CHAPTER ONE
Blanche
Perfection is the lie we’re force-fed from the moment we’re read our first fairytale. It’s a subliminal message that creeps in with every telling. Be you beaten, starved, enslaved, or cast out of your family, love will fix everything. If we just hold on long enough some white knight will come out of the woodwork and save us. It’s laughable when I really think about it. As a little girl from a small town, I thought the world was full of wonder and infinite possibilities. I believed every word they spoke to me as I drifted off to sleep. I ate up every line, buying into the notion that love heals all. As if one emotion could ever cover up a multitude of sins.
I stare down at the thick volume of fairytales in my hand. Bitterness wells up in the back of my throat and my mouth puckers. It’s all bullshit. A pipe dream I can no longer bury my head in the sand and believe in. For my child’s sake. I think of my daughter who’s on the verge of adulthood, watching me for cues to learn what’s acceptable in a relationship.
The thought of her dealing with this kind of treatment has red hot anger bubbling up inside of me like water in a pot on a stove. Tossing the leather- bound book into the stainless steel garbage can, I glance at the clock above the microwave. Three a.m. The numbers mock me. Like font from a horror movie, they provide foreshadowing. Nothing good will come from what is about to follow.
The exhaustion set in my bones is spilling over into my brain, choking my rational thought, and depleting my sense of self-worth. I’ve been sacrificing so much I don’t like or recognize the reflection I see daily in the mirror. From the expensive designer clothes hand-picked by my personal stylist to the straightened hair, I’m made up of bits and pieces of someone else’s choosing. The lock turns in the front door, and I stand up straight, gathering every last bit of strength I possess. Life has beaten me down. It’s stilled my tongue, crushed my spirit, and warped my personality. I’m fighting for the survival of myself.
Rising, I pull the old flannel robe closer. I dressed for battle in the red and black checkered button-up shirt and pajama pant combo Brooks hates so much. It’s my first, but not last act of rebellion. I study the man I’ve been married to for nearly two decades. After fifteen years, he’s still sexy as hell. The salt and pepper in his dark hair makes him seem more distinguished, and he’s kept his frame lean. At six foot two, he still towers over my five feet eleven inches, and the dimple in his left cheek remains adorable. His strong jaw, Roman nose, and deep-set greenish-blue eyes are breathtakingly beautiful. Yet, none of these features move me. I’m over his outward beauty.
As he moves through the living room his eyes widen. “Honey. It’s three in the morning. What are you still doing up?”
“Your shift ended at midnight, Brooks.”
He sighs. “You know how it is at the hospital. There’s always paperwork and—”
“No.”
He blinks. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You don’t get to blame what’s happening on your job anymore. You’re no longer at the bottom of the barrel trying to prove yourself. I know you can get out of there on most nights with no problem when your shift is done. Do you honestly think I’m that stupid? I might be from a small town in Tennessee, but I’m not naïve and my mama sure as hell didn’t raise no fool.”
“What are you going on about?” He sighs heavily.
Something in me snaps and I slap the kitchen countertop with my palm. “No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to treat me like I’m some paranoid wife flying off at the handle over nothing.”
“You’re out of line and embarrassing yourself.”
“Oh hell naw.” My twang kicks in. You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl. Grabbing the nearest thing to me, I fling it toward him. The mug whizzes through the air, a perfectly aimed missile. I played softball through high school, and it shows. He throws himself out of the way, and it crashes into the far wall.
“Are you crazy?”
“No, I’ve been crazy, but I’m done with that now.”
“You need to calm down.”
I throw my head back and release an evil laugh that would put Cruella de Vil to shame.
“Oh, boy, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I’m done pretending I don’t know you’re two-timing me.”
“Two-timing?”
“Cheating, knocking boots with someone else, philandering. Is that a better word for you? All roads lead down the same street. You’ve been unfaithful, and we both know it, you slimy snake in the grass.”
Sighing, he bows his head. “I don’t want Whitney to hear this. Can we talk outside?”
I grind my teeth. “Fine.” I stalk past him to the sliding doors that lead to the deck by the pool. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely unlatch the lock. I step out onto the natural stone deck that leads to the grotto.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t figure things out.”
“I’m not stupid, Brooks. I turned a blind eye long enough.”
“Not quite.”
Pain explodes in my face. Knocked off balance and dazed, I fall back into the pool. The cold water is a shock to my system. It pulls me from my stupor. I struggle to the surface only to be pushed back under. My arms flail as I try to escape the hands holding me down. I sink my nails into his flesh. The pressure lets up for a moment, and when I break the surface, I take a huge breath, filling my screaming lungs with oxygen. He wraps his hands around my neck and forces me back down.
I slap at his face, digging my thumbs into his eyes as hard as I can. My head grows light, and black spots fill my vision. He screams and releases me. I take off, swimming for my life. Years in the river back home as a kid have made me a fish. I know he can’t catch me. I reach the ladder and climb. My hands and legs are clumsy, and tears obscure my vision. I scream for help as I push my trembling limbs to the limit. I have to get inside before him.
I can hear him exiting the water as I take the corner around the pool with wet feet. I slide across the stone and nearly lose my balance. Flapping my arms, I manage to stay on my feet. I reach the door and yank it open. I’m nearly inside when he grabs my robe. I scream and rock side to side, desperate to remove the article of clothing clinging to me. It gives, and I hit my knees, hard. He stumbles back, and I spin, close, and lock the door, breathing hard. He freezes, but his eyes are full of murder. He kicks at the glass. It cracks as I scramble to the phone and call nine-one-one.
He backs away from the patio lighting.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“M-my … Oh my God. My husband just tried to kill me.” My voice cracks and the severity of the situation crashes down on me like a brick wall. My husband tried to kill me. How the hell did we go from ‘small town girl makes good with the new doctor doing his residency’ to this? We had a grand southern-style wedding, and he whisked me off to a new life in San Diego. How did this happen?
“What’s your name?”
“Blanche, Blanche Birling.”
***
The media is ruthless. They take your story and run with it like a starving dog with a T-bone steak. You and your family become cannon fodder. A prominent doctor trying to murder his wife and going on the lam sells stories. Add a well-to-do family that wants to fight for custody of my teenage daughter, and you have something straight out of a soap opera. Only it’s my life, not a show I can turn off, or a nightmare I can wake up from. The cameras click as I make my way into court. I can’t believe his parents are taking me through this.
I’ve dedicated my entire life to my family. Hell, I wanted more children. It was Brooks who said no. At forty, I’m a pro at this mom thing, and Whitney is nearly out of high school and ready to leave the nest. I have six months to fight this before she goes off to college. It’s not about wanting to see her because I’m keeping them away. This is about appearances and pettiness. Brooks has been dragged through the mud. His dirty laundry is being aired, and they want me to suffer for it.
My sunglasses shield me from the bright flashes, and the thick shell I’ve grown keeps me from tuning into the questions being thrown my way. I pay my lawyer good money to take care of that. I sold the house—I couldn’t stay there after what happened, and they’d frozen Brooks assets, to help flush him out. I could’ve told them it was useless. Brooks comes from old money; cattle ranchers, lawyers, and doctors line his family tree. I’m sure there are numerous offshore accounts they’ll never get their hands on.
We move into the courthouse, and I swear it’s like entering a tomb. The marble, rabid reporters, vicious lawyer, and the possibility of losing what means the most to me turn a building with great bones any other day, into a foreboding destination. I smooth my tailored black Anne Klein suit down and keep my gaze fixed on the shoulder blades of the person in front of me.
I can’t lose my baby girl. She’s the one thing that’s kept me going through all this insanity. I can’t fall apart and be there for her. A daddy’s girl, she’s had her world shattered. The man she’d held in such high esteem has plummeted from his pedestal, and it was a long fall down that cracked him open like Humpty Dumpty. There’s nothing in the world Brooks could do to set things right.
We were in the public eye. Things had gotten so bad at her school, I took her out and homeschooled her for the rest of the remaining spring semester with tutors. She was excelling, throwing herself into schooling and filling out college applications. Things between us are rocky. She doesn’t blame me, but I’m the only parent around, so I get the brunt of it all. I’m sad to be losing her, but I know leaving for college will be good for her.
Sinking down into the seat beside my lawyer, I wait for the games to begin.
I bite the inside of my cheek as Connie and James Birling sit across from me. The judge’s chamber brings us closer than we have been in months. Her bleach blonde hair falls around a heavily made-up oval-shaped face. James Birling has donated a lot of money to the fountain of youth to keep her from showing her seventy-two years of life. Her shoulders shake as she dramatically sobs into a handkerchief.
“Don’t let her rattle you, Blanche. They’re all smoke and mirrors over there.”
I nod my head. He didn’t have to waste his breath. I know exactly how fake they are. I was fine as a wife as long as I stayed in my place, agreed with everything Brooks said and kept up with the image he wanted to project. I know they’d tried to pair him with one of their friend’s daughters originally, and I could never shake the feeling that they blamed me for ruining their plan. Elizabeth Watkins made me uncomfortable every single time we ran into her at family events or out in public.
She had this look of adoration that bordered on obsession when she peered up at Brooks. He ate it up and called me insecure for being bothered by her presence. He was probably screwing her behind my back, too. Why not add her to the harem of women who were coming out of the walls? Emails, phone conversations, and interviews for the attention seekers were all geared toward my husband’s wandering penis. I’d been tested within an inch of my life, but the negative results did nothing to lessen my embarrassment. Tongues were wagging all over town about how I couldn’t satisfy my husband. Never mind his leap off the deep end. I hate the backward thinking that goes on.
I sit back as James and Connie spin their sob story and grip the arms of my chair. I can’t tell if the judge is buying it. My concern is whether or not he’s on their payroll. I hold my breath as my lawyer launches into a rebuttal.
“Your honor, with all due respect to Mr. and Mrs. Birling, I believe their grief over what’s happened is clouding their judgment. My client is an excellent mother, and the last thing Whitney needs is to be taken away from her remaining parent and the new stable environment they’ve created. My client does not want to keep Whitney away from her grandparents. She’s open to them spending time together, but she won’t push her daughter to do anything she’s uncomfortable with. Whitney will be eighteen in less than three months. If it’s in her best interest to take some time for herself, why would my client force her to do otherwise? I have a write up from Mrs. Teller, her psychologist, giving her expert opinion on this subject.”
He hands over a sealed envelope. I lean forward as he slices the top with a letter opener. The seconds stretch as he reads through the paperwork. All the weeks have led up to this one moment.
“I believe he’s right, Mr. and Mrs. Birling. I think the last thing this young woman needs is another move. She stays with her parent. We’ll set up a visitation schedule for you until she’s of age.”
I slap the chair and slump back in my seat. Now I can truly begin to rebuild from the rubble that my life has become.
***
I pour a healthy dollop of whiskey into my tumbler and add enough cola to make me feel better about the fact that I’m drinking before noon. My daughter has switched schools three times since she finished her last semester at home. She needs normalcy and space. Staying inside the four walls was agonizing for us both. It felt like Brooks had won. Despite his fugitive status, we were the ones being persecuted. Stuck virtually in hiding to escape extreme scrutiny, we felt trapped. In the end, we made the decision to slowly return to regular life.
After four months of apartment hoping on month-to-month leases, we’ve settled into a rental close to the school she’ll finish out her high school career at, under an alias. I snicker. I went from a million dollar home to a two bed, two bath condo rental.
It’s pitiful. I know what a failure the in-laws think I am, but the low profile is the only way to escape the media hounding us. They dogged our every step, seeking an exclusive interview and photos of the poor family torn apart. I sneer as I think of the way they’ve painted me. The poor, pitiful wife. I take another sip. I spend the majority of my time pretending to be okay for Whitney. Then she leaves, and I’m left alone with my demons. I have nothing to show for the past six years other than a beautiful, intelligent, and well-adjusted daughter. Unfortunately, you can’t list that on a resume, and given everything that’s gone down, well-adjusted might be pushing it.
I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do. I moved to part-time physical therapy work when Whit hit ten and got heavily involved in activities and advanced academics. Brooks was never home, I was stretching myself thin, and I couldn’t stand the thought of having her raised by a nanny. After three more years, I left the field altogether. It’s been six years since I had a client. I haven’t kept up with the advances in the medical field or gained any new skills. I’m lost and struggling against the tide like a salmon trying to swim upstream. Every day is a trial.
Peering down at my sweatpants, I cringe. I’ve put on a good fifteen pounds since everything happened. That’s what happens when you’re not following a strict diet and exercise plan.
It takes all I have to wake up, dress, cook breakfast, and play happy for Whitney. A knock on the door makes me tense. I’m not expecting anyone. Dear, God, have they found us again?
After pushing myself up from the chair, I cross the living room to the door. I peer out the peephole, and my heart jumps into my throat. Choking on a sob, I rip the chain off its slot, twist the lock, and open the door. I launch myself at the curvy brunette with hair big enough to defy gravity, ripped jeans, and a white tank top. She smells like roses and clean air, and her arms around me are the sweetest gift I’ve been given in years.
“Oh, B. Why didn’t you tell me you needed me? Come on, sugar, let’s get inside.”
I sniff, as I swipe at my eyes, unable to stave off the waterfall of salt water rolling down my face.
“Inside now. The neighbors don’t need to know our business.”
I give a strangled laugh and step back inside. She follows me in with two massive black suitcases.
“What are you doing here, Jesslynn?”
“Checking on you, and not a minute too soon by the look of it. I knew you were selling me wolf tickets when you swore up and down you were fine on the phone. No one goes through all that and comes out smelling like roses. I wasn’t here but a hot minute when I flew out after it happened. I woulda been back here sooner, but everyone was shopping for Derby, and I couldn’t see leaving the shop.” Jesslynn shakes her head. She’d gone to school for design and business and managed a popular shop back home. Posh sold clothing and accessories that would make any Southern Belle swoon. She worked hand in hand with local designers and crafters, to present unique, fashionable, and affordable merchandise.
“I’m here now for the rest of the summer, and if I’m not satisfied with your state of mind before I leave here, I’m taking you back home with me. Whitney will be in college by then, and you won’t have any ties to this place.”
My lower lip trembles. I’ve never been so grateful for her aggressive personality and almost obsessive planning in my life.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Jess.”
“Honey, you’re my sister in everything but blood. Where else would I be right now?”
I shake my head. I’d forgotten what true friendship looked and felt like. My girlfriends in California had all abandoned me like rats on a sinking ship after the news broke. As if my tragedy might somehow rub off on them. I always knew our relationships were shallow. We ran in the same circles, but I never felt truly close to them. The girls I knew from nursing were different, but I’d neglected those connections like I did so many others in my life.
“I love you, Jess.”
“And I love you, too, B. Which is why I’m going to tell you this sweatpants chic look is not working for you, honey. We need to take you out for some new clothes, a bit of spa time, and a haircut. It’ll work wonders.”
I touch my hair. Since I’d stopped straightening it, I’ve been at a loss at how to handle the thick, unruly, kinky coils.
“You’ve done your mourning. Now is about remembering how to live.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I whisper.
“Now that I’m here it will be. We’ve got an appointment at …” She glances down at her watch. “Oh, twelve-thirty with a top salon. So I suggest you go spruce yourself up. Don’t bother arguing, because you know I’ll win.”
I open my mouth and close it. I have no fight left, and the thought of downtime with my sister is a break from the hell I’m living. “I’ll go get ready.”
She places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We’re going to get through this together you and me. I promise you that.”
***
I’m a newborn colt trying to walk on wobbly legs as we step out of the SUV and head toward the BLVD bar. After being exfoliated, waxed, pampered, and made-up, I no longer recognize the woman in the mirror. I’m dressed in a brand new pair of blue jean cutoffs and a gray tank top with a rose; short brown boots with fringe round out the outfit. It’s the most casual I’ve gone in years. The big curls I was once known for while growing up are back. They surround my head in a cloud of fluffy spirals that remind me of my roots.
I’m more me than I’ve been in a long time. I should be excited, but I’m terrified because I’m out of touch with that woman in a way I never imagined I would be. It’s shameful how caught up I was in an ideology—the perfect family with the big home, amazing car, and expensive clothes.
I never cared much about any of it, but I knew Brooks did, and I wanted to please him. That’s what good southern girls do: support their husband with a smile, well-cooked meals, and pretty packaging. It was the way my mother did it, her mother, and her mother before her. Some traditions and beliefs die hard, especially in the small town where I was born. It burns my biscuit, thinking of how good he had it. Home-cooked meals, and a pretty wife at home who adored him. He was my first love. The only man I’d ever slept with, and for a time, all my dreams come true.
Until the cracks in his carefully sculpted façade began to fade. I made excuses for him over the years. Pride was a poison I administered to myself in order to remain in denial.
We approach the building, and I nibble the inside of my cheek.
“You nervous, B?”
“A might bit.”
“How long has it been since you went out and had a good time?”
“Well—”
“No. Not when you went out and played the who’s life is better game with the Stepford wives. I’m asking when’s the last time you went out, threw back some shots, and listened to some country music and rock?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Exactly. Relax. We’ll have a few drinks, play some pool, and listen to some good music. Trust me. We won’t be running into anyone you know here.”
The words are insanely soothing. I’ve been forced to play a role for so long. This is my turn to be me, whoever that is.
Jesslynn hooks our arms and pulls me to her. “I aim to see that smile of yours, darling. It’s gotten lost over the past few months.”
Whitney is at home with her best friend Amy, marathoning movies and scarfing down junk food. This is my time. I take a deep breath as we walk into the silver building with the white rectangular sign with a red arrow pointing us inside. The bar is dimly lit, and Johnny Cash is playing over the speakers.
“Now we know we’re in the right place.” The familiar music, along with the clump of people gathered around tables and the bar, set me at ease. There’s anonymity in being in a new environment with the woman who knows me better than anyone in the entire world. Jesslynn lets out a whoop as she guides me to the bar. The girl never needed much to get a party started. The trait was good and bad depending on the situation. She’d landed us in some pickles. But without her, I would’ve missed out on the most amazing things. Some people just shine a little brighter than others. Jesslynn is a beacon in the darkness; you can’t help but be drawn to her.
She squeezes in beside a dangerous looking man with long, brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail. The words Kings of Chaos stand out in blood red against the black patch that has a skull wearing a crown on his leather vest.
“You don’t mind if I squeeze on in beside you, do you?” Jesslynn asks.
I try not to let my jaw drop as the man turns and peers down on her. He’s far younger than I thought he would be with a strong jaw, deep-set hazel eyes, and a light brown goatee that adds to his rugged appeal. When did bikers get so hot?
“Not at all. It’s an improvement to my current company.”
Jesslynn peers to her left toward the muscular blond in black in his mid-thirties and nods her head toward him. ‘Him?’ she mouths.
He shakes his head. “Myself.”
Jesslynn laughs. His witchy hazel eyes twinkle and his smile is a flash of white. The change is devastating. In a split second, he goes from intimidating to inviting. “Me and my best friend, Blanche, are here to let loose and have a good time.”
“Is that right?” He arches an eyebrow and smirks. “You always this quiet, Blanche?” he asks.
The words roll off his tongue like honey. I swallow as my hormones flare to life. The man can’t be older than mid-twenties, thirty at the most.
“Well, Jess always does enough talking for the both of us. I like to hang back and observe until I decide if there’s anyone worth talking to.”
He chuckles, and I shrug as heat fills my cheeks.
“I like that.”
“And you are?” Jesslynn asks.
“They call me Freeze.”
“Interesting choice of name your parents choose. They must like the cold an awful lot,” Jess says with a wink.
He laughs. “That’s my road name. Only my close friends get to use my government name, and we just met, sweetheart. Besides, I didn’t hear you give me yours. Only Blanche’s.” He nods toward me, and I swear his color changing eyes smolders.
I swallow to moisten my dry mouth. I’m so rusty I can’t read his expression properly. He’s too young for me. There’s no way he’s interested in me.
“Pardon me for being so rude. I’m Jesslynn. My friends call me Jess, but we just met, so …” She shrugs, and he laughs.
“Touché.”
Jess turns to the bar and flags down the pretty blonde bartender.
Freeze leans closer to me and nods to Jess. “Is she always like this?”
“What you see is what you get,” I reply.
“And what about you, Blanche the observer?”
“What about me?” I ask, cursing my lameness.
“What are you like?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper quietly.
He tilts his head. “Odd answer.”
“Honest answer.”
“Well, you can’t leave me hanging with that.”
Jesse slaps down two shots of tequila. “Drink up, bitch. We’re getting you back to your happy place.”
She hands me a wedge of lemon and slides over a salt shaker. I dash the salt between my thumb and pointer finger. I suck on the lemon, lick the salt, and throw the liquid courage down the hatch, eager to escape Freeze’s beautiful, question-filled gaze. The tequila goes down the hatchet smoothly and warms me from the inside out.
Jesse claps. “Now we’re talking. I got two Buds coming to chase them. I’m the designated driver tonight.”
“Lucky me,” I say as I lick the remaining salt from my lips.
“I like a woman who can hold her liquor,” Freeze says.
“Oh, honey, I’m Tennessee raised, it’s pretty much a requirement.”
He laughs. “Noted.”
“Is he bothering you ladies?” the blond to Jess’s left asks.
I hold my breath. Please don’t let my first night in God knows how long turn into a bar brawl.
“You hurt my feelings with your assumptions. These are my new friends, Blanche and Jesslynn.” It was a small thing, introducing me first, but there was something in his tone that felt territorial.
“Nice to meet you all, I’m Mark. You never know around this bar. I’m a bartender here, so I try to keep an eye on things.”
“I got you, man,” Freeze says.
“It’s nice to meet you, ladies,” Mark says.
“Nice to meet you,” Jesse and I chime, polite as punch.
“Tell me, Mark, do you play pool?” Jess asks.
“I do. You up for a game?”
“I am.” She grabs her bottle of beer and winks at me. “I’ll be just across the way if you need anything.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. Jesslynn has never been married because she likes to keep her options open, and fully embrace the experience life has to offer her. A business woman who never lacks for dates or traveling companions, she’s never had a problem bucking tradition.
“Before the alcohol started flowing you were saying something about changes?” Freeze says.
I take a long draw off my bottle and nod as I toy with the label. I finally find a man who listens, and it’s the wrong time in my life. “Yes, I’m coming out of a marriage and figuring everything out, starting over fresh.”
“Oh yeah? I am, too.”
“You just got divorced?” I say skeptically. “You seem awful young for that.”
He laughs. “No, going through changes. I’ve been thinking about relocation recently. My job has kept me traveling over the past five years, and now I have a chance to plant some roots. I’m twenty-nine, by the way, not that young.”
“More than ten years younger than me,” I state, addressing the elephant in the room. May-December romances with older men and younger women don’t seem to make too many waves these days, but rarely have I seen it the other way around.
“Good, it means we’re both legal. I was a bit worried before. You look so young.”
I shake my head, exasperated by his tenacity. “You’re a determined thing, aren’t you?”
“If you stick around, I’ll show you how much.”
I give a laugh. “Cocky.”
He winks. “So I’ve been told.”
I study him closer. “Tell me more about this change of yours. You’re moving here?”
“I am. I’ve been floating around to where my family needs me for the past couple of years, and I’m ready to put down roots.”
“San Diego isn’t a bad place for that.”
“Not when I get the sand, sea, and the company of a beautiful woman.”
He’s coming on strong without being offensive. I like it more than I should. We’re from two different worlds. I have no clue what the Nomad patch on his vest means or the ins and outs of his life as a biker. Yet, knowing I’m desirable to another man, a younger man no less, is a thrill that takes me away from the dark headspace. All right, youngin’, I’ll bite.