Uma’s first excursion into the little town of Blackwood was a bittersweet affair. On the one hand, it felt good to be outside, driving with the wind blowing through her hair—an illusion of freedom.
On the other hand, her instinct for survival screamed at her to turn around the moment she left the claustrophobic confines of Ms. Lloyd’s house. Out here, Joey was everywhere, hiding in corners, waiting for her to make one wrong move.
But the place was lovely, more village than town. Bank, churches, post office. It was all old and sweet. It came pretty darned close to fulfilling those Perfect American Life fantasies she couldn’t claim as her own, and yet…they felt so familiar. The place was small and charming, with railroad tracks and a tiny library in the renovated train station. A small grocery store, a newish coffee shop, and an old diner. What looked like a slightly upscale restaurant, a pizza place, and a bar. She scouted out the thrift shop and admired the tiny city hall and its adjacent park.
If you’ve got to disappear somewhere, she thought,it might as well be here.
The homes she drove past ran the gamut from large and beautiful to quaint to dilapidated trailers forever grounded on cinder blocks. Chipmunk-cheeked, tobacco-chewing men and muumuu-wearing women loitered out front with children, enjoying the last of the warmth before true autumn set in.
It was the perfect fall day, the kind of day that Uma used to live for. She loved the fall, the scent of leaves on crisp, cool air tinged with the smell of wood smoke. It was a masochistic love, since the change in weather always brought a wave of introspection and melancholy. She couldn’t stave it off any more than the trees could hold on to their leaves.
This year would be different. This year, it would be much, much worse. Her life had sunk to greater depths, making everything so much stronger and so much harder to bear.
But she’d come to Blackwood for a reason, and with all her boss’s errands done, she decided to at least locate the place that had brought her here. Down Main Street, past the post office and a bar, and—
There. There it was: CLEAR SKIN BLACKWOOD. Her breath quickened at the sight of the unassuming sign, and she pulled into a spot a block farther along the road before getting out to double back on foot. Once she arrived in front, it felt weird to loiter in front of the mirrored plateglass window. Besides, Ms. Lloyd would have a fit if she didn’t head back soon.
With a shaky breath, she turned back to the car but hesitated in front of the coffee shop. Good coffee and the chance to mingle with normal people would be just the thing before returning to Ms. Lloyd’s. She had enough cash for a couple of cups. She’d bring one to her boss, maybe give her a taste of all she was missing, give her a good reason to leave her house.
As Uma walked across the small lot, she noticed the place right next door. MMA SCHOOL, it said, which didn’t mean a thing to her. As she drew nearer, she noticed a small placard on the door: SELF-DEFENSE CLASSES FOR WOMEN—INQUIRE WITHIN.
Should she go inside?
Yes.
She walked to the door and pulled. Locked. Damn. For once, she’d worked up the courage to take a stance, and the fates were against her. Oh well. It was probably not meant to be.
The smell of fresh-brewed coffee and pastries washed over her as she entered the coffee shop. It was big, with exposed brick walls, huge windows, and lots of glass-fronted display cases. The girls behind the counter were skinny and pierced and painfully nonchalant. She ordered a couple of lattes and turned to check out the crowd while the baristas brewed and foamed and slouched.
Uma’s eyes found him immediately. Ivan—no, Ive—seated in a corner, his back to the wall, nodding at something a little boy said. The kid was adorable. Dark hair, like Ivan’s, and dimples so deep you’d lose a penny in them. The boy’s eyes weren’t visible from where she stood, but she wondered briefly if they were golden or blue, or maybe one of each.
When she looked back at Ivan, the humor was gone from his face. He’d seen her. Even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his gaze, that stern intensity. He lifted his chin in greeting, and Uma raised her hand shyly in return. There was a third chair at their table—empty, maybe waiting for someone to join them.
At his wave to come over, Uma shook her head and pointed at the door, pasting a smile on her face and hoping fervently that those coffees would come up soon. A close-knit family like that didn’t need some awkward, messed-up stranger butting into their lives and dragging them down.
She’d spent an unnatural amount of time thinking about Ivan the night before, and the one before that. Listening to the sounds he made, she’d pictured herself living in that big, lovely house and wondered what it would be like to be with a guy like that—someone so raw, with none of his edges smoothed out. Someone so the opposite of Joey.
When he waved again, Uma gritted her teeth through a strained smile and turned away, wishing she’d never come in here. Wishing that Blackwood weren’t such a small town. Maybe also wishing she could, for a second or two, relax enough to walk past everyone and sit down next to Ivan, as if she belonged there.
I want to belong.
“Two lattes for Uma,” a voice called.Phew.
With relief, she grabbed the coffees and headed for the door, nearly crashing headlong into a gorgeous brunette. The woman held it open for her with a smile before sailing inside. As she escaped, the kid yelled, and Uma turned to see him throw himself into the woman’s arms. It was her,the wife. A beauty for the beast.
Something shriveled in Uma’s chest. She flushed. This woman wasn’t at all what Uma’d pictured. Ive’s wife was sleek and confident. Modern in a way that didn’t quite fit the man. Her tank top and easy white skirt were perfect for the sticky weather. In contrast, Uma felt overdressed. Like she was hiding something. A woman like that—a work of easy perfection—would take one look at her and decide that she was a charity case in need of fixing. The idea pissed her off, getting her so worked up that she whispered, “I’m nobody’s project, damn it.”
As she reached the car, someone called from behind her. “Hey, wait.”
With a sigh, Uma turned to face him. A fresh cut on his forehead, to go with the bruise on his cheek, made him look even more like a thug than she’d remembered. The man wore cuts and bruises like his wife wore jewelry.
“You doin’ okay?”
She nodded. He’d followed her out here. Why not send his wife instead? He was clearly not comfortable talking, and yet he’d made the effort.Why?
A wild thought splintered off.I wonder what they talk about at night, in bed.
“Ms. Lloyd treatin’ you right?”
