June 2011
The church was packed full of flowers and people, creating an oppressive odor of greenery, coffee breath, and perfume. Combined with the suffocating cloud of shame that hung in the air, Anna felt she might vomit. Or laugh. No, that would be inappropriate. You don’t laugh at your husband’s funeral, do you?
Chapter One
August 2011
Chloe was crying. Anna trudged into the nursery, not yet fully awake. She was about to lift her baby out of the crib when her eyes finally focused. Chloe was sleeping soundly. Had Anna been dreaming? She realized her own face was wet and wiped it with her sleeve. She had been the one crying. Why? She hadn’t cried since the accident: not after the police left her door, not when she had called her parents, or James’ parents, or Brett; not at the funeral. Why now? The clock read 2:25. Chloe would be up soon for a feeding. Anna wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. Going into Chloe’s room had triggered her milk to let down, and she would be too uncomfortable to sleep until after she nursed. Her breasts were as hard as rocks, and she felt her tank top begin to soak through.
Downstairs, she inserted fresh nursing pads, flipped on the TV, and got her lecture planner out. In a few weeks, she would begin her first semester teaching at Tate College, a small liberal arts college in Westerly, forty minutes northwest of Ithaca. She wanted it to go well; at least she thought she did. Anna wasn’t sure what she wanted anymore. When she had accepted the position, her life had been as close to perfect as it had ever been. She and James had moved back upstate from Manhattan. He started his position with New York State in Ithaca, and though Tate hadn’t had any full-time positions open in the English Department, they had offered Anna the opportunity to teach English 101 in the fall and a Women’s Literature course in the spring. Anna had jumped at the chance. Openings weren’t frequent at Tate, so it would be a foot in the door; and with the new baby, one course per semester would be perfect. She would find a student to babysit while she taught, and she would have the best of both worlds.
They had bought a stunning old brick home in town. It sat on a hill and had sweeping views of the lake. Stunning might not be the best description, actually. It would be stunning eventually, after they rehomed a porcupine family, gutted it, and renovated every square inch. They had wanted to do much of the work themselves, but then Anna got pregnant more quickly than they had thought she would, and James’ work responsibilities expanded more rapidly than they’d anticipated, and so they had only accomplished the gutting portion of the renovation when the accident happened. Now, nearly every room in the house was ripped down to the studs, awaiting new wiring, new plumbing, sheet rock, paint, fixtures, flooring, windowpanes…. everything.
Anna sat at the kitchen table. They had left the kitchen untouched except for a good dousing with bleach, saving it for last. Dishes were piled high in the crappy old sink. The crappy linoleum floor, marred with scratches, cracks, and scuffs was collecting dust bunnies in the corners, and the crappy cabinets, many missing knobs, hung slightly ajar, showing their barren insides and dirty shelves. How could this have happened to her? This house had been the promise of their perfect future. Anna snorted. The kitchen told the true story. Perfect future, ha! She should have known better. Hadn’t her own father taught her that? James had never been able to resist that woman, and now he was dead because of it.
Anna looked through the archway to the living room. Freshly painted in light sage with warm white trim, it was a stark contrast to the rest of the house. The fireplace looked cozy and inviting. The wide plank floors glowed a deep honey color. They’d been a surprise, revealed after layers of carpet and linoleum were ripped up. The living room was the only finished room in the house, except for the nursery. “Finished” might be a stretch since it held only a pack and play and a futon. The living room furniture was on backorder and was supposed to be delivered…when? Anna couldn’t remember. The alert light flashed on the baby monitor. Chloe was stirring. A mere six months old, Chloe would have no recollection of her father. No memories of his impish smile, his quick wit, his lovely, soft hands caressing the downy hair on the back of her head. She wouldn’t recall the tears of joy he’d shed at her birth, or the stories he read to her. He had stolen all of that from his only child. Stolen their life, their family, their future, all for a woman who had plagued them from the start. Anna was on her own; for her husband had gone and gotten himself killed in a car accident with his mistress.