Page 74 of Road Queens
“We’re supposed to be here,” she reminded them. “We have every right to be here, in fact; we were invited by the homeowner. In writing, no less. So let’s go to work.” Even as she said that, the front door slowly opened, and Roberta Swanson peeked around the frame, then crept onto the porch.
For a long moment she just looked at them. “I—I can’t believe you’re here.”
Cass spread her arms and smiled. “We said, didn’t we? Don’t look so surprised.”
Bobby Swanson found a shaky smile from somewhere. “I—sorry. I’ve never done this before.”
You’re in good company,Amanda thought. “Are you ready? Overnight bag packed? Got any backup meds? If you’ve got extra bags, there’s plenty of room in the minivan.”
“Yes,” Sidney said. “There certainly is plenty of room inmyvan, and this isn’t even the first time my van came in handy. Won’t be the last either; you can bet your ass on that. Thank God for my van!”
“We all have our, um, agendas,” Amanda said even as Bobby was creeping down the porch stairs in a way that made her five-foot frame seem even smaller. “But if you’re ready, we can hit it.”
“It was ... really hard—” Bobby said. She stopped creeping to dart around the corner, went down onto her hands and knees, and stuck her arm under the porch. She fumbled with something, then stood and hefted a small bag onto her shoulder.
Didn’t dare keep it in that enormous house. Couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t find it. So he goes through her things on the regular. Christ.
“—because he’s so nice—” Bobby was saying. She was digging around in her shorts pockets for something. “—to everyone. And me, too, in the beginning. He still is. A lot of the time, he’s nice to me. It’s just ...”
“Yeah, he sounds like a real Prince Harming.” At the eye rolls from her friends, Sidney shrugged. “Too soon? Okay then.”
“It only started getting really bad when he decided inthiscentury to jump on the 1990s start-up-tech craze, and it’s been difficult. So he was just ... there. All day. All night. If the tiniest thing went wrong, even if it was just a burned-out light bulb, he would—I mean, he didn’t like that. And even after restrictions were lifted, his company figured they’d save on overhead, so they said everyone could just keep telecommuting. So there was nowhere I could really—I mean, it’s not all on him, is thething. Circumstances were, um ... they played a part. They’re as much to blame as—” She cut herself off.
We shouldn’t be just standing here listening to her. She has one bag; we should be halfway back to town by now.But how do you cut someone off from sharing the harrowing tale of their life without coming off like an impersonal jackass? Especially when it was beyond obvious that talking about it was as cathartic as it was wrenching? Just ... interrupt her? Or try to shoo her toward the van while nodding attentively?
Optics? Now? Really?
“He’s always sorry,” Bobby was saying. “After. And he’s usually very ... um, very careful. About leaving marks. It’s one of the reasons people have a hard time believing me. He grew up here. Everyone knows him. The ‘him’ he wants them to see, I mean. And nobody knows me, so.”
Sidney let out a frustrated sigh. “‘No marks’ is one of the biggest misperceptions out there. There’s always a mark.”
Some more apparent than others, Amanda thought, and made a conscious effort not to look at Cassandra. She realized that there was a reason Bobby had swept a hank of hair behind her ear and tilted her head toward Sidney.
“That’s how you lost hearing in that ear, isn’t it?” Amanda realized. “He did it.”
A shrug, followed by the hiss of the inhaler she’d been digging for. She shook it, sucked down another dose, then put it back in her pocket. “Almost out.”
“Don’t worry, we—”
“Anyway, he didn’t mean to pop the eardrum. It just ... got away from him for a second. Like when he gave me a bit of a push when we were arguing in the garage; he didn’t know I was almost out of albuterol.”
Sure he didn’t. He cut you off; he goes through your stuff whenever he wants but isn’t keeping track of your inhalers? Bullshit.
“He ran right out to the pharmacist to refill my scrip.”
Sidney was right: always a mark.
“Then I saw your guys’ Facebook thing and ... and ... so I called.”
“That’s how you found out about us?” Good, that was helpful. Amanda wondered if, in addition to leafleting local shelters, she needed to whip up one of those online forms: How did you hear about OpStar? (a) Google, (b) mass mailing, (c) a battered friend, (d) pure luck.
“You called and here we are,” Cass said. “That’s just right. Pack up, ladies; let’s get Bobby somewhere safe.”
“She’s already safe.”
This from the man who had just thrown open the doors of the small shed beside the garage and was marching toward their small group.
Prince Harming, no doubt. A heavyset blue-eyed blond dressed in immaculate jeans and a pressed, cream-colored henley. Amanda figured he was sixty pounds heavier and at least four inches taller than his wife. He showed them a fixed smile, but as he got closer, she could see a vein throbbing at his temple. She put him in his early forties and figured Bobby was at least fifteen years younger.
