Sometime later, the stairs creak and my body stiffens as I lay pseudo-secure, wrapped up in the corner of the comforter. I don’t want to see anyone at the moment, but if I must, I hope it’s Bosley, not Matt.
A strange calm settles over me as I watch the handle turn. As soon as Bosley appears, I wish it is Matt instead. Too mad to face Bosley, I roll over, close my eyes and hide my face.
“Why are you home so early?” he demands from somewhere behind me.
My eyes open to face the wall. Why am I home early? Me?
“Ana!” He tugs my shoulder to make me face him.
Being treated like a child isn’t helping.
“Leave me alone.” I toss his hand away and climb off the far side of the bed, walking around it to leave the room.
He blocks me. “What are you doing here?”
“I wasn’t feeling well,” I say, pushing him out of my way and heading for the door. There are so many questions in my mind but I’m too irritated to ask. Ignoring his calls, I go downstairs to the kitchen where there is plenty of cleaning to busy me.
“Hey,” he says from the doorway behind me after half the dishes have been thrown into cabinets.
I can’t face him. I’m not sure whether I’ll punch him or cry. Neither sound appealing. Both are likely.
“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he says.
“Yes.” I toss a stack of clean plastic containers into the cabinet, keeping my back to him.
“Why did you walk away?”
I don’t know why. Perhaps it was childish. Slamming the cabinet door, I turn around to face him and feel the verbal vomit about to escape.
“You want to know why I’m home early? You’re the one making some …sort of …deal here that’s obviously …” My hands flail as I try to form thoughts into sentences. “What are you doing home early… with that guy… who had a gun?”
“I told you not to mention it again.” He moves closer, one hand poking a finger at my chest. “Just forget you ever saw it.”
“How can I?” My mouth hangs open as I stare at him in disbelief.
“You just have to,” he says, his upper body leaning towards me, brow low, eyes locked on mine.
“Well, I can’t!” My body trembles as I yell, a rare thing for me. I can’t ever remember a time Bosley and I shouted at each other before this.
Bosley grabs me by both arms and tugs me closer. “Well you have to.”
My heart pounds from the strength of his force. I can’t ever remember a time when Bosley hurt me…
As he glares at me, he adds, “Ana, you don’t understand but you need to trust me.” My arms hurt and my eyes well up. “If you know what’s best for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut and let it pass. Do you understand?”
Tears are my answer since I can’t form words.
“Don’t,” he says, releasing me with irritation and I fall back against the counter.
Don’t what? Cry? The idea of it releases a torrent of tears. I have to restrain myself from literally attacking him - pounding my fists into him. I’ve never known such rage in me, especially towards him.
“If you’re not feeling well, you should stay home tomorrow,” he says, turning away from me as if to say the conversation is finished.
“I think I can determine for myself –“
He spins around to face me. “Just. stay. home. …Unless you’re not really sick.”
What the…? The tears stop – the calm before a storm of defiance brewing inside me. He walks away, leaving me alone in the kitchen with no outlet for my anger. I begin to think up methods of revenge, how I can hurt him, how I can teach him a lesson about how not to treat me.
The moment he’s gone in the morning, I hop out of bed, get dressed and begin my reprisal. I pull several outfits out of my dresser and toss them onto the bed, add some essentials and head to the closet for my suitcase. I’ll spend the week away … at a hotel if I have to. We’ll see how he reacts then, when he doesn’t know where I am, when he thinks I’ve left him ...or have been killed.
I spot my suitcase buried in the back of the closet. I forgot how massive it is, almost too heavy for me when it’s full. Perhaps there’s another bag that will do for the week. It’s not like I need a lot. Shoes, bins of out of season clothing and winter coats get tossed aside in my search. When I spot Bosley’s old duffle bag, I grab it and head for the bed, shoving my clothes into it with force.
Tossing the duffle bag strap over my shoulder, I head downstairs, collect my laptop and purse and am out the door. The warm air hits me, surprising me. It feels like summer but it’s only April. I toss the bags in the back seat, hop in, belt up and turn the key.
It doesn’t start.
I try again. It makes a turning noise but still nothing. I stare at the dashboard as if I can intimidate it into working. That’s when I notice the tank is empty. Empty? Really? That’s weird.
It was fine yesterday on my way home, I thought. My gaze is glued to the “E” as I try to remember when I last stopped for gas - yesterday morning on my way to work. My pulse picks up. Would Bosley have siphoned the gas? I can’t even imagine! It’s too impossible to believe. I won’t believe it. A call to roadside service should fix it. Since I will have to wait for them to arrive, I retrieve my bags and head back to the house.
My mind goes into overdrive. Everything seems foreign now - my husband, my car, my house, my life. Even the phone seems different as I hit the talk button and hold it to my ear for a dial tone. Digging through my purse for my account number, it takes me a minute to realize there’s no dial tone. My heart gives a kick to my ribs. I refuse to believe it, holding the phone away to inspect the status screen. NO LINE.
Okay, I tell myself. Don’t panic. Bosley wouldn’t have cut the phone line. It’s just coincidence. I search through my purse with one hand for my cell phone but can’t find it. Irritated, I drop the bag on the counter and dig through with both hands. It’s not in there. Where could it be? It never leaves my purse unless it’s charging. I spot the charger cord on the counter empty-ended. Too many things are now out of place. I feel lost and scared.
His laptop catches my eye and instinct tells me to try the internet. My body breaks into a sweat as I wait for the computer to wake up. I bounce my leg and dry my palms on my thighs. When the computer is up and running, I click to open the browser. PAGE NOT FOUND.
My attention shifts immediately to the five gray bars in the upper corner. No internet. My hand comes to my mouth in disbelief. I can hardly breathe, my face and chest tingling with adrenaline. I have to get out of here. I have to leave. I feel trapped, claustrophobic.
I throw the duffle bag over my shoulder, grab my laptop and purse and run out of the house. Walking as fast as I can, without knowing where I’m going, I feel I can’t get away fast enough. The warm air and added weight leave me feeling lightheaded before I’ve walked a mile.
I need to find a bus. Surely there are buses around here so close to Boston. I know I’ve seen them. I’ve seen lots of them. I just never used one. Where do they stop? What time? How much do they cost? Where will they take me? Where will I go?
None of that matters. One step at a time – one large step at a time. A glance over my shoulder does nothing to calm me. Two miles distance between my new foreign life and me does nothing to calm me. I’m sweating now, part from the sun and part from my nerves.
A car pulls up alongside me and startles me. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize it’s Henry, our neighbor down the street. We hardly ever speak to him but he always seems friendly, waving and smiling when we pass.
He rolls down the passenger window and leans over to talk to me.
“You okay, Ana?” he says.
Hearing my name from his mouth unnerves me although I’m not sure why.
“Yeah,” I say, faking a smile. “I’m fine. How are you?” My mind works up an explanation for my own strange behavior.
“Where you headed?”
“Oh…” I say. I haven’t formulated a good story yet. My grip tightens on the duffle bag strap. “I’m just heading out to do some laundry.” Yes, good one. “Our machine broke.” Even better.
“Oh,” he says, looks out the front window and back at me. “Why are you walking?”
Crud. I can’t say my car’s broken. Too many broken things for one story. “Just trying to get some exercise.” I let out a weak laugh. I’m sure he can see right through me. I’m sure he knows all about Bosley and me.
“That’s a long walk.”
He’s onto me. I can feel it.
“Want a ride?”
~~ Should Ana accept a ride from Henry? ~~
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