Page 4 of Double Take

“So?”

“Everyone grieves differently, but you’re too young to give up, to never fall in love again, to never be happy again.”

“I haven’t given up.” She never shared the reality of her marriage. Unpredictable. Mental. Demoralizing. His mind games had been subtle at first, and on his frequent “business trips,” she’d convinced herself she’d imagined everything. Soon, she discovered the loving, dependable, supportive husband had hidden a mean streak. Nothing physical, but in many ways his psychological campaign to break down her self-worth had been worse, because it gave her no proof. He’d been a master at gaslighting. In public, he played the role of the loving husband too well.

When he’d died, she’d cried tears of relief, not grief. But she’d never shared the truth of her marriage with her best friend. Pride, she supposed. Shame at having tolerated his mistreatment.

“I’m happy!” She waved clay-streaked hands. “I love living on Terra Nova, I love making pottery, I love you—even though you sometimes interfere. Life is good.”

“It could be a better life.”

“No.” She stood up. Although she’d regained her self-esteem, she remained cautious, doubtful about her ability to judge character. How could she have been so wrong about Mark? Had love blinded her to red flags, or had he just been that skilled at subterfuge?

“You’re not curious? You won’t take a look? He’s cute for an alien.”

Look. Kick the tires. No commitment. Relationships always started out innocuously, didn’t they? A chance encounter at a coffee counter. A little flirty banter. A no-expectations drink after work. And then you woke up married to a psychological bully.

“No. I assume he’s waiting for an answer—tell him I’m not interested. Explain anoverzealousfriendoverstepped.”

“All right. I’ll decline on your behalf.”

“And delete my profile.”

“Okay.” Amity’s shoulders slumped dejectedly.

“I’m not ready to meet somebody. I need to wait a while longer,” she said.

“Wait for what?”

At first, she’d assumed it was Mark she’d been waiting for until she married him. Amity waited now—for an answer. Faith shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Soon. Soon.

“Maybe it’s a Cosmic Mates match you’ve been waiting for,” Amity suggested.

Her friend acted like a bulldog with the whole Cosmic Mates thing. “If you’re so keen on the program, why don’tyousign up?”

“Actually, I did, but you’re the one who got a hit.”

“I hope it works out for you, but it’s not for me. Moving to Terra Nova is all the risk I can handle right now.” While her creative, artistic side manifested through her pottery, she preferred life overall to be predictable, conventional, conservative, traditional. Her parents, both passed away now, had been flamboyant dreamers, volatile personalities who flitted from one wild, ill-considered venture to another. Her childhood had been chaotic, itinerant. She’d attended eleven schools in twelve years. There’d been hugs and kisses and laughter at home, but also shouts, tears, and flying objects, and moods that turned on a dime.

Accountants had a rep for being steady, dependable. Mark had seemed to be all that as well as warm and amusing.Normal.Exactly the kind of man one could build a stable life with.

And then he’d revealed his true character.

Among friends, he’d maintained the façade, his personality affable, his behavior doting. A good guy. A nice guy. People liked him. “You’re so lucky to have married such a great catch,” people used to say.

In private, he’d chipped away at her confidence through criticism masked as humor, smirks hidden behind smiles, pseudo “concern” crafted to exacerbate her self-doubt. When she created a commercial piece, she heard,“That vase is nice, but it’s not quite up to your usual artistic standard, is it?”An avant-garde piece would elicit,“I admire your courage to follow your creative passion and ignore marketability.”Or, said with a grin, “No one can accuse you of being crassly commercial.”

He’d lobbed digs behind Amity’s back.“She’s such a sweetheart, but is she really the best business manager?”

When she called out the behavior, he’d flipped it back on her.“What are you upset about? I’m trying to help you.”Classic gaslighting.

When she accepted the problem wasn’t her, it washim—she’d married a narcissist—she’d sought to extricate herself. She’d consulted with an attorney about dissolving the marriage. The next day, the lawyer contacted her and said he wouldn’t be able to take her case after all. Attorney number two was also overbooked. Same with the third. This couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? They couldn’t all be too busy. Dread and doom had seeped into her bones. Could her husband have put the kibosh on the divorce? What kind of power did he have that he could scare off a lawyer?

At that point, she decided to find outwhothe hell she’d married. The first shocking discovery was that he didn’t work at the accountancy firm. Never had. Next, she checked with some of the hotels where he’d supposedly stayed during his out-of-town business trips, but they had no record of his visits. She’d planned to hire a professional investigator to dig deeper when Mark died.

“I’m sorry. I overstepped. I’d had a little wine, and I signed us both up. Can you forgive me?” Amity looked so contrite, Faith forgave her. How could she not? Her intentions had been good, and her best friend had always been there for her.

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