“Not me,” he confesses. “Han fixes bikes too. He can't just let them rot. He does a lot of maintenance. That’s how he decompresses.”
Victor thinks about all those post-anniversary May 26 mornings when he would come home and find his chosen brother in the garage tinkering with one of his classic cars. Han’s version of worrying.
He once told Victor, “You’re dependable and steady every day of the year except for May 25th. I'm not going to argue with you about it anymore or try to talk you out of this obsession with her. It just weirds me out. That’s all.”
Dawn’s face shines with happiness. “Well, thank you for not just throwing it away. This bike kept me sane that first year in Rhode Island. I remember I used to ride it everywhere. I loved it so much...”
Guilt assails Victor in waves. What an asshole he was. So self-righteous, so sure that she deserved everything he’d done to her. He could not regret his actions more.
But how to tell her that? Actually, telling her wasn't good enough. He knew that she still didn't believe him when he said that he regretted how he treated her.
He'd have to show her.
“The bike is yours. You should take it back to New Jersey with you,” he offers. But in the next breath, he makes sure to add, “Or if you decided to stay here with me, you could ride it whenever you want. There’s a path right along the beach. It's a very safe place to go bike riding, at least until it starts snowing.”
“Riding along the beach...” she muses with a smile. “I think…I think I might like that.”
A warm moment passes between them, and Victor lets out an inward sigh of relief.
He’s fixed this. They feel shiny and restored, like one of Han’s 70s cars.
But then she says, “You know, this bike is ready to go. I could ride it to the store like I used to and pick up all the groceries for tonight. There's got to be a shop along the beach somewhere.”
Victor stills, every protective instinct inside of him going on high alert.
“Sure,” he says, scrambling for a reasonable answer. “I’ll ride with you. I can take one of Han’s bikes.”
She considers his offer, but only for a polite second before answering, “Actually, I want to go alone. You know, re-live my first year in Rhode Island, this time on my own terms.”
She looks him directly in the eye after saying this. As if issuing a challenge.
No, not as if, Victor suddenly realizes. That's exactly what she’s doing.
This is part of the test. His final exam.
And whatever comes out of his mouth next will determine if he passes it.
14
DAWN
It's a test. One I'm not sure he'll pass, even after acing all the ones I threw at him this morning, starting with showing up at his front gate without any warning.
His body has gone completely rigid. And I wait with bated breath to see what will happen next.
Will he become the monster again? Command me to stay home. Maybe even try to keep me here?
Amber and I have made plans for that contingency. He won't ever be able to imprison me again, at least not as easily as he did the last time.
I'm no longer an ignorant and powerless recent college student. And he might be a crime lord, but I have mafia friends too now. I won’t let myself be entrapped. I’ll fight him with every breath in my body if he ever tries to put me back under his thumb.
So I hold myself just as still as him, prepared to throw down if it means my freedom.
But he surprises me by saying, “I’ll walk you to the beach gate, and I'll show you the code to get back in when you return.”
Then he pulls my old bike off Han’s rack for me, and true to his promise, he walks with me to the beach gate.
His hands are wrapped around the bike’s handlebars, so we can't talk as we walk toward the beach from the garage. But I can tell by the set of his shoulders that he doesn't like this. And I can easily guess that he’s biting back all sorts of commands.
It's hard. It's hard for me to stand up for myself. And maybe just as hard for him to let me do it.
Still, he hands the bike off to me at the beach gate and says, “The code to get in is 0-5-2-5.”
Our wedding date! My stomach flutters with the realization. But then I have to throw up those parentheses again. Our (fake) wedding date.
Why did he do it? I wonder this for the thousandth time since I found out we weren’t really married. Why didn't he just keep me imprisoned in that Providence house without the marriage piece?