MADISON

“Skylar, let Kyle have some pizza. It’s not all for you.”

“But he pigs it down so fast!”

“Skylar,” I warn.

Groaning, she plants the step-stool beside the fridge again and retrieves the box from up top. “Oh, alright!”

He whines, “Why you gotta be so mean, Sky?”

From the dining nook where I’m sitting with the puzzle we were working on, I remind him, “No whining, Kyle. It’s not attractive.”

“I don’t care!”

“You want friends, don’t you? Nobody likes a whiner. Not even whiners.”

He glares at me, one of those adorable little-boy frowns, but his face brightens as his sister hands him a slice, begrudgingly saying to him, “Here, Kyle.”

“Yes!” Shoving the narrow part of the triangle in his mouth, he makes happy noise as he bounces to me, plopping into a seat.

Skylar stares at the backyard, mournfully singing, “Rain, rain, go away. Don’t ever come back. I wish Bucky was here.”

“He doesn’t do as well here when we’re cooped up. He just claws at the door, like you’re doing,” I tease her.

She rolls her eyes. “But now he’s just cooped up at your house.”

“He can’t see the backyard at my house.” Because I don’t have one. “And we need the rain, remember?” I place a difficult piece into the puzzle. “It makes everything grow. We need it for our bodies to stay healthy. And many people in the world wish they had rain right now.”

“They can have ours! I want to go outside.”

“Come here and help us. I’m almost done with the blue sky. You want to fill in the café?”

Skylar trudges over, munching the last bite of her pizza.

The front door opens in the distance. I look at the stove-clock, thinking it’s too early for anyone to be home yet. The Schweises never return on Fridays before seven. Sometimes I even hand the kids over to the babysitter when they don’t come back at all.

“Well, well, working on a puzzle are we?” Mr. Schweis strolls in with an affable smile.

The kids barely look at him. “Uh huh,” Kyle answers, but Skylar says nothing, easing a piece into place.

“Madison, you can go home early. I’m working from home today.” He walks to a cabinet and glances inside, shutting it again without grabbing anything from within.

I gather my purse, uneasy around him, and happy to leave as quickly as I can now that he’s home.

Skylar cries out, “No, don’t go yet!”

Kyle stares at me with big eyes.

I kiss her hair and reassure her, “I’ll see you again on Monday, love.”

“No!”

“You told me you’re visiting your grandparents this weekend, Sky.”

“But that’s not until tomorrow! Stay!” She tugs on my shirt. “We have to finish the Van Gogh!”

Glancing to her father as he smiles at us with his hands in his suit pockets I reassure her, “We’ll finish it Monday.” To him I ask, “Is it okay if this stays on the table over the weekend?”

“You know my wife better than that,” he chuckles.

The kids blink from him to me. But I can’t ask for a miracle. Mrs. Schweis is very anal about her house being ‘just so.’ This puzzle would be broken apart and boxed up even if it was completed.

“Do you want to tear it apart?” I smile like that’ll be even more fun.

They shake their heads, Kyle rubbing one of his sad eyes.

“We can start from fresh on Monday. And who knows, it might be a beautiful day and we can play outside instead. You might not even want the puzzle.”

She smacks her socked foot on the marble floor. “Stay!”

“Skylar, enough!” her father growls.

The children bow their heads and start tearing apart the puzzle slowly, piece by piece. I help them, and when it’s boxed up I hug them and ask them, “Would you please put this away for me?”

I’m trying to teach them to pick up after themselves and it’s been a struggle since they have not only a nanny and a babysitter, but a cleaning lady who comes three times a week, too.

Skylar surprises me by nodding and carrying the box away.

Feeling terrible I walk with my purse toward the door. Mr. Schweis follows me. Ever since that unwanted kiss, I have avoided being alone with him. It’s usually their mom who comes home first, so I’ve been lucky. And today, I walk a little faster just so he doesn’t get the idea that I’m interested.

My umbrella is waiting for me to reclaim it, sitting in an iron basket—the key to my freedom if I can only make it there in time.

“Madison, come with me a second.”

I freeze.

He chuckles, “Don’t look so worried. It’s payday, remember?” Heading for his office he casually adds, “Just have to write you a check.”

Frowning, I stare at his back. This foreboding feeling is probably nothing. I made it clear that he’d acted out of line before. He wouldn’t try that again—it’d be too weird for him to do that.

Forcing reluctant feet to follow the man who pays my bills, my chest is tight, breath held.

He removes a checkbook from one of his drawers. “Close the door, would you?”

I make no move to do so.

Lifting a ballpoint pen, he glances up. “Close it, Madison. I’m not going to bite you. I want to talk to you about what happened, and I don’t want my children to hear.”

Reaching over I shut the door, relaxing. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

“I think we do. It was awkward, don’t you agree?” he smiles, and returns to the check, signing his name with a tight scrawl. Ripping it from the pad, he walks it over. “Well, don’t you?”

“Yes. It was.”

He chuckles, and hands me the slip of paper that keeps a roof over my head. “I know I usually pay you online but…” Suddenly his arms around me and I gasp, shocked at the speed with which he turned. “But I needed to get you alone again, didn’t I?” He grunts, and for the first time I realize he’s hard, his erection pressed into me.

I struggle against him, “Let me go!” but his hold tightens.

“Oh, come on now. I’ve seen how you look at me.”

Hot tears of helplessness are burning my eyes as I fight him off, not wanting to scare the children. “I haven’t been looking at you! Let me go!”

“I like the fight. Keep it up.”

Sickening nausea wafts into me. “I’ll scream! Let me go!”

“No, you won’t,” he hisses, fisting my hair and pulling my head back. “You love my children too much, don’t you?” His teeth clamp onto my neck.

I let out a ragged screech of pure panic, pushing at him, the sound growing quiet quickly from loss of air. I inhale, scream again, with everything I’ve got. The sound pierces the room, travels through the door, I’m sure of it.

He releases me.

Slaps me across the face.

I cry out.

Grab my cheek.

Reach for the handle.

Skylar and Kyle’s voices are on the other side. “Maddie?! Maddie!”

“Tell them,” he sneers, volume low. “I dare you.”

I stare at Mr. Schweis in shock and terror. Any man who makes a threat under these conditions, when his entire life and family hangs in the balance, is a man I will not test.

My body smashes flat up against the wood as I claw at the knob, turning it. I make my face as calm as I’m able to, walk outside and smile to Skylar and Kyle, painfully laughing, “I’m alright. There was a spider. It crawled on my arm and I didn’t see it until the last minute.”

Their father smiles from behind me, “It was as big as that one you saw in the tub last week, remember Skylar?”

The children relax, their faces changing to being grossed out.

“Ew!”

“It was on your arm?”

“Did it bite you?”

“No, but it scared me. See, my body’s still shaking, look.”

Kyle points to my check, crumbled in my fist. “Is it in there?”

Mr. Schweis retrieves my purse from the floor and hands it to me, our eyes locking for a moment. A warning flashes from his as he gives me this sickening smile, “Here, you must have dropped this when you screamed.”

Swallowing, I nod as I start walking to the front door. “Yes, I must have. Okay, guys, have fun this weekend.”

“Bye Maddie!”

As I grab my jacket I cast a fleeting glance at the three of them, him so tall standing in the center with a look in his eyes I’ll have nightmares about for years. “Bye guys,” I whisper, swiping my umbrella’s handle and rushing out the front door.

I break into a run. My car unlocks as the sensor in my purse nears it. I’ve never been this clumsy before. The door handle feels slippery. My legs are like noodles. I can barely see I’m so scared. The car starts as soon as I’m inside, and the seatbelt slowly embraces me as I punch the gas pedal.

As soon as I’m a few blocks away, I pull over to sob, hugging the steering wheel, chest wracked with heaving. There’s not enough air in this car.

I’m going to suffocate.

I know it.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.