Edge of Midnight Read Online Free PDF Page A

into abusive relationships and why they can’t get out.
    Putting a hand on each side of her face, he lifted her chin and kissed her. “I’ll try to be home early. Don’t forget the papers.”
    She carted stacks of old newspapers out for recycling. Some were months old. She noticed a headline. JURY AGAINST DEATH PENALTY . Just below was a fuzzy picture of Lily Farmer’s father: thin, agonized face, with features so angular he looked almost like a caricature of a fanatical Jesuit. During the trial he’d sat in the courtroom listening to the tortures done to his daughter. It was a long trial, recapped every day on the news. After the sentencing, Cary saw a clip of him, face twisted with grief and fury when the monster who killed his daughter didn’t get the death penalty.
    ONE JUROR HOLDOUT. WADE JEFFRIES TO GET LIFE . Lily Farmer’s father wanted justice for his only child. “This isn’t it,” he’d yelled into the TV news cameras.
    Cary dropped the last stack on the curb—the outer one showed another picture of Joseph Farmer, face twisted in fury—went back inside and turned on the shower. Just as she was stepping under the hot water, the doorbell rang. She ignored it. It rang again.
    When the ringing continued, she grabbed her tatty terry cloth robe, wrapped it around herself, and went to the bedroom to look out the window. Arlette’s Camry sat in the driveway. The bell rang again. In bare feet, Cary padded down to the living room and opened the door. Arlette swept in with a small plastic bag.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” Cary looked around nervously to see if any neighbors were watching, then quickly shut the door.
    â€œI came to see if you were all right and to give you a couple things.”
    Cary’s bare feet were freezing on the slate entryway. She kept standing on one, then the other. “What things?”
    â€œMake me a cup of tea and I’ll tell you.”
    Stepping back, she felt the welcome warmth of the gray carpeting, but her feet got icy again when she walked on the kitchen linoleum.
    â€œGo get some slippers,” Arlette said. “I’ll fix it.”
    Cary went upstairs, scrounged her felt slippers from under the bed, and came back to find Arlette filling the tea kettle.
    Arlette studied her. “Are you changing your mind?”
    â€œWell, he’s been different, and now that I know about the sight thing and it’s not his fault and…” Cary shrugged.
    â€œHe beats you.”
    â€œHe loses his temper. If I’d be more careful—”
    â€œBullshit. You’re a battered wife.”
    â€œWhy are you doing this, Arlette? Why are you here?”
    The tea kettle shrieked. Arlette got up to turn off the burner and pour hot water into the tea pot. “I’m trying to get you to see the danger you’re in.”
    â€œI love him.” Cary felt like crying. “And he can be different. Sometimes he’s sweet and kind and—”
    â€œAnd other times he beats the shit out of you. He may not be causing your vision loss, but he’ll either kill you or one night you will get his gun and blow a great big hole in his head.
    â€œArlette!” The horror was so great because the thought had come to mind more than once. “Don’t say that,” Cary said flatly.
    Arlette nodded. “You have to get away.” She poured tea into Cary’s cup, pushed it across the table, and poured her own.
    Cary pulled the cup closer and curled her arm around it like someone might snatch it away.
    Arlette reached across the table and put a hand on her arm. “I have a friend. She said you could come and stay with her.”
    â€œWho is she?”
    â€œKelby Oliver. She was—” Arlette stopped.
    What was it Arlette didn’t want to tell her? “Why let me stay with her? If Mitch finds out, he—”
    â€œHe won’t find out. She lives in