But the primary reason for her wakefulness was Tierney, lying an arm’s length away. After telling her good night, he hadn’t uttered a sound, he hadn’t moved, and yet she knew that he was as alert and as aware of her nearness as she was of his.
When he turned onto his side to face the fire, as she was doing, she lay in agonizing expectation of a touch that never came. Impossibly, though neither moved a muscle or made a sound, the tension between them wound tighter with each passing second.
Easily an hour after they’d exchanged their awkward good nights, he spoke. He didn’t ask first in a whisper if she was asleep. Even though she was facing away from him, he knew she was still awake, just as she’d known he was. His soft, low voice came as no surprise. However, what he said staggered her.
“He hit you, didn’t he? Dutch. He hit you.”
She swallowed but remained otherwise motionless. “Where did you hear that?”
“Nowhere. It’s just that I’ve observed him enough, it’s reasonable to assume. To some cops violence becomes commonplace. It starts to seem the normal solution to every problem. Especially to a man who’s emotionally fractured and drinking too much.”
She said nothing.
“And,” he added in an even lower pitch, “I don’t think you would have given up on your marriage for any lesser reason.”
She’d never told anyone, not her friends and business associates who had recognized her emotional turmoil for what it was and urged her to confide in them, not even her grief counselor, to whom she had laid bare every other aspect of herself. It felt right to confide it to Tierney simply because he’d been the only person perceptive enough to figure it out.
“It only happened once,” she said quietly. “He’d raised his fists before, as though he wanted to strike me. I warned him that if he ever did, our life together would be over. That’s what I told him. No, that’s what I promised him.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Even now it was difficult to think back on that terrible night. “Either he didn’t listen, or he didn’t believe me, or he was too drunk to remember my warning. He came home very late. He was belligerent, defensive before I even accused him of anything. Spoiling for a fight.
“Because I’d had a lengthy budget meeting that day, I was exhausted. Rather than engage in one of our famous rows, I tried to avoid him, but he wouldn’t let me. He wanted a fight and wasn’t going to be satisfied until he got one.
“He cornered me in the bedroom. Literally backed me into a corner and wouldn’t let me go past him. He accused me of causing Amy’s death. It was my fault we’d lost our daughter, he said. Her brain tumor was God’s way of punishing me for going back to work after my pregnancy leave, rather than staying at home with her.”
“That’s insane.”
She gave a mirthless laugh. “That’s what I said. In those exact words. Dutch didn’t take it well. He hit me in the face with his fist, hard enough to force me into the wall. I banged my head against it so hard, it almost knocked me unconscious. I slumped to the floor and covered my head with my arms.
“And all the while, I was thinking, This cannot be happening. Not to me. I, Lilly Martin, cannot be cowering in a corner of my own bedroom trying to protect myself from my husband.
“This happens to people you read about in the newspaper, I thought. Poor or ignorant or otherwise disadvantaged people who grew up in violent homes and continue the cycle. My father never even paddled me, much less raised his hand to my mother. It would’ve been unthinkable.”
She paused and took a breath. “Dutch came to his senses. Immediately, he began apologizing, weeping, justifying what he’d done. He blamed it on the pressure he was under at work and his heartache over Amy. I could have argued that I also was under pressure at work, that I had experienced a heartache as deep as his. But I knew further argument would be pointless. We were long past quarreling. And at that point, I was beyond forgiving.
“Without a word, I pulled myself off the floor, left the house, and checked into a hotel for the night. I contacted a lawyer and filed for divorce the following day. For me, there was no going back.”
“How bad did he hurt you?”
“I was bruised, but not broken.”
“Did you file charges?”
“My attorney urged me to, but I opted against it. I just wanted out, Tierney. Dutch was sinking into despair as though he had an anvil strapped to his ankle. I didn’t want to be dragged down with him. A legal involvement would have postponed my getting free from him. Can you understand?”
“Yes. I don’t agree. He belonged in jail. But I do understand why you decided against it.”
“I told my staff I had the flu and sequestered myself in the hotel. I stayed until the bruises and swelling went away. When I checked out, it was a symbolic moment. As of then, my new life without Dutch Burton commenced.”
“Not completely without.”
It was a mumbled remark. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear it. In any case, she didn’t acknowledge it.
After a brief silence he said, “I’m sorry it happened to you.”
“I’m sorry, too, but more for Dutch than for me. I recovered. Dutch won’t. My bruises disappeared. His will remain on his soul forever. He’ll never be free of the guilt.”
“Don’t expect me to feel sorry for the bastard. In fact I’d love to give him ten times over what he gave you.”