More about ISLAND JUSTICE Elizabeth Winthrop's Home Page   National Domestic Violence Resources Help is available. Just call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or 1-800-787-3224 (TDD). The Hotline provides emergency and non-emergency referrals to domestic violence resources in your area (multilingual service available). Click here for other important phone numbers Remember: For emergencies call your local police at 911. Organizations ABA Commission on Domestic Violence (American Bar Association) Center for the Prevention of Sexual and Domestic Violence Family Violence Prevention Fund National Coalition Against Domestic Violence National Victim Center -- Domestic Violence Safety Plan Guidelines Violence Against Women Office, U.S. Department of Justice

When Anna started to get up, he caught her by the wrist and held on. "Al?" she said. "I'm just getting the water." "You're acting strange tonight," he said. "What's going on?" You mean I'm not acting like a scared rabbit, she thought. "I'm getting myself some water to drink," she said, pronouncing every word carefully as if she were talking to a child. "Once you let go of my wrist." They ate in silence, the forks clinking against the china plates, the radio chattering in the background. Usually, she chattered herself because she'd always been frightened of silence. Silent men in her childhood meant secrets, someone drinking, something about to erupt. Tonight, she forced herself to keep quiet. He stared at her once or twice as if willing her to speak, but she pretended not to notice. She chewed slowly, swallowed purposefully. She remembered she'd read somewhere that it took thirty-two muscles to swallow. Think of that. She tried to count the muscles as the food went down, but it didn't seem to be more than three or four. Maybe it wasn't thirty-two. Maybe she'd got that wrong. "You don't have anything to say?" "About what, Al?" "Anything, dammit. Thanks for the meat loaf, Al. Thanks for taking care of that leaky pipe in the upstairs bathroom. Let's go to bed right now while Erin's away. Your gorgeous body turns me on. I can't wait to get my hands on it." Her throat closed up. "It doesn't," she said. "What did you say?" "Your body doesn't turn me on. You can't be at me all day long and expect me to want you at night, Al. It doesn't work that way." "And how would you know how it works?" he asked, his voice rising. He threw his fork down on the plate and she winced at the noise. She'd never pushed him this far. "How would you know? Have you been out there testing?" "Don't be ridiculous." "How do I know what you do when you go to the mainland. How do I know who you're hanging around with, sleeping with?" She stared at him for a moment without answering because she knew suddenly what this was all about. "You spent last night with Lauren," she said. There was a flicker, a tiny moment when his face froze and he looked like a little boy who'd been caught. Then he started shouting about her goddamn nerve. "I might as well go to another woman for all I get from you." He was standing up now, pointing his finger at her. "Who in God's name do you think you are, Anna Craven? You are my wife, that's who. Nobody else's. I tell you what to do, where to go, how to think, how to spend money. Look at that list," he raged on, pointing at the bulletin board. "Those are your orders. That's so you know what you are expected to do." Copyright © 1998 by Elizabeth Winthrop. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the Publisher.