Part 7 (2/2)

There's no malice to his tone, but still, Hannah bristles. ”Does that line get you laid a lot?”

He sits back and lets out a quick, low whistle. ”Ouch.”

”G.o.d, sorry,” she says, immediately feeling guilty for being rude. She knows she's being a b.i.t.c.h, but she can't help it. How can she even consider dating, when Emily is dead? Dating someone would imply she is moving on, letting go of the life she had with her daughter. Emily was the foundation upon which Hannah structured her entire life. All her decisions, her goals, her day-to-day choices were based on how Emily would be affected. Her daughter was the center of her world, and now, Hannah has no way to gauge what to do next, no scale to weigh what might be right or wrong for her. All she has is her gut instincts, and right now, they're telling her she's not ready to be here.

She looks in the mirror behind the bar, noting that Sophie is leaning in toward Robert, whispering something in his ear. She's fairly certain her friend won't be going home alone tonight.

Suddenly, Hannah's empty stomach seizes and she feels as though she might vomit. The wine has made her queasy. She grabs Sophie's arm. ”I think it's time for me to go,” she says.

Sophie stops midsentence and turns toward her. ”But we just got here, cherie. And Robert's asked us to join them for dinner. You should eat.”

”Yeah,” Robert says, placing a light hand on Sophie's lower back. ”Don't leave poor Seth all alone.”

”Poor Seth will be just fine,” Seth says, quietly.

Hannah sets her gla.s.s on the bar, causing the wine to slosh and spill onto her hand. ”I'm sorry, but I really don't feel well,” she says, swallowing down the bitter swell of acid that rises in her throat. She shouldn't have come. She should have stayed home, where she was safe. She will climb into bed, take a Xanax, and drift off to sleep . . . into the only kind of true relief she can find.

Sophie frowns, and her brow furrows. ”Do you want me to drive you home?”

”No,” Hannah says with a quick shake of her head. ”Don't worry. I'll grab a cab.” She stands, picks up her purse from the bar, and gives Sophie a kiss on the cheek. ”Thanks for trying,” she whispers into her friend's ear. ”I'm just not ready for all of this.” Pulling back, Hannah smiles at Robert and Seth. ”Be nice to Sophie,” she says. ”Have a good night.”

Pus.h.i.+ng her way through the small crowd of people gathered at the bar, she tries to keep her breaths even and measured so she doesn't cry. At the elevator, she pushes the down b.u.t.ton over and over, as though the motion could hurry the machinery, and then, she hears her name being called.

”Hannah, wait,” Seth says, half-jogging toward her. She keeps her eyes on the numbers as they light up over the elevator door. Seth stands next to her, not too close, his hands linked loosely behind his back. The elevator dings, and the door opens. It's empty, so the two of them step inside and Seth presses the b.u.t.ton for the lobby. ”I really am sorry for the wall comment,” he says. ”It's kind of an occupational hazard. I didn't mean to offend you.”

This piques Hannah's interest, and she eyes him briefly. ”What do you do?”

”I'm a psychologist. Reading people is part of my job, and sometimes I do it at the wrong time with the wrong person.” They are quiet a moment, the only sound the buzz of the cables guiding the elevator to the ground, but then he speaks again. ”What about you?”

”Bricklayer,” Hannah says wryly. ”Professional wall builder.”

”Ha,” he says with a chuckle, and because he laughs at himself, Hannah decides she needs to apologize again.

”I'm sorry for being rude, too,” she says. ”I'm having a bad night.” A bad year, actually, she thinks but doesn't say.

”It happens,” Seth says gently. ”Don't worry about it.”

”Thank you,” she says and then realizes she hadn't yet answered his question about what she does for a living. ”And Sophie and I own Ciseaux Salon, one downtown and one here on the Eastside. We're stylists.”

”Ah,” he says. ”No wonder you're both so beautiful.” He glances at her with warm brown eyes, and suddenly, Hannah feels exposed, as though he can see right through her. ”Whatever it is you're dealing with,” he says, ”I hope it gets better, soon.”

”You're doing it again,” Hannah says, though not unkindly. It wasn't that he made these observations that bothered her-it was the fact that he was right about them. She thought she was a better actress than that. She thought she did such a good job of hiding her pain. Was she really so transparent? Maybe he was just really good at his job.

”I'm telling you,” Seth says as the door opens and they step out into the lobby, ”it's like having psychological Tourette's.”

She laughs a little at his words, and once they're on the street, Seth hails her a cab. She shakes his hand and looks him straight in the eye. She notices when he smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkle into small fans.

”Good night, Hannah,” he says. ”Take care.”

She nods. ”You, too.” She climbs into the back of the cab, and he closes the door behind her. She tries not to, but after she gives the driver her address and he pulls away from the curb, she looks back at Seth standing on the sidewalk. She wonders what it would be like to let a man like that into her world, and if Emily would have liked him. Before she knows it, she is crying, loud, gulping sobs that shake her core.

The cabbie glances at her in the rearview mirror. ”Everything okay?” he asks, gruffly.

Hannah sucks in a quick breath and nods. ”Just take me home,” she says, knowing that without Emily, no matter how hard she tries, things will never be okay again.

Olivia.

Olivia walks down the hallway of Lakeview College, clutching her purse between her fingers until her knuckles turn white. An hour ago, after dropping Maddie off for her second day at school, she withdrew enough from the bank to pay her tuition in cash, and she's terrified that some punk kid might decide to mug her and s.n.a.t.c.h away the handbag that holds her future.

The idea of working toward a degree in criminal justice came to her one night last year, not long after Maddie's transplant, when she and James got into an argument that ended with a three-inch round bruise on the back of Olivia's thigh, where her husband's heel landed when he kicked her. She doesn't remember what the argument was about, but she does recall lying on the floor of their bedroom afterward, thinking if she didn't find a way to leave James, someday he was going to kill her.

She already has an A.A. in criminal law-it was a prerequisite for her certification as a paralegal-but she knows if she is ever going to make it to law school, she'll need a four-year degree. Once Maddie turns eighteen and is safely ensconced at college, there will be no more threat of a custody fight and Olivia can leave James. She wants to be prepared. She wants to find a job, first, something that will pay her enough to support herself-something that will allow her to say ”no, thanks,” to alimony offers from James's legal team. After witnessing Waverly's husband divorce her five years ago, seeing the hateful way she went after every penny she could get, Olivia is hesitant to become one of those women who live off their ex-husbands' fortunes. She doesn't care that the law says she's ent.i.tled to 50 percent of James's money, or that after her living with his abuse for almost twenty years, he deserves to pay a steep price for all he has done to her. She only wants to be free from him, and needs to do whatever it takes to cut all ties.

Olivia enters the admissions office, glancing around the room to make sure there is no one there she knows. However unlikely it is, she is terrified someone will see her and tell James what she's up to. If someone does tell him she was at the college, her plan is to say she was only doing research on whether it might a good school for Maddie. She isn't sure if he'd believe this, but she isn't going to let anything stop her. For now, she will register for one course, Criminology 201, scheduled three mornings a week, while Maddie is at school and James is at work so her absence will go undetected.

As she stands in line to pay her tuition, unsure if she is doing the right thing, she feels her heart bang against her rib cage in an anxious rhythm. But all she can think about is last night, after James told Maddie her hair was beautiful and their daughter went upstairs to her room. When he was sure Maddie was out of earshot, he grabbed Olivia's arm and twisted it behind her back. With a sharp intake of breath, Olivia bit her bottom lip and tried not to make a sound-she didn't want Maddie to come back and see what her father was doing.

”You should have asked me first,” he said, pressing his mouth against her ear. She winced as he squeezed her forearm tighter; her shoulder felt like it might pop out of joint.

”I know,” she said, hoping to placate him. ”But she had such a hard day. She was crying, James. She felt so different from the other girls and I just needed to do something to make her feel better.” She closed her eyes and waited for him to release his grip on her.

After a moment he did, but when she tried to take a step away from him, he grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and yanked it, hard. Her hand flew to the back of her head, and she cried out, her eyes filling with tears.

”It's not your place to make those kinds of decisions,” he said, spitting the words out through gritted teeth. He gave her hair a tug in emphasis. ”Next time, you call me first. Do you understand?” She nodded, head down, and he released her again. This time, though, she stood still, waiting for him to tell her what to do. Her eyes flitted to the sharp silver pizza cutter resting on the counter, and she suddenly flashed on grabbing it and slicing it across his face . . . his neck . . . his chest. She imagined the blood and what were sure to be his howling cries as he fell to his knees on the pristinely white kitchen floor. She'd watched The Burning Bed. She knew that women in situations like hers sometimes committed such heinous acts. But that wasn't what she wanted-to murder him. She wanted him to see her thrive without him. Someday, she wanted to rub her freedom in his face.

”I'm sorry,” she said quietly, glancing up at him. His eyes squeezed into slits, and before she knew it was coming, he threw out his arm and backhanded her across her face. She cried out again, curling her shoulders forward and pressing a palm against where he'd hit her to try to reduce the sting.

”You should be,” he said, then strode over to the table, where he sat down and took a bite of pizza. She cleaned the kitchen up in silence, feeling his eyes on her the entire time, and she wondered if he sensed what she was thinking, if he knew she had a plan.

Now, after paying her tuition and confirming that the college will only communicate with her through an email address James doesn't know about, Olivia makes her way back to her car, unsure how she should fill the rest of her day. For years, all she has done is take care of Maddie-her daughter is the foundation upon which she structures her time. She feels a little out of sorts until her cell phone rings, startling her. She grabs it from her purse, instantly worried something has happened to Maddie at school, ready to jump back into her caretaker role.

”Hi, Olivia,” a woman's voice says. ”This is Hannah, from Ciseaux Salon?”

”Oh, hi.” Olivia clears her throat and straightens in her seat. ”Is something wrong? Did my debit card not go through?” James sometimes would transfer money out of her account without her knowledge, just to show her he was the one who controlled it. Normally, she checked the balance before even buying groceries, but yesterday at the salon she'd been so worried about Maddie being upset, it hadn't even crossed her mind.

”Oh no, nothing like that,” Hannah says. ”This might be a little presumptuous, but I wanted to extend an offer for you to make an appointment with me for yourself. I know Henry's a master with highlights, but I'd love to be able to win you away.”

Olivia laughs. ”That's funny. Maddie liked you so much, she basically suggested the same thing.” She pauses. ”When should I come in?” She doesn't really need a touch-up, but she likes Hannah, too.

”I have some time free early next week. Thursday morning at ten thirty? Or we can meet after hours, if that's easier.”

”Thursday morning is fine,” Olivia says, wondering if she is imagining that Hannah sounds a little nervous. ”But hey, maybe we could get together before that? For lunch, or a cup of coffee?” She doesn't know the words are there until they come out of her mouth. She's been so wrapped up with Maddie and her illness, Olivia hasn't made a new friend in years. The more time she spent in the hospital or at home taking care of her daughter, the more her interactions with Waverly and Sara Beth tapered off. They sent get well cards and flowers, stacks of books and magazines, but after Maddie's transplant, neither of them came to visit her. For the most part, Olivia spends all of her time with her daughter or alone.

There is a beat before Hannah responds. ”Sure,” she finally says. ”I'd like that. There's a cute cafe right around the corner from me. Are you free today?”

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