much-needed human contact and comfort.
“I just can’t do this anymore. Even if I could, why would I want to? I can’t take it! I wasn’t supposed to end up here! I wasn’t supposed to end up this place!” I was just letting it all flow, but anxiously wondering if I was out of time already. Craig was coming back home eventually. He had to.
“Meryl, pull yourself together and get a grip. You have less than thirty minutes now. You need to listen to me. You are empty inside because you are clinging to the wrong savior. Your savior isn’t The Savior, and that is the problem. You need Jesus, and you need a way out. We are going to help you find both. However, you need to get away from Craig if you want to live past forty. He will end up killing you, and you know it.”
Miss Barbara was putting it all out there.
Miss Donna came in with the second round.
“Meryl, you have such a mess. He put you in such a mess. You’ve had to overcome so much already. We are going to work to get the holders off of your passport and get your record expunged so you can get proper work,” Donna was aware of my record, and it was refreshing.
Right as both ladies began explaining the plan to me, there was a dramatic doorbell ring reverberating throughout the whole house. The music matched a song I was very familiar with; a song Patty loved dearly.
I Started A Joke by The Bee Gees.
I heard Craig’s voice carry over top of the final notes, and I panicked. I immediately pulled myself together, and I adjusted my face and clothes. I peered into a piece of sterling silver sitting on the table to check my makeup and hair. I couldn’t breathe, and I wanted to panic and scream. I felt as if I was watching my body from the outside of it, and it was surreal. I witnessed myself become something I wasn’t ever meant to become. I fixed myself and became the epitome of perfection. It was like someone hit a switch, and I was no longer myself, but Craig’s Meryl. I could hear my nightmares speaking through the hallway.
At the same time Craig was speaking, Barbara and Donna were preparing me for what I should say and tell Craig. Over top of them, I could hear the anger underneath his false charm and cocky sensibility. He thought he was like a Ryan Reynolds Deadpool guy where he could be backward and rude but as long as he was handsome enough and said it with a smile, nobody would care. But the problem with Ryan Reynolds and Craig is they always overestimate their worth or level of appeal to others.
“Hello, my name is Craig Franklin. I’ve come to collect my wife, please. Could you please go and get her for me?” He asked the staff like he was asking the valet for his jacket or hat.
“Yes, one moment please.” The thirty-something beefcake that Craig clearly had issues with shut the interior door in his face rudely. Beefcakes came into the library to let me know that my abuser was now demanding my presence. Before he spoke to me, though, he looked at Miss Barbara.
“Miss Barbara, Miss Donna, do I need to execute the protocols?” Beefcakes had a high-pitched voice that sounded sweet enough to be an alto-soprano.
“Miss Meryl, will you be coming back to continue this conversation? Would you like to finish it now? What do you want to do?” Miss Barbara asked me openly.
“I want freedom. I want to hear what you have to offer. Let me go to the door and get rid of him.”
I got up and walked out of the library, walking the way I came from originally, and I froze in my tracks for a brief moment. Beefcakes grabbed my hand and held it tightly. He pulled my hand up to his mouth, and he breathed a deep breath of air to smell me. He smiled from his closed eyes, as if he was cherishing the scent and the warmth. Something inside of me sparked. I hadn’t felt that feeling in a very long time.
I took a deep breath, and I continued walking to the front door. Craig was standing there, in the foyer, looking like he was inconvenienced.
“Craig, honey, I didn’t expect you back already. I told you that Miss Barbara and Miss Donna from the Women’s League are pledging my membership to the club. Did you forget that I had a meeting today?” Craig didn’t expect that, at all. His face dropped, and he was thrown off guard.
“What?” He just stared blankly at me while Beefcakes stood directly behind me.
I repeated myself. Cooly, calmly. Steady. Just like every other time. No flux in pitch, at all. Cooly, calmly. Steady, Meryl. I realized he was just staring at me now. This was a crucial moment. He would either accept this as truth or reject it for the nonsense it was. I had been dropping comments, leaving breadcrumbs like this for a moment’s notice. You have to constantly leave breadcrumbs whenever you have to constantly pivot from one crisis to the next.
Craig knew most of the women in our subdivision were members of the subdivision that we all live in. The Women’s League was essentially an escape for all the wives. They could go to the what the men have dubbed the Hen House during business hours anytime as long as they lived in our subdivision. The perks of the Country Club McMansion Subdivision Cul-de-sac culture was ego inflation techniques could take one far.
And, many times, whenever I needed to fill the space instead of giving Craig more ammunition for ways to isolate me, I would discuss the gossip of others to throw off who I was entirely to Craig. Sometimes, you have to hide your real hopes and dreams away from the narcissistic crap bag. If they know what you truly love and care about, they will eventually use it against you to hurt you. It’s not if, but when.
I repeated myself, exactly as before. I didn’t change a single note in my voice. I have had enough practice in my lifetime to have total control by now. If he accepted this as true, he would demand I leave and he would try to sabotage my deal. If he didn’t buy it, he would leave me be and see what was happening by inviting himself in.
“Craig, honey. I didn’t expect you back already. I told you that Miss Barbara and Miss Donna from the Women’s League are pledging my membership to the club. Did you forget? That I had a meeting today?” Crap. I inflected the last sentence incorrectly.
Before I could say another word, Miss Barbara was already behind me with Miss Donna.
“Mr. Franklin! It is such a pleasure to finally get to meet you in a more personal setting! Meryl has been singing your praises, and I truly hope that you don’t mind this pledge business. You know us women. When the roosters are out to roost, the hens will get to pecking!” Miss Barbara turned into a completely different person right before my very eyes. So did Donna. Those baby blues became wight walker blues.
Donna peered over Barbara’s shoulder, never taking her eyes off Craig.
“Meryl, it’s time to come home,” and with that, Craig turned around and left. I loudly and directly reminded the ladies that I would be back tomorrow for the trials. They nodded in approval, ever playing the part of the supportive improvisers. Craig demanded I go home. He was trying to sabotage my membership pledge. He bought the story, hopefully. Even if you think you know something, assume you know nothing when you deal with these people. They will answer the same question with every possible answer they could think of, then tell you they answered the question honestly. Ever failing to accept that truth is not multiple choice.
I slowly followed him, knowing that I was being watched by the whole subdivision. Craig was explosive. He never gave anything a second thought. He just went off, and everything was a fucking crisis. Everything was a crisis. Everything.
When we got to our house, I decided to keep walking around the side of the house. I used the whore’s entrance. I didn’t feel like I wanted to go through the main entrance with Craig. I didn’t feel like doing anything with Craig. The only breaks I ever got from the drama and trauma was whenever he left or I had to work out of town. Even then, the control was intense.
“I don’t want you to see those old ladies anymore,” Craig began as he walked into the conservatory. I loved the conservatory of the house. I loved growing things, and since I couldn’t grow a baby in my womb… I went with plants instead of animals. Plants purify the air, and cats smell it up.
“You have no say in the matter, Craig. Nor do I. I have a client to land, and they are only interested if their wife is interested. The client’s wife is friends with Barb. If you want money to keep pouring in, you will stay out of this. I am working here.” I didn’t mince my words. I needed him to focus on the stress in my tone instead of the lies in my mouth. Another narc trick I learned from building things with a monster.
He hit me. Straight backhand across the left cheek. Not hard enough to leave marks, of course. Not hard enough to hurt too badly, either. Just enough to remind me of where it could go. He never let it go so far that he could get caught. He reserved those moments for times he knew I had a break away from being seen by people.
“I don’t know what it is that you’re up to, but you’re up to something. I will be watching you.” He walked out the whore’s entrance with his keys and overnight bag. Finally, I would have some peace and quiet.
CHAPTER When it all came crashing down.
It had been a couple weeks of impromptu meetings and otherwise naturally random run-ins with Miss Barbara or Miss Donna within town. That was the thing about big cities in small states; everyone usually knows everybody else’s business. The truth is, Ohio is a rural state with maybe five big cities. Of the top ten major cities in the state, only Columbus comes close to a million people. Everything else is significantly less.