Page 29 of Hawk's Cry

As I continue on, I wonder whether he thought I was rude not to respond with my name. Still, either way, it doesn’t matter to me.

Eli’s not home when I return. His bike, which had been delivered without fanfare by a prospect a few weeks back, is not in the garage. At least it’s electric with a push button gear change and clutch which he can manage with his injured hand. I thought being able to ride again would have cheered him up, but it hadn’t.

Still, he’s got his independence back which must be a good thing.

Perhaps he got talking with the men in the Harley shop? Bikers never run out of topics I’ve found. Eli can talk the hind legs off a donkey, as my mom would say, once the conversations turn to motorcycles. Maybe he’s been offered work? Now that would be a good thing. This drifting, living from day to day, isn’t helping.

I tidy and dust. Looking in the fridge, I decide what I might tempt Eli to eat for dinner tonight. Then, I putter in the yard, pulling up a few weeds until the heat of the sun drives me back inside.

It’s not just Eli that gets fatigued. Him from lack of sleep at night and his still healing body, and me from carrying extra pounds of baby along with me.

I stretch out on the couch and close my eyes. Just five minutes. But as I go back over the conversation I’d had with my mom and mother-in-law, I yawn, and a wave of tiredness comes over me. I’m exhausted from pretending I can go on this way.

Chapter Eleven

Olivia…

“Did you have any success?” I plate up some breakfast and take it to the table.

Eli looks down at what I’ve put in front of him, grimaces, then pushes it away. “No.”

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I stare at my husband, realising he’s starting to lose weight. His cheekbones are more prominent. I wouldn’t know what he looks like under his clothes, it’s been weeks since I’ve seen him naked. My man, who had never been self-conscious at all, now only appears fully dressed in front of his wife.

When he doesn’t respond, I ask him again. “Any leads on a job? And please, Eli. Just eat something.”

“When are you going to stop fuckin’ nagging?” he yells. Standing, he paces to the door, grabs his keys from the table on the side, and goes out. Moments later I hear the roar of his bike.

Suddenly I’m not hungry at all.

I will not cry.

Methodically I push away from the table, take my plate to the bin and brush all the food away. I’m sorry, baby. Right now, I’ve lost my appetite.

I’m determined not to fall apart. I’ve a little human growing inside me, depending on me. Trouble is, I, in turn, have no one to lean on.

I could go back to the compound.

That would be so easy to do. Is that what Eli would prefer?

Two things stop me. Firstly, I’m a grown woman who shouldn’t be running home to her mom and admitting she hadn’t been able to make their marriage work. Secondly, perhaps I’d be giving Eli just what he wants, a chance to bring other women home. To explore, using his terminology, what it would feel like to have his cock in a different pussy.

He’s been leaving the house more regularly, as if trying to escape. A niggling doubt inside me suggests he’s not out job seeking. Perhaps he’s already found someone else?

Stuffing my hand into my mouth to stop myself screaming in frustration, I realise I’ve become a suspicious wife. Before I put his clothes in the laundry, I even sniff them, wondering if I’ll catch the scent of perfume or soap that’s not a brand I use. I check his pockets for receipts for, I don’t know, flowers I didn’t receive, or meals out I didn’t eat.

I’m living with a man I don’t trust, and who I don’t know. Living with? Cohabitating more like, we don’t sleep in the same bed, and I can’t remember the last time we kissed or shared a tender touch.

He’s not even trying anymore.

My hand starts to reach for my phone. It would be so easy to call Mom and tell her I want to come home. Within the hour, there’d be a prospect here to help me pack. If Eli’s not come back, I could just leave him a note.

Would he care?

It’s been two weeks since that conversation with my mother and Sam, and things haven’t just not improved, they’ve gotten worse.

What should we do, baby? I run my hands through my now very thick hair, a benefit of pregnancy. One of the few. I feel like a clumsy elephant. I’m tired all the time, and my ankles are swollen. My back hurts, and it’s an effort to get out of the chair. Six weeks to go. I’m ready now. Ready to meet my child, but scared what the reaction will be of his dad. He’s not asked about the baby for ages, and, lost in his own world, hasn’t enquired about my health.

Deliberately, I turn away from my phone. I’ve known Eli all my life, and the man I now live with is nothing like the boy I grew up with, nothing like the teenager with whom I first fell in love. He’s not the man who put this baby inside me, nor the man with whom I exchanged vows.

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