“I'm going to miss you,” he said simply. They knew they couldn't talk to each other over the weekend. Jack would have been suspicious if Bill called on her cell phone. And she didn't dare call him.

“I'll call you if he goes out riding or something. Try not to be too sad,” she said, concerned about him. She knew how hard it was going to be to celebrate the holiday without Margaret. But he wasn't thinking of his wife now, only Maddy

“I'm sure it'll be hard, but it'll be good to see the children.” And then, without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, and held her for one last minute. When they left each other that afternoon, they were both sad, at what they had once had and lost, and could no longer have. And Maddy was silently grateful as she drove away, that at least they had each other. All she could do was thank God for him.





Chapter 18




THE TIME MADDY SPENT IN VIRGINIA with Jack over the holiday was difficult and fraught with tension. He was in a bad mood most of the time, and he locked himself in the study frequently for clandestine phone calls. And this time, she knew it couldn't be the President, because he was still convalescing, and the Vice President was running the country for the moment. And Jack had never been close to him. His ties were to Jim Armstrong and no one else.

And once, when she picked up the phone to call Bill, thinking Jack was out, she accidently heard him talking to a woman. She hung up immediately, without listening to what they were saying. But it made her wonder. He had been so quick to explain the photograph of the woman he'd been with at Annabel's in London, but he had been very removed from her in the past month, and they rarely made love anymore. It was a relief in some ways, but it also puzzled her. For all their married life, his sexual appetite had been insatiable and voracious. And he seemed disinterested in her now, except when he complained to her, or accused her of something he claimed she had done.

She managed to call Lizzie on Thanksgiving Day, and Bill the following night, when Jack went to talk to one of the neighbors about their horses. Bill said the holiday had been rough, but the skiing was great, so that was something. He had made turkey with the kids. And Maddy and Jack had eaten theirs alone in stony silence, but when she tried to talk to him about the tension between them, he brushed her off, and told her it was her imagination, which she knew it wasn't. She had never been as unhappy, except when Bobby Joe was abusing her. In some ways, this felt no different, it was just subtler. But it was hurtful and confusing and sad.

She was relieved when they finally got on the plane to go home, and Jack commented on it with a tone of suspicion. “Any particular reason you're so happy to go home?”

“No, I'm just anxious to get back to work,” she said, fobbing him off. She didn't want to get in a fight with him, and he seemed to be itching to start one.

“Is there someone waiting for you in Washington, Mad?” he asked nastily, and Maddy just looked at him in despair.

“There's no one, Jack. I hope you know that.”

“I'm not sure what I know about you. But I could find out if I wanted,” he said, and she didn't answer. Discretion seemed the better part of valor. Silence the only choice.

And the next day after work, she went to the abuse group she had promised Dr. Flowers she'd attend. She really didn't want to go. It sounded depressing to her, and she had told Jack she had a meeting to attend for the First Lady's commission. She wasn't sure he believed her, but he didn't challenge her for once, and he had plans of his own. He said he was meeting people for business after work.

But Maddy felt depressed again when she walked into the address where the abuse group was held. It was a ramshackle house, in a bad neighborhood, and she felt sure it would be full of dreary, whining women. She just wasn't in the mood to go. But she was surprised when she saw the women arrive, in jeans, and business suits, some young, some old, some pretty, and others plain and unattractive. It was a motley assortment, but most of them seemed to be intelligent and interesting, and some were very lively. And as the group leader came in and sat down, her eyes were warm as she looked at Maddy.

“We only use first names here,” she explained. “And if we recognize each other, we don't discuss it. We don't greet each other if we meet on the street. We don't tell anyone who we saw, and what we heard. What we say here never leaves this room. It's important that we feel safe here.” Maddy nodded, and believed her.

They sat down on threadbare chairs, and introduced themselves by their first names, and many of them seemed to know each other from previous visits to the group. There were twenty women usually, sometimes more, sometimes less, the leader explained. They met twice a week, and however often Maddy wanted to come was fine. It was an open enrollment. There was a coffeepot in the corner, and someone had brought cookies.

And one by one, they began to speak, and talk about what they were doing, what was happening in their lives, what they worried about, or were pleased about, or what they were afraid of. Some were in terrifying situations, some had left husbands who had mistreated them, some were straight, some were gay, and some had children, but the common bond they all shared was that they had been tormented by abusers. Most of them seemed to have had abusive families as children, but some of them didn't. Some of them had had seemingly perfect lives, until they met the men and women who abused them. And as Maddy listened to them, she felt herself relax as she hadn't in years. What she was hearing was so familiar, so real, so much of what she knew that it was like taking off a suit of armor, and breathing fresh air. She felt as though she had come home, and these women were her sisters. And almost everything they described sounded like the relationship she had lived, not only with Bobby Joe, but with Jack in recent years. As she listened to them, it was like hearing her own voice, and her own story, and she knew with utter conviction that Jack had abused her since the day he met her. All the power, all the charm, all the threats, all the control, all the gifts, all the insults, all the humiliation and the pain, it was something they had all experienced. And he was such a classic portrait of an abuser that it embarrassed her that she hadn't understood it sooner. But even when Dr. Flowers had described it at the commission several months before, it hadn't been as clear to her as it was now. And suddenly she no longer felt shame over it, or embarrassment. She felt relief, and the only thing she had done wrong was accept all the blame he had heaped on her, and allowed herself to feel guilty for it.

She told them about her life with him, and the things he did and said to her, the words he used, the tone, the accusations, and his reaction to Lizzie, and they all nodded and sympathized, and pointed out to her that she had a choice. It was her responsibility what she did about it.

“I'm so scared,” she whispered, as tears ran down her face, “what will happen to me if I leave him? … What if I can't make it without him?” But no one ridiculed her for the words, or told her she was stupid for what she was feeling. They had all been scared too, and some of them had good reason to be. One of the women's husbands was in prison for trying to kill her, and she was terrified of what would happen when he came out in a year or so. Many of them had been physically abused, as she had been by Bobby Joe. Some of them had walked out on whole lives, and nice homes, and two of them had even abandoned their children, but they had felt they had to save themselves before their husbands killed them. They knew it wasn't admirable, but they had fled, in whatever way they could. And others were still struggling to get out, and weren't even sure they could, like Maddy. But the one thing she knew after talking to them was that every hour, every day, every minute she stayed, she was in danger. Suddenly, she understood what Bill and Dr. Flowers and even Greg had been saying to her. Until then, she couldn't really hear it. But now, at last, she could.

“What do you think you're going to do now, Maddy?” one of the women asked her.

“I don't know,” she said honestly, “I'm so scared, I'm afraid he'll see what's inside my head, or hear what I'm thinking.”

“The only thing he's gonna hear clearly is you slamming the door in his face and running like hell. He won't hear nothing till you do that,” a woman with no teeth and scraggly hair said. But in spite of the way she looked and the rough things she said, Maddy liked her. These women, she knew now, were what was going to save her. She had to save herself, she also knew, but she needed their help. And for whatever reason, she could hear them.

She felt like a new person as she left them, but they also warned her that it wouldn't happen by magic. No matter how good she felt from the common experience they shared, and the validation they gave her, she still had to do the work, and it wasn't going to be easy. She also knew that.

“Giving up abuse is like giving up drugs,” one of the women told her bluntly. “It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, because it's familiar to you. You're used to it. You don't even know it's happening anymore. It's the only way you know or think someone loves you.” Maddy had heard this before, but she still hated hearing it. She now realized it was true. She just didn't know what she was going to do about it, except come here.

“Don't expect too much of yourself at first,” one of the others said to her, “but don't hang around for ‘one last time,’ one last round, one last shot at it … it may be your last one. Even the guys who don't lay a hand on you get crazy sometimes. He's a bad person, Maddy, a lot worse than you think, and he could kill you. He probably wants to, but doesn't have the balls. Get your ass out of there before he finds them. He doesn't love you. He doesn't care about you, not in any way you want … his love for you is hurting you. That's what he wants, and that's what he's gonna do. He ain't never gonna change. He'll just get worse. And the better you get, the worse he'll be. You're in a lot of danger.”