Danielle Steel - Journey

“I might be able to help you with that. Let me know when you're ready.”

“Thank you, Bill. I still have to deal with Jack. He's terrified of a scandal in the tabloids.”

“So what? Do you really care about that?” Bill asked reasonably and she shook her head as she thought about it.

“I guess I only care about Jack's reaction to it. He'll torture me over it.” They both knew that was true, and Bill was worried about the effect on Maddy

“I wish I weren't leaving for the Vineyard tomorrow,” he said, looking worried. “I could stay here, if you want me to, but I'm not sure what I could do to make him behave. I still think the only solution is for you to leave him.”

“I know. But Dr. Flowers and I agree that I'm not ready. I owe him so much, Bill.”

“Does Dr. Flowers agree with that too?” He looked disapproving and Maddy smiled sheepishly.

“No, she doesn't. But she understands that I can't leave yet.”

“Don't wait too long, Maddy. One of these days, he might hurt you. He may not be satisfied with just abusing you emotionally, and up the ante.”

“Dr. Flowers thinks he's going to get worse as I get more independent.”

“Then why stay? It just doesn't make sense to risk what he might do to you. Maddy, you have to move quickly.” The extraordinary thing was that she was beautiful, employed, intelligent, she was the woman that every other woman in the country envied and wanted to be. As far as they knew, she was the spirit of independence, and she had the resources to get out of a bad situation. But abuse was more complicated than that, as she knew only too well, and Bill was learning. It was a tar pit full of guilt and terror, which had her too paralyzed to escape, even though everyone else thought she could do it. She felt as though she were moving in slow motion, but no matter how hard she tried, she could move no faster. And she felt as though she owed Jack her life. What Bill feared, watching her from the sidelines, was that Jack would eventually hurt her physically as well as emotionally, particularly if he could no longer control her. But even she saw what was happening. She was just too frightened still to do anything about it. It had taken her eight years to flee Bobby Joe, and Bill could only hope that this time she wouldn't wait much longer.

“Will you call me at the Vineyard, Maddy? I'm going to be worried sick about you.” It was true, she had been much on his mind lately, far more than he understood or had expected. He was still grieving for his wife, and somewhat obsessed with her, as he finished the book he'd written about her. And yet lately, he was constantly distracted, and sometimes cheered, by thoughts of Maddy. “I'll call you at the office.” He was afraid to call her at home, and add jealousy to the weapons Jack used to torment her.

“I'll call you. I promise. I'll be fine here. I have a lot to do, and we're probably going to Virginia for a few days. I'd love to have Lizzie there, but I don't think Jack would allow it.”

“I just wish you were out of there,” he said grimly. He had no personal stake in it, no romantic involvement with her. But as one human being watching another being tortured, he felt helpless and angry, and desperate to do something to help her. At times, it reminded him of the endless months when his wife was being held hostage. He was constantly waiting for news of her, and frustrated by the fact that he could do nothing to free her. It was what had driven him finally to do whatever he could on his own. And in his naïveté, he had killed her, or at least felt responsible for it. In some ways, this was a painfully similar situation. “I want you to be very careful,” he admonished her, when he left her at her car, outside the restaurant. “Don't do anything to put yourself in jeopardy. This may not be the right time to confront him. You don't have to prove anything, Maddy. You don't have to win his consent. All you have to do is get out when you're ready. He's not going to free you, you have to free yourself, and run like hell till you reach the border.” In some ways, it was like fleeing a Communist country.

“I know that. I left my wedding ring on the kitchen table, and ran like hell, the day I left Bobby Joe. It took him months to figure out where I was, and by then Jack had taken over. I had more security than the Pope for my first few months at the network.”

“You may have to do that again for a while.” He stood looking at her long and hard, as they both stood next to her car. “I don't want him to hurt you.” Or worse, kill her if he snapped somehow, but Bill didn't say that to her. But Bill thought he was capable of it. He was a man without ethics or soul. In Bill's opinion, he was a sociopath, a man without a conscience. “Take care of yourself,” and then he smiled at her, thinking of her daughter, “Mom. I like thinking of you as a mother. It suits you.”

“So do I. It feels great.” She beamed at him.

“Enjoy it. You deserve it.” He gave her a warm hug then, and he was still standing on the sidewalk walking as she drove off, and two hours later, a huge bouquet of flowers came to her office. The flowers were all in pale shades of pink, with pink balloons and a pink teddy bear, and the card read, “Congratulations on your new daughter. Love, Bill.” She put the card in a drawer and smiled as she looked at the flowers. It was a sweet thing to do, and she was touched. She called to thank him, but he was still out, and she left a message on his machine, thanking him, and telling him how much she loved it.

She was still smiling about the flowers and her lunch with Bill, when Jack walked into her office an hour later.

“What the fuck is that?” he said, furious at the pink balloons and the bear. It was easy to figure out the implication of it.

“It's just a joke. It's no big deal.”

“The hell it isn't. Who sent it?” He looked for a card, but couldn't find one, while she frantically tried to figure out who to say they had come from.

“They're from my therapist,” she said benignly, and then realized instantly that wasn't the right answer either. She'd seen one years ago, and Jack had made her stop going. He had been very threatened by him, and told her the therapist was incompetent. In the end, it was easier to stop seeing him. It was part of Jack's master plan, she realized now, to isolate her.

“When did you start that again?”

“Actually, she's just a friend. I met her at the Commission on Violence Against Women.”

“Spare me. What is she? Some kind of dyke women's libber?”

“She's about eighty years old, and has grandchildren. She's a very interesting woman.”

“I'll bet. She must be senile. Anyway if you shoot your mouth off to enough people, Mad, you'll be reading about yourself in the tabloids soon. And I hope you enjoy it when it happens, because you'll be out of a job when it does. So if I were you, I'd keep my mouth shut. And tell that little bitch from Memphis to keep hers shut too, or I'll sue her ass for slander.”

“It wouldn't be slander if she claims to be my daughter,” Maddy said, sounding calmer than she felt, “it's true. And she has a right to say it. But she promised me she won't. And don't call her a little bitch, Jack. She's my daughter.” She said it clearly and politely and he turned to look at her with a malevolent expression.

“Don't tell me what to do, Maddy. Remember me? I own you.”

She was about to respond to him when her secretary walked into the room, and she decided not to. But that was the key here. Jack believed he owned her. And for the past nine years, she had let him think that, because she also believed it. But no longer. She just didn't have the guts to act on it yet, but at least her mind was clearing. And a few minutes later, he left and went back upstairs to his office.