She’d learned to hold her bodily functions until he was away from the house after that. Or use the spare bathroom when Steve was in the shower. Or out mowing the lawn. Or on the phone. Or asleep in his chair.
A woman living with a madman learned to be resourceful.
And the memory of that particular resourcefulness was the catalyst she needed.
When Steve came back into the room, she took his hand, led him to the table and sat down.
“Steve, we have to talk.”
* * *
“THE CAR COMPANY pulled up all the files for the days that the agent who recognized Steve had worked the week he was in,” Chantel told Max when she called after the story of Meredith’s disappearance ran on the evening news. “In California, license plates stay with the cars, so we should be able to get a list of plates,” she said. “Police are contacting all the people who bought those green vehicles. We should at least find out what name he’s using through the process of elimination,” she continued without letting him get a word in edgewise.
“You’re getting worried,” Max finally said, interrupting her.
“We need to stay positive, Max.”
Sitting alone on his couch, seeing his wife’s still image on the television screen, Max was beyond being even remotely capable of keeping the panic at bay. He was now one big mass of panic. Of grief and fear and anger and frustration. Of determination and hope. “Just find her,” he said into the phone.
And tried to believe when Chantel’s soft “I will,” came back at him.
* * *
“YOU ARE NOT trying to disobey me, are you, Meredith?”
The words were new to Steve’s repertoire. Meredith swallowed. Maybe the intimacy of sitting at the kitchen table hadn’t been a good idea.
“Of course not,” she said. “You know I know better than that.” Hearing the words, feeling them coming up from inside her, she recognized her return to playing it safe with him at the first sign that he was going to get aggressive with her. Attempting to placate him to avoid the pain.
She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do that ever again.
He nodded, clearly appeased. “So what’s all this nonsense about things being different from now on?”
She’d been telling him that she realized how much they needed each other. How being with Max, who hadn’t known her when she was a vulnerable teenager, who didn’t really know about her years in foster care, who’d grown up with two loving parents who were still alive, had been so different from being with Steve.
She hadn’t mentioned how much better life had been with Max. The truth would defeat her purpose entirely.
The idea was to get him to a place where he was actually feeling their connection. Where he could feel how much he needed her.
She had to get him where he was vulnerable. Where his weaknesses hid.
She needed them in the open.
“I’ve grown up, Steve. And you’re right. A part of me will always belong to you. Nothing is going to break that connection.”
Her strength was born from the horrible things he’d done to her.
“I’m hoping that this time around we’re going to be able to meet each other on more honest ground,” she continued, surprised at how clear and confident she sounded. She was actually pulling this off.
“I’m hoping we’ll be able to acknowledge what we need from each other. To trust each other as the only possessors of our deepest secrets.”
“Did you tell your doctor that you were an outcast? Does he know how socially inept you were as a kid?” His need to point out her own fallibilities to take the spotlight off his, told her she’d hit home.
So far so good.
She’d learned about mental manipulation from the master.
The afternoon was still young enough. But the sun had gone behind some clouds, leaving the kitchen in an eerie gray light that she knew would fade to darkness as the day wore on.