One More Taste (21 page)

Carina's eyes closed. “Drive faster, will you? I'm going to pray.”

She released Emily's hand and clasped hers in front of her face, mouthing a silent prayer of her own. Heart pounding and her head dizzy with fear for Haylie, Emily turned her focus back to the road.

Haylie and Wendell's apartment was a twenty-minute drive from the resort, though both places were located in the same small town of Dulcet, in the heart of Ravel County. The apartment was tucked into the backside of a complex one block removed from Dulcet's Main Street, behind Delbert's Grocery Depot and two blocks from the firehouse.

Ty had invited Haylie and Wendell to live in the family's compound on Briscoe Ranch after they eloped two years earlier, even offering to remodel Carina's former office above the garage into a granny flat so the newlyweds could have privacy, but Wendell had insisted they strike out on their own. It made sense now why Wendell had done that. An abuser's first job was to isolate his victim from her support network.

Emily and Carina arrived at the apartment complex to find a crowd gathered in the doorways and parking lot, all eyes on the spectacle on the second-floor walkway. Haylie was standing outside her open apartment door, dressed in a gray skirt and silky blue top, barefoot, and shouting at the top of her lungs while gesticulating wildly at the two sheriff's deputies who stood next to their cruiser in the parking lot.

As she took in the scene, Carina sucked in a pained breath. “Oh, no.”

Emily ran a visual scan of Haylie's body for damage. Her face was red, her hair was tangled, and the top two buttons on her blouse had pulled from their buttonholes, with one missing and the other dangling by a thread. Other than that, her body showed no visible signs of injury. Though her arms were covered by the blouse's long sleeves, she seemed to be moving them fine. Her legs looked strong and bruise-free. Her lips weren't swollen, and neither were her cheeks.

Emily patted Carina's knee as she double-parked behind a line of cars. “She doesn't look hurt too badly. We can handle this.”

Haylie bent down and grabbed a potted succulent from a cluster of plants near her front door and held it over the railing, looking ready to hurl it at the officers. “Fuck you! No one asked you to come here. This is private property!”

The deputies perked up at that. One of them made a calming gesture with his open palms. “Ma'am, please. Set the plant down or we'll have to take you in. You can't be destroying property and threatening an officer.”

Carina scrambled to unfasten her seatbelt and open her door. “Let's get over there before she gets herself arrested.”

When Haylie spotted Carina and Emily, the eye roll she gave them was probably visible from space. With the plant in her hand, she threw both arms in the air. Potting soil and dried leaves rained over Haylie and fluttered to the first floor walkway below her. “And look who it is now! The guardian fucking angels I never asked for.”

Carina's steps faltered for a moment before continuing on her route up the concrete stairs at the end of the building. Emily followed, keeping quiet and letting Carina take the lead. “Are you okay, Haylie?”

Haylie stabbed one of her long, acrylic nails toward the deputies. “Did you call them? I told you to stay out of my fucking business!”

Carina stopped at the top of the stairs, several apartment doors away from Haylie. “We can't stay out of it. We love you too much.”

Haylie snarled. “Do I look like I need your help?”

Yes, she did. Emily's gaze went to the mangled potted plant. Carina's must have, too, because Haylie looked down at it in her hands as though realizing for the first time that she was holding something.

With proud, if stilted, movement, Haylie set the plant down, then rose to her full height, her chin high. She extended the middle fingers of both hands and held them out to Carina and Emily. “How about now? Do I look like I want you your help now?”

“Is he here?” Carina asked. There was no need to clarify who
he
was.

Haylie huffed. “No, which I'm sure frustrates the fuck out of you, seeing as how you were trying to get him arrested.”

“We want you to be safe. That's all,” Carina said, staying calm.

Haylie released a hard bark of laughter. “No, I'm pretty sure you just want him to go to jail, but nice try. You've had it out for him since the first time he asked me on a date. You won't be happy until I'm alone and he's gone so you can keep your status as the perfect one. You don't think I know what you're all about?”

“Haylie, please. This isn't about me.”

But Haylie was having none of it. She spun on her heel, flung her apartment door open, and slammed it again behind her.

A silver-haired neighbor poked her head out of the door and looked at Carina with wide, frightened eyes. “Wendell took off before the cops got here, right after I got off the phone with you. I hope she's not mad I called you. If you could not tell her it was me who got in touch with you, I'd be much obliged. And a tip for my troubles wouldn't hurt nothin' either.”

Carina nodded. “I won't tell, but you did the right thing by calling me. Thank you, Mrs. Cordera.” She rifled through her purse and pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar bills. Mrs. Cordera took the offered money and tucked it into her pants pocket. “I can't take it anymore, the two of them at each other's throats all the time. I feel for that girl because she's got a nasty dog for a man, but there's no peace around here anymore.”

“I know. I'm sorry.”

“We're working on it,” Emily added.

With a harrumph, Mrs. Cordera disappeared behind her closed door.

It took longer for Carina and Emily to smooth the ruffled feathers of the sheriff's deputies. They didn't seem to have processed that Haylie Halcott was a Briscoe, or who Carina's high-profile father was, which was all for the better. Anything to keep Ty from making the situation worse.

In the end, the deputies agreed not to charge Haylie with any crime, and to swing through the apartment parking lot whenever possible, to keep an eye on the situation. After many thanks, Carina and Emily mounted the stairs again and let themselves into Haylie's apartment.

The place smelled of cleaning products and the savory scent of braised meat and tomato sauce. It was also dark, which wasn't surprising. When you lived with an abuser, you tended to keep the curtains closed. Even Emily's parents' two-story penthouse apartment with expansive views of Lake Michigan had the ambiance of a cave unless company was present.

Other than the darkness, Haylie's apartment decor looked like so many acquaintances' apartments where Emily had bunked down after she ran away from home. Dull white paint on the walls punctuated by the occasional plastic-framed poster print, and decorated with a mishmash of worn furniture, inexpensive white bookshelves, and colorful plastic storage solutions and beanbags that looked better suited for a college dorm room.

Magazines were strewn on the short, tightly woven brown carpet as though they'd been knocked off the coffee table. Broken shards of a crystal vase were scattered over the living room floor near the TV stand, with carnations, daisies, and baby's breath strewn among the pieces.

Emily could feel Haylie's manic effort to appease Wendell and keep up the appearance that she was a happy wife. Nausea tightened her throat and tingled her sinuses. She knew that behavior. She'd grown up watching her mom tie herself into knots to keep the peace in their house.

They found Haylie in the small kitchen, looking out the back window and absentmindedly stroking the ear of the tiny, black and white dog in her arms—Twinnie, the teacup puppy Haylie's parents had gotten her and Wendell as a housewarming gift.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Haylie said without turning around.

“No,” Carina said, gently but firmly.

With a haughty sniff, Haylie tucked Twinnie in the crook of her arm and walked to the refrigerator. From deep in the recesses of the lowest shelf, she pulled out a chocolate candy bar. Emily took note of her trembling fingers as she unwrapped it and bit off a huge chunk. She closed her eyes, as though the chocolate's medicinal effect was washing through her.

“He's going to come back for dinner and you can't be here,” Haylie said, her eyes still closed.

So tempting to start in on a lecture about how Haylie deserved better than a man who would be upset to find Haylie's family and friends visiting. Instead, Emily said, “We won't stay too long.”

Carina looked like she wanted to say all the same things Emily was holding herself back from pointing out, but instead, she lifted the lid of the crockpot next to the stove. “Is this beef stew? It smells wonderful. You've really become a great cook.”

Emily opened a drawer in search of a spoon. “Mind if I try it? I'm always on the hunt for new stew recipes.” Which was a total lie, but it was a relief to have a neutral topic to cut through the tension.

“Don't taste it,” Haylie said. “I spit in it.”

Carina's eyes went wide. “You
what?
”

Haylie shrugged, then set Twinnie on the floor. “I came home on my lunch break to put dinner in the crockpot and caught him watching porn again, so this is what he gets.”

“That's what you two were arguing over? Porn?”

Haylie's face blanched. “No. That wasn't it. I would never call him out for that, but—” She seemed to notice that her façade of being in control was slipping, and straightened. “I'm not into getting mad; I'm into getting even. Like this…” She walked to the crockpot, lifted the lid, shifted her jaw as though gathering her saliva, then spit right into the bubbling broth.

Emily recoiled internally. Nothing was more disgusting than perfectly good food being defiled, even if a part of her was cheering Haylie on for her quiet defiance. Maybe that was a first step towards finding the strength to stand up for herself by leaving.

Carina, on the other hand, burst out laughing. “Ew, sis. That's so gross.” But when Haylie made to set the lid down, Carina took it from her. “Allow me to help,” she said with over-formality before added her spit to the pot.

Haylie's face cracked into a grin. “See? You're nasty, too. Must be a Briscoe thing.”

They both looked to Emily. Carina tipped her ear toward the crockpot. “Care to help season Wendell's dinner?”

Spitting into food was not her jam, but she would never do anything to dim the renewed luster in Haylie's eyes. Without looking into the pot, she said, “Maybe it needs some special pepper.” And then, before she could talk herself out of it, she took off her clog, held it over the crockpot, and tapped it until bits of dirt sprinkled down. Squelching her subsequent gag of revulsion was tough, but Emily managed.

The last vestiges of Haylie's armor vanished. With a look of devilish delight, she skipped to a cupboard. “I have a better idea. I think the stew needs more meat in it.” She held out a can of beef-and-gravy premium dog food.

“Hell, yeah, it does,” Carina said.

As the dog food oozed out of the can and into the crockpot, Emily swallowed back another retch by imagining Wendell sitting down at the kitchen table that night and digging into a steaming bowl of Haylie's special stew. She tried not to think about the chili for the Frito Pie she had sitting on Knox's stovetop.

As if reading Emily's mind, Haylie said, “Don't tell Knox about this. Please. I need that job. It's the first time I've—”

“You don't have to say any more. I know.” Emily had no plans to breathe one word to anyone, especially Knox. There was too much humiliation involved in being abused to take on the additional shame of it being made public. She would never forget the looks she'd gotten the next day at school from two friends who'd been at her house and witnessed her dad losing control, drunk and stumbling, calling her a piece of shit before passing out on the sofa. Those friends never came back to her house. No friends did. Eventually, Emily stopped inviting them. The risk was too great.

Haylie looked at her phone, then crumpled. “Oh, shit. Look at the time. My lunch break ended an hour ago. Shit. Knox is going to fire me for sure.”

“He won't,” Emily said, believing it.

“Let me hug you,” Carina said, choking up. “Please.”

Haylie picked up Twinnie, then allowed Carina to envelop them both in a hug. “You're too good for him, sis,” Carina said.

“He and I belong together,” Haylie croaked.

“Stay at my place tonight, would you? That would make me feel so much better.”

Emily cringed. Carina didn't realize it, but she was undoing their efforts to gain Haylie's trust because Haylie wasn't anywhere near ready, emotionally, mentally, to take such a leap as to sleep over at Carina's house, even if only for a night. That would mean admitting there was a problem.

Sure enough, Haylie pushed out of Carina's arms and threw a protective arm over Twinnie, as though Carina might snatch the dog from her hands to use it as leverage. “Are you kidding me? So you can spend the night judging me and begging me to leave him.”

“But it's true. You need—”

Emily stopped Carina's well-meaning, but ill-conceived plea with a hand to her shoulder. “Go wait in the living room. Give us a sec.”

Carina looked between Emily and Haylie. Emily tried to tell her it wasn't personal and they weren't shutting her out, but Emily and Haylie needed a moment—survivor to survivor.

Emily waited for Carina to leave, then reached onto her keychain and took off her apartment key. “My apartment is open to you, anytime, day or night, no questions asked and no lectures given. I'm rarely there, I don't have any roommates, and it's safe. Nobody knows where it is except Carina and that's just the way I like it. Tell the guy at the front desk that I gave you a key and he'll give you passage into the building.”