Page 15

My eyes lock on her outstretched hand as a familiar spark of panic races through me. Physical touch is my kryptonite. The fastest way to send me retreating into the darkest corners of my mind.

Strangely enough, the only touch that ever calmed the chaos in my heart was from a man I didn’t even know… Flashes of Alex’s large hand wrapped protectively around mine appear in my mind, his touch so impossibly gentle. Is it pathetic that it’s probably my favorite memory?

Not wanting to give Maureen any reason to question me, I cautiously lean her way and take her hand in mine. “Kelly,” I tell her, picking a name out of thin air.

Her smile falters. “Oh, dear, what happened to your wrist?”

My eyes shoot down, and I see that the sleeve of my hoodie has inched up, revealing a deep blue bruise across my skin. One of many on my body recently given to me by my husband.

I pull my hand back and tug down the sleeve. “Tripped and fell,” I answer automatically. “I’m a bit clumsy.” I’ve given that answer countless times to people who noticed a bruise or two when I wasn’t careful enough to hide them. Each time, they only laughed awkwardly or shared their own clumsy story.

There was always a little part of me that hoped that one of those times someone would call me out on it.

Help me.

But help never came.

Maureen’s gaze meets mine, pity dancing across her hazel eyes. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth and taps her thigh. I can tell there’s an inner turmoil going on inside her head, pleading with her to say something more…but, she doesn’t. “I see,” she says, tucking her yarn and needles into the bag beside her. “Well, since we have some time to kill, how about we brave the rain and head over to that convenience store for some snacks?”

Right on cue, my stomach rumbles. I let out a soft laugh. “I think my stomach answered for me.”

I follow Maureen down the aisle to the front of the bus.

“Good luck,” the driver tells us as he opens the door.

We pull up our hoods before hurrying through the rain toward the store. A bell chimes overhead as we step inside, wiping our shoes on the mat. Lowering my hood, I shake the water droplets from it and trail behind Maureen as she heads straight for the snack aisle.

She grabs a blue rectangular package with a picture of a black sandwich cookie on the front. “What are you in the mood for? Chips, cookies, Twinkies?”

“Twinkies?”

Her brows lift. “Please tell me you know what a Twinkie is.”

I shake my head.

I’ve never heard of it. In fact… My gaze drifts over the shelves, and a strange realization settles over me.

I’ve never heard of any of these.

Ding Dongs? Zebra Cakes? Nutty Buddy’s?

Growing up, I was never allowed to eat anything from a package. My parents insisted those foods would go straight to my hips. And after I married Garrett, he kept me on a strict diet, determined to make sure I always fit into the designer dresses he paraded me around in at one dull event after another.

The closest I’ve ever come to indulging was with a fruity cocktail on my honeymoon. I remember how happy that drink made me. How every sip brought a smile to my lips that I felt for the first time in a while.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I woke up naked beneath the covers of my bed with no recollection of how I got there, that I learned it was laced with drugs. Soon to be the first of many drugged beverages Garrett would force upon me.

A chill washes over me, and I wrap my arms around my waist.

“No wonder you’re so skinny.” She gives her head a disapproving shake. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you calories don’t count on bus rides?” She winks. “I’ll pick out a few things for you to try.”

Before I can respond, she starts tossing snacks into the basket hanging from her forearm. An announcement from the television near the front of the store pulls my attention away, and I glance up, my lips parting as I stare at the headline.

“Breaking news,” the TV anchor begins, standing before the camera. “It’s just been reported that the wife of New York Governor Garrett Johnson, Charlotte Johnson, has drowned in an apparent boating accident while she and the governor were entertaining friends off the coast of their summer home in Miami.”

My heart pounds wildly against my ribs as my photograph fills the screen. I swallow hard as I press a clammy hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing.

I knew this was going to happen eventually.