This is Who I Am
Page 8
Saying no was the right thing to do. Even if she’d been rich, she’d make him work for part of his college expenses. People didn’t value anything unless they themselves put some effort into getting it. Which meant if she handed him all the money, he’d actually be more liable to flunk out.
Logic didn’t help. She’d disappointed her baby. Welcome home, Linda.
* * * *
At the end of that week, Linda stood behind the counter in her beachfront store, ringing up the sale of a canvas, hand-stitched beach tote. Her feet were screaming at being forced back into her favorite high-heeled sandals, her legs ached from standing so much, and her shoulders were knotted from evenings spent on the accounting backlog. Yet it was wonderful to be home. Her life was returning to normal.
“You have a lovely store.” The customer signed the charge slip.
“Thank you.” Linda beamed as she handed over the receipt. “Have a wonderful day on the beach.”
After growing up in a tiny Florida town, she’d thought she’d simply be a teacher. Or maybe a preacher’s wife like her mother had been. Who knew that she’d love running her own business, love the interactions with customers? And after the slavers had tried to convince her she was nothing more than a slut, she needed the reassurance that she was good at what she did.
The store door was latched open, letting customers on the boardwalk flow in and out. Inside, a young couple, hand in hand, were checking out the etched coffee cups. A trio of older women studied the wall of Florida shore paintings. On the right, her clerk was restocking the glass case holding the handcrafted jewelry.
Linda inhaled, enjoying how the sand candles’ scents mingled with the salty air off the Gulf. Her tiny store specialized in handcrafted items for tourists. It held no shot glasses or T-shirts made overseas by the thousands. Instead, everything was created by Florida artisans. She even commissioned some of the more popular items. To her delight, the baskets she made also sold well.
She’d never make a fortune but had enough to pay bills and help the children with their expenses—although not working for five months had come close to being a disaster. Thank goodness that after Frederick’s death, she’d set up her affairs so the children and business would be handled in case of her death or disability.
But even though the accounting firm had handled the bills and payroll, everything else was behind. In fact, she’d only managed to join Lee for lunch once. Seeing the guy she’d dated off and on before her kidnapping had been…awkward. But Lee was a nice man. He hadn’t pushed her and had turned their conversation to local affairs, letting her fill in as she wanted. Although he’d asked her out, she’d put him off for another week. She really did have too much to do.
In fact… She frowned at the window display, which needed to be redone as well.
By the open door, two townspeople slowed to look inside. As their voices dropped to whispers, Linda stiffened.
Her four part-time clerks had been overjoyed to have her back. She’d needed that reassurance since her kidnapping and return had created ripples through the town. The beachfront shop owners and clerks formed a small community of their own, and her acceptance there and elsewhere had changed. She heard ugly whispers everywhere, even with customers in her own store, and the sound was wearing her down.
She’d started to feel like the prostitute in Pretty Woman—the one who had discovered that a respectable appearance didn’t mean she could ever belong.
“All done.” At the jewelry case, Maribelle straightened, patting her short gray hair into place. “I might have to buy my granddaughter those pretty shell earrings. What do you want done now?”
The store suddenly felt confining, and Linda wanted out. “If you’ll watch the store, I need to make a coffee run. Want one?”
“No. I’ve had too much caffeine already.” Maribelle took up position behind the counter as Linda stepped into the back to grab a few dollars from her purse.
The small coffee shop was a few stores down, and Linda had always enjoyed the short walk. Even in late January, the sounds of the beach were heartening. Children’s shrieks of joy as the gulls dipped down to look for food, a small dog’s high yapping, the thump and yells of the young men playing volleyball. Under it all, the shushing sound of the waves. She stopped to simply savor the cloudless blue sky over the blue-gray ocean and the white sand bedecked with brightly dressed tourists.
Could anyone who hadn’t been imprisoned truly appreciate the glory of just being outside?
When she entered the coffee shop, the scent of newly brewed coffee zinged across her senses.
Waiting at the pickup counter for her order, the toy-store manager nodded at her. “Good to have you back, hon.”
Linda smiled. She didn’t like the reminder of her ordeal, but the warmth of friendship was never unwelcome. “Thank you, Sandy.”
Behind the counter, the coffee-shop owner handed Sandy her drink before looking over. “Linda, what can I make you? The peppermint drinks are on sale today.”
“Um.” Be virtuous or go for indulgence? She considered. Her body hurt and not in the happy way Sam had given her. Don’t think of that. “Peppermint white chocolate mocha.” Caffeine, fat, sugar, and chocolate—all the essential food groups except salt. “Thanks, Betty.”
“Coming right up.”
As Linda wavered over buying a scone, she heard whispers from a threesome at a table. Lawrence, who managed the upmarket art gallery, an older woman, and a woman from Linda’s church.
Keen hearing was sometimes a curse, she thought. And hating herself for the weakness, she listened anyway.
“That’s right. They kept her as a slave.” The older woman.
The churchwoman said, “A sex slave.”
Linda felt as if her legs would give out.
“Really?” Lawrence leaned forward. “You think she—”
Tears prickled in her eyes as Linda fought the urge to flee. To simply walk away from the coffee shop, her store, everything. To hide in her house and never come out. But what would that achieve except losing her business? The gossip would certainly continue. Tough it out, girl. Eventually, some new, ground-shaking scandal would replace hers.
She unclenched her hands and moved to the other end of the counter, close to their table, to wait for her drink.
The table went silent as the two women concentrated on their doughnuts. Lawrence gave her a slow perusal that made her skin crawl. “Hi, Linda. Taking a break?”
“Just a coffee run.” She forced her lips into a smile, then accepted her cup from Betty. Turning her back to the room to hide her trembling hands, she added extra sugar and eventually managed to get the plastic lid snapped on.
When she turned, the two women gawked at her as if she’d worn pasties and a thong rather than her cream-colored, button-up shirt and tan slacks. When she stared back, their attention turned to their food.
She headed for the door.
“Nice to see you again,” Lawrence said.
She glanced over and nodded. “And you.”
“We should get together sometime.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, and he licked his lips.
Her anger flared. I’m not a slut. Not. Taking a sip of coffee, she let her gaze slide down his body. After deliberately checking out his crotch area, she gave a dismissive sniff—way too small—and left the room.
Well, way to make yourself an enemy. She didn’t care. At one time, she might have ignored Lawrence’s sleazy stare. But the constant verbal abuse she’d suffered as a slave had erased her tolerance.
“Slut, that’s all you are. Nothing else.” The Overseer’s voice, like putrid oil, still oozed through her memories. “Just a convenient hole to use.” She shuddered.
Then she recalled a different voice. “Linda, I don’t see you as a slave.” The memory of Sam’s rough words was like an afternoon downpour, washing the gutters clean of debris. His intent blue eyes had been hot, but he’d shown respect as well. He’d given her a safe word, mapped out what he’d do, how far he’d go.
The need to have his arms around her, his sandpapery voice in her ears, shook her so hard she stopped on the boardwalk. Breathe. Get it together. She drank her coffee, letting the burn settle her. How annoying for that sadist’s voice to be so darned calming. What Sam sought from her might not be enslavement, but it wasn’t what she wanted. Her life was normal now. She needed to keep it that way.
The comfort of her store wrapped around her as she entered. Since Maribelle was handling the customers, Linda picked up a wide basket and headed for the display window. Florida winter. What would look appropriately seasonal?
“Linda? Hey, Linda!” The man who walked in wore dark slacks and a long-sleeved shirt with garish red and purple stripes. His brown hair needed a trim.
“Hi, Dwayne.” Before she met Lee, they’d dated a few times until their one time in bed had shown her that they didn’t suit. He made love as badly as he reported the news.
“You haven’t returned my phone calls.” He halted a step too close.
She retreated a pace. “I’ve been busy. How are you?”
“I watched your testimony about being a sex slave.”
Her mind blanked. Sex slave. She had never, ever called herself that.
Logic didn’t help. She’d disappointed her baby. Welcome home, Linda.
* * * *
At the end of that week, Linda stood behind the counter in her beachfront store, ringing up the sale of a canvas, hand-stitched beach tote. Her feet were screaming at being forced back into her favorite high-heeled sandals, her legs ached from standing so much, and her shoulders were knotted from evenings spent on the accounting backlog. Yet it was wonderful to be home. Her life was returning to normal.
“You have a lovely store.” The customer signed the charge slip.
“Thank you.” Linda beamed as she handed over the receipt. “Have a wonderful day on the beach.”
After growing up in a tiny Florida town, she’d thought she’d simply be a teacher. Or maybe a preacher’s wife like her mother had been. Who knew that she’d love running her own business, love the interactions with customers? And after the slavers had tried to convince her she was nothing more than a slut, she needed the reassurance that she was good at what she did.
The store door was latched open, letting customers on the boardwalk flow in and out. Inside, a young couple, hand in hand, were checking out the etched coffee cups. A trio of older women studied the wall of Florida shore paintings. On the right, her clerk was restocking the glass case holding the handcrafted jewelry.
Linda inhaled, enjoying how the sand candles’ scents mingled with the salty air off the Gulf. Her tiny store specialized in handcrafted items for tourists. It held no shot glasses or T-shirts made overseas by the thousands. Instead, everything was created by Florida artisans. She even commissioned some of the more popular items. To her delight, the baskets she made also sold well.
She’d never make a fortune but had enough to pay bills and help the children with their expenses—although not working for five months had come close to being a disaster. Thank goodness that after Frederick’s death, she’d set up her affairs so the children and business would be handled in case of her death or disability.
But even though the accounting firm had handled the bills and payroll, everything else was behind. In fact, she’d only managed to join Lee for lunch once. Seeing the guy she’d dated off and on before her kidnapping had been…awkward. But Lee was a nice man. He hadn’t pushed her and had turned their conversation to local affairs, letting her fill in as she wanted. Although he’d asked her out, she’d put him off for another week. She really did have too much to do.
In fact… She frowned at the window display, which needed to be redone as well.
By the open door, two townspeople slowed to look inside. As their voices dropped to whispers, Linda stiffened.
Her four part-time clerks had been overjoyed to have her back. She’d needed that reassurance since her kidnapping and return had created ripples through the town. The beachfront shop owners and clerks formed a small community of their own, and her acceptance there and elsewhere had changed. She heard ugly whispers everywhere, even with customers in her own store, and the sound was wearing her down.
She’d started to feel like the prostitute in Pretty Woman—the one who had discovered that a respectable appearance didn’t mean she could ever belong.
“All done.” At the jewelry case, Maribelle straightened, patting her short gray hair into place. “I might have to buy my granddaughter those pretty shell earrings. What do you want done now?”
The store suddenly felt confining, and Linda wanted out. “If you’ll watch the store, I need to make a coffee run. Want one?”
“No. I’ve had too much caffeine already.” Maribelle took up position behind the counter as Linda stepped into the back to grab a few dollars from her purse.
The small coffee shop was a few stores down, and Linda had always enjoyed the short walk. Even in late January, the sounds of the beach were heartening. Children’s shrieks of joy as the gulls dipped down to look for food, a small dog’s high yapping, the thump and yells of the young men playing volleyball. Under it all, the shushing sound of the waves. She stopped to simply savor the cloudless blue sky over the blue-gray ocean and the white sand bedecked with brightly dressed tourists.
Could anyone who hadn’t been imprisoned truly appreciate the glory of just being outside?
When she entered the coffee shop, the scent of newly brewed coffee zinged across her senses.
Waiting at the pickup counter for her order, the toy-store manager nodded at her. “Good to have you back, hon.”
Linda smiled. She didn’t like the reminder of her ordeal, but the warmth of friendship was never unwelcome. “Thank you, Sandy.”
Behind the counter, the coffee-shop owner handed Sandy her drink before looking over. “Linda, what can I make you? The peppermint drinks are on sale today.”
“Um.” Be virtuous or go for indulgence? She considered. Her body hurt and not in the happy way Sam had given her. Don’t think of that. “Peppermint white chocolate mocha.” Caffeine, fat, sugar, and chocolate—all the essential food groups except salt. “Thanks, Betty.”
“Coming right up.”
As Linda wavered over buying a scone, she heard whispers from a threesome at a table. Lawrence, who managed the upmarket art gallery, an older woman, and a woman from Linda’s church.
Keen hearing was sometimes a curse, she thought. And hating herself for the weakness, she listened anyway.
“That’s right. They kept her as a slave.” The older woman.
The churchwoman said, “A sex slave.”
Linda felt as if her legs would give out.
“Really?” Lawrence leaned forward. “You think she—”
Tears prickled in her eyes as Linda fought the urge to flee. To simply walk away from the coffee shop, her store, everything. To hide in her house and never come out. But what would that achieve except losing her business? The gossip would certainly continue. Tough it out, girl. Eventually, some new, ground-shaking scandal would replace hers.
She unclenched her hands and moved to the other end of the counter, close to their table, to wait for her drink.
The table went silent as the two women concentrated on their doughnuts. Lawrence gave her a slow perusal that made her skin crawl. “Hi, Linda. Taking a break?”
“Just a coffee run.” She forced her lips into a smile, then accepted her cup from Betty. Turning her back to the room to hide her trembling hands, she added extra sugar and eventually managed to get the plastic lid snapped on.
When she turned, the two women gawked at her as if she’d worn pasties and a thong rather than her cream-colored, button-up shirt and tan slacks. When she stared back, their attention turned to their food.
She headed for the door.
“Nice to see you again,” Lawrence said.
She glanced over and nodded. “And you.”
“We should get together sometime.” His gaze dropped to her breasts, and he licked his lips.
Her anger flared. I’m not a slut. Not. Taking a sip of coffee, she let her gaze slide down his body. After deliberately checking out his crotch area, she gave a dismissive sniff—way too small—and left the room.
Well, way to make yourself an enemy. She didn’t care. At one time, she might have ignored Lawrence’s sleazy stare. But the constant verbal abuse she’d suffered as a slave had erased her tolerance.
“Slut, that’s all you are. Nothing else.” The Overseer’s voice, like putrid oil, still oozed through her memories. “Just a convenient hole to use.” She shuddered.
Then she recalled a different voice. “Linda, I don’t see you as a slave.” The memory of Sam’s rough words was like an afternoon downpour, washing the gutters clean of debris. His intent blue eyes had been hot, but he’d shown respect as well. He’d given her a safe word, mapped out what he’d do, how far he’d go.
The need to have his arms around her, his sandpapery voice in her ears, shook her so hard she stopped on the boardwalk. Breathe. Get it together. She drank her coffee, letting the burn settle her. How annoying for that sadist’s voice to be so darned calming. What Sam sought from her might not be enslavement, but it wasn’t what she wanted. Her life was normal now. She needed to keep it that way.
The comfort of her store wrapped around her as she entered. Since Maribelle was handling the customers, Linda picked up a wide basket and headed for the display window. Florida winter. What would look appropriately seasonal?
“Linda? Hey, Linda!” The man who walked in wore dark slacks and a long-sleeved shirt with garish red and purple stripes. His brown hair needed a trim.
“Hi, Dwayne.” Before she met Lee, they’d dated a few times until their one time in bed had shown her that they didn’t suit. He made love as badly as he reported the news.
“You haven’t returned my phone calls.” He halted a step too close.
She retreated a pace. “I’ve been busy. How are you?”
“I watched your testimony about being a sex slave.”
Her mind blanked. Sex slave. She had never, ever called herself that.
