Andrea placed a hand over the tight skin of her round stomach as the silver 2004 Toyota Camry swerved and rattled down Ogden Canyon. On a particularly sharp curve, she felt a tiny foot push against her ribs. The road was icy in places where the year’s first snowfall had melted and frozen over again, but Andrea noted Ken’s tense jaw, and decided against asking him to slow down.
He was obviously in serious thought about something unpleasant, and she thought it best to let him be while he worked through it. She watched the passing scenery of the trees and sagebrush covering the high mountain walls that enclosed the curving two lane road.
“I saw you talking to Sister Carson today after sacrament.” Ken’s tone was even—the statement almost, but not quite a question.
“Yeah,” Andrea said, feigning nonchalance. “She asked how we’re doing.” Andrea thought of Sister Carson’s concerned eyes gently searching her own for so long Andrea felt like crying.
“That’s funny,” Ken said, as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Because just before the priesthood meeting Brother Carson asked if my marriage was okay.”
She felt her face warm with embarrassment, and she realized Sister Carson must’ve seen the finger shaped bruises on Andrea’s wrist as she passed the sacrament tray down the pew to her. Andrea hoped Sister Carson didn’t think she was spiritually weak for having a contentious marriage. What if she thought Andrea was a bad wife? Andrea felt the need to apologize to everyone for the whole situation, but didn’t want Ken to know that Sister Carson might have seen the bruise.
Ken turned his head to look at her swerving slightly before returning his eyes to the road. “I don’t know why you’re blushing, you’re not the one who was publicly humiliated.”
“I’m sorry.” Andrea said, the words reflexively falling from her lips. She closed her eyes for the space of a breath before opening them to watch the passing scenery. Andrea could see small patches of dirty snow piled in pools of shade where the sun’s rays had not been able to reach the earth. Even in mid-November, this mountain view held a certain beauty that demanded recognition.
“I’ve been thinking of baby names,” Ken said, reclaiming her attention.
“Me too,” said Andrea and she felt a little tension leave her shoulders. “Not knowing the gender is harder than I thought it would be.”
Ken chuckled and moved his right hand off of the steering wheel to rest it gently on her thigh. “I’m still glad we decided to wait.”
“Of course.” Andrea pinched a bit of fabric from her loose skirt and twiddled it between her fingers. “I still like Timothy or Kyler if it’s a boy.”
“Those are good,” Ken said. He glanced in the rearview before asking, “What if it’s a girl?”
Andrea thought for a moment observing how the road in front of them hugged the mountain, leaving barely enough space for a person to walk between the painted yellow line and the jagged wall of rock and undergrowth.
“Honestly, I like too many of them to choose,” Andrea eventually replied with a disparaging chuckle.
“What do you think of the name Angelina Kate?” Ken suggested. “That way her initials could be A and K after you and me.”
“Oh, I love that!” Andrea said, pulling out her phone quickly tapping the idea in the notes folder labeled: BABY IDEAS.
Ken replaced his hand on the steering wheel to navigate a particularly sharp curve on the canyon road. Just as they cleared the curve, a loud dull thud sounded from the back of the car and Andrea felt the vehicle tip slightly.
“Damn it!” Ken cursed as he pulled the car over.
Andrea watched nervously as he hit the dashboard, turned off the ignition and left the car, slamming the door behind him. She was desperate not to worsen the situation but unsure whether or not he wanted her to stay in the car or to follow him out. Would he get upset if she stayed in the car? Or upset if she got out of the car? Andrea decided to grab her oversized peacoat and phone before stepping out into the cold biting air.
Ken was hunched over inspecting the back left tire. “At least the rim isn’t damaged,” he grumbled before straightening to retrieve the spare from the trunk.
The tire was almost comically flat, a puddle of rubber like a popped black balloon. She was grateful it had given out where there was a big enough patch of dirt to pull over on, rather than along the stretch of road they had been traveling moments earlier. The ground was so compressed, she knew this spot must be used as a parking space for hikers and rock climbers during the summer. It was icy in places where the year’s first snowfall had melted and frozen over again. Andrea shivered and did up the buttons of her coat. Despite its large fit and sleeves that hung off her wrists, the coat still pulled tight over her belly. The buttons and their respective buttonholes pulled against each other, as if they too were threatening to snap. Andrea felt useless standing beside the car, watching Ken heft out the spare and jack up the car but not knowing how to help, stayed where she was.
“Would you like me to call your Mom and let her know we’ll be a little late?” Andrea asked.
“No,” Ken snapped. “We don’t want her to have another reason not to like you.”
Andrea self-consciously straightened her spine and slipped her phone back into the coat pocket it had come from.
“You don’t think she likes me?” Andrea twisted a mud flecked pebble into the ground with the toe of her boot.
Ken didn’t look up from the tire iron he was wrenching around a lug-nut.
“Don’t you think it’s kind of obvious?”
“I had no idea,” Andrea insisted. “What did I do to—”
“Andrea,” Ken said with a sigh. “Don’t you think you should ask what you haven’t done?”
A white SUV rumbled past them and Andrea shook her head in confusion. Ken removed the tire iron from the now loose lug-nut, but rather than begin work on the next one, stood and stared her in the eyes.
“She is my Mom, so she wants the best for me.” Ken gestured, swinging the tire iron as he spoke. “She mentioned disappointment with your behavior. Probably because you create drama all the time and don’t care enough to spend Mother’s Day with her.”
Andrea sucked cold air into her lungs and exhaled a deep breath of guilt and frustration. Mother’s day had been the first anniversary of her grandmother’s death and her Mom was struggling, so rather than attend Sunday dinner at her in-laws with Ken she had chosen to visit her own family.
The tire iron still arched in gyrating circles, the movement indicating that Ken wasn’t done speaking. “She’s also pointed out that you don’t take as good care of yourself as an expecting mother should; she might be worried that you’ll be a bad mom.”
“That’s not true.” Andrea retorted. “I eat right and I go on long walks. I want this baby to be healthy and—”
A tire iron flew past her head, effectively silencing her. It landed a few feet away, bouncing slightly before coming to rest on the hard dirt. Ken was saying something about her being the liar, not him, and how rude she was, but Andrea couldn’t process the words.
Her mind was frozen, in the way a scratched DVD pauses a movie without warning.
Not okay, Andrea thought. This is not okay.
Andrea’s feet were rooted in the ground and she unconsciously held her breath as Ken stalked past her and retrieved the tire iron. On his way back, Ken stopped just in front of Andrea, gently twinning his free hand through her loose brown hair and softly kissing her forehead like he used to when they were engaged.
“I’m so sorry for losing my temper.” Ken leaned back slightly, looking intently into her wide eyes. “But you really shouldn’t be acting like this on a Sunday.”
“Ken. You could have killed me.” Andrea’s voice wobbled, shaking tears loose.
Frowning, Ken dropped his hand from her hair and took a step back. “Don’t be dramatic Andrea, you know that’s not true.” Ken probably would have said more if a familiar-looking dark-green Ford pickup hadn’t pulled over and rolled down the passenger window.
“Is that who I think it is?” A light-hearted voice called through the open window.
“Stop crying,” Ken ordered quickly.
Andrea obliged, lifting her eyes to the grey cloud-filled sky above and blinking rapidly. She didn’t know if it was fear or sheer power of will, but Andrea held back the newly formed tears.
She also had recognized the voice, it belonged to Steve Hale. He had been Andrea and Ken’s bishop before they’d gotten married and moved out of the ward.
“Bishop Hale!” Ken said, turning towards the truck. Ken affected a light carefree posture while every bit of harsh tension seemed to evaporate from his body.
Bishop Hale stepped out of the truck, insisting that Ken call him Steve and let him stay in case they needed help with the tire. Ken conceded with a hearty handshake and led the way to the tire. Bishop Hale had a wide smile and receding hairline; based on the suit and tie he was wearing, Andrea guessed he had just come from a church function. He hiked up the fabric of his slacks before squatting to inspect Ken’s progress on the tire. The two men talked and laughed as they took turns loosening the remaining lug-nuts.
“Andrea,” Bishop Hale said, looking up at her from his frog-like position beside Ken on the ground. Ken’s wrenching slowed. “Are you all right?” Bishop Hales’s words came oddly slow, as if he were speaking to her through a shut window.
After a quick glance at Ken, now turned towards her, Andrea replied, “Yeah, just a little queasy from driving on this crazy road.” She attempted a smile, “I’ll take a quick walk and see if that helps.”
Ken’s eyes narrowed and his mouth formed a hard line.
“That’s no fun, I hope a walk will help,” Steve said. He followed Andrea’s gaze to Ken whose face transformed into an easy smile.
“If you think it will help,” Ken said, adding an earnest, “Please be careful.”
Andrea didn’t reply, but instead forcibly commanded her feet to move and began walking the length of the dirt pull-off. As her eyes scanned the edge of the clearing she noticed a space in the brown undergrowth. Everything about the spot told her it was a popular trailhead in the summer. The trailhead called to Andrea, seeming to promise a momentary escape from the anxiety and fear. Her pace was brisk and almost panicked as she picked her way over rocks and around muddy depressions.
Andrea knew once the spare was on and Steve had left that Ken would come for her and he would be angry, but at the moment Andrea didn’t care. She had accepted his anger as the central reality of her life. It was painful to remember how happy she had been to marry him in the temple. In two short years the promise of a marriage that would last through the enternities had been turned from a blessing to a damning condemnation. After a few yards, her pace slowed and became more of a labored wobble than walk as the trail steepened. The cathartic movement cleared the fog from her head allowing Andrea freedom of thought. With this clarity Andrea realized that she could no longer keep living this life.
I could tell someone . . . maybe go somewhere. I could leave him.
Andrea was quick to dismiss the thought. Not because of what she thought Ken might do. The neighbors looked up to him, his family adored him, and everyone at church seemed to think he was a strong spiritual leader. They’d even made him a youth leader, putting him in charge of teaching teenage boys how to be “worthy men”. Chances were, they’d think she was making it up; playing the victim to validate her feelings in an unhappy marriage. Sometimes, Andrea worried that herself.
The trail began to level out a bit as it curved around the crest of a hill before continuing to weave up the face of the mountain. This is where she stopped, out of breath and unable to hike any farther. She turned towards the edge of the hill, noting the sheer descent created by rock and erosion.
Andrea absentmindedly wondered if a person could die jumping off this hill, but no, it wasn’t steep enough to offer a quick death. Then she felt that tell-tale kick against her ribs.
She lifted a hand to her belly and pressed back, shocked with the realization of how hopeless she had become.
“You’re right,” she said to the unnamed child. “It was a silly thought.”
And so she stood still, staring at nothing, not wanting to die, but unable to face another day with Ken.
The brisk wind whipped tendrils of long hair across Andrea’s face. She frantically swiped them out of her eyes and turned away from the hill’s eroded cliff-like edge, ignoring its promise of escape. Her eyes absorbed the November world of sleeping elm trees and decaying leaves. Gone were the vibrant colors of a happy fall, leaving behind only a promise of winter and the threat of death.
With every rustle of branches, Andrea felt her heart pulse harder. She didn’t wonder if Ken would come for her. That wasn’t the question. No, the question was what he would do to her once he did. Andrea could almost feel the calloused pads of his palms brushing across her cheek as he cupped her face, but there was a tightness in her throat, as if this imaginary hand had moved its way down her pale neck and begun to squeeze.
“Andrea!” Even though she heard him coming, and knew he would see her standing on the edge of the steep hill, Andrea flinched at the sound of his voice.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Ken yelled. It was more an accusation than a question. But she hadn’t been thinking, acting only on the instinct to get away from him.
“I’m sorry. You were just so angry I—”
Ken strode toward her, his strong legs making easy work of uneven ground beneath his feet. He only stopped once he was close enough that Andrea could see the tight lines around his hard hazel eyes.
No longer shouting, Ken asked quietly, “You thought I was angry then?” The low soft timber of his voice sounded almost like a growl and Andrea felt adrenaline turn her veins cold, like an IV had just been flushed.
Before she knew what was happening, his hand cracked against the right side of her face. The world spun as her ears rang, and her eyes instantly watered. She began to crumple to the ground, but Ken grabbed her forearms and hoisted her up to face him, digging his large fingers into the tender insides of her arm. His lips were curled up in a half-snarl, half-smile that quickly replaced Andrea’s pain with panic.
“Let me go, please.”
“No.”
And then she kicked him.
The first kick glanced off his shin, but Andrea was fighting now, and her second kick landed hard against the side of his knee. Ken grunted in pain, briefly loosening his grip. Andrea jerked back, fighting to free herself from his grasp. Ken grabbed again, attempting for a better hold on her. Twisting, Andrea shoved him away. The movement throwing both of them off balance. Andrea was a dead weight as gravity wrenched her from Ken’s grasp and dumped her unceremoniously onto the cold ground. Andrea’s rump took most of the fall, but she pushed a steadying hand against the ground barely noticing the bits of rock that dug into the palm that was keeping her upright. She looked up in time to register the shock on Ken’s face as he scrambled for purchase, his foot stepping behind him and finding nothing but air. He let out a startled shout before tumbling backward and out of view. The sound of breaking branches mixed with his frightened screams.
When the screaming changed to loud cries of pain, Andrea dared to peer down at the crumpled form of her husband. His left leg was twisted up and out like a broken claymation figurine, and blood seeped from his right shoulder.
Andrea could barely understand the mix of obscenities and threats that Ken screamed at her, catching something along the lines of “crazy bitch” and “kill you.” A moment later his head lolled to the side and he was unconscious. Staring down at the broken body of the man who had caused her so much pain, the tears she had held at bay for so long finally broke free in a torrential flow that had her gasping for breath. The child inside her stirred unsettled.
“I know,” Andrea sobbed, heart breaking for her unborn baby. “You deserve something better.” A thought came unbidden, gently slipping between the confusion and trauma that scarred her mind.
So do you.
It was a feather fluttering in and lightly tickling the forefront of her consciousness.
So do you.
~ ~ ~
The first responders came quickly and worked efficiently, helping Ken regain consciousness and transporting him back down the trail. It wasn’t long before Ken was strapped in a gurney, his whitewashed face now slightly purple in the flashing blue and red lights.
“I’m going to need my keys,” Andrea told the nearest paramedic as they were loading him into the ambulance. “They’re in his right front pocket.”
The paramedic turned and fished the keys from Ken’s pants.
“What are you doing?” Ken mumbled, eyes shifting unsteadily from the paramedic to Andrea. They both ignored him as the other paramedics moved Ken further into the ambulance, blocking him from view.
“Will you be following us to the hospital?” he asked.
“Actually,” Andrea said reaching her hand out and accepting the keys. “I think I’ll find my own way.”
K. Holloway is an ambitious writer who is passionate about reading and creating literature that has the power to change the way people see the world. Besides reading and writing she enjoys dancing, hiking with her amazing husband and playing with dogs. She loves Italian food and has been fighting a crime show addiction for quite some time.
