I nodded, because I thought that I might like it way more than he realized. “Where did you get something so special?” I asked. I thought it better to keep him talking. I knew so little abo
ut where I was.
“It’s not that difficult to get. You said you had cakes like this. What this is, is thoughtful,” he said. “My father never did nothing like this for my mother, even on their twentieth anniversary. He’d say something stupid like ‘I’d rather forget it. That’s when my troubles began.’ Or ‘When I was single, my pockets did jingle.’ How do you think that made her feel?”
“Not very good,” I said. “But where did you get this? It looks extra special.” I held my breath. Was I asking too much, trying too hard? Would he realize what could happen if my name was recognized, or would he realize I was fishing for information?
He shrugged. “I was on a work errand about fifty miles from here and just stopped at a supermarket that had a bakery. This old lady behind the counter did it for me. She said she wished her husband was still alive so they could have something like this. It would be their fortieth wedding anniversary. I told her we’d still be together for our fortieth.”
He began to cut the cake.
“First piece goes to the lovely bride,” he said, handing the dish to me. “Wait,” he said. “I almost forgot.”
He hurried back to the refrigerator and returned with two small bottles of champagne and two champagne glasses.
“These are called splits. Cake and champagne,” he said, pouring my champagne into a glass and then pouring his own. “We go deluxe. First, I’ll make a toast. To my beautiful bride and the love of my life, Kaylee Cabot.”
He nodded for me to raise my glass, and then he tapped it with his and began to drink. He was waiting for me, so I began to drink, too. What else could I do?
I wasn’t trembling inside, but that wasn’t because of the wine, the food, and the champagne. I realized I was numb all over because of constant fear. It was as if I had left my body. Maybe that was good. If I could ignore his every touch, not feel it, then it would be like it wasn’t happening, wouldn’t it?
“Happy?” he asked. “I’m so glad you are,” he added quickly. What was he looking at? Did he imagine a smile on my face? Did he not only hear only what he wanted but also see only what he wanted?
“No,” I dared to say. “I want to go home.”
“You are home,” he said, holding his smile. Only the glint in his eyes showed a little displeasure.
He finished his champagne and began eating his cake.
“Delicious. You’ll like it,” he said, pointing his fork at my piece. “Eat. You told me this was one of your favorite things, so I went out of my way to get it.”
Chocolate cake was one of our favorite things. Haylee hadn’t told him only lies.
I began to eat it.
How odd it was that something could still taste good to me. It was as if my own body was betraying me. I didn’t want it to feel good about anything. My rationalization was the same as it had been with everything else he forced me to do, however. Eat, drink, keep strong, or else you won’t have the strength to escape when the chance comes was my mantra.
“Tonight,” he said. “You don’t hafta do nothing. I’ll clean up. A wife should be spoiled on special occasions, don’tcha think?”
“I’m not a wife. You have to be married by a clergyman or a judge,” I said.
“This means more,” he insisted. “We told ourselves we loved each other and wanted to be husband and wife, without someone we don’t know or care about telling us what to say and when to say it. A judge married my parents. Lot of difference that made. And what about your parents? They’re divorced. They got married in a church, right? Might as well have been married in a whorehouse. That’s what a woman who marries a man she don’t love is, a legalized whore.”
“My mother once loved my father very much,” I said. Why I cared what he thought was beyond me, but I felt I had to say it if only because Haylee might have told him something otherwise.
“Love ain’t something you fall out of,” he insisted. “Some people get on a train just to take a ride. They don’t care where it goes. Don’t tell me what’s love and what ain’t.”
He tightened his jaw. I thought he was going to get really angry now, but suddenly, he smiled.
“That’s not us. We’re on a train to happiness forever. Tonight is just the official send-off. All aboard,” he sang, and laughed.
He started to clear away the dishes. Mr. Moccasin followed him, waiting for him to drop a scrap of something. I looked at my unfinished champagne and then drank it quickly. After that, I turned to my unfinished wine. I thought of them both as anesthesia. Get drunk. You won’t feel anything, I told myself.
“Hey,” he said when he saw me pouring more wine into my glass. “Take it easy with that.”
“It’s good,” I said. “And this is an anniversary.” I gulped the remainder of the wine.
He looked a little confused. I could almost hear him wondering. Should he be happy or concerned about my behavior?