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22
Brittle snow coated the yards of Dorchester, forming a glittering
shell over the world outside her window. The January sky, gray
the day before, had given way to an icy blue and the temperature
was below freezing.
It was Sunday morning, the day after she’d had her hair done. She
peeked in the toilet for blood, sure she’d see some after she peed.
Her kidney still throbbed, radiating pain from her shoulder blades
to the backs of her legs. It had kept her up for hours as Kevin
snored beside her, but thankfully, it wasn’t as serious as it could
have been. After closing the bedroom door behind her, she limped
to the kitchen, reminding herself that in just a couple of days, it
would be over. But she had to be careful not to arouse Kevin’s
suspicions, to play things exactly right. If she ignored the beating
he had given her the night before, he would be suspicious. If she
went too far, he would be suspicious. After four years of hell,
she’d learned the rules.
Kevin had to go into work at noon, even though it was Sunday,
and she knew he’d be up soon. The house was cold and she pulled
on a sweatshirt over her pajamas; in the mornings, Kevin didn’t
mind, usually because he was too hung over to care. She started
the coffee and put the milk and sugar on the table, along with
butter and jelly. She set his silverware out and placed a cup of ice
water beside the fork. After that, two pieces of toast went in the
toaster, though she couldn’t toast them just yet. She put three eggs
on the counter, where she could reach them quickly. When that
was done, she placed half a dozen slices of bacon in the frying
pan. They were sizzling and popping when Kevin finally
wandered into the kitchen. He took a seat at the empty table and
drank his water as she brought him a cup of coffee.