More minutes passed. Then, a dozen. Katie tried not to stare at the clock. Finally, it was time, and Rachel removed the foil before leading Katie to the sink. Katie sat and leaned back, resting her neck against the towel. Rachel turned the water on and Katie felt a splash of cool water against her cheek. Rachel massaged the shampoo in her hair and scalp and rinsed, then added conditioner and rinsed again.
"Now let's trim you up, okay?"
Back at the station, Katie thought her hair looked okay, but it was hard to tell when it was wet. It had to be right or Kevin would notice. Rachel combed Katie's hair straight, getting out the tangles. There were forty minutes left.
Rachel stared into the mirror at Katie's reflection. "How much do you want taken off?"
"Not too much," Katie said. "Just enough to clean it up. My husband likes it long."
"How do you want it styled? I've got a book over there if you want something new."
"How I had it when I came in is fine."
"Will do," Rachel said.
Katie watched as Rachel used a comb, running her hair through her fingers, then snipped it with the scissors. First the back, then the sides. And finally the top. Somewhere, Rachel had found a piece of gum and she chewed, her jaw moving up and down as she worked.
"Okay so far?"
"Yes. I think that's enough."
Rachel reached for the hair dryer and a circular brush. She ran the brush slowly through Katie's hair, the noise of the dryer loud in her ear.
"How often do you get your hair done?" Rachel asked, making small talk.
"Once a month," Katie answered. "But sometimes I just get it cut."
"You have beautiful hair, by the way."
"Thank you."
Rachel continued to work. Katie asked for some light curls and Rachel brought out the curling iron. It took a couple of minutes to heat up. There were still twenty minutes left.
Rachel curled and brushed until she was finally satisfied and studied Katie in the mirror.
"How's that?"
Katie examined the color and the style. "That's perfect," she said.
"Let me show you the back," Rachael said. She spun Katie's chair around and handed her a mirror. Katie stared into the double reflection and nodded.
"Okay, that's it, then," Rachel said.
"How much is it?"
Rachel told her and Katie dug into her purse. She pulled out the money she needed, including the tip. "Could I have a receipt?"
"Sure," Rachel said. "Just come with me to the register."
The girl wrote it up. Kevin would check it and ask for the change when she got back in the car, so she made sure Rachel included the tip. She glanced at the clock. Twelve minutes.
Kevin had yet to return and her heart was beating fast as she slipped her jacket and gloves back on. She left the salon while Rachel was still talking to her. Next door, at Radio Shack, she asked the clerk for a disposable cell phone and a card that allowed her twenty hours of service. She felt faint as she said the words, knowing that after this, there was no turning back.
He pulled one out from under the counter and began to ring her up while he explained how it worked. She had extra money in her purse tucked into a tampon case because she knew Kevin would never look there. She pulled it out, laying the crumpled bills on the counter. The clock was continuing to tick and she looked out at the lot again. She was beginning to feel dizzy and her mouth had gone dry.
It took the clerk forever to ring her up. Though she was paying cash, he asked for her name, address, and zip code. Pointless. Ridiculous. She wanted to pay and get out of there. She counted to ten and the clerk still typed. On the road, the light had turned red. Cars were waiting. She wondered if Kevin was getting ready to turn into the lot. She wondered if he would see her leaving the store. It was hard for her to breathe again.
She tried to open the plastic packaging, but it was impossible--as strong as steel. Too big for her small handbag, too big for her pocket. She asked the clerk for a pair of scissors and it took him a precious minute to find one. She wanted to scream, to tell him to hurry because Kevin would be here any minute. She turned toward the window instead.
When the phone was free, she jammed it into her jacket pocket along with the prepaid card. The clerk asked if she wanted a bag but she was out the door without answering. The phone felt like lead, and the snow and ice made it hard to keep her balance.
She opened the door of the salon and went back inside. She slipped off her jacket and gloves and waited by the register. Thirty seconds later, she saw Kevin's car turn into the lot, angling toward the salon.
There was snow on her jacket and she quickly brushed at it as Rachel came toward her. Katie panicked at the thought that Kevin might have noticed. She concentrated, urging herself to stay in control. To act natural.
"Did you forget something?" Rachel asked.
Katie exhaled. "I was going to wait outside but it's too cold," she explained. "And then I realized I didn't get your card."
Rachel's face lit up. "Oh, that's right. Hold on a second," she said. She walked toward her station and pulled a card from the drawer. Katie knew that Kevin was watching her from inside the car, but she pretended not to notice.
Rachel returned with her business card and handed it over. "I usually don't work on Sundays or Mondays," she said.
Katie nodded. "I'll give you a call."
Behind her, she heard the door open and Kevin was standing in the doorway. He usually didn't come inside and her heart pounded. She slipped her jacket back on, trying to control the trembling of her hands. Then, she turned and smiled.
18
The snow was falling harder as Kevin Tierney pulled the car into the driveway. There were bags of groceries in the backseat and Kevin grabbed three of them before walking toward the door. He'd said nothing on the drive from the salon, had said little to her in the grocery store. Instead, he'd walked beside her as she scanned the shelves looking for sales and trying not to think about the phone in her pocket. Money was tight and Kevin would be angry if she spent too much. Their mortgage took nearly half his salary, and credit card bills consumed another chunk. Most of the time, they had to eat in, but he liked restaurant-type meals, with a main course and two side dishes and sometimes a salad. He refused to eat leftovers and it was hard to make the budget stretch. She had to plan the menu carefully, and she cut coupons from the newspaper. When Kevin paid for the groceries, she handed him the change from the salon and the receipt. He counted the money, making sure everything was there.
At home, she rubbed her arms to stay warm. The house was old and frigid air wormed its way through the window seams and beneath the front door. The bathroom floor was cold enough to make her feet ache, but Kevin complained about the cost of heating oil and never let her adjust the thermostat. When he was at work, she wore a sweatshirt and slippers around the house, but when he was home, he wanted her to look sexy.
Kevin placed the bags of groceries on the kitchen table. She put her bags beside his as he moved to the refrigerator. Opening the freezer, he pulled out a bottle of vodka and a couple of ice cubes. He dropped the cubes into a glass and poured the vodka. The glass was nearly full by the time he stopped pouring. Leaving her alone, he went to the living room and she heard the television come on and the sounds of ESPN. The announcer was talking about the Patriots and the play-offs and the chances of winning another Super Bowl. Last year, Kevin had gone to a Patriots game; he'd been a fan since childhood.
Katie slipped her jacket off and reached into the pocket. She had, she suspected, a couple of minutes and she hoped it was enough. After peeking in the living room, she hurried to the sink. In the cupboard below, there was a box of SOS scrubbing pads. She placed the cell phone at the bottom of the box and put the pads over the top of it. She closed the cupboard quietly before grabbing her jacket, hoping her face wasn't flushed, praying he hadn't seen her. With a long breath to steel herself, she looped it over her arm, carrying it through the living room t
oward the foyer closet. The room seemed to stretch as she moved through it, like a room viewed through a fun-house mirror at a carnival, but she tried to ignore the sensation. She knew he'd be able to see through her, to read her mind and know what she'd done, but he never turned away from the television. Only when she was back in the kitchen did her breathing begin to slow.
She began to unpack the groceries, still feeling dazed but knowing she had to act normal. Kevin liked a tidy house, especially the kitchen and bathrooms. She put away the cheese and eggs in their separate compartments in the refrigerator. She pulled the old vegetables from the drawer and wiped it down before putting the new vegetables on the bottom. She kept out some green beans and found a dozen red potatoes in a basket on the pantry floor. She left a cucumber on the counter, along with iceberg lettuce and a tomato for a salad. The main course was marinated strip steaks.
She'd put the steaks in the marinade the day before: red wine, orange juice, grapefruit juice, salt, and pepper. The acidity of the juices made the meat tender and gave it extra flavor. It was in a casserole dish on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator.
She put the rest of the groceries away, rotating the older items to the front, then folded the bags and put them under the sink. From a drawer, she removed a knife; the cutting board was beneath the toaster and she set that near the burner. She cut the potatoes in half, only enough for the two of them. She oiled a baking pan, turned the oven on, and seasoned the potatoes with parsley, salt, pepper, and garlic. They would go in before the steaks and she would have to reheat them. The steaks needed to be broiled.
Kevin liked his salads finely diced, with blue cheese crumbles and croutons and Italian dressing. She cut the tomato in half and cut a quarter of the cucumber before wrapping the remainder in plastic wrap and putting it back in the refrigerator. As she opened the door, she noticed Kevin in the kitchen behind her, leaning against the doorjamb that led to the dining room. He took a long drink, finishing his vodka and continuing to watch her, his presence all-encompassing.
He didn't know she'd left the salon, she reminded herself. He didn't know she'd bought a cell phone. He would have said something. He would have done something.
"Steaks tonight?" he finally asked.
She closed the refrigerator door and kept moving, trying to appear busy, staying ahead of her fears. "Yes," she said. "I just turned on the oven, so it'll be a few minutes. I've got to put the potatoes in first."
Kevin stared at her. "Your hair looks good," he said.
"Thank you. She did a good job."
Katie went back to the cutting board. She began to cut the tomato, making a long slice.
"Not too big," he said, nodding in her direction.
"I know," she said. She smiled as he moved to the freezer again. Katie heard the clink of cubes in his glass.
"What did you talk about when you were getting your hair done?"
"Not much. Just the usual. You know how stylists are. They'll talk about anything."
He shook his glass. She could hear the cubes clink against the glass. "Did you talk about me?"
"No," she said.
She knew he wouldn't have liked that and he nodded. He pulled the bottle of vodka out again and set it beside his glass on the counter before moving behind her. He stood, watching over her shoulder as she diced the tomatoes. Small pieces, no larger than a pea. She could feel his breath on her neck and tried not to cringe as he placed his hands on her hips. Knowing what she had to do, she set the knife down and turned toward him, putting her arms around his neck. She kissed him with a little tongue knowing he wanted her to, and didn't see the slap coming until she felt the sting against her cheek. It burned, hot and red. Sharp. Bee stings.
"You made me waste my entire afternoon!" he shouted at her. He gripped her arms tight, squeezing hard. His mouth was contorted, his eyes already bloodshot. She could smell the booze on his breath, and spittle hit her face. "My only day off and you pick that day to get your damn hair done in the middle of the city! And then go grocery shopping!"
She wiggled, trying to back away, and he finally let her go. He shook his head, the muscle of his jaw pulsing. "Did you ever stop to think that I might have wanted to relax today? Just take it easy on my only day off?"
"I'm sorry," she said, holding her cheek. She didn't say that she'd checked with him twice earlier in the week if it would be okay, or that he was the one who made her switch salons because he didn't want her making friends. Didn't want anyone knowing their business.
"I'm sorry," he mimicked her. He stared at her before shaking his head again. "Christ almighty," he said. "Is it so hard for you to think about anyone other than yourself?"
He reached out, trying to grab her, and she turned, trying to run. He was ready for her and there was nowhere to go. He struck fast and hard, his fist a piston, firing at her lower back. She gasped, her vision going black in the corners, feeling as though she'd been pierced with a knife. She collapsed to the floor, her kidney on fire, the pain shooting through her legs and up her spine. The world was spinning, and when she tried to get up, the movement only made it worse.
"You're so damn selfish all the time!" he said, towering over her.
She said nothing. Couldn't say anything. Couldn't breathe. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and wondered if she would pee blood tomorrow. The pain was a razor, slashing at her nerves, but she wouldn't cry because that only made him angrier.
He continued to stand over her, then let out a disgusted sigh. He reached for his empty glass and grabbed the bottle of vodka on the way out of the kitchen.
It took her almost a minute to summon the strength to get up. When she started cutting again, her hands were shaking. The kitchen was cold and the pain was intense in her back, pulsing with every heartbeat. The week before, he'd hit her so hard in the stomach that she'd spent the rest of the night vomiting. She'd fallen to the floor and he'd grabbed her by the wrist to pull her up. The bruise on her wrist was shaped like fingers. Branches of hell.
Tears were on her cheeks and she had to keep shifting her weight to keep the pain at bay as she finished dicing the tomato. She diced the cucumber as well. Small pieces. Lettuce, too, diced and chopped. The way he wanted it. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and moved slowly toward the refrigerator. She pulled out a packet of blue cheese before finding the croutons in the cupboard.
In the living room, he'd turned the volume up again.
The oven was ready and she put the baking sheet in and set the timer. When the heat hit her face, she realized her skin was still stinging, but she doubted that he'd left a mark there. He knew exactly how hard to strike and she wondered where he'd learned that, whether it was something that all men knew, whether there were secret classes with instructors who specialized in teaching such things. Or whether it was just Kevin.
The pain in her back had finally begun to lessen to a throb. She could breathe normally again. Wind blew through the seams in the window and the sky had turned a dark gray. Snow tapped gently on the glass. She peeked toward the living room, saw Kevin seated on the couch, and went to lean against the counter. She took off one pump and rubbed her toes, trying to get the blood flowing, trying to warm her feet. She did the same with the other foot before slipping her pumps back on.
She rinsed and cut the green beans and put some olive oil in the frying pan. She would start the beans when the steaks went in the broiler. She tried again not to think about the phone beneath the sink.
She was removing the baking sheet from the oven when Kevin came back in the kitchen. He was holding his glass and it was half empty. His eyes were already glassy. Four or five drinks so far. She couldn't tell. She put the sheet on the stove.
"Just a little bit longer," she said, her tone neutral, pretending that nothing had happened. She'd learned that if she acted angry or hurt, it only enraged him. "I have to finish the steaks and then dinner will be ready."
"I'm sorry," he said. He swayed slightly.
; She smiled. "I know. It's okay. It's been a hard few weeks. You've been working a lot."
"Are those new jeans?" The words came out slurry.
"No," she said. "I just haven't worn them for a while."
"They look good."
"Thank you," she said.
He took a step toward her. "You're so beautiful. You know I love you, right?"
"I know."
"I don't like hitting you. You just don't think sometimes."
She nodded, looking away, trying to think of something to do, needing to stay busy, then remembered she had to set the table. She moved to the cupboard near the sink.
He moved behind her as she was reaching for the plates and rotated her toward him, pulling her close. She inhaled before offering a contented sigh, because she knew he wanted her to make those kinds of sounds. "You're supposed to say that you love me, too," he whispered. He kissed her cheek and she put her arms around him. She could feel him pressed against her, knew what he wanted.
"I love you," she said.
His hand traveled to her breast. She waited for the squeeze, but it didn't come. Instead, he caressed it gently. Despite herself, her nipple began to harden and she hated it but she couldn't help it. His breath was hot. Boozy.
"God, you're beautiful. You've always been beautiful, from the first time I saw you." He pressed himself harder against her and she could feel him. "Let's hold off on putting the steaks in," he said. "Dinner can wait for a little while."
"I thought you were hungry." She made it sound like a tease.
"I'm hungry for something else right now," he whispered. He unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it open before moving to the snap on her jeans.
"Not here," she said, leaning her head back, letting him continue to kiss her. "In the bedroom, okay?"
"How about the table? Or on the counter instead?"
"Please, baby," she murmured, her head back as he kissed her neck. "That's not very romantic."
"But it's sexy," he said.
"What if someone sees us through the window?"
"You're no fun," he said.
"Please?" she said again. "For me? You know how hot you make me in bed."