“I went over to his table. He was sitting with two other men I didn’t recognize, though they had on the usual Wranglers and button-ups. And they were normal-looking men. They didn’t draw the eye the way Ellis did.
“That was his name—he introduced himself as soon as I came to take his order. He had a soft, cultured voice. A northern accent, which made him sound exotic to me then. He said, ‘I’m Ellis Burr. What’s your name?’ so politely, and with such genuine interest.
“I think I was blushing redder than a stop sign. I don’t even know if I managed to say my name properly. He ordered a Gray Goose martini, which I also thought was unutterably fancy. His friends got whiskey. And he asked me what I wanted to drink.
“I said, ‘I can’t drink, I’m only sixteen.’ And he smiled, showing the most white and perfect teeth I’d ever seen. I should have realized then what a warning that smile was, but when you’re a teenager, you don’t realize you’re just a child. You don’t realize how different adults are from you. You think you’re one of them, or close to it. You don’t know that in innocence and vulnerability, you’re like a kitten padding around next to a tiger.”
I feel a sick sense of dread at where this story is going, but I don’t want to interrupt Celia, not even to encourage her. I’ve learned that when someone is in the flow of a narrative, the worst thing you can do is derail them. Not if you want to learn something.
“He asked me a few more questions about myself, as I brought their drinks and then their food. I didn’t dare ask anything about him. I found out later, from the regulars, that he was a bigshot at a building materials company in Knoxville. He’d just built some big estate thirty miles outside Silver Run.
“Ellis paid the bill for the table, which came to maybe sixty dollars. And he laid three crisp, new hundred-dollar bills on the table.
“If he would have been there when I picked them up, I would have said, ‘That’s too much,’ and refused to take it. But the men had already left. So I just picked the money up, staring at it like it was a gold nugget. Like it was something magic left by a genie in a fairytale.
“Then, a couple of hours later, when I had wiped down all the tables and we’d closed for the night, I went out behind the restaurant to get my bicycle. And there was a sleek black car, parked ten feet away from my bike. Ellis got out of that car and said, ‘Let me give you a ride home.’
“I never took rides from men at work. Not even if it was raining. But I felt like I couldn’t refuse him, because he’d given me all that money. So I got in his car.
“I’d never been in a truly luxurious space before. The gleam of the dashboard, and the scent of the leather . . . it was like I was sitting in a mobile palace. And Ellis himself seemed ten times as powerful and intimidating, now that I was in his space, sitting right next to him.
“But his voice was as soft and gentle as ever, as he asked me all about my parents and my siblings, and why I wasn’t in school.
“He drove me straight home, respectful as can be, and dropped me off in front of the house.
“When you’re poor . . . you can be incredibly practical. By the time I was eight years old, I was paying our electrical bill. I understood a lot of awful things that no child should understand. And yet . . . I lived in a fantasy world, too. I had to create these dreams for myself. Possible futures I might have someday. If I won the lottery. If I became a famous actress—never mind that I was horribly shy. If I won a trip to Paris somehow . . .
“So when I left work the next night and Ellis was waiting for me . . . I finally felt special. And chosen. As if fate had noticed me at last.
“He was so kind to me at first. He bought me gifts, and my siblings, too. Never asking anything in return. He never laid a hand on me. I almost imagined at first that he might want to adopt me, like Daddy Warbucks in Annie . . .
“Of course, that was innocent in a way that I should not have been innocent, since I knew better by then what men want from girls. I was a virgin, but only thanks to several narrow escapes.
“Eventually, Ellis did expect favors back from me. But by that point, I was so deeply in debt to him . . . thousands of dollars in gifts and dinners and even cash . . . I felt like I had to give him whatever he wanted.
“Looking back on it now, he probably spent less than three thousand on me. Which seemed like all the money in the world. Now I think how cheap I sold myself to him.”
I can’t keep quiet at that. I say, “You were a child. And you were desperate. You didn’t sell yourself. That implies that you made a choice.”
Celia sighs. “I saw the path I was on. And I never tried to leave it. I knew about birth control . . . he refused to use it. I continued on anyway. And of course I was soon pregnant. Pregnant with Raylan.
“Ellis proposed. I accepted. Though even as he slipped the shiny ring on my finger, I didn’t feel excitement. I knew I was trapped. No going back.
“The cracks in his kindness had already started to show. I knew I was never allowed to say no to him—not about anything. If he ordered dinner for me, and I wanted pasta instead of steak, I never spoke up. If I did, he’d punish me later. Not in an obvious way. But with something subtle—like closing the car door on my hand ‘accidentally.’ Or forcing me to miss my sister’s school play.
“The first time he slapped me was over something so small . . . I was carrying a pitcher of lemonade out to his deck. He had a massive house out in the middle of nowhere. I had only visited it a few times then. I tripped over the ledge leading down from the kitchen to the deck. I dropped the pitcher and it shattered, spilling lemonade everywhere.
“He slapped me across the face, hard. It hurt. But it shocked me more. My parents were addicts, but they didn’t beat us. I remember his pale blue eyes watching my face. Watching to see how I’d react.
“I stood there stunned for a second. Trying to decide whether to cry or run away. And then instead, I said, ‘I’m sorry.’ And he smiled. That’s what he wanted to hear. He wanted me to accept fault, even for an innocent mistake. And he wanted me to accept my punishment.”
Celia pauses to dampen a rag, so she can wipe down the countertops while we talk.
“Anyway,” she says, “I don’t have to tell you every detail of what happened next. I’m sure you can guess. Men like Ellis like to think that they’re unique and original, but in fact they couldn’t be more predictable if they were operating out of a literal playbook. As soon as we were married, as soon as he had me alone in his house, as soon as I was pregnant and unable to leave . . . he escalated. Day by day his restrictions tightened, and his violence increased.
“He never left marks that someone else could see. But the rest of my body . . . I was covered in burns. Cuts. Bruises. And sometimes worse. I begged him to be careful, not to hurt the baby . . . Thank god he didn’t. For his own reasons, not because he gave a damn what I wanted. He was excited about the baby. Another human completely under his control.
“Of course for me, the pregnancy was a time-bomb. A countdown to my greatest fear of all—that what was being done to me might eventually spill over onto an innocent child.
“Ellis was so excited when he found out we were having a son. I told myself that meant he would never hurt the baby. No matter how angry or violent he got, he never actually lost control. He never broke anything that mattered to him, or left a mark on me that might be visible in public. It was all so calculated.