Page 35 of Finally Mine
She opened the screen door and slid the key into the lock, not wanting to be observed skulking about his front porch. There was enough talk around town about her. Maybe she’d gone a little far in giving Benevolence something else to see besides a broken, battered woman. But there was no turning back now.
She was officially coordinating the town’s Fourth of July celebration.
And in small-town America that served up a large percentage of its populace to the nearby National Guard unit, well, she couldn’t afford to screw it all up. There was nothing bigger in Benevolence than its homage to the country and its patriots.
Gloria had been feeling fairly confident—or was that delusional?—in her ability to coordinate it all.
And then the letter arrived.
The envelope stamped with the telltaleMailed from a state correctional institutionmark. She turned the knob and pushed open the heavy wood-and-glass door.
He’d gone for light hardwood throughout. Original, Gloria guessed by the scarring. Battered but beautiful. The walls were a pristine white that, if given the chance, she would change to hunter green or a slate blue. The living and dining spaces were open to each other, bisected by the staircase. There were plants crowded on end tables, perched on the fireplace mantel, and crammed onto the built-in shelves.
Gloria didn’t know a ton about taking care of living things, but she assumed that plants needed light more than books and magazines. She stepped up to the aloe plant on the mantel. It was still in its brown retail pot, a dinner plate shoved underneath to catch excess water. A quick spin of the pot revealed the price tag.
The plant next to it, a small Boston fern, still bore its identification marker in the soil.
She examined the other plants in the room. Had Aldo purchased an entire garden center’s worth of plants just to give her something to water?
The thought made her smile. It wasn’t so much underhanded as opportunistic. And dare she think it? A little romantic. She’d offered to water his plants, after all. Had he really wanted her in his house that much?
Considering the possibility gave her a dark thrill that propelled her up the L-shaped staircase in search of his bedroom. There were three bedrooms on this level. A lot of room for a bachelor. Gloria found the master at the back of the house with a wall of windows overlooking the backyard. The furniture—a bed, a dresser, and an oversized chair—was Aldo-esque. Sturdy, masculine, but still friendly, she decided, perching on the soft mattress. Eyeing the pillows, she thought about Aldo Moretta, her past crush and potential future boyfriend, laying his head there.
He’d hung photos on the walls in here. His mother, him and the Garrisons. One of him and Luke shirtless and laughing in some desert. Both men were excellent physical specimens. Both were mugging for the camera. But only one of them had her pulse kicking into gear. Gloria wasn’t sure if her libido was coming back to life or if it was rusty and confused from disuse. She shouldn’t be having these feelings, that quickening, that honeyed slide into attraction. It was too soon. She didn’treallyknow him. Hadn’t she vowed that she’d never make that mistake of falling too fast again?
With reluctance, she turned away from the photo. There were more plants here, stacked like mismatched socks on his otherwise orderly dresser. Aldo had wanted her in here. Wanted this connection to her. Whatever his reasons, Gloria needed it, too.
She slipped off her shoes, pulled the offending letter from her back pocket, and settled back against Aldo’s pillows, his scent rising up around her. A protective shield between herself and what waited for her inside the envelope. She didn’t want to open this in her mother’s house. Not in that sweet sanctuary. Gloria wouldn’t invite Glenn and his evil into that space. Here, she was protected.
She slid her thumb under the tab and ripped the envelope open like the tearing off of a bandage. The handwriting, so terrifyingly familiar, leapt off the page with its intended message: hate.
You owe me and you will pay.
When I get home, you’ll never forget your place again.
She swallowed hard against the fear and bile that rose in her throat. “He can’t touch me,” she reminded herself, pressing her face into Aldo’s pillow. “He can’t ever touch me again.” But the words didn’t ring true. There were too many ways for the system to fail her. Too many ways for Gloria to fail herself.
“Get a grip,” Gloria muttered. She forced herself to sit up and look at the letter. She was here, and he was miles away, behind bars. Nothing was wrong in this moment besides the fact that he could still touch her with his poison. Venom through ink. She could feel him in the room with her.
“Read it again," she told herself.
Steeling her spine, she read the words again. Reminded herself where she was, wherehewas.
Sobriety hadn’t done Glenn any favors. He was still a warped, miserable monster. And he blamed her for it all. But he was wrong. She had already paid for her mistakes. It was his turn.
Glancing around the room, feeling Aldo’s presence, Gloria breathed deeply. She couldn’t put another man between her and Glenn. No. It wasn’t healthy. But maybe she could put the spirit, the essence of Aldo Moretta’s faith in her, in that craggy, terrifying void.
She swiped at the tears that had slipped unnoticed from the corners of her eyes and reached for her phone. “Hi, it’s Gloria Parker. Do you have a minute to talk today?”
* * *
Ty and Sophie Adler’shouse was bursting at the seams with a barking dog and laughing toddler. Ty, in a t-shirt and gym shorts, met Gloria on the front stoop.
“I’m sorry,” Gloria apologized on automatic. “I didn’t realize it was your day off. We can talk later.” She made a move to back away, to stop inconveniencing him.
“If I didn’t have time to talk, I wouldn’t have told you to come on over,” Ty argued good-naturedly. “Now, come on inside so my wife and I have to pretend to be human beings in front of company.”
He held the door for her and waited until she tentatively stepped across the threshold. This wasn’t a matter she wanted to bring into the man’s home. It wasn’t something she felt like she could or should share with Sophie. They were new friends. New friends didn’t dump abusive letters from psychotic exes on each other in the early phases of friendship. They talked about nail polish colors and buy-one-get-one deals at the grocery store.
