“Cassi. I’m sorry. You know I’m sorry. Why are you packing? Where are you going? You can’t leave!” She didn’t answer, only continued to gather everything she thought she might need until she was on her feet in a different town far, far away from here. When he realized that she was serious, he grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her away from the backpack she was filling. The action caused her to yelp involuntarily, both in surprise and in pain. He didn’t care. “You’re my wife. You stay here.”

This time, her eyes looked up at him and saw the fury on his face. It didn’t matter how sorry his voice sounded, his expression never showed any kind of remorse. That was the way he tricked you. It had taken her three years to learn, but now she knew. She fought the urge to place a hand on her belly, to protect their unborn child. If she did that, he would know. He must have already suspected that something had changed. Never before had she stood up to. She couldn’t bare it. Somehow, she needed to get out of his grip. Her eyes closed and she summoned every ounce of courage she had, her leg kicking forward.

He grunted in pain and bent over, looking like he might be sick. Cassidee grabbed the bag and hoped that she had not forgotten anything extremely important because there was no way she could stay and finish after what she’d just done. He would kill her. When she ran past him, she felt his hand brush her leg and panicked. If he got up before she could leave, she’d never get out. Somehow, though, she made it outside and to her car. In her rearview mirror, she saw him opening the door to come after her, and she gunned it.

The sound of the bus stopping snapped Cassidee out of her memories and back into the present. It was still unreal that she was so far from home, unreal that she was actually hoping to never see her husband again. Grabbing the backpack from the seat next to her, she pulled her hood up and made her way off the bus. She was in the town of Lima, a place she’d never even heard of which suited her just fine. Cassi needed to be somewhere that no one would ever look for her. This place looked like just that.

It was hot and raining when she stepped outside, the two things she hated most. How she longed to be back up north where a jacket was required and everyone moved quickly. It meant that no one had much time for anyone else, but it also meant that it was easy to lose yourself in your thoughts and have no one interrupt you. She’d already had four people tell her their life stories. It was ridiculous. Her stomach grumbled, and she realized that she hadn’t eaten in a very long time. It also didn’t help that she had nowhere to stay.

Looking around, her gaze settled on an open sign, one of the few this late at night. A diner, Cassidee thought with relief. It didn’t help with her living situation, but it was dry and it had food. So, without even considering another possibility, she made her way to the building just hoping that they wouldn’t mind that she was dripping wet.

The rain had been falling steadily for hours, a hollow counterpoint to the whirling ceiling fans as it chattered against the roof. The sound was vaguely reminiscent of typewriters, and a metaphorical soul might have found parallels to the writings of one's story, or the turning of the pages of life. Rain often seemed to hold some strange, deeper meaning for those sorts of people. Waiting for a bus in the rain, kissing in the rain, crying in the rain, everything had some sort of story to tell. Poets lapped it up. Rain meant something to everyone.

Even diner owners in the dead of night. Though, to be honest, Rhett was more worried about mud then the meaning of life at the moment.

The diner was quiet, that late on a Friday night. It wasn't too terribly surprising-- Lima had a club that was, while somewhat dated, more then adequate for the youth of the town. That included his two teen age waitresses that night, both calling off a few hours before their shifts in a flurry of giggles over some cover band a promises that they would definetely make it up over the week end. Having been seventeen and stupid before, Rhett couldn't really blame them. The dinner rush hadn't been fun, but he'd managed. And he'd spent enough hours behind the long lunch counter that a few more wouldn't kill him yet.

'Rhett's Place', as it was locally known, was a familiar landmark in Lima. It had belonged to a local couple for fifty years, before the siren song of retirement had prompted them to sell. Rhett, then a young waiter with an MBA he'd never expected to use, had poured all his savings into the offer and kept the place open. The life of a restaurant owner had been hell for the first few years, abd there were some nights when the man would pour over his financials and pray for a quick and clean heart attack, but over the six years he'd owned the place it had overall worth it.

Even on nights like that, when he bored, tired and staring at the pie case with a little too much longing--

The tinkling of the bell over the door jerled him from his dessert related musings, and he glanced up to see a woman standing in the doorway. The storm had clearly caught her unawares, and she dripped from head to foot. The small part of him that was annoyed by the mess-he'd just mopped the tile, after all- was silenced by the tension he could read in her body language.

"Come on in, welcome to Rhett's. That's me, so hand your coat up to dry and come sit at the counter-- booths an' tables are still dryin'. You look like you could use somethin' cool, fight down the humidity?"

Cassidee looked up from her feet, surprised to see a man behind the counter. Though it may have been sexist, she had always assumed that a southern diner would be owned by some large lady with a thick accent and a personality that made everyone smile. This man certainly didn’t fit that stereotype. It made her uncomfortable to be in a place she knew nothing about, but mostly she was regretting what would happen when she finally did take the coat off and followed his advice.

Stalling, she took a moment to look around the place. It’s not that she’d never been to a diner, but the ones she had been to were just chain restaurants in disguise. That’s what you got when you lived in a city, and no one was really bothered by it. They had good waffles after all. This place, though, she could tell was the real thing. In fact, Cassi had only just noticed that it seemed like there was no one else really there. At least not as far as wait staff was concerned. It surprised her, that he would be the only one working.

After a few moments, when it was becoming painfully obvious that she had just been standing there saying nothing, Cassi did what he’d said to, and took off her backpack and coat to hang them up. As soon as the dripping thing was off, she was tempted to put it back on, but she knew that would just make her look even crazier than he thought she was at this point. Besides, she was already slicking up the tile. Her eyes stayed down as she made her way to the counter, and only when she placed both arms on the thing did it become obvious why she’d wanted to keep them covered.

A large bruise, in the shape of a hand, was located on her forearm. It was deep purple, on its way to turning green, but it would still be a week at least before it disappeared completely. The horrid thing had attracted too much attention as she was trying to leave and was the reason she’d bought the jacket in the first place. The staring was worse than the constant heat she felt with it on. In an attempt to distract Rhett, she said, “I’m Cassidee. I’m not from around here, and I’m sorry about your floors. I’d offer to clean them up for you, but then you’d think I was trying to get something for free.” Even as she was talking though, she never once looked up at him.

When he was fifteen, Rhett's father had caught making out with Leslie Lyles, the prettiest girl in his grade. The older man hadn't interrupted them, had even spent the rest of that evening pretending to have seen nothing, but later that night the man had drug them both out onto the porch swing to sit in the muggy early evening air.

The porch swing had creaked as they'd rocked silently, companionably. His father was nursing a beer slowly, savouring the amber liquid without letting it go to his head, and Rhett was content with a giant glass of Coke. He'd been chasing the ice cubes around with a straw, listening to them clink against the glass, when his father had finally spoken.

"So...I guess there's no point in askin' if you're lookin' at girls yet?"

Rhett knew his face must almost glow in the dark. "Dad, I--"

"Son, your mother and I were eighteen when we had Clyde. I know all about what drives men and women, 'specially when you finally start seein' one another. Now, I ain't got a problem with you kissing and holdin' hands. Not my place anyhow, and I know tellin' you to stop'll only make it worse. But I do think you're old enough now that we gotta talk about how you treat a woman.

His veins had gone ice cold. "Oh God, Dad, I don't need the Talk--"

But Sawyer Connors was already shaking his head. "Your mama will handle that. This is more serious. Now, I ain't gonna sit here and tell you that women are weak are helpless. Your mother and Tallullah would kill me six ways from Sunday. But I am going to tell you this, and you best remember it all your life. You treat a woman like she's something special. You respect her, you love her, and you do right by her. She'll be your better half, and don't you ever forget it. You don't drink to excess around her, you don't swear around her, and you give her the home she deserves. And if I ever catch you raising your hand to a woman in anger, I will kill you dead. You hear me?"

The conversation flashed through Rhett's mind in a heartbeat. He and his father had never spoken about women again, and Sawyer had been taken by a work accident only three months after that conversation. But it was one that he would never forget, especially as he watched the men and women he had graduated with marry, reproduce, and divorce around him. Violence in the home was rare-or at least, rare that it was spoken of-, but there was enough fighting and sadness amongst his friends that Rhett wondered if his father hadn't been dead right on all his advice.

Now, though, this woman was sitting in front of him. Hadn't met his eyes once, spoke like a damn college textbook, all whole words and proper endings, and was sporting what could only be the sign of a strong grip on her forearm. Those only added up to so many things, in his mind. Setting down his cleaning cloth and order book, Rhett padded quietly over to stand across from where she sat, hands braced on the counter as he leaned closer to her.

"I'm gonna go out onna limb here and guess that water on the floor ain't your biggest problem." His eyes were solemn. "But I'll give you a pass on that for now, seein' as it's pouring out and there's nothing in front of you. I'm a little more worried, Cassidee 'I'm not from around here', as to why you aren't where you are around from." His voice went softer. "And why you are sportin' a bruiser that looks like someone flung you through a wall."

“Cass, you never tell ‘em anything that might get you into trouble. They’ll tell ya that you won’t get punished and that it’ll all be okay, but it never is. They just tell ya that so that you admit everything. Then they got ya and there ain’t nothing you can do about it. If you keep your lips shut and don’t tell ‘em nothin’, then they can’t punish ya. Well, they can, but it’s not as bad cause they can’t be positive you did it.”

“But what if it was an accident?”

“They’ll punish you anyways.”

The memory came unbidden to her, and she visibly flinched when the man in front of her leaned close and started asking questions. Cassidee was a college girl, well-educated even if it was only art school that she’d attended. It wasn’t common knowledge that she had once been in foster care, or that she had grown up in the ghetto where parents kept children for the checks they received in the mail every month. She had left that past behind when she’d been accepted to her first-choice and never thought about it again.

Now, though, she was forced to think back on those years and the lessons she’d learned. Here was a stranger, asking her about the bruise that was about as noticeable as the neon sign out front. She glanced at it, and another memory distracted her from the questions.

He stood above her, towering, his face contorted with anger. His hands twitched, as if he meant to wrap them around her neck, and somehow she knew that’s exactly what he wanted to do. She’d gone too far this time. She’d known it when the words left her lips, known what would happen when they returned home. It was a comment about his being unemployed to his parents, barely noticed even, but embarrassing to him all the same. And if she ever embarrassed him…

“I told you to keep your mouth shut! God, you know that everything that comes out of you just makes you sound stupid! You’re just a pretty face who can take pretty pictures. Everyone knows that there’s nothing inside that mind of yours, so I don’t understand why you always insist on pretending like there is!” His hands clenched into fists as he spoke, and she lifted her own in hopes of protecting herself.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t… I didn’t realize how it would sound. I didn’t know better. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do it again. I don’t need to talk. I know I shouldn’t.” Her voice was pleading in a way that she hoped would let him forgive her, let her walk away from this. Her words only seemed to make him angrier though, and he grabbed her by the arms and held her against the wall, her toes barely touching the floor.

The image then became too much, and she found she had tears in her eyes. “How embarrassing,” she said and tried her hardest to smile. Keep your mouth shut. It was her first and constant lesson. She would do no different here, with this stranger. “The bruise is nothing, no walls I promise. It’s Cassidee Johnson, by the way. I’m just here, traveling. I’d appreciate some food. I can pay you. And maybe you can point me in the direction of somewhere to stay?” Her eyes skated across his, in attempt to make eye contact, but soon they found themselves staring at the counter again.

There was nothing he could say to make her open up. Women weren't Rhett's best subject, but he knew fear and stubbornness well enough to see it spades in the eyes that danced up briefly to meet his. Something was keeping her quiet, and the man had seen enough Hallmark movies and Dateline specials to grasp that it wasn't pleasant memories that was keeping her mouth shut. His pushing would only close her up more, maybe even make her leave, and that wasn't what he wanted.

Rhett called up his most charming, laid back smile. It was an expression everyone but his mother was fooled by, and he tossed in a hint of relieved embarrassment in his voice to-hopefully- settle the tension. "Well, my mama always did say that my nose was too pointy for my own good. And now it's landed my foot right in my mouth. Just ignore the crazy. We've got a special tonight for Fridays, catfish and potatoe wedges, served with coleslaw. We've also got our night owl menu on the board," he gestured to a chalk sign tacked to the far wall. It was mostly burger and fry combos, though pancakes and a few breakfast items graced the menu.

"As for a place to stay, there are a few hotels in town. Cheapest would be the Motel 6, most comfortable would be Maggie's B&B. Plent in between those two."

"Yes, I'd like to report my wife's credit card as stolen. Her name is Cassidee Johnson. Please shut down the account before the thief can put any more money on the thing."

"We can shut down the credit card, so that it can't be used anymore, but only your wife can request the information of what charges were attempted and where they were attempted at. We could, however, call the police for you?"

"No. That won't be necessary. Cancelling it will be good enough."

Cassidee only nodded at his attempt to backtrack out of dangerous waters, and was appreciative of it. He was right of course, they both knew it, but at least he'd realized this was not something she wanted to discuss. Not with him or anyone else. No strangers needed to be so far into her business. It was between her and her husband. Instead of dwelling on it, her eyes moved up to the breakfast and her stomach rumbled. A light blush painted her cheeks, but she decided on something anyways.

"Pancakes would be good. Please, and thank you. I'm looking for cheap anything. I'm thinking about staying here awhile, and the more I pay a night the less nights I can stay." One of her hands moved absently and settled on the barely noticeable bump that held her growing child. She would need to get settled somewhere, and soon. She'd need a job that paid well and gave her time off. She'd need to make some friends who could babysit for her. Laying her head on the counter with a sigh, she realized that she might have been better staying at home. Surely, her husband wouldn't have harmed her knowing she was carrying... right?

"Short stack it is. Just take a few."

One of the things Rhett loved about the diner was how open it was. One of his waitresses had compared it to a hibachi restaurant, and she wasn't wrong. Rather then a window that only peeked into the back of the place, the grill ran parallel to lunch counter, and he could work and converse with customers easily. Henry and Martha, the previous owners, had designed it that way. It fit in with the small town mentality, and made ordering and special requests easier. Rhett was even considering adding an area in the counter as a sort of permanent skillet, as an omelet and burger station for quick orders.

But even without that existing yet, it was child's play to pour three healthy ladles of pancake batter onto the griddle and let them set up. The cast iron was already hot, and it only took a moment for the warm smell to fill the diner. Rhett's pancake batter recipe was top secret, passed on from his grandparents. Vanilla played a heavy key in it, but the whole list of ingredients was a document that he kept absolutely secret. Whatever was on it, though, his pancakes were divine. Fluffy and sweet, never underdone or crunchy, and perfectly golden. Years of practice had taught him the art, and it was three of these masterpieces that he slid in front of Cassidiee, along with syrup and a basket of butter cups.

"There you go. Motel 6 is clean and safe, rare for a hotel chain I know, but Lizzie owns it so you can trust the rooms. She stays open all night, too, so no worries on when check in closes. Can I get you anything else, or something to drink?"

While he cooked, Cassidee’s mind, as it always did, began to pretend she had a camera in her hands. Her gaze made its way to the windows and stared out at the rain. How would she capture such a beautiful, complex thing? She would probably want those two sharing an umbrella to be present. It showed how rain created bonds. Or maybe, she would want one walking away from the other. In this, the rain would symbolize a parting, a sorrow. It was so easy, to make rain mean whatever you wanted. It was flexible that way, as if it wanted to please everyone, give meaning to everything. For her, she realized, it symbolized a washing, a cleaning. If she would let it, the rain could wash every pain in her past and let her start over, here possibly.

Her musings were interrupted, when Rhett placed the placed the plate of pancakes in front of her. The smell made her stomach again, and again a blush painted her cheeks pink. It didn’t help that when Cass placed a bite in her mouth, a satisfied sigh escaped her. She hadn’t eaten real food since she had left home, and this was the best thing she had ever tasted. The bread, butter, and syrup combo melted in her mouth. Cassidee only shook her head at his question, and shoveled the food into her mouth in a way that she was sure was unattractive. This wasn’t only because she was starving. The young woman planned to get an early start tomorrow. After all, if she was going to stay, she would need a job, and in a small town it would probably not be easy to find one.

When she was finished, Cass walked over to where she’d left her backpack and pulled out her credit card. Inside, she worried slightly over this. She’d brought the card because she’d known her husband wouldn’t be able to check the history to see where she was using it, but his personality made people want to please him. He often doing things he shouldn’t have been able to. Cassidee shook her head, letting his image disappear from her mind and pulled one more thing out of the pack.

She made sure to hand the card to him, before turning her attention to her still dripping jacket. She raised the camera to her eyes and smiled slightly at the image she saw. In this cozy diner, it looked so out of place. Like her, it didn’t belong here. At least not until it dried.