The Feathered Bone (28 page)

I argue, defending Carl's character. Telling her how it's not as
bad as she makes it sound. She's only heard my side of the story, and I haven't represented him fairly. “I never should have told you those things, Viv. It's wrong to let someone into my marriage like that. You're not getting the big picture.”

“Stop, Amanda. Please. Listen to yourself. I'm no fool. He puts on a good show, but I hear how he treats you behind your office door. I've bitten my tongue for too long. Every time you tried to be his equal, he pushed you down. I've watched the slide. It's clear what he's been doing to you. For years.”

I can't look at her. I keep my eyes on my shoes as they hit the paved trail. Slow steps.

“He's done whatever it takes to keep you beneath him so he could feel better about himself. It's classic abuse. You know this. And when he could no longer keep you down by yelling or calling you names, belittling you or criticizing you, manipulating and gaslighting you, he started getting violent. He had to scare you back into place.”

“It's not like you think, Viv. It's what he was taught. That's all. Carl's got a short fuse at home, but he's harmless. It's just a safe place to let off steam, and I let him. We all need to vent sometimes.”

“Violence is not the same as venting, Amanda. You're not seeing clearly.”

“I know how it sounds.”

“Do you?” My argument draws a deep sigh from her. “You know how many people sit in my office and say these things? You've heard them too. I know you have. ‘He loves me. He just doesn't know how to show it.' Or ‘He doesn't mean to hurt me. He can't help it.' You're smarter than this, Amanda.”

I look up, out, through the trees. Anywhere but at Viv. She's right. I do sound like our clients. I try again. “You know Carl's background. He went straight from a rough home to working the
rigs. And now the plant. He's in a hard world. He thinks this is how to be a man. Deep down, he cares.”

“But that's not your problem, Amanda. He has to do better than that. At least in how he treats you. Sure, it started with a broken bowl, a slammed door, a few holes in the walls. But when that didn't stop you from looking for Sarah, or helping your clients when a crisis came up, or going on calls with Jay, he got meaner. He had to make sure you were there, serving his dinner the way he wanted it, ironing his clothes without a flaw.”

I nod.

“I know I'm not in your home, but I've watched from the outside for years. Tell me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that Carl has a skewed belief system. He honestly thinks it's your duty to give him 100 percent, all the time. So if you give any of your time or energy or focus to anything other than him, he sees it as his job to teach you a lesson and make it sink in. No matter what it takes. You walk the line, or you pay.”

I listen. But I feel as if she's talking about other people. Not Carl and me.

“So when his bullying tactics stopped working,” she continues, “he became a terrorist in his own home. Terrorizing you so you would be too afraid to stand up for yourself, to stand up to him, to stand up for what is right. You quit going out on calls with Jay, didn't you?”

I nod again. “Yeah, but that's because Sarah went missing. I was using all my spare time to look for her.”

“Well, what about Sarah? You still help with the searches?”

“Yes.”

“Only now that Carl's not home. Am I right? He wouldn't let you go anymore. Would he?”

I look down, embarrassed.

“Same with seeing your friends? Why did you always wait to return my calls when he wasn't around?”

How can I admit the truth? Carl didn't like me to use my phone. Or see my friends. Or volunteer. Or do anything outside of family when he was off work. Viv is right. I never even realized it was happening. I just kept trying to keep him calm. Trying to keep him happy. Trying to love enough. Be enough.

“It's all right. You don't have to admit it. I know. The bottom line is this: Your husband wanted to be your god. Bow to no other gods before him. Period.”

“Viv, please.” I roll my eyes. “You're acting as if I'm on the run for my life. That's a little extreme, don't you think?”

She follows behind me, getting worked up. “Throwing things at you? Shoving you? Beating down doors while you cower on the other side, shaking in fear because you know he might hurt you?” Now she gives my arm a gentle tug, insisting I look at her. “That's not love, Amanda. That's abuse.”

No matter how much sense she's making, I can't bring myself to say she is right. To admit my husband does not value me.

But Viv isn't backing down. “It's clear you love him. I know you do. But right now he's not capable of giving that kind of love in return. You have to stop thinking he has the ability to care about you the way you care about him. He's not like you. The truth is your husband used you. He abused you. He lied to you, and now he's betrayed you. He hurt you and he hurt Ellie. At a time when y'all needed him most. Unless he manages to go through some significant personal growth, I'm willing to bet he'll do the same with this new girlfriend of his. He's got real struggles, Amanda. But there's nothing you can do to change him. That's up to him. You
can only change what you are willing to accept from him. You can only change yourself.”

I have been pacing for nearly an hour, phone in hand, trying to will myself to dial Carl's number. I've talked myself into a frenzy by this point, circling around the pros and cons of returning his call. I listen to his voicemail one more time.

“Hey. Call me.”

That's it. Three words. They have hooked into the bruised and broken pieces of myself, the parts that were just beginning to heal.

So here I am, sitting on my bed, staring at my phone, trying to find a rational reason to call Carl, a man who could be, as Viv insists, completely incapable of caring about me—the woman who wore his ring, who birthed his child, who loved him. I'm still trying to absorb the truth—Carl doesn't care about me and maybe he never did. Now I have to pay the price for my poor decision. For choosing, as Raelynn says, to care for a snake.

The problem is, I still don't think of Carl as a snake. Not at all. I see him as a man, flawed and struggling, but still a man. With love tucked deep inside him. I've seen glimpses of it. And I still have hope he will see himself as I see him—as a good person, a hurting person, a person who was never really taught how to love and be loved, but a man who deserves to be loved, no matter how hard he makes it at times.

I press my keypad, and the phone begins to ring. Carl answers immediately. “Amanda?” He says my name like it's a life preserver and he's clinging to me for dear life. My mother speaks again:
You need to help him through whatever crazy stuff he's fighting through.

“Carl? What's wrong?”
Stay strong, Amanda. Steady your voice.
I stand and straighten a framed photo on the wall. It covers the place where he sent the hot iron through the Sheetrock. It's a trick I learned from Raelynn. Hang a few pictures and mirrors, and just like magic the scars disappear.

As he talks, I remove the photo. It shows a picture of Ellie hiking a wooded trail during our Rocky Mountain vacation. But just behind the fantasy, the gaping hole remains. I hear Viv's voice:
He was aiming for your head. That's not love, Amanda. That's abuse.

We're barely into the conversation when his tone shifts to hints of frustration, then anger. “I haven't seen Ellie in weeks. She won't return my calls. I don't know what you've been telling her, but it's not fair to turn my daughter against me.”

“That's absurd, Carl.” I almost laugh, but I know better. “I haven't told her anything negative about you. Not one word.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Of course I do. In fact, I've been trying my best to keep y'all connected. She needs a father, Carl. She needs you.”

“Sure, Amanda. Tell yourself that. You know as well as I do, you have always wanted to be a single mom, just like your mother. No clue how to take care of a man. This is what you always wanted. Total control.”

Do not react, Amanda. Don't let him beat you down.

“Carl, I'm sorry you believe that about me. It was very hard for my mother to raise me on her own. You know that. And you also know that nothing matters more to me than my family, giving Ellie a stable, happy home. This is the last thing I wanted in my life. Especially for Ellie.” My emotions get the best of me now. As my pitch peaks, Carl reacts with more hate.

“Stop yelling at me! You love to fight, don't you!”

“I'm not yelling. I'm crying. Listen, Carl. I would never try to come between you and Ellie. She needs you. She needs to know you love her. She's questioning that now, of course, and that will leave a lasting scar. Trust me. I know.”

“Of course you do!” He is being sarcastic now. “You're the great Amanda Salassi. You know everything.”

“She needs to trust that we will never abandon her. That there are two people in this world who are here to love her no matter how hard life gets. We are those people, Carl. If you want to leave me, that's one thing. But you can't leave Ellie. That's not how it works.”

“That's why I'm taking her for the weekend. I made reservations in New Orleans. For Mardi Gras. We'll go down for Endymion on Saturday, stay through for Bacchus on Sunday. One night away.”

I grab hold of the kitchen chair. Images of Ellie and Sarah come back to me. They are laughing and bowing in their costumes at Mardi Gras World, waving their hands like queens of the carnival. “Carl, you can't be serious. New Orleans? This time of year? After what happened with Sarah?” I hear him laughing. “I'm sorry, but I can't let you take her down there. Not for Mardi Gras.”

“I knew you'd make a big deal out of it. Always overdramatic. Like we live in a soap opera or something. They're hardly even having the parades this year. Everything's still wrecked from Katrina. It'll be a bunch of locals catching beads. Don't make it a problem.”

“Sarah was taken on a regular Friday afternoon,” I argue. “In one of the safest parts of the city.”

“What do you want to do? You want to lock Ellie in a cage? Don't you get it? You're doing more harm to her than if she was kidnapped.”

I cannot find the strength to counter. He senses blood and goes for the kill.

“We'll pick her up Saturday morning. Around ten. Have her ready.”

“We?” I ask, my voice a whisper.

“Ashleigh and me. You can't keep my daughter from me, Amanda. Don't fight me on this, or I'll file for divorce and demand full custody.”

He hangs up the phone, and I'm left with my head spinning. I hurry to the bathroom, where I bend over the toilet just in time. When nothing remains, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and feel my way down the hall to Ellie's bedroom, crying.

“What's wrong? Mom? Tell me, what's going on?”

After all these months of staying strong for Ellie, refusing to break, being the container for her grief, I finally lose it. I crawl across her bed and cry until my heart is empty of pain.

Ellie sits beside me, watching me. “I'm sorry,” I say, again and again. “I'm sorry.”

Get a grip, Amanda. Don't throw this on Ellie. She's the child. You're the mother. Be strong.

I sit straighter, catch my breath, and then it comes rising up again. “This is all so unfair,” I sob. “Why is he doing this to us?”

“I called Ms. Raelynn,” Ellie says. “I'm worried about you, Mom. You're not okay.”

“You're right, Ellie. I'm not okay. I'm not okay!” I explain Carl's plans for Mardi Gras. “I never wanted anything more than a happy home . . . a good family for you. And I tried so hard to be perfect, keep him happy. You deserve better.”

“Mom, don't worry about it. I don't want to go to New Orleans.” Ellie hugs me. “Besides, I'm not an idiot. I know he isn't doing this for me. He's just trying to look good in front of that Ashleigh lady. That's all he cares about now. Her.”

“Oh, Ellie. He loves you very much. He's just confused. It happens to men around this age . . . a midlife crisis. It's very common. They get kind of lost. This isn't who he really is.”

As I say this, Raelynn arrives, rushing into the bedroom. “What on earth is going on?”

Ellie answers for me. “She can't stop crying.”

“What'd he do now?” Raelynn doesn't shield Ellie from her thoughts about Carl.

Again my daughter answers. “He threatened to divorce Mom and fight her for custody if she doesn't let him take me to New Orleans for Mardi Gras with that . . .” Ellie describes Ashleigh using words I've never said in my life, and Raelynn's eyes grow wide, but not because of Ellie's swearing.