Loving Jade: Flynn's story - Riverstone Estate Series - standalone Page 3

  That, right there, is the reason Michael’s been stressed lately. He and his partner are scrambling to find a new facility. They’ve had to turn down thousands of possible clients this past year, insurance covered clients willing to shell out a lot of money for a little relief. They need a new facility pronto and every day that they don’t have one, all Michael can see is money down the drain. Boatloads of money.

  He’s been wound up these past few days because there’s a deal on the table – a facility they’ve put an offer on. If they get it, they can start production right away. But Canna-Med has quite a few competitors all in the same boat – it will come down to who makes the best offer. If they don’t get it, they’ll have to build one from scratch. Months… years of lost revenue. I pray to the gods that they get it, because if they don’t, Michael will just flip.

  And I know he’ll take it out on me.

  Jade

  It’s just an ordinary Monday night when all hell breaks loose, when my life falls apart. I’m making pasta carbonara and baked salmon – I usually cook healthy meals because Michael insists.

  I jerk when the door slams. My chest tightens and my limbs feel heavy. I know shit’s about to hit the fan. I think about the offer. And I know this is what this is about. He told me he’d find out today. There’s nothing I can do but be pleasant, listen to him, and try to console him.

  My heart races and I steady myself against the counter. I’m shaking.

  He sweeps into the kitchen like a charging bull. “Fuck those assholes,” he scoffs so loudly, my ears ache.

  “I… I’m sorry.” I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid to speak. I’m afraid to say the wrong thing.

  His shoulders slump as he sinks against the counter. “They accepted Borealis’ offer,” he says. “The deal is done.”

  “Well…” I start. “It’s not the end of the world. You can start construction right away and—”

  “Do you have any idea how long that will take, Jade?” he hisses. “Do you have any idea how much money is on the line? Of course you don’t. You walk around in your designer jeans and perfect hair, and you bake muffins, and you don’t understand fuck-all.”

  My stomach hardens at his words but I remind myself he’s upset. He’s had a devastating blow and he’s taking it out on me. I tell myself I’m okay with that. It’s fine.

  I can’t seem to breathe when I struggle to make him understand. “We don’t need the money. We already have a beautiful house—”

  “Are you kidding me?” Fuck, he’s not done with me. “What do you think pays for all this shit?! You’re too stupid to understand. What would you know? You’re no good for nothing. You can’t even make me a fucking kid. What are you good for? You’re just a fat, stupid useless bitch.”

  His words sting… they cut deep. The precise slice of a scalpel along the centre of my heart. If he goes any deeper, he might kill me. My chest sinks under a familiar heaviness. He’s done this before; used me as his personal punching bag. I flinch as he inches closer, wishing I could back away from him, but I’m held hostage against the counter. Despite myself, my eyes water and my breathing becomes shallow. He never stops to pity me when I cry. He never thinks twice. I stare at the kitchen floor, not able to look at him. I’m afraid of him. I open my mouth to apologize… apologize for what, I don’t know, but I can’t quite form the words.

  He grips my hair and pulls it in one swift motion – it feels like he’s actually torn it off my scalp, the pain excruciating. “Look at me, you stupid bitch.”

  I feel dizzy. I’m afraid I might throw up but God, I can’t. I can’t. He would kill me if I vomited on him. I close my eyes, struggling to control my body. I pray it won’t betray me.

  He lets go of my hair and slowly turns away. But just when I think he’s about to let me go, I feel the hard slap of his hand across my face. It stings and a slow piercing burn curves around the right half of my face. I bring my hand to my cheek, as if my touch can ease the pain. I cower to the floor. I want him to stop. I know he probably will. It always takes just one hit; one slap or punch in the face, one hard twist of the arm. Sometimes, there’s a swift kick to the stomach but usually nothing more. He’s never sent me to the hospital. Over the years, he’s only left me with bruises, and once with a black eye. Thankfully for me, it only seems to take a single hit to release his anger.

  He finds me sitting on the edge of the bed. I’ve managed to tuck myself into my silky red robe. He inches slowly closer, a cup of tea in his hand. When I look up at him, he eyes me with a soft sweet expression. He’s beautiful in that brief moment. But in the next second, I can see the ugliness that lays beneath. His tenderness doesn’t surprise me in the least. He’s always like this after he hits me; gentle and sweet. In the early years, I used to relish it, telling myself that a few hurtful words and a slap in the face was a fair trade for all the attention and love he lavished on me after the fact, for days, for weeks.

  He sits next to me as he hands me the cup of tea. It’s one of my favourite cups; Garfield holds a toothbrush, toothpaste splattered all over him. I hate Mondays, it reads. Michael bought it for me years ago because he knows how much I hate Mondays. I love that cup – it always makes me smile. But not today, because this particular Monday truly is devastating.

  “It’s your favourite, he says. “Ginger and lemon.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, not quite able to look at him.

  I flinch a little when he presses his hand against my face. “I’m so sorry, Jade,” he says softly. “I never meant to hurt you, princess. But you know me and my temper. I say horrible things and…” he trails off, not able to admit that he hits his own wife. “I didn’t mean what I said… I think you’re beautiful and smart and so, so sweet.”

  The lump in my throat threatens to melt my resolve. My eyes well up as I struggle to maintain my composure. I am not going to cry over this. I sip the tea cautiously. It’s sweetened perfectly – he knows I take two sugars and a splash of milk.

  He pulls his hand from my face and strokes my hair gently. “Can I brush your hair? Let me brush your hair, princess.”

  I don’t say a word. He leaves me to go fetch a brush and settles behind me when he returns. He brushes my long straight hair gently, careful not to hurt me. He’s done this often – he’s mastered my long dark tresses. The slow drag of the bristles as they travel slowly down the curve of my scalp and nape feels so good. He’s perfect when he’s tender, when the monster hides deep within him, when it sleeps soundly. If only it could always be like this.

  Tonight the beast woke from his slumber and stole the breath from my lungs. He terrified me. Now he’s settled back down. But for how long? When will he wake again?

  I try to bite back the tears but they flow down my cheeks, defiant.

  I can’t do this anymore.

  I love him but I can’t let him treat me this way anymore.

  I can’t live in fear.

  But then what?

  Where will I go?

  Who will I be?

  Who will love me?

  Who will take care of me?

  I need to get away from him. This is the tenth time he’s hit me. I’ve been counting. Every time he hits me, I make a mental log. This has happened too often. Over the years, I’ve been telling myself that it’s not too bad. He never beats me, he just hits me. I imagine a lot of women have it way worse. And months go by without a single slap. I keep believing that if I just keep my mouth shut and don’t anger him, we’ll be fine. I remind myself that he loves me. He’s there for me. He’s not a cheater, he’s not a bum. He provides for me and takes care of me.

  He hasn’t hit me in ages – it’s been nine months. I’ve been a good wife. I never upset him, and I cater to his every whim. With his newly found success and the charmed life we live, I deluded myself into believing that he would be happy and would no longer need to resort to violence. I was a fool.

  I’d convinced myself he’d never do it again, but also promised m
yself that if he did, if we hit #10, I’d leave him.

  Now I desperately want to give him another chance. He’s dealing with a really hard situation at work, and once we get past this, we could be…

  But he will never change. I know this now. I need to get away from him. I need to go somewhere he will never find me, but I have no clue where to go.

  Dozens of wind chimes hang from the awning of Auntie Ruthie’s porch. They dance and sing in the wind. Large colourful butterfly sculptures dot the exterior walls of her quaint blue house. The cool early autumn air gives me goosebumps as I stand in front of the door, rooted to the porch.

  I hesitate, still not quite believing I’m really doing this. I’ve called her – she’s expecting me. She and I have planned this carefully, waiting for the perfect time. And here I am, luggage in tow. I reach for the doorbell but before I can press it, the door swings open.

  Auntie Ruthie’s expression is an equal mix of happiness and sorrow. “Jade,” she says softly with open arms. I throw myself against her chest and the tears flow – there’s no holding them back.

  “Come in, sweetie,” she urges. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

  I drag in my large luggage. There are many more in the back of my car. Over the years, I’ve accumulated quite a lot of stuff, some of it very expensive; jewelry, shoes, designer clothing; all gifts from Michael. I had to leave a lot of my belongings behind, but I brought the good stuff with me. I have no income and no education. I have no clue how I’m going to start over. This stuff might come in handy.

  The truth is, I’ve gotten too comfortable, traipsing around and swiping the shiny golden credit card Michael has given me. I swipe, and he pays the bills. But I can’t use that card anymore. I’ve scrambled around the house for cash, collected everything I could find – came up with $273.00. I withdrew about two grand from our checking account – anything more, and the bank might call Michael.

  $2273.00 and lots of jewelry and designer shoes. I should have been smarter. I should have planned better. I should have gotten myself an education. But Michael always frowned upon that kind of thing. He liked me in the house; his suits starched and a home cooked meal ready for him when he got home.

  As I take a seat in her colourful kitchen, my breathing comes a little easier. The sunny yellow cabinets and robin’s egg blue vintage oven always bring a smile to my face. This place reminds me of all the baking we used to do when I was a kid. I can almost smell the gingerbread cookies. I was a child who never had much to eat, but when I came to my auntie Ruthie’s, there was always plenty of food, plenty of homemade treats.

  She hands me a cup of tea. “It’s red velvet rooibos tea,” she says. “Very good for you.” The cup is one of her creations. My aunt is a gifted artisan. Just the sight of her cheers me up. All the years I’ve known her – all my life – she hasn’t changed; colourful tunics, playful handmade costume jewelry, long wavy hair; a mix of white and dark tresses, and bright green eyes like mine. My mother used to always tell me I looked like my auntie Ruthie. I always considered it a compliment.

  We sit in silence for a beat, but never one to skirt around issues, she’s quick to get to the matter. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. “I know it might be hard but it had to be done. This is the best thing you could have done for yourself, sweetie.”

  I’m still in tears as I try to process everything I’ve just done and the implications of my actions. “I feel so empty,” I confess. “I feel sick about it.”

  She rests a hand on mine. “I know it’s hard. You just need to take it one day at a time. Michael is a toxic man… he’s no good for you.”

  I’m not surprised by her words. She’s told me so many times over the years that I should get away from him. She just met him a handful of times but she always knew. She knew right from the start. I’d never told her how he treated me. I’d never confessed that he hit me. When I finally confided in her, telling her everything, she told me she already knew.

  I think about Michael. He’s away for work right now. For two days only. We don’t have too much time. Auntie Ruthie advised me to pack up and leave as soon as he stepped out. I sent him off with a kiss on the cheek like I always do. As soon as the door closed behind him, I bounded up the stairs and feverishly started packing.

  When he gets back home and realizes I’ve left him, he’s going to go ballistic. My pulses races at the thought. “I’m scared,” I tell her. “I’m scared he’ll find me.”

  She nods softly. “Jade, I’ve carefully planned this,” she assures me. “You’ll sleep here tonight and tomorrow night. We’ll store some of your stuff and pack your bags. If he calls, you answer… act like everything’s fine.”

  I bring the cup of tea to my mouth and close my eyes in silent prayer. God, please help me. Help me find my way.

  “I’ve already gotten you a prepaid phone. You can use it to keep contact with me. You ditch your phone here… throw it in my koi pond if you like. And I’ll have my friend Will check your car for tracking devices.”

  “This place…” I start, unsure. “This place you’re sending me to… you’ve been there before?”

  Her face lights up and a soft smile curves her lip. “Yes, many times. It’s beautiful and serene and just what you need. My dear friend Amelia and her husband bought it ages ago. She passed away about ten years ago, but I’ve always kept in touch with her family.” She rises to fetch a cookie as she goes on. “Her husband died of a heart attack last year and now her children take care of the estate…. lovely, lovely children.”

  She sets the cookies in front of me; chocolate chip. But there’s no way I could even eat a bite. I piece together all the information she’s given me so far… I picture green fields, blue skies, horses and a lovely house. “How many children did they have?”

  A bittersweet smile traces her lips. “They had four. Two boys and two girls… but one of the boys died in a tragic car accident a few years ago.”

  My heart sinks at her words. “That’s awful.”

  “But the kids have done well. Amber, the oldest girl, takes cares of the Inn and she says you can stay as long as you need. There’s six rooms in that big old house, and with fall already here, she says the rooms will be sitting empty anyway. She says it’s no hassle at all.”

  “I’m so thankful, auntie Ruthie,” I tell her, my heart brimming with emotion, “for everything you’ve done. For everything they’re doing too… they don’t even know me. Do they know?” I ask, my words trailing off. I don’t want anyone to know my secret. I don’t want them to pity me, to treat me any differently than they would anyone else.

  She smiles at me. “Amber knows… it’s why she’s agreed to have you. She’s a wonderful young woman,” she says. “Actually, she reminds me a lot of you. She’s only about three years older than you.”

  I smile, thinking that it might be nice to make a new friend. Over the years, Michael has alienated all my friends. The worst part is… I let him do it. I turned my back on my friends and chose him instead.

  “And Ruby… the youngest, is about two or three years younger than you. She’s very sweet too.”

  I smile, trying to picture them but I come up with nothing because auntie Ruthie has told me nothing else about them.

  “I think it will be the perfect place for you. I know how you love animals, and that place is full of animals… horses, cats, and a dog.”

  I like the idea of that. A flicker of excitement takes me by surprise.

  “How old is their son? What’s he like?”

  “Oh… little Flynn,” she coos. “Well, not so little anymore… he’s quite tall now. He’s lovely too… that smile of his will absolutely win you over. He’s such a sweetie. He’s soft spoken and kind of shy, but he’s a great guy. He reminds me a lot of his father…” she trails off and helps herself to another cookie.

  “How far is it?” I ask, feeling a little less apprehensive about the whole thing.

  “About two hours away,” she says. �
�Country roads… very remote.”

  I smile at the thought. I like the idea of the country. I need to get away from the hustle and bustle of my life. I need to get away from Michael.

  She takes my hand in hers again and fixes me with a soft gaze. “He won’t find you there, Jade.”

  Jade

  Wow! The place is amazing– nothing but greens and blues. The fields go on forever. I can spot the horses in the distance; specks of brown, black and white. As I wind down the drive to the main house, I take in all the structures around me; a large red barn, flanked by a wide low structure. A gorgeous tree house in the distance. To my right, a modern looking building, and at the heart of the property, a beautiful Victorian home.

  As I near closer, I am awe-struck. The house’s architecture is stunning, and the details are exquisite; ornate windows and balconies, high peaked gables, coral brick and white crown moulding, and a gorgeous covered porch; a series of arches, dressed in ivy. A home right out of a storybook.

  I leave my Range Rover on the drive in front of the house. I step out, my legs shaking a little. As every step brings me closer to the stunning house, I take in the amazing landscaping and settle down a little.

  He will never find me here.

  I hesitate a second before ringing the doorbell. As lovely as this place is, I don’t want to be here. These people don’t know me. Why would they want to help me? I’m probably a big nuisance. But I’m here now. There’s nothing else to do but ring the doorbell.

  In no time, the door swings open. The woman offers me a wide smile. She’s beautiful; long red hair and eyes the same shade as mine. “Jade?”

  I smile. Who else would it be? “Yes. Amber?”

  “Come in,” she urges. She’s wearing an old worn apron. I can barely make out the illustration of the Eiffel tower on it. It instantly brings me back to Paris. Michael and I went there for our honeymoon and then traveled to the south of France – two beautiful, glorious weeks.