A Year And A Day. Inglath Cooper
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She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The room was nearly dark, the only light shining through from the kitchen. She tried to sit up. Something sharp stabbed her palm. Wincing, she yanked her hand away, blood trickling down her wrist. Shards of glass, the remains of a broken table lamp, lay around her, the shade resting on its side like an old hat someone had thrown away.
Moaning, she straightened and leaned back against the wall, fighting the wave of nausea threatening to overcome her. She touched her hand to her throbbing shoulder, then tried to move it. White-hot pain shot through her arm. She dropped her head back and wondered how many days she would have to hide from the world to cover this one up. Thank God it was winter. Thank God for turtlenecks and gloves.
She squeezed her eyes shut, wiping at the tears sliding down one cheek with the back of her hand. She despised herself for the tears. Tears were useless, would get her nowhere. They were weak and powerless and self-pitying. The last person she felt sorry for was herself.
She’d long since ceased to think of the poor excuse of a woman that she had become as someone she knew. The woman who now sat huddled on her living-room floor was a stranger. Someone she did not know, resembling in no way the woman Audrey had once thought she would become. This woman was a victim. Weak. Despicable.
Why hadn’t she walked away as soon as she’d seen Nicholas Wakefield standing on that terrace?
Maybe because he’d been a stranger, and there was anonymity in that, someone with no pre-drawn conclusions about her. At the party, she’d barely spoken to anyone, knowing that to linger too long would be to arouse Jonathan’s anger. Outside, in the darkness, some almost-forgotten part of her had been hungry for a few moments of uncensored conversation with another human being. A human being who knew nothing about her life, who might think she was as normal as the rest of the world.
“Mama?”
Audrey jerked up. Her nine-year-old son stood in the doorway, his face white with fear. Audrey glanced at the mess around her, the shattered lamp, the overturned coffee table, realizing what she must look like. “Oh, Sammy. It’s okay. Stay right there.”
Taking a deep breath, she slid across the floor, her back to the wall, each move agonizing. She hadn’t made it to the doorway before he launched himself at her, flinging his arms around her neck and gripping her as if he were about to drown. She winced at the spasm of pain that racked through her, but pulled him close and held him tight.
Sammy cried quietly, his chest shaking. She closed her eyes and pressed his face to her shoulder, soothing him with her voice and her hands.
“I thought you were dead,” he finally managed to say. “I saw you against the wall, and I thought—”
Audrey’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m all right. Shh.”
“Why does he hurt you, Mommy?” Sammy asked, his voice breaking at the end.
Audrey drew back and brushed his hair away from his face, gently rubbing the tears from his cheek with her thumb. “Sammy, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Her son, her precious son, looked up at her with fear and anguish in his eyes. For that, Audrey hated herself most of all.
Despite the pain grabbing at her, she walked with him up the stairs, her arm around his shoulders, tucking him to her side.
In his room, she helped him into bed, smoothing a hand over his fine hair. Sitting there beside the son she loved more than she would ever have believed it possible to love, Audrey thought of what a different life she had once imagined for herself, for the children she might have. How had things turned out this way?
The truth? She had never seen it coming.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS A SENIOR in high school, Audrey took a job with the Colbys, the most affluent family in Lanier, Georgia. They could trace their bloodlines to the earliest records in the courthouse, and Martha Colby took great pride in running her home in much the same way her husband’s ancestors had. Even though Audrey had originally been hired to work two evenings a week and every Saturday, her hours had continued to increase when one of the housekeepers had to leave.
Audrey didn’t mind working extra. While she liked her actual classes, she didn’t enjoy the social aspects of school. Up until junior high, she had liked everything about it and had looked forward to running track.
But then her body had started to change, and along with it, the rest of her life as well. In her freshman year, her bra size went from 34 A to 36 C. At five-three, Audrey was small-framed, petite even, and the change was more than noticeable. Suddenly, boys treated her differently. She hated the look in their eyes, detested the snickers that followed her down the hall. But worst of all were the nicknames she heard bandied about behind her back, the suggestive remarks the boys made when she walked by. One day, she’d gone into biology class and found one of those nicknames carved into the top of the desk.
She’d left the class and called her mom to come and get her, claiming she had a stomachache. She’d spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on her bed, humiliated.
Her mother came into her room, smoothing a hand over her hair. “What is it, honey? What’s wrong?”
Audrey turned over, unwelcome tears welling in her eyes. “I hate school, Mama. I don’t want to go back.”
“It’s the changes in your body,” her mother said softly. “Am I right?”
Audrey bit her lip, before admitting in a low voice, “It’s awful.”
Sarah Williams took her daughter’s hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “Oh, baby, you’ve just matured faster than some girls. Do you know how many women would love to have your figure?”
“I’m not a woman. And the boys make fun of me.”
Her mother pressed her lips together. “That’s because they’re immature and don’t know any better.”
“Please don’t make me go back.”
“Audrey.” Her mother’s voice held a note of wistfulness as if she wished she could snap her fingers and take the pain away. But she couldn’t. And they both knew it. “It won’t last forever, honey. The older you get, the better things will be. I promise.”
In a way, she was right. Audrey wore clothing that helped to conceal her figure, loose-fitting blouses and jumpers. She never wore sweaters or anything that remotely emphasized her breasts. The nicknames ceased. At least where she could hear them. But the boys were still interested in one thing. And after a few dates that resulted in little more than fumbling and groping, she decided dating wasn’t for her.
Instead, she threw herself into her schoolwork and had so far maintained the highest GPA in her class. She spent her free time painting—mostly portraits, scenes from small-town life. She loved the mystery of a blank canvas, starting out with nothing but white space and capturing a moment of time there.
Halfway through her senior year she went to work for the Colbys, and although she got a little less sleep than before, it was worth it to have the extra money. She’d recently been accepted at Georgia State. Going to college was important to her. No one else in her family had ever been. Her mother and father were counting on her to be the first. Money was tight, though. Her father had worked in a lumber mill for the past twenty years, and her mother took in sewing and alterations in addition to her job at the local Rexall. Audrey wanted to help with her tuition so she took as many extra hours as she could.
One afternoon, Mrs. Colby asked her to dust in the library. With its walnut-paneled walls and inviting reading lamps, it was a room she could have spent weeks in without ever leaving. She wiped each of the frames positioned on the round tables, handling them with care. An eight-by-ten photo in a pewter frame caught her eye. A young man with glossy black hair and smooth, dark skin, smiled up at her, his eyes hinting at self-assurance. The Colbys’ only son, Jonathan. She’d heard of him through her older