A wife was supposed to take care of her husband. That's why he'd
married her. She was supposed to take care of him, to help him get
where he wanted to go.
Maybe knocking her around had been a good thing. She'd sure as hell
think twice before defying him again.
But, now that he'd shown her who was running things, he could afford to
be generous. Sweet little Emma, he thought. It only took a little
effort to manage her.
"Emma." Carefully, avoiding the shards of the broken lamp, Drew crossed
to the bed. He watched her eyes open. Saw the fear. "Oh, baby, I'm so
sorry." She winced when he stroked her hair. "I don't know what
happened. I just lost it. I deserve to be locked up."
She didn't speak. Like an echo, he.r mother's thick apologies came back
to her.
"You have to forgive me, Emma. I love you so much. It was just the way
you were screaming at me, blaming me. It wasn't my fault." He took her
rigid fingers and pressed them to his lips. "I know those scum had no
right to be in here, in our room. But it wasn't my fault. I tossed
them out myself," he improvised. "It was just a rage," he continued.
"When I saw them in here, I was so furious. Then you turned on me."
She began to cry again, slow, silent tears that squeezed between her
tightly shut lashes.
"I'll never hurt you again, Emma. I swear it. I'll go away if you
want. You can divorce me. God knows what I'd do without you, but I
won't ask you to let me stay. It's just-Christ, it's just that
everything's piling up. The album isn't selling as well as we expected.
The Grammy
passed right over us. And ... I think about us having a baby all
the time."
He began to weep then, holding his head in his hands. Tentatively, she
reached out to touch his arm. He nearly laughed, then gripped her
fingers in his, falling on his knees beside the bed. "Please, Emma. I
know the fact that you were hounding me, that you turned on me, is no
excuse for what I did. Forgive me. Give me another chance. I'll do
anything to make it up to you."
"We'll work it out," she murmured.
With his face pressed against the coverlet, he smiled.
THE PARTIES STOPPED. Oh, there were a few gatherings now and again with
people Emma was comfortable with. But there were no more throngs of
strangers in her home. Drew was attentive and sweet, the way she
remembered him from their courtship. She convinced herself that the
rage and the violence had been one isolated incident.
She had pushed him. He reminded her of that often enough to make her
believe it. She had blamed him for something that wasn't his doing. She
had turned on him, viciously, instead of supporting and believing in
him.
And if he lost his temper occasionally, if she saw a flare of violence
in his eyes, watched his fists clench or his mouth tighten, he could
always give solid, even logical reasons why she had set him off.
Bruises healed. Pain faded. He made an effort to take an interest in