Saving Avery (8 page)

Sighing with sadness and frustration, I return to the bathroom and dig my most prized possession out of my beauty bag --- tattoo cover-up concealer. This stuff works wonders for bruises, and I have relied on it for the past few years. At one of the women's shelters I ran away to, a battered woman, not much unlike myself, told me that she used the stuff religiously. Her husband often bruised her face and neck, and so she needed the makeup to convince her family and coworkers that she was in a perfect, happy marriage. She reveled in the moment that she had had enough and threw the makeup in the trashcan, leaving her husband and the abuse behind. If only I could have a moment like that in my life. What I wouldn't give to leave all of this and Nathan behind.

The bathroom clock ticks loudly, as my eyes fixate on it. It's ten minutes until six o'clock, so I do my best to apply the makeup as quickly, but as evenly as I can. I feel like Picasso or Rembrandt, attempting to create a masterpiece with my skin as the canvas and the concealer as my medium. The bruises on my arms virtually disappear right before my eyes. The makeup is waterproof, but it doesn't stay on forever. After several hours, it will start to rub off. I have to be careful when I wear it and make sure I reapply it or wear something that doesn't require much cover-up.

Once I'm finished, I put on some jewelry and a watch on my left wrist. The band of the watch covers my scar, and so it serves a greater purpose than just allowing me to keep an eye on the time. I slip into a pair of wedge sandals and walk to the patio door. My hand stops when I grip the knob. My wedding ring glistens in the light, and I can't tear my eyes away from it.
I'm cheating on my husband.
The realization hits me hard. Theoretically, I haven't committed adultery, and I don't know if things would even go that far between Max and me. But I would never tell Nathan about this dinner, and hiding it from him is essentially cheating. Right?

My fingers clench around the doorknob as I force myself to think about the hell Nathan has put me through the past five years. Even though we're technically married, I haven't loved him for a long time. And I don't think he has ever loved me. I'm planning on getting divorced as soon as possible. I try to tell myself that there's no reason to feel guilty. So then why am I hesitating?

I pull my hand back and close my eyes. "You deserve to find some happiness in your life," I say out loud. I don't know if I truly believe that, but I know deep down that I should. I've just been numb and drowning in pain for so long that I don't know if I can bring myself some peace and break through the surface again.

Fighting down the mixed emotions I'm reeling from, I glance at my watch and hurry outside. I don't know what the future with Max holds, but I know it has to be a lot brighter than the dark hell I'm living in now.

*

MAX

Looking around the back patio, I hope that I haven't overdone it. Candles and tiki torches are burning everywhere, casting a nice glow around the deck. On the round, glass table, I had placed some fine china that my mom had given me a while back when I got my own place after college. I never used it before tonight, but I have to admit it does look nice. A bottle of wine is on ice in a bucket, and two wine glasses are by each plate. The spaghetti is warming on the stove, and the breadsticks are baking in the oven. Feeling content, I sit down and wait.

I don't remember ever being this romantic with my ex-fiancée. Don't get me wrong. I sent the occasional flowers and took Gretchen out on a lot of dates, but I never made this much of a fuss over dinner with her or anyone, for that matter. Especially not a
friend
, which is exactly what Avery will be to me until she hints at wanting something more. And I desperately hope she wants more.

She said her husband is out of town for a week, and I can’t help but feel as if fortune is intervening at the exact moment I want it to. This will give me an opportunity to get to know Avery better and find out what is really going on in her life instead of trying to squeeze information out of Rosie every day. Rosie always has a smile on her face, but I know she's getting annoyed with my numerous questions.

It's a little after six, and I'm beginning to worry if Avery will show. I guess I didn't consider that she might not feel right about dinner alone with a coworker and neighbor while her husband is out of town. I know the situation is complicated. I'm not stupid. She's married. In any other situation, I wouldn't even pursue a married woman. But this isn't a typical situation, and this is Avery I'm talking about. She is one of the most selfless people I have ever met, and she's being abused. I constantly see the unhappiness and fear in her eyes. I don't know what is going to happen between us, but I just want to try to help her in any way that she needs me to. There's just something about Avery that makes me forget about the rest of the world and just focus solely on her. She's like a breath of fresh air slowly bringing me out of my rut and back to life.

My head turns at the sound of Avery running up the porch steps, nearly tripping in the process. "I'm sorry I'm late," she apologizes quickly while trying to catch her breath.

Standing, I watch her carefully. "Avery, it's fine if you're late. I would have waited all night out here for you," I say, and it's the honest-to-God truth.

She seems to slightly relax, but the look on her face is as if she doesn't believe me. Realization creeps over me as I remember her panicking from being late yesterday. And then that night she was crying on the beach and limping. Her husband must punish her when she's late.

My hands clench into fists at my sides over the thought of him hurting her, but I quickly calm my emotions. I don't want her thinking that I'm anything like Nathan. I'm going to do my best to prove to her that people can be kind and that she deserves their kindness.

I focus my attention back to her. The dress she's wearing suits her and shows off her legs. Her long hair falls down her back in soft waves, and I find myself wanting to run my fingers through it. "Avery, you look beautiful."

I watch the flush of crimson slowly rise to her cheeks. "Thank you, Dr. Har --- Max," she says, correcting herself with a shy smile.

Pulling out a chair, I tell her, "Have a seat. I'll bring everything out."

She hesitates before sitting down. "Are you sure?" she asks.

"I'm sure," I tell her. I have a feeling she's not used to being waited on either.

I take the spaghetti pot out first and set it on a trivet. Then I go back in the house, take the garlic bread from the oven, place it in a basket and bring that outside as well. While I'm pouring the wine, I glance over at Avery. The candlelight bathes over her beautiful features, and she takes my breath away.

As I dish out the spaghetti onto her plate, I grin and ask, "Is this really your favorite, or were you just saying that to be nice?"

"It really is. I can remember my mom making it a lot when I was a kid. I think it might have been one of the only things she could make," she says with a grin. "It always reminds me of her when I eat it, so I guess maybe that's why I like it so much," she says reflectively.

"She doesn't make it anymore?" I question.

"She died from cancer when I was a little girl."

I grimace.
Way to bring up a sore subject, Max
, I chide myself. I have a knack for putting my foot in my mouth when I'm around her. "Oh, Avery, I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have brought it up if I had known."

She waves her hand, dismissing it. "It's fine."

I set the plate of spaghetti down in front of her and dish out my own before taking a seat. I watch in anticipation as she takes the first bite. Her eyes roll up to the heavens as she groans, "Mmm!"

A smile spreads across my lips. She is completely charming without even trying. "Is it good?"

"Better than good. It's perfect."

"My dad's recipe," I say with pride.

"Your dad?" She sounds surprised.

"Yeah. He was the cook of our family. He actually taught my mom how to cook." I take a bite of the spaghetti. It turned out just right, and I couldn't be happier. "Pretty darn good. I was so worried I would ruin it and we would have to get take-out." She grins at my confession, and it's contagious. I can't stop smiling when she's around.

"So do you cook more than just spaghetti?" she asks.

"Yes, but not much more. How about you? Do you like to cook?"

She gives a slight shrug. "I suppose I enjoy it." She takes a sip of wine. "Neither one of my parents really cooked, so they hired a chef from California. I learned all the basics from him. He was a great teacher."

"So you must be a pretty good cook then?"

"I have to be," she answers. I can tell right away that she didn't mean to say it, and I watch her fingertips touch her lips as if she wants to stuff the words back into her mouth. I want to ask her what she meant by that, but she quickly changes the subject. "So how long have you known I was your neighbor?"

I take a sip of my wine, stalling. She's anxiously awaiting my response, and I don't know whether to tell her the truth or make something up. But I decide that I don't ever want to lie to her. "I saw you the first night I stayed here actually."

Avery fidgets in her chair, and her eyes nervously dart down to the table. I don't have to be a mind reader to know she's worried about me seeing her crying on the beach. I decide not to divulge that secret just yet. "So how long have you been married?" I ask, trying to redirect the conversation.

"Two years, one month and nineteen ---." She stops abruptly and looks up at me.

My God
. She didn't finish, but she was going to say nineteen days. She has it down to the very day, and I wouldn't be surprised if she knows the exact hour as well. The manner in which she speaks about it sounds like she's counting down a prison sentence rather than an amorous marriage. And I have a feeling that's exactly what Avery's life is like --- a prison.

"Have you ever been married?" she asks. Now
she's
attempting to redirect the focus of the conversation.

I shake my head. "Came close to it once," I confess.

She says, "Oh," and then becomes very quiet.

"Sometimes things don't work out the way you plan or want them to."

She nods. "I know the feeling," she whispers.

We settle into a comfortable silence while enjoying our meal with the ocean waves breaking in the distance. The more I'm around Avery, the more I pick up on her idiosyncrasies. She always wears a watch, and her eyes continuously peek at the time. I think it's almost a subconscious thing, because I don't think she actually realizes she's doing it. She avoids eye contact with me whenever possible. I wonder if this is a habit her husband instilled in her. At the hospital she ignores all of the male doctors, but has no problem talking to the female nurses and doctors and kids. I'm assuming she's not allowed to talk to men in general. She also bites on her bottom lip when she's nervous, which is almost all of the time. She's a very nervous person in general and always seems to be on edge. I can't help but think of how Rosie described the
old Avery
--- spunky and full of life. That is not the girl sitting here before me, although I can tell she is breaking out of her shell little by little the more I'm around her.

I'm so angry that Nathan could control this sweet girl like he does, breaking her spirit at any cost. More of Rosie's words come back to me about how maybe Nathan is finally breaking her down. I worry about Avery. I want her to know there is a better life out there for her. And even if it's not with me, she deserves to be with someone who cares for her, someone who loves her.

As Avery reaches for a breadstick in the middle of the table, my eyes flicker to her arm. Her perfect skin is highlighted by the candlelight. Just yesterday she had dark bruises the whole way up her arm, and now they are gone. Something's not adding up here. I lean forward, and now I can see that the perfection in her skin is not natural. She's wearing some kind of makeup on her skin to conceal the bruises. Some of the darker bruises are peeking through a little, and I frown.

I lift my gaze to her face, and she's staring back at me. The look in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I was looking at. She places the bread on her plate and sighs softly. "Max…I…"

I wave my hand dismissively. I don't want the night to turn awkward and force her to tell me things when she's not ready. "Tell me something about you, Avery. Anything."

"There's really not much to tell," she says quietly.

Shaking my head, I say, "I don't believe that for a second."

She meets my gaze for a moment before looking away once more. "You already know all there is to know about me, Max. You know where I live, that I'm married and that I volunteer at the hospital."

I nod. "Yes. But what do you like to do? What are your hobbies? What are you good at?"

A frown graces her lips. "I don't…I'm not really good at anything at all."

"Not even one thing?" I question in disbelief.

Her lips quirk up a bit as she says, "Well…I like to sing."