The truck door slammed. Booted feet stomped up the wooden steps and across the porch. The door opened.
Maybe it would be okay. Harman had been good to her, once. When he’d asked her to marry him, when he’d offered to take her away from her mother and the trailer park and the endless stream of men who slept in her mother’s bed, he’d seemed the answer to her prayers.
“Shit!”
Dawn dug her face into the muslin pillow tick. Stay asleep, Tommy, she thought frantically, don’t, oh don’t wake up. Not that Harman would ever hurt their son, she was sure of that, but still…
Another noise. More cursing. The sound of Harman falling, then getting to his feet.
“Goddammit,” he roared. “What the hell is this?”
Oh, God! Had he tripped over something? What? What could she have left on the floor? She’d put the broom away. The dustpan. The chairs were lined up under the table just so, all of them neatly arranged. Tommy’s toys, such as they were, were carefully placed on the shelf in his room…
The red car.
The brand-new red plastic car she’d bought at the supermarket, even though it cost two dollars, because of the way her baby had looked at it, his blue eyes going all round with wonder. He’d played with it all afternoon, rolling it back and forth, back and forth while she folded laundry until, finally, he’d fallen sound asleep right there at her feet, the car clutched in his chubby fist. She’d smiled, scooped him up, carried him to his crib—and kicked the red car, by mistake. It had rolled toward the corner and she’d forgotten it, forgotten to look for it.
The bedroom door shot open. The light flashed on. Don’t move, Dawn thought desperately, don’t open your eyes, don’t blink, don’t stir, don’t breathe…
“Get up!”
She scrambled up against the pillows, clutching the quilt to her chin. Her husband loomed over her, looking as big as the mountain he came from and as mean as the storms that blew across it.
“Harman. Please. I didn’t mean to—”
The first blow caught her across her cheek. The second was better aimed and got her in the jaw. Her head snapped back; the coppery taste of blood was on her tongue.
“Where’d this come from, huh? Where’d it come from?”
He shook his fist under her nose, opened his hand, let her look at what lay in his palm. It was Tommy’s red car.
“Answer me, dammit. Where’d you get this?”
“I bought it. In Queen City.”
He hit her again, this time with the hand that held the toy. Dawn felt the skin split just above her eye.
“Ain’t no toy stores in Queen City, bitch. Try another lie.”
“I didn’t buy it at a toy store.” She was gasping for breath now. Harman was clutching her by the neck. He hoisted her to her knees and his fingers pressed hard into her throat. “Harman? Harman, please. I can’t breathe.”
“Who was here? What man came here and brought this to keep my son silent while you and he rutted in my bed?”
“Nobody. I swear it. Nobody was here. I bought the car. At the supermarket. They sell toys now, and Tommy saw this, and he wanted it so badly that I—”
She cried out as he lifted her from the bed and threw her against the dresser. Pain shot up her spine and into her neck.
“Liar,” he snarled as he bent over her. The stink of his breath choked her.
“It’s the truth. You know I don’t have men here, Harman. Why would I? I love you. Only you. Nobody but—”
He punched her. Dawn’s head jerked back and he hit her again, then curled his hand into the neckline of her nightgown and ripped it down to the hem.
“Whore! Harlot! Only a decent woman knows the meaning of love.”
“Harman. Please. Please, oh sweet Jesus, don’t—”
“Bitches like you ain’t fit to use His name.”