Page 78 of The Last Mrs. Parrish

The room went black as he turned out the light, and suddenly, I almost wished he had.

Forty-Seven

I lived in constant fear of losing Tallulah. The social worker, the attorneys, the bureaucrats, they all looked at me the same way—with a mixture of suspicion and disgust. I knew they were thinking,Howcould she threaten to hurt her child?In town, I heard the whispers—it’s impossible to keep something like this quiet. I confided in no one, couldn’t tell any of my friends the truth, not even Meredith. I had to live the hateful lie that he had thrust upon me, and after a while, even I almost believed it.

From then on, I did whatever he said. I smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, bit my tongue when I was tempted to argue or talk back. It was a tightrope walk, because if I acted too compliant, he’d get angry and accuse me of being a robot. He wanted some spunk, but I never knew how much. I was always off balance, one leg dangling over the abyss. I watched him with Tallulah, terrified he’d hurt her, but as time went on I realized his twisted games were focused only on me. Anyone looking at us from the outside would have believed we were the perfect family. He took great pains to ensure that I was the only one who saw the mask drop. When we were around anyone else, I had to act like the adoring wife to a wonderful husband.

The days turned to weeks and months, and I learned how to be exactly what he wanted. I became an expert at reading his face, hearing the strain in his voice, doing everything I could to avoid some imagined slight or insult. Months would go by when nothing horrible would happen. He’d even be nice, and we’d go through the days acting as though we were a normal couple. Until I got too complacent and forgot to complete an errand he’d asked me to do, or ordered the wrong caviar from the caterer. Then the gun would make an appearance again, and I always wondered if that would be the night he’d kill me. The next day a gift would arrive. A piece of jewelry, a designer purse, some expensive perfume. And every time I had to wear any of it, I’d be reminded of what I’d endured to receive it.

When Tallulah turned two, he decided it was time for another baby. One night, I was in the bathroom looking in the drawer for my diaphragm—I put it in nightly, never knowing when he’d want to have sex. I wished I could take the pill, but I’d had an adverse reaction to it and my doctor insisted I use something else. When Jackson came into the room, I turned to him.

“Have you seen my diaphragm?”

“I threw it out.”

“Why?”

He walked over and pushed himself against me. “We should make another baby. A boy this time.”

I felt my stomach turn and tried to swallow. “So soon? Tallulah’s only two.”

He led me over to the bed and untied the belt holding my robe shut. “It’s perfect timing.”

I stalled. “What if it’s another girl?”

His eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll keep going until you give me what I want. What’s the big deal?”

The telltale vein in his temple started pulsating, and I rushed to smooth things over before he lost his temper. “You’re right, darling. It’s just that I’ve enjoyed being able to focus my attention on you. I wasn’t thinking about another baby. But if that’s what you want, then I want it too.”

He tilted his head and leveled a long stare at me. “Are you patronizing me?”

I inhaled. “No, Jackson. Of course not.”

Without another word he pulled my robe off and fell on top of me. When he finished, he grabbed two pillows and put them under my hips.

“Stay that way for half an hour. I’ve been tracking your cycles. You should be ovulating.”

I started to protest, but stopped myself. I could feel the frustration and anger welling up until it was a physical force that wanted to erupt, but I breathed deeply and smiled at him instead. “Here’s hoping.”

It took nearly nine months this time, and when it finally happened, he was so happy that he forgot to be cruel. And then we went for the twenty-week visit—the one that would reveal the sex of the baby. He’d cleared his schedule so he could go with me that day. I was on eggshells all morning, dreading his reaction if it didn’t go his way, but he was confident, even whistling in the car on the way over.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this, Daphne. Jackson Junior. That’s what we’ll call him.”

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “Jackson, what if—”

He cut me off. “No negativity. Why do you always have to be such a downer?”

As the ultrasound wand moved around my belly and we looked at the heartbeat and the torso, I was making such a tight fist that I realized my nails were digging into my palm.

“Are you ready to know what you’re having?” the doctor asked in her cheery, singsong voice.

I looked at Jackson’s face.

“It’s a girl!” she said.

His eyes went cold, and he turned and left the room without a word. The doctor looked at me, surprised, and I came up with something on the fly.

“He just lost his mother. She always wanted a girl. He was embarrassed for you to see him cry.”

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