Come Back To Me (30 page)

Cara looked around. She realized she was alone in the office. It was the first time she’d ever been alone in Micah’s office. This might be the only opportunity she’d have to help herself. She tip-toed over to the desk. Micah kept a pad of expensive linen notepaper next to his phone. Cara tore off the top piece. She folded it and slid it into her purse, listening as she did so for the sound of footsteps.

She quickly checked the desk drawers to see if they were locked. They weren’t. She found the gun Jerry had told her about. It was shoved into the back of a drawer beneath a file. She emptied it of bullets, dropping them into her purse too. She wiped the gun clean with her skirt, then returned it to its original location and shut the drawer, wiping the desk clean as well. She didn’t want to leave any fingerprints.

Cara returned to the restaurant. She made a point of chatting with the busboys as they set up for the dinner crowd. Micah and Brian were nowhere in sight.

She climbed into her car and drove towards the ranch, eyes on her rearview mirror. Nobody followed her. Micah was too self-absorbed to even consider the possibility that she might have a working brain.

Cara stopped her Jeep on the bridge over the creek near their property. She dug the bullets out of her purse and tossed them over the side of the bridge into the water below. Once they’d plopped beneath the surface they were no more visible than the little pebbles.

She hoped Micah wouldn’t check to see if the gun was loaded. He had no reason to. He had no idea she knew about it. Besides, Brian probably kept another gun stowed beneath the bar. Micah would expect Brian to act as enforcer just as he’d expected Jerry to. Brandishing a gun around would attract unwanted attention. Micah wasn’t that stupid. The only person Micah might actually use the gun on would be her.

August 21, 1978

D
read settled in the pit of her stomach. Cara knew she had to approach Micah now. Her mother and Phil would arrive in Salt Lake City today, in the late afternoon. Phil planned to attend a two-day conference and Cara’s mother was insisting upon staying with her. Micah seemed to have entirely forgotten their previous conversation about her mother’s visit. Cara hadn’t brought the subject up again. Now she had to tell him. She couldn’t risk surprising him. She didn’t want to endanger her mother.

She woke up early. While Micah slept, she took a quick shower, did her hair and applied a little make up. She dressed in her prettiest silk nightgown and robe. Cara stepped outside onto the deck. The sun was already up and the redwood planks felt warm beneath her bare feet. Birds sang in the pines and the breeze ruffled her hair. It was a lovely morning. Cara rubbed her belly, feeling the baby kick against her palm, and she smiled. It would be nice to relax and enjoy the pregnancy, but she didn’t have the luxury.

Cara returned to the kitchen. She retrieved the can of frozen orange juice she’d left in the fridge overnight to thaw, poured it into a glass pitcher and added water, then stirred it and returned it to the fridge. She filled the coffee maker and switched it on, making sure the coffee was strong; the way Micah liked it. She set the table with two placemats, determined to try to eat some breakfast with him even if she threw it up later. Micah had always like omelets. Cara had eggs, tomatoes, green onions and white cheddar cheese. Perhaps if she took the time to make him a special breakfast, she could improve his mood.

As she stood beside the counter slicing tomatoes, Micah walked into the kitchen.

“Good morning.”

Her greeting went unacknowledged. He opened the refrigerator door.

“I was hoping you might have time for breakfast today.”

He reached for the glass pitcher of orange juice.

“Why?” He looked at her suspiciously as he opened a cabinet and grabbed a juice glass.

Cara hesitated. This wasn’t an auspicious beginning. “I-I wanted to remind you that my mother is coming today. We talked about this last week.”

“And I said ‘No’ last week, as I recall.”

“But Micah, she’s on her way. She’ll be here this afternoon. She’s going to spend a couple of nights with us. It’s important. She wants to see . . . She wants to see how well I’m doing and I . . .” Cara didn’t get to finish the remainder of her sentence.

Micah slammed the glass onto the countertop, breaking it. Slivers of glass flew all over the kitchen. Cara jerked out of the way, but she was too late. One of the larger pieces sliced into her forearm. She grabbed for a kitchen towel to try to stop the bleeding.

“Fucking bitch,” Micah hissed. “Look what you made me do.”

“I’m sorry Micah . . . I’m sorry . . .” Cara stammered. She began to pick up pieces of glass with one hand while trying not to step on any with her bare feet.

When she least expected it, Micah charged her like a prizefighter coming out of his corner. He wrapped his hands around her upper arms, squeezing until she cried out in pain. He forced her onto her knees in the middle of the glass-covered floor.

“Pick it up,” he yelled. “Pick it all up.” He let go of her with one hand and reached back for the glass pitcher full of orange juice. He held it above his head and then let it drop. Despite his iron grip on her arm Cara managed to duck. The heavy pitcher missed her head, but it glanced off her left shoulder. Cara grunted with pain as the pitcher crashed to the floor beside her, shattering into a million pieces and splattering everything in the kitchen with juice.

“Look what you did.” Micah laughed. “Look what you did now. Damn, you’re clumsy. Better clean it up before your mother gets here. Wouldn’t want her to know what a slob you are.” As he stalked out of the kitchen, he called out, “Don’t wait up sweetheart, I’m going to be late.” Then he stopped. “Oh and Cara, one more thing, if you’re thinking of leaving with your mother, think again. I’ll kill you. I will fucking hunt you down like a dog and kill you both.”

Cara knelt on the floor, still as a stone. Her shoulder had gone numb and she wondered if something was broken. She knew from past experience that both her upper arms sported red handprints. The handprints would become purple bruises within the hour. The towel she’d grabbed had fallen away and blood ran down the side of her arm. It dripped into the pool of juice on the floor. Her robe was soaked and sticky, glistening with a thousand tiny fragments of glass. Cara sensed that if she tried to move, she’d merely grind the glass beneath her into her knees and lower legs. So she stayed. She stayed until she heard Micah finish in the shower. She stayed until she heard him walk down the hallway. She listened to his laughter at the sight of her still on her knees. She knelt there until he closed the door leading to the garage and she heard his car drive away.

Cara closed her eyes and took a deep breath, shaking the glass from her robe. She placed both hands on her belly, cradling the child within her. “It won’t happen,” she whispered. “I promise you he won’t kill us.”

∗    ∗    ∗

“Mrs. Welsh, my nurse tells me you’ve had an accident with a sliding glass door?”

“Yes, Dr. Smith. I walked right into it. I’m just clumsy, I guess.”

The doctor asked Cara to remove her gown so he could examine her shoulder. She hesitated. He would see all the bruises.

“Mrs. Welsh, I understand you may be a bit shy, but I do need to examine your shoulder and check for other cuts. We’re going to have to stitch that slice on your forearm and I can already see that I may have to dig some glass out of your knees.”

Cara thought quickly. Doctors were sworn to keep anything their patients told them confidential. If she told him not to say anything, he wouldn’t, but he would chart everything she told him. That could work to her advantage.

Cara slowly slipped the gown from her shoulders. She heard Dr. Smith’s quick intake of breath. He stared at her in silence.

“Mrs. Welsh, Cara, you didn’t run into a glass door, did you?”

Cara began to retch. The doctor fetched an emesis basin and he held it for her while she threw up. She apologized for being so much trouble.

“It’s okay,” he said, setting the basin aside. “You’re not any trouble. You’re safe here, Cara. You can tell me what happened.”

Cara dropped her defenses. He was right. For an hour at least, she was safe. Dr. Smith held her hand and listened. She didn’t say a word about Micah’s business or his drug use. She simply chronicled the episodes of physical abuse, starting with the events of this morning and working backward. Finally, exhausted, she agreed to let him examine her. Dr. Smith made a detailed note of each and every one of her injuries. Her shoulder was badly bruised, but not broken. The bruises on her upper arms matched Micah’s handprints exactly. Dr. Smith numbed her forearm and closed the laceration with eight stitches. Then he numbed both knees and dug out several large slivers of glass. At last, he told Cara she could get dressed.

By the time he returned, Cara had dressed and composed herself. She sat on the edge of the exam table.

“Cara, I think you know what I’m going to say.”

She nodded.

“You are being abused. Your husband is abusing you. It’s illegal. You do have recourse.” He handed her a pamphlet from the Center for Domestic Violence in Salt Lake City.

Cara took the pamphlet from his hand, setting it aside. The Center for Domestic Violence in Salt Lake City wouldn’t be of any help to her.

“Thank you Dr. Smith, but this isn’t a solution.”

“I don’t understand. They have counselors. They can help you find a lawyer. They have a safe house where you can stay.”

“Salt Lake City isn’t far enough. I’d have to go to the moon to get away from Micah Welsh. This morning he told me . . . He told me that if I left him he’d hunt me down like a dog and kill me. That’s what he said. My baby would die too.”

“Then you need to call the Sheriff’s Department. Or you need to let me call the Sheriff’s Department for you.”

“No.” Cara gripped his arm. “No, that’s the last thing I can do right now. He’d get out. You know they wouldn’t hold him for long. He’d get out and he’d come after me. I can’t take the risk. I can’t risk my child. Please don’t call the Sheriff’s Department. I’m begging you. Please.”

“Mrs. Welsh, every single day you stay in that house you put your child at risk.”

“I know, Dr. Smith. God help me, I know. But if I try to leave right now, if I go to a shelter, my husband will kill me. I swear to you. He will kill me.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

Cara thought for a moment. “I’ll sign a release. You can keep it in my chart. In the event that I . . .” She took a deep breath. “In the event that I disappear, or if I’m found dead, you can give your notes to the Sheriff’s Department. I’ll agree to that.”

“Mrs. Welsh, Cara, I hope to God it doesn’t come to that.”

“That’s as much as I can do for the moment.”

“No, there’s one more thing you can do.”

“What’s that?”

“You can come in every week. If your husband asks, tell him there’s a problem with the pregnancy and you need to see me every week. And let him know when your appointments are. Maybe we can get him to control himself a little bit if he knows I’ll be examining you, that if he bruises you, I’ll see it.”

“Thank you,” said Cara. “I’ll do that. Thank you so much.”

Dr. Smith rose from his stool. “I’ll get you some of my letterhead and you can write the note. I’d like my nurse to witness it if you don’t mind. She’s completely trustworthy. She won’t divulge your confidence. In the meantime, try to ice that shoulder and take it easy on those knees.”

Cara nodded. It had been a great relief to tell someone. Now if she disappeared or was killed someone would do something about it. The police would have a suspect. If she was dead, she’d no longer have to worry about what Micah or his nephew would do to her when the police discovered their real occupation.

∗    ∗    ∗

“Oh my darling, look at you! Look at you! Why, you barely look pregnant.” Cara winced as her mother hugged her. Her shoulder hurt like hell.

Cara kissed her mother on the cheek. “I am so happy to see you. I really am, Mom. I’m so glad you came.” She turned to Phil and gave him a hug. “You both look great. You look happy,” she said, meaning it.

“And as usual, you look too thin,” said her mother. “Don’t you know you need to eat for two?”

Cara took her mother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I try, Mom, trust me. I try.”

Cara had driven down to Salt Lake City after her doctor’s appointment to meet her mother and Phil at their hotel near Temple Square.

“I’m anxious to meet this mysterious son-in-law of mine,” said her mother.

Cara laughed, nervous. She was afraid to bring her mother into the situation, but she was afraid not to. Before she and her mother left Phil, she wrote down the phone number of his hotel and his room number and stuck it in her purse, giving him a slip of paper with her phone number and address on it. She also gave him Dr. Smith’s office number. Phil looked at her quizzically.

“Just to be on the safe side,” Cara said.

Cara’s mother seemed to enjoy the drive back to Park City. She exclaimed over the beauty of the mountains. “I haven’t been on such a scenic vacation in twenty-five years.”