Page 34 of Kill For Me Kill For You
‘You’re doing great,’ said Scott. ‘And did I mention that you look amazing?’
She’d spent time on her hazel brown hair, curling it at the bottom so that it caressed her bare shoulders. The dress had been ordered online and delivered to the hotel. It was her size, but it felt a little big on her. Even though she hadn’t been exercising, she hadn’t really been eating either. This would be her first real dinner since . . .
September fourteenth.
The night of the incidentas Farrow called it.
It would be Thanksgiving in two days’ time. More than two months since the attack. Those thoughts came frequently now. Her life was suddenly divided between the woman she had been before that night, and the woman she was now. It was a line. A life before, and not much of a life after. This life felt a lot like death. Or a punishment that was just as bad. She was afraid of everything – people, noises, being on her own. Because she knew the man who did this to her was still out there, somewhere.
Another waiter appeared, told them all about the specials and left them to think.
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Scott.
‘My head is a little clearer,’ said Ruth. ‘At first, I just wanted everything to go back to the way it was. To reset. Now I know that can’t happen. I don’t think there is a normal any more. Not for me.’
Scott nodded, said, ‘I know.’ But she could tell by the wrinkles in his brow, his eyes darting to the left and then back to her that he didn’t know. Not really. Not that he hadn’t been trying, and he had looked after her so well, but he would never fully understand.
‘It’s like someone I love is dead, but I can’t grieve for them. Not properly. And so the pain just goes on. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about this now. This is supposed to be a special night.’
He reached out, placed his hand delicately on top of her slender fingers.
‘I think we could get close to normal. Look at us now. We’re out in public, about to enjoy a fine meal. This is what normal people do. We have to grab these moments. There will be more of them. We can take it slow, bit by bit. Maybe we can come back here for Thanksgiving on Thursday?’
Ruth resisted the urge to tell Scott not to put any pressure on her.
‘We could still have a great life,’ he said.
Her lips curled into a smile, but it couldn’t wipe away the strain of sadness and fear preserved in her eyes. She had seen it in the mirror. An anxious dread, frozen in her pale brown eyes like a mosquito imprisoned for all time in a bead of amber.
Scott talked about some of his friends – Gordon and his continuing marital difficulties. Ruth knew he was attempting a normal conversation. She nodded along, and then he changed the topic to the office. This was what ordinary couples talked about, and it all seemed so frivolous. Scott sighed, and looked at the menu, perhaps sensing Ruth wasn’t taking anything in. He was trying. And it made Ruth want to try too, but it was so hard.
Ruth already knew she couldn’t eat. Even looking at the food on the menu made her feel a little sick. She put her elbows on the table and rested her chin on interlocked fingers. It stopped them shaking. If she could never be rid of this fear, at least she could pretend not to be afraid. For Scott, as much as for her.
Families with young children had dressed up for the night – boys wearing their little neck ties and girls in pretty dresses. A group of women in the corner were the loudest, clinking glasses before throwing back their coiffured heads in fake laughter. There were some couples, two groups of men who were almost as loud as the women and a man seated alone.
Ruth’s heartbeat began to quicken.
He sat four tables away.
He had dark hair in a side parting, a black turtleneck sweater beneath his charcoal sport coat. His arm moved in a sawing motion, cutting a slice of rare steak, which he plopped into his red mouth. The pale skin on his cheeks accentuated his wet, bloody red lips. Cheekbones jutted out like an overhanging rock and below them a square jaw. Setting it all off was a pair of terrible blue eyes that never left his plate.
The man raised his head, looked directly at Ruth, then stabbed his knife into the steak and began to cut.
A waitress approached his table, carrying a glass of red wine on a tray. She placed a napkin on the table, and put the wine glass on top of it.
Ruth leaned forward. The background noise dimmed with a lull in conversation at the tables.
The man looked up at the waitress, winked at her, said, ‘Thank you,sweetheart.’
That voice – it was . . .
She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t think it. Ruth suddenly had to use the bathroom – her bladder was about to let go and she could feel her pulse throbbing in the large vein in her temples. She rose, her head spinning, stumbled, righted herself.
‘I-I need the ladies’ room,’ she said.
Scott got up, said, ‘They’re behind you. Come on, I’ll go with you.’
Ruth backed away from the table, her eyes locked on the stranger.
