Light and Momentary Troubles

Chapter 1

“Lorna Mackenzie.”

I don’t typically answer my own phone, but my assistant had left for the day, as had most of the building. The earth’s late-autumn tilt had twilight melding into the twinkle of stars earlier these evenings, disguising the subtle cue to wrap things up. Shorter days didn’t affect those with lives outside of work in quite the same way—especially not my assistant, who bemoaned the sky-high daycare fines imposed for late pick-ups. At least that was something I’d never have to worry about for myself. That ship, as they say, had sailed.

I waited, holding the desk phone to my ear. The ring had been two long tones, meaning whoever it was called my desk directly from outside the building. But no one spoke.

“Hello? It’s Lorna,” I tried again. I could hear a whisper of background noise, so I held on, but nothing. Pocket dial, perhaps, I thought, finally hanging up.

The meaningless call had pulled me out of a spreadsheet that was making my eyes cross. Past eight o’clock at night, and I was still at my desk. But twelve-hour days were typical, and although I could have taken my work home with me, home had too many distractions. And far too many memories. Lately, I avoided it for all but the necessary prepackaged meals and exhausted collapse into bed in the spare room.

I totaled the final column, staring at the seemingly insurmountable figure that populated. Starting my own music publishing company felt like the natural successive step in my career after over fifteen years of working in the business and learning from the best mentors around. But I hadn’t expected my marriage to end the way it did right as I was moving into my second fiscal year. So, I needed this to work. It had to work.

The number was the minimum ROI I’d have to maintain. Reaching it meant delaying the next phase of growing my staff. Which meant more work falling on my shoulders for at least another six months.

I rolled my shoulders back and ran my fingers through the spiky pixie cut that was already starting to feel overgrown. A woman who changes her hair is about to change her life. Coco Chanel had known what she was talking about when she made that observation. And, while having the shorter style saved time in the mornings, most of that saved time was being redirected to keeping up with hair appointments every two to three weeks to maintain the cut. I was already pushing the tail end of a third week and wondering if I could bring a shag back into vogue.

My empty stomach betrayed my will to burn the midnight oil with a loud growl. Accepting that nothing would change my bottom line tonight, I saved the spreadsheet to a flash drive and powered down my desktop computer. Dropping the external drive into the side pocket of my leather bag, I grabbed my belongings and switched off the overhead light, leaving the soft glow from the corner floor lamp burning. It was a habit I’d grown accustomed to in the last six months when walking into a dark room raised the hair on the back of my neck. Any way to reduce the fight-or-flight response my body now stayed poised just on the edge of.

Starship Publishing took up the second and third floors of an office building just north of downtown Nashville. The location was worth it even if I could have found something outside the city for half the price. Convenience was a priority for the network I was building. And, one of the reasons I hadn’t looked for a new place to live after the separation. The condo my soon-to-be ex and I purchased just before our wedding was within walking distance of the space I’d leased for the business.

The night had grown chilly. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, I rewrapped my scarf, doubling it around my neck and clutching the ends before shoving my hands under my armpits. Head down, huddled against the wind, I began the ten-minute walk, my mind on whether I needed to pick up a prepared meal from the shop, which would require a two-minute detour, or if I could piece together something substantive with whatever remained in the fridge from earlier in the week.

Turning right, I left the evening crowds behind along with the worst of the wind tunnel I’d been striding through. I had just lifted my chin when I felt my bag catch on something, nearly pulling it from my shoulder.

“Excuse me,” I murmured automatically, grabbing the strap to stop it from sliding. But the form that had been rushing to overtake me from behind and caused the collision didn’t offer his own apology or even continue past. In fact, I felt his presence matching me step for step, nearly pushing me into the brick building at my side.

“Lorna DeAngelo.”

The whisper in my ear stopped me in my tracks. No one called me that anymore. No one would dare. I whipped around just in time to see a black-clad, hooded figure take off at a near run in the opposite direction. I sagged against the wall, my hand over my mouth.

No. How was he here? I knew restraining orders could be difficult to enforce, but he was supposed to be in jail until the trial. The judge hadn’t even offered him bail. 

How was he here?

Chapter 2

It was as though a switch had been flipped. The charming Italian had wooed me with tales of his boisterous extended family, ruled by the matriarch who made pasta from scratch and overrun by siblings who produced new nieces and nephews at an almost alarming rate. Although they couldn’t make it for our official ceremony in Nashville, he promised that if we kept the cost down with a courthouse wedding, we’d go to Italy in a year for a big celebration. A combination honeymoon-slash-anniversary trip-slash-vow renewal in front of the whole clan that I would now be a part of.

But, like a light bulb that occasionally flickers when you flip the switch, his charm began to waver a few months after I became Mrs. DeAngelo. So subtle, you hardly realize the filament is on its last leg and about to burn out altogether.

Until it does.

Tony scared me nearly to death that first time, when I got home from work to find out he’d been fired. “That piece of crap boss of mine thinks he can accuse me of improper use of company funds? He has no idea how much he needs me,” he’d ranted.

“What did you do?” I’d asked, still trying to process the image of my affable husband pacing the living room floor, a caged beast fueled by pent-up rage.

“What did I do? You’re assuming I’m guilty? That I did something to deserve this?” He’d whirled on me, and I saw the set of his jaw was straining the tendons in his neck. They bulged like he was on the verge of morphing into the Hulk.

Attempting to placate him, I’d reached out. Tried to mollify his temper with a soft apology and soothing touch. After all, a gentle word turns away wrath.

He’d grabbed my arm so fast, I hadn’t even seen it coming. Twisted the skin around my wrist until it felt carpet-burned. But, more than the injury, the venomous words caused wounds that had still not healed a year later.

“No one gets rid of me. Not ever.”

*****

The memory taunts me every time I walked through the condo’s front door. The First Time. But, the abused never realizes it’s the first time. Our minds try to protect us, insisting it’s an anomaly. That the person we love is just having a bad day. They simply lost control. They didn’t realize what they were doing.

I scanned the room with practiced eyes, the glow of the table lamps I’d left on all day illuminating my tells: The mail I’d stacked in alphabetical order and skewed just so on the table, the floor runner where I’d intentionally left one corner folded up, and the fridge magnet that was positioned to slide onto the tile if either door to the appliance was so much as nudged.

He hadn’t been here. And there was no way he could be here now, especially if he’d accosted me on the street. But I was still uneasy as I made my way through the rooms I’d once thought of as home. The same way I’d considered him my sanctuary. My safe space.

I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Oh, how I wanted to get through this valley and come out on the other side. The unfortunate decision to marry when Anthony DeAngelo seemed to be the love of my life haunted my every moment, coloring what should have been one of my greatest achievements with shades of bile yellow and drab beige. Starship Publishing brought my favorite aspects of the music industry together under one roof. Our licensing department was run by Henry Hicks, a seasoned veteran who understood my vision and made sure I didn’t let insecurities stop me from seeing the big picture. A&R was headed by Raul Clemente, a recruiter who had scouted some of the most successful artists around in the last decade. He had an ear for talent that couldn’t be disputed.

Look what God did, Mom and Dad.

My parents, long since passed in an automobile accident when I was still in my teens, would have been proud to see that I hadn’t let their premature deaths stop me from accomplishing so much. Especially since my career had developed out of an after-school job I’d taken at a recording studio while I was still in high school. Something that started simply as a way to earn enough money to buy my own vehicle.

The fact that they died after giving me a ride to work one afternoon was an irony that pushed me to make sure it was worth it. Losing them was the driving force behind the next many years of dedication to my education while delving into the world of music publishing.

My childless aunt and uncle, who lived nearby, immediately welcomed me into their home. They also offered me a car to use for both school and work, so the money I was earning went instead into an account that eventually became Starship’s seed money—supplemented by the balance of the life insurance policies that had covered my necessities and college tuition.

When I first met Tony, I told him that while losing my parents had been supremely painful at the time, my faith in God had magnified after their deaths. They had raised me to understand that our lives on this earth are just a prelude to what really matters. That eternal glory far outweighs comparatively light and momentary troubles. Although it had been years since I’d lost them, the beliefs they imparted had shaped me. Train up a child in the way he should go… I had never doubted that although God called them home before I would have liked, they were in heaven, and I’d have eternity with them.

Tony expressed how much it meant that I shared his faith. Although his Italian family hadn’t raised him in the church, he’d found religion. His reiteration of everything I’d voiced about my relationship with Jesus sounded genuine. When he proposed to me after two years of dating, I didn’t hesitate to accept. After all, he’d proven how much he loved me. How devoted he was. He was even the one who first brought up keeping our relationship pure until after the wedding.

Lies. All lies. My spiritual gifts must not have included discernment. There was nothing he’d revealed about himself, his background, his family, or his beliefs that was true.

And it turned out, I was the only one keeping our relationship pure.

*****

I had a love-hate relationship with sleep that night. My senses were on high alert to every sound from the street below or the condo above. When I finally managed to drift off, the shadowy figure whispering the name I’d stopped using two months before appeared on the fringe of my dreams, jostling me back to consciousness where I then fought to stay. Eventually, exhaustion would take over and I’d settle into restless sleep again until the next nightmare. Even when I was awake, the streetlamps cast formless outlines on the walls that undulated as the wind swayed the trees outside my window.

“Where have you been? You should have been home an hour ago!” Because I dawdled over errands on a Saturday.

“Who is texting you? Give me your phone!” When my screen lit up with a series of news alerts.

“Why does your hair look like you were having a roll in the hay?” While all but yanking it from my scalp.

The first thing I did after I had Tony locked up for domestic assault was change the locks.

The second was hire an attorney.

But I probably should have cut my hair sooner.

Chapter 3

“Chloe, I’ll be in a little late this morning. I’m having some work done at the house.”

“No problem, Ms. Mackenzie. Do you need me to take care of anything before you get here?”

My assistant was the epitome of reliability. Some might say a bit predictable. She had wed her high school sweetheart, and they were already halfway toward two-point-five kids by their third year of marriage, as she’d recently revealed to me that she was expecting again. Some might envy their no-surprises love story and drama-free existence. I just did my best to preserve her innocence by keeping my personal life and messy divorce away from the office. After assuring her she could simply make note of any issues that arose before I arrived, I disconnected.

I hunched on the couch, my fingertips gripping the edge of the cushion while the tea I’d steeped grew cold in front of me. My attention focused on the front door as I waited for a knock from the locksmith I’d called at the stroke of seven AM.

When we originally furnished this room, I’d arranged the sofa to overlook the grand window dominating the main wall. Newlywedded bliss led to many nights stretched out along the leather Chesterfield—my length nearly matching his—as we left the television screen dark and languished in the Nashville lights framed in industrial steel-framed glass. 

After kicking Tony out the first time, I’d filed charges, but he was released after posting bail. Just hours after I’d gotten the locks changed, he’d returned, busting the door down to get back in. That was when I was granted the restraining order, and I’d flipped all the furnishings to face the other way. View be damned. He’d never sneak up on me again.

This current lock change was more for my piece of mind. The second arrest for not only assaulting me but breaking in to do so had obliterated any chance of his freedom until the trial, where he’d surely be found guilty. So, Tony was behind bars now. Wasn’t he? Who else would have called me by that name? My friends and business associates didn’t know all of the details, but they knew enough to understand I’d taken my maiden name back when I took back my dignity. When I’d resolved to put the years spent with Tony far behind me.

Last night, I’d slumped against the brick wall, paralyzed with fear. Not just my body, but my mind. Then I’d all but run home, desperate to get away from the dark streets of my familiar neighborhood. And while the eight hours since hadn’t left me refreshed, they finally brought some clarity. Could Tony have sent someone to terrorize me? Was there someone in Nashville he’d trust with who he really was?

Because he’d certainly fooled me. My aunt and uncle too. The friends I’d had when we first started seeing each other had all been as taken with him as I was. It wasn’t until I started to plan our wedding that I realized how many of those friends had grown distant over our two years of dating. I took the blame on myself. I’d neglected my girlfriends in honor of my new boyfriend. Afterward, I realized I’d done it in deference to him. I let his pout when I made plans without him flatter me. His insistence that he just loved spending time alone with me made me feel special. And meanwhile, he’d been culling my circle down to just him.

To pass the time until the locksmith arrived, I decided to distract my mind from Tony by taking another look at the spreadsheet from the night before. After all, my eyes had started to blur there toward the end—perhaps I’d missed something. Put a decimal in the wrong place. Maybe my business plan had more latitude than I’d thought.

I grabbed my laptop and the leather satchel I carried back and forth to the office every day from the kitchen table. Settling onto the couch, I reached in the bag for the flash drive I’d slid into the pocket. My fingertips found a tube of lipstick and the earrings that had grown heavy on my lobes by the end of the previous workday.

Triple-checking the bag and all its pockets and crevices didn’t change the outcome. The drive was gone.

*****

When I got to work, Chloe had a stack of messages for me. I accepted them with a smile even I knew was curt and let myself into my private office, closing the door behind me.

The first thing I did was scour the desk, lifting the keyboard and my desk phone in hopes that the missing flash drive had simply dropped on the outside of my bag rather than inside in my hurry to get home. I’d been so hungry, too impatient to veer even two minutes out of the way for fresh veggies for a stir fry. But by the time I had slipped fearfully through my front door and inspected the space for signs of an intruder, food was the furthest thing from my mind.

The drive wasn’t on the desk or the floor. And I hadn’t seen it anywhere between the elevator and my office either. There was no way that bump against my bag on the way home had been a subversive attempt to steal it, was there? Perhaps more than just an attempt, unless it turned up soon. But that wouldn’t make any sense. No one would know that pocket held my flash drive and a wealth of information.

But, I’d always kept it there. Habitual, like the way I brushed my teeth. I’d been keeping my flash drives in that same pocket of the well-worn leather bag for years. Including every day I’d come home to Tony.

And, the thing was, it wasn’t just my business projection spreadsheet that had been transferred to the device. It was everything about my current financial standing, personal and professional. The business was mine, but it was considered communal property by the state of Tennessee, except in the case of a prenuptial agreement.

Tony had been as firmly against a prenup as I had been. What God has joined together, let no man separate.

I half-heartedly flipped through the stack of messages Chloe had handed me, my mind barely on the names as I scanned them.

But then I realized—three calls had come from the same name. Three messages, left on the hour, every hour since the office had opened.

J. Mancini, Attorney for Anthony DeAngelo.

Chapter 4

The calls had come to the office instead of my cell phone to humiliate me. I knew it. I purposefully unclenched my fingers as I listened to the obnoxious ad for legal services Tony’s divorce lawyer had playing on a loop for people he left on hold. What was ridiculous is that he would surely never leave a potential client—the only one who would benefit from his recorded spiel—on hold long enough to even hear it.

Just as I was about to give up, a nasally assistant came on the line. “Mr. Mancini is unavailable to speak at this present time. He asked me to let you know, as a courtesy, that he will be sending your named representative a formal request for your financials, both personal and business-related. He, as a courtesy, suggests you start pulling the information together. You understand, for expediency.”

As a courtesy, indeed. Now I had no doubt that Tony, or someone he’d recruited, had stolen my flash drive. To what end? To be sure the numbers I provided his attorney weren’t doctored? Or were this morning’s nearly back-to-back calls a result of last night’s theft?

Neither the smarmy lawyer nor his assistant deserved a thank you but politeness was ingrained in me. After I’d hung up, I stared unseeingly at my desktop computer, where the open spreadsheet dominated my screen.

I understood enough about equitable distribution to know Tennessee law could grant my future ex-husband a portion of my profits, or force me to buy him out. Me buy him out! He hadn’t contributed a cent to Starship. I’d achieved the education necessary to start this business and every bit of the start-up costs via the funds I received from my parents’ life insurance and the money I’d earned through years of hard work. Any success was despite, not because of, him. Our finances had been combined for less than six months when Tony lost his job. No—not lost it. Thrown it away. Just like he’d decimated our marriage.

And my faith in men.

*****

I still used a monthly wall calendar at home. It hung in my bathroom, a visual reminder I found myself zoning out at while I brushed my teeth. I didn’t keep a daily schedule written on it, but important days were circled in magenta Sharpie. Just the day—just the circle. I knew what the circles stood for.

The anniversary of my parents’ accident, in four months.

My next birthday, in five and a half.

Tony’s court date. The criminal trial was one week from today. It would be my first time seeing him since his last shred of self-control disintegrated. Just like his cheap tissue paper vow to love and cherish me.

His arrests had been only three days apart. With my cheek still stinging and my nose still bleeding, I’d locked myself in our bedroom while my neighbor kept Tony’s butt firmly planted in a kitchen chair until the police arrived.

Benjamin lived one floor below us. He’d come running up the stairs that night, the yelling convincing him I could use help. He’d banged on our door and was met by my belligerent husband, whose fingers were still entwined with the fistful of hair he’d pulled from my head. It was one of the rare times Tony had gotten physical, but the mental abuse had decreased in subtly and increased in frequency over the months. He’d often degraded my appearance, my intelligence, and my value as a wife. He nearly made me forget that I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

That night’s argument had begun after I’d kept Hank and Raul for a planning meeting, which ran late into the evening, and Tony had shown up at Starship looking for me. In front of my two department heads, he’d appeared as the doting, concerned spouse. But I knew better. He alleged that I’d forgotten we had a dinner engagement. He espoused that his boss was taking us to an upscale restaurant, so we needed to be on time.

Tony was a warehouse stocker. His career had never recovered after his firing. And he’d never doubted that I would be too ashamed to share where he was working while coincidentally accusing me of disparaging him to my friends and colleagues.

He’d waited just outside the glassed-in conference room, making sure I knew he was watching me. Always watching. I quickly wrapped up the meeting, anxiety blooming like oleander and spreading its poison just as he intended.

When we exited the building, I turned right to go home, but he grabbed my elbow and steered me toward his truck in the parking lot. “Get in.”

I yanked my arm away. “I’d rather walk.” The glint in his eye was dangerous but I almost dared him to touch me. I knew the building had cameras.

It wasn’t the idea of cameras that stopped him though. Hank and Raul came out of the main doors, headed toward their cars. Both were parked where they’d need to pass near us. At that moment, I prayed for Tony to let his genial mask slip. Say just one thing wrong. It had been only months since I’d hired Hank, almost the same since Raul had come on board, but I trusted them both much further than I would ever again trust Tony. They would recognize the signs. They would do the right thing.

Of course, my husband benignly bid them both goodnight, simultaneously wrapping his fingers around and pinching my arm with a threat that lingered after they’d both gotten into their cars. Still, I refused to clamber into Tony’s truck, meeting his gaze unwaveringly. When both of the other vehicles had turned from the lot, I once again pulled from him. “I…will…walk.” Before he could respond, I stalked away, wishing I’d worn flats. Wondering if I could bolt in these heels, or if the bottoms of my feet would be too tender to run without them.

I quickly realized he was following, his bumper edging along the curb, matching his speed to mine. The city blocks didn’t give me an opportunity to slip out of sight, so I paced myself, each step a tug-of-war pulling me closer to the inevitable mud pit that awaited. I did my best to ignore the voice in my head that sounded achingly reminiscent of my mother’s. Love is patient, love is kind…it is not easily angered. Tony knew that passage too. He’d often quoted it when he begged me to forgive him. Lorna, love keeps no record of wrongs.

He whipped ahead of me when I was half a block from the condo, confident I’d be too intimidated to try anything. He was waiting for me in front of our building, and I saw his eyes cut to the cameras we both knew were placed in the lobby. Flaunting his control over me, Tony stopped to grab the mail from our slot. He maintained his distance in the elevator but dared to speak, aware the security system had no audio. “You just made this so much worse for yourself.” His voice was eerily calm and his eyes stayed on the junk mail he was flipping through.

That’s the way of abusers, though, isn’t it? Gaslighting, manipulating, making you feel like you’ve brought it on yourself. Escalating, then easing off, and you almost forget how bad that last episode was. Blaming and reproaching, until the urge to justify yourself is oppressive. To explain why a meeting that ran past six o’clock shouldn’t be suspicious.

I managed to keep my lips clamped together, a rebellious refusal to grovel. Neither for understanding nor for mercy. Because it was my career that was supporting us. My business taking off. My inheritance and years of saving that provided the funds to even launch Starship.

Yet he had every intention of walking away with my company almost before I could get it off the ground. And he knew I couldn’t afford to buy him out.

Chapter 5

The courtroom was practically empty. No one cared what happened at the trial of Anthony DeAngelo except for him and me. And our legal teams—his headed by the smarmy J. Mancini, Esq. The J. stood for Jack, I’d learned. My lawyer, Nancy Cramer, had rolled her eyes when I’d given her his name.

“I admit, Anthony probably couldn’t have picked better council for himself. Criminal defense with divorce seems to be Jack Mancini’s specialty. Probably because he’s been divorced three times, and I can only imagine the kind of husband he was.” She dropped her voice low at the end of her sentence lest he overhear and accuse her of defaming his character.

Not that discussing Anthony’s lawyer’s personal life wouldn’t have been a great distraction, but I didn’t need a distraction. I wanted to be all in, completely present to watch Tony get what he was due.

My downstairs neighbor had provided his witness statement on my behalf. Between Benjamin’s corroboration and the photographs I’d taken after each assault—even the ones that hadn’t resulted in a phone call to the authorities—there was no way Tony would be acquitted. And attacking me again within 72 hours of his initial arrest should seal his fate. No matter how adequate his attorney was rumored to be.

I hated the idea of having to relive that second assault out loud—to have others witness my weakness and have my panic documented by a stenographer. But it would be worth it, whatever the cost to myself. And Nancy and I had practiced until I was certain I could stave off the nausea that came from sharing this story when they called me to the stand.

“Prosecution, you may call your first witness…State your name for the record…Do you agree to tell the truth…”

The wooden seat was well-worn but polished to a high shine, just like the railing in front of me. I let my lawyer’s steady gaze feed my determination. She took me through the events of the night of the first arrest, which my neighbor had already validated. His testimony had been recorded and played for the judge because Benjamin had proven he simply couldn’t be available in person for the trial. His job was 80% travel, and it had been pure happenstance he'd even been in town to help me that night. Except, I didn’t see it that way. To me, divine intervention had him in town that particular evening.

Tony was arraigned the morning after the first arrest and managed to make bail by the second afternoon. I had no idea who had paid it, or where he’d slept that night, but the following day, I’d been home on my couch, staring with unfocused eyes on the starless sky in front of me, holding an icepack to my still swollen cheek. The crack of wood splintering barely preceded the swift jerk of my ponytail—if only I’d cut my hair—and near collapse of my trachea as Tony’s thick arm wrapped around my neck from behind.

“He kicked in the door and attacked me. I couldn’t even scream for help because I couldn’t breathe. No one was available—or willing—to help this time. My neighbor Benjamin had left town again for work, and Anthony is just so much bigger and stronger…” I tried to keep my voice steady. Recount the facts. Not let fear pull me back into that moment. I was too scared to even look his way. I’d made that mistake already. His glower mutated his face, leaving him unrecognizable as the man I’d stood in a different courtroom with less than a year before, with my aunt and uncle there as witnesses to the vows we recited.

“How did you manage to escape, Lorna?” Nancy’s voice was soft but the weight of her question carried to every corner of the courtroom.

“My nails raked across the backs of his hands. The gel polish that coated and rounded them rendered them nearly useless as weapons, but I dug in enough to break several of them.” I recited exactly what I’d written and memorized, miming the motions as, against my will, I was dragged back to those terror-filled minutes. Seeing them not as a memory but reliving them with startling clarity. “I used the jagged edges to scratch across his face just enough for him to pull back, loosening his grip.” I blinked rapidly, praying for the nearly empty courtroom to ground me in the here and now. To convince myself I was safe in this room with bailiffs and a lawyer I trusted and a judge who would believe every word I said.

I’d grabbed for the nearest item, the laptop sitting closed on the seat next to me, swinging it with enough force to stun him when it shattered against his ear. I’d whirled in the living room that suddenly seemed too small, its walls closing in around me as I coughed and gasped for air. I’d tripped over the charging cord that had been attached to the now trashed laptop, stumbling toward the hallway that led to the half-bath on one side and the second bedroom on the other. He’d broken through the front door. How easily could he get through a hollow interior door? What protection would I have once he had me cornered? I never imagined myself the damsel in distress—I would be the one intelligent enough to run toward the exit, not up the stairs. But he stood between me and the now gaping front entrance, and I knew there would be no escape.

If his breath was labored, mine was more so. I whirled to face him, refusing to trap myself. I’d stay and fight, even if I had no chance.

He glared me down. His hair was as wild as his eyes. Blood dripped from a deep scratch on his temple. Gone was the flirty smile that had stolen my heart. But I wasn’t the same person either. I hadn’t been since that very first altercation, and he’d been chipping away at what made me, me ever since. Petechiae from his first attack still radiated from the bridge of my nose and circled my eyes. Swelling under the apple of my cheek had made it impossible to even attempt a smile for the last few days. Not that there had been anything to smile about. The night I’d had Tony arrested, Benjamin and I had provided our statements to the officers who responded, and then he’d driven me to the Emergency Department.

Shock had rendered me speechless while a woman named Dr. Wright shone her light into my eyes, tucked gauze into the hollow of my cheek where a tooth had sliced it open, and delicately asked if there had been any sexual trauma. I was aware enough to nod and shake my head when necessary, and she’d left me to rest for a few minutes while she filled out paperwork.

Eventually, I’d been returned home, physically in one piece but spiritually shattered. Benjamin had made sure I was as comfortable as I could be and urged me to have the locks changed as soon as possible. I assured him I would do so, reminding him I would be fine that night, as Anthony was just being booked and wouldn’t have any hope of going before the judge before I got a locksmith over.

I’d been naïve though. As I’d faced my husband with nothing but a basket of blankets between us, neon signs and red flags I hadn’t recognized in this demon-possessed man surrounded him. Prince Charming had become a villain who scoffed at new locks on a door.

I paused in my retelling of the last night Tony had attacked me. The judge sat to my right, rapt in fascination. Anthony and his lawyer, Jack Mancini, stared me down. Nancy’s hand reached for the wooden banister, silently imparting all the strength she could convey with the gesture.

“I didn’t think I could get away. I honestly thought he would kill me that night. In fact, I’m certain if we hadn’t been interrupted, he would have.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. The crux of the story, which still astounded me, might be the difference between the judge believing me or creating enough of a shadow of a doubt to prompt a Not Guilty verdict.

“How did you get away?” My lawyer’s question was one I’d mulled over the answer to a hundred times. Stick to the facts, and nothing but the facts, Lorna.

“God sent an angel.”

Chapter 6

Even the air was still.

Then, the judge leaned back in his chair.

Jack Mancini cleared his throat. Anthony guffawed.

My lawyer steepled her fingertips in front of her lips. “Your Honor, I have here photographic evidence of the harm that was done both to my client and to her home on the night of September 18th. May I present it?”

Damage control. Nancy had begged me to answer her last question with a black-and-white response. “Lorna, I need you to just state what happened. I know you believe it was an angel. I even wonder if it was, considering no one could find this pizza delivery guy or any evidence of how he got into the building. But just say exactly what happened.”

I cupped the microphone and leaned forward. I didn’t have anything more to say that the pleading in my eyes wasn’t already conveying. Nancy knew I wanted to tell my story my way. For a moment, we stared each other down. She was already handing the stack of photographs to the judge but stopped just short of setting them in front of him.

“Excuse me again, Your Honor. My client would prefer to finish her story before we get to the pictures.” She turned to me. “Please continue, Ms. Mackenzie.”

I knew that referring to me by my title was her subtle attempt to remind everyone of my credibility and the impending divorce. I pressed my lips together, redispersing the lipstick I’d worn to add polish and femininity. I’d already started to wonder if the pixie cut had been a mistake. Drawing air in through my nose and holding it for several beats before releasing it, I forced myself to look straight at Anthony.

“There was a kid. A teenager, certainly no older than twenty. He was in the doorway holding a pizza box in one hand and his phone in the other. He yelled for Tony to stop. He said he’d already called the police and they’d be there any minute. In fact, we heard the sirens just moments later. He…he was so calm.” I cut my eyes from the defense table to the judge. “He didn’t approach but for some reason, Tony got really scared. He backed up against the wall and didn’t move until the police arrived.”

“And did this pizza delivery man give a statement to the police?” Nancy’s expression was grim, but we had discussed this. It was better for her to ask than for Tony’s lawyer to bring it up on cross.

“He, uh, he didn’t. He disappeared in the middle of all the activity. In fact, the security cameras for the building never even show that he was there at all.”

*****

I walked from the courtroom feeling lighter than I had in months. Vengeance is the Lord’s, but vindication still felt pretty good. I couldn’t wait to share with my therapist how today had gone.

J. Mancini, Esq. hadn’t known how to tackle me on cross-examination. He couldn’t argue against the images of finger-shaped bruises around my throat. The photos of the shattered doorframe and laptop. Or that Tony had indeed been pressed up against the wall when the police entered.

But his client’s version of events differed from mine in several key points.

Most notably, Anthony was certain there had been no pizza delivery. No blue and red-clad young man barely out of his teens. In Tony’s retelling, an intimidating more-than-fully-grown roughneck of a man holding a gun—not a pizza box— had threatened him to get away from me.

“Arms like tree trunks! You should be out there looking for that thug! This vigilante. He’s the one with a weapon, and let me tell you, he definitely would have used it. Get me a sketch artist. I’ll never forget what that guy looked like.”

Anthony must have forgotten he’d pled not guilty because his sole defense was that he was the victim. His last words on the stand had been begging the judge to protect him from the mysterious hooligan who apparently still appeared in his dreams, warning him against harming me.

Anthony’s sentencing was scheduled three weeks out. I wouldn’t have to wait until then for my divorce to be finalized though. His lawyer must have convinced him that going after my money, the bulk of which was tied up in Starship, would be a bad idea. Maybe Jack decided there was a level of madness he wasn’t willing to stoop to for a client. Especially for a client with no money.

It was an unseasonably warm day for December. Nashville loves to surprise its inhabitants. I turned my face toward the sun, allowing a smile to touch the corners of my lips as a breeze teased the choppy layers of my sassy hair.

Nancy stood next to me, her gray-green eyes squinting in thought. “I’m so happy for you, Lorna. No one should ever have to go through what you did. You should be proud of yourself for standing your ground.” Her mouth twitched. “Even with me.”

I reached into my leather bag, rooting for my keys. Instead, my fingertips grazed an oblong tube, its surface cool to the touch.

No. It can’t be.

The flash drive lay innocuously in my palm, silver and black and unscathed.

Nancy wrapped me in a side hug, oblivious to the tumble of thoughts in my head. I squeezed her waist, then pulled back, closing this chapter of my life with gratitude.

“One day, maybe I’ll be able to say that it was just some light and momentary trouble.”