Then it hits me where I heard the name before. The restaurant next to the motel. The one that’s all boarded up, where I parked my car. It was called Rosalie’s.
“Anyway,” he says, “make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make that turkey sandwich. If there’s anything you need, just dial zero on the telephone and it will ring downstairs. I’m going to be sticking around for a while fixing things.”
“Thanks,” I say.
He flashes me a disarming smile, and my shoulders relax. My first impression was right. Nick is a nice guy. I’m safe here, at least for the night, but first thing in the morning, I’ve got to get the hell out of here.
Chapter 8
After Nick leaves, I watch him walk down the hall, then back down those creaky stairs. When I swivel my head, the door to room 202 is cracked open again.
And this time, there's a single eye staring out at me.
I raise my hand in a tentative greeting, but before I can even get it in the air, the door swings shut again. Okay then.
I take a cue from my neighbor and shut my door behind me. I turn the lock, then notice the deadbolt on top. I hesitate for a moment, then throw that as well. Not that I think anybody is going to murder me in the shower, but better not to take chances.
My shirt and pants stayed relatively dry under my coat, but my socks and sneakers are absolutely soaked. I kick off my sneakers and then peel my socks off my feet. Fortunately, there’s a radiator in the room, next to the window, so I put my wet sneakers and socks on top of it.
The view from the window overlooks a small, two-story house a stone’s throw away that looks as badly in need of repair as the motel itself. It’s hard to see with the ice coming down, but light is on in one of the second-story windows. There’s the outline of a woman sitting in the window. That must be Rosalie, Nick’s wife. I awkwardly raise my hand to wave to her.
She doesn’t wave back. People don’t seem terribly friendly here. And that’s just fine.
I step away from the window and open up my luggage. It takes me less than a minute to realize the horrible truth. I forgot to pack socks. I brought my jewelry, but I didn’t bring socks. If Claudia were here, she would tease me mercilessly. And I would deserve it, because who goes on the run without bringing a few pairs of socks with them?
God, I miss Claudia so much. It’s a good thing the phone doesn’t dial outside lines, because I would be painfully tempted to call her. And that would be a terrible idea, even though I’m desperate to hear her voice just one last time. If she were with me, I would have known to pack socks.
If I had listened to her in the first place, I never would have married Derek.
She warned me. Repeatedly. She told me she didn’t think he was a good guy. But he was just so perfect when he was courting me. There was no way to know what kind of monster he was.
But up until today, I didn't know quite how awful he was.
Some of our senior staff had to go to a conference this weekend, so they all took off early. The bank closed shortly after lunch, and we were given an unexpected half-day. I was excited to have an afternoon off. I rarely had the house to myself, and I thought I could take a nice long shower, then watch television as loud as I wanted without Derek yelling at me to keep it down.
But then when I walked through the front door, Derek was already home. I was shocked to see him. And he seemed even more shocked to see me. The second I entered the living room, his face contorted in anger.
What are you doing here? he demanded to know.
Nothing, I stammered. I got out of work early, that’s all.
Are you sure that’s all you’re here for? Or are you meeting some guy?
I tried to explain about the conference. The unexpected half day. I plastered a smile on my face and tried to suggest we do something together, as a couple. Maybe go to the movies or go shopping. Or up to the bedroom, even.
But Derek couldn’t let it go. He kept insisting I came home to meet another man. And the jealousy was ironic, given I was certain he had cheated on me many times. He even kept an apartment in Boston, which he claimed was for business purposes since his company is based in the city, but I’m pretty sure it was his little bachelor pad.
I tried to talk him down, but it became obvious he was working himself into a rage. I had never seen him quite like this. But even when his hands balled into fists, I didn’t really think he was going to hurt me until I felt his hands around my neck.
And that was the last straw. He pushed me around long enough. I would not let him take my life.
The part that I still don’t understand is why he got so angry this time. For a moment, when I first came home, he had been smiling. I thought he was having a good day. I thought we might have a pleasant afternoon together. He seemed happy to see me, and then a second later, the smile dropped off his face. I don’t understand why…