Safe Haven (17 page)

Kevin called again forty minutes later.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, working steadily to keep from worrying. She ironed two of his shirts and brought the suit bag and suitcase in from the garage. She set out clean socks and she polished his other pair of black shoes. She ran the lint brush over his suit, the black one he wore to court, and laid out three ties. She scrubbed the bathroom until the floor was shiny, and scrubbed the baseboards with vinegar. She dusted every item in the china cabinet and then started preparing the lasagna. She boiled the pasta and made a meat sauce and layered all of it with cheese. She brushed four pieces of sourdough bread with butter, garlic, and oregano and diced everything she needed for the salad. She showered and dressed sexy, and at five o’clock, she put the lasagna in the oven.

When he got home, dinner was ready. He ate the lasagna and talked about his day. When he asked for a second serving, she rose from the table and brought it to him. After dinner, he drank vodka as they watched reruns of
Seinfeld
and
The King of Queens.
Afterward, the Celtics were playing the Timberwolves and she sat beside him, her head on his shoulder, watching the game. He fell asleep in front of the television and she wandered to the bedroom. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, until he finally woke and staggered in, flopping onto the mattress. He fell asleep immediately, one arm draped over her, and his snores sounded like a warning.

She made him breakfast on Tuesday morning. He packed his clothes and toiletries and was finally ready to head to Marlborough. He loaded his things into the car, then went back to the front door, where she was standing. He kissed her.

“I’ll be home tomorrow night,” he said.

“I’ll miss you,” she said, leaning into him, putting her arms around his neck.

“I should be home around eight.”

“I’ll make something that I can reheat when you get home,” she said. “How about chili?”

“I’ll probably eat on the way home.”

“Are you sure? Do you really want to eat fast food? It’s so bad for you.”

“We’ll see,” he said.

“I’ll make it anyway,” she said. “Just in case.”

He kissed her as she leaned into him. “I’ll call you,” he said, his hands drifting downward. Caressing her.

“I know,” she answered.

In the bathroom, she took off her clothes and set them on the toilet, then rolled up the rug. She’d placed a garbage bag in the sink, and naked, she stared at herself in the mirror. She fingered the bruises on her ribs and on her wrist. All of her ribs stood out, and dark circles beneath her eyes gave her face a hollowed-out look. She was engulfed by a wave of fury mixed with sadness as she imagined the way he’d call for her when he walked through the house upon his return. He’d call her name and walk to the kitchen. He’d look for her in the bedroom. He’d check the garage and the back porch and the cellar.
Where are you?
he’d call out.
What’s for dinner?

With the scissors, she began to chop savagely at her hair. Four inches of blond hair fell onto the garbage bag. She seized another chunk, using her fingers to pull it tight, telling herself to measure, and snipped. Her chest felt constricted and tight.

“I hate you!” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Degraded me all the time!” She lopped off more hair, her eyes flooding with rage-fueled tears. “Hit me because I had to go shopping!” More hair gone. She tried to slow down, even out the ends. “Made me steal money from your wallet and kicked me because you were drunk!”

She was shaking now, her hands unsteady. Uneven lengths of hair collected at her feet. “Made me hide from you! Hit me so hard that I vomit!”

She snapped the scissors. “I loved you!” She sobbed. “You promised me you’d never hit me again and I believed you! I wanted to believe you!” She cut and cried, and when her hair was all the same length, she pulled out the hair dye from its hiding place behind the sink. Dark Brown. Then she got in the shower and wet her hair. She tilted the bottle and began massaging the dye into her hair. She stood at the mirror and sobbed uncontrollably while it set. When it was done, she climbed into the shower again and rinsed it out. She shampooed and conditioned and stood before the mirror. Carefully, she applied mascara to her eyebrows, darkening them. She added bronzer to her skin, darkening it. She dressed in jeans and a sweater and stared at herself.

A dark, short-haired stranger looked back at her.

She cleaned the bathroom scrupulously, making sure no hair remained in the shower or on the floor. Extra strands went into the garbage bag, along with the box of hair dye. She wiped the sink and counter down and tied up the garbage bag. Last, she put eyedrops in, trying to erase the evidence of her tears.

She had to hurry now. She packed her things in a duffel bag. Three pairs of jeans, two sweatshirts, shirts. Panties and bras. Socks. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A brush. Mascara for her eyebrows. The little jewelry she owned. Cheese and crackers and nuts and raisins. A fork and a knife. She went to the back porch and dug out the money from beneath the flowerpot. The cell phone from the kitchen. And finally, the identification she needed to start a new life, identification she’d stolen from people who trusted her. She’d hated herself for stealing and knew it was wrong, but she’d had no other choice and she’d prayed to God for forgiveness. It was too late to turn back now.

She had rehearsed the scenario in her head a thousand times, and she moved fast. Most of the neighbors were off at work: she’d watched them in the mornings and knew their routines. She didn’t want anyone to see her leave, didn’t want anyone to recognize her.

She threw on a hat and her jacket, along with a scarf and gloves. She rounded the duffel bag and stuffed it beneath her sweatshirt, kneading and working it until it was round. Until she looked pregnant. She put on her long coat, one that was roomy enough to cover the bump.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Short, dark hair. Skin the color of copper. Pregnant. She put on a pair of sunglasses, and on her way out the door, she turned on her cell phone and set the landline on call forwarding. She left the house through the gate at the side. She walked between her house and the neighbors’, following the fence line, and deposited the garbage bag in their garbage can. She knew that both of them worked, that neither was at home. Same thing for the house behind hers. She walked through their yard and past the side of the house, finally emerging onto the icy sidewalk.

Snow had begun to fall again. By tomorrow, she knew, her footprints would be gone.

She had six blocks to go but she was going to make it. She kept her head down and walked, trying to ignore the biting wind, feeling dazed and free and terrified, all at the same time. Tomorrow night, she knew, Kevin would walk through the house, calling for her, and he wouldn’t find her because she wasn’t there. And tomorrow night, he would begin his hunt.

Snow flurries swirled as Katie stood at the intersection, just outside a diner. In the distance, she saw Super Shuttle’s blue van round the corner and her heart pounded in her chest. Just then, she heard the cell phone ring.

She paled. Cars roared past her, their tires loud as they rolled through the slush. In the distance, the van changed lanes, angling toward her side of the road. She had to answer; there was no choice but to answer. But the van was coming and it was noisy on the street. If she answered now, he would know she was outside. He would know she’d left him.

Her phone rang a third time. The blue van stopped at a red light. One block away.

She turned around, walking into the diner, the sounds muffled but still noticeable—a symphony of plates clanking and people talking; directly ahead was the hostess stand, where a man was asking for a table. She felt sick to her stomach. She cupped the phone and faced the window, praying that he couldn’t hear the commotion behind her. Her legs went wobbly as she pressed the button and answered.

“What took you so long to answer?” he demanded.

“I was in the shower,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“I’m about ten minutes out,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” she said.

He hesitated. “You sound kind of funny,” he said. “Is something wrong with the phone?”

Up the street, the signal light turned green. The Super Shuttle van’s turn signal indicated that it was pulling over. She prayed that it would wait. Behind her, people in the diner had gone surprisingly quiet.

“I’m not sure. But you sound fine,” she said. “It’s probably bad service where you are. How’s the drive?”

“Not too bad once I got out of the city. But it’s still icy in places.”

“That doesn’t sound good. Be careful.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“I know,” she said. The van was pulling over to the curb, the driver craning his neck, looking for her. “I hate to do this, but can you call me in a few minutes? I still have conditioner in my hair and I want to rinse it out.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Okay. I’ll call you in a bit.”

“I love you,” she said.

“Love you, too.”

She let him hang up before she pressed the button on her phone. Then she walked out of the diner and hurried to the van.

At the bus terminal, she bought a ticket to Philadelphia, hating the way the man who sold her the ticket kept trying to talk to her.

Rather than waiting at the terminal, she went across the street to have breakfast. Money for the shuttle and the bus ticket had taken more than half of the savings she’d collected during the year, but she was hungry and she ordered pancakes and sausage and milk. At the booth, someone had left a newspaper and she forced herself to read it. Kevin called her while she was eating and when he told her again that the phone sounded funny, she suggested that it was the storm.

Twenty minutes later, she got on the bus. An elderly woman motioned to her bulge as she moved down the aisle.

“How much longer?” the woman asked.

“Another month.”

“First one?”

“Yes,” she answered, but her mouth was so dry it was hard to keep talking. She started down the aisle again and took a seat toward the rear. People sat in the seats in front of and behind her. Across the aisle was a young couple. Teenagers, draped over each other, both of them listening to music. Their heads bobbed up and down.

She stared out the window as the bus pulled away from the station, feeling as if she were dreaming. On the highway, Boston began to recede into the distance, gray and cold. Her lower back ached as the bus rolled forward, miles from home. Snow continued to fall and cars whipped up slush as they passed the bus.

She wished she could talk to someone. She wanted to tell them that she was running away because her husband beat her and that she couldn’t call the police because he was the police. She wanted to tell them that she didn’t have much money and she could never use her real name again. If she did, he would find her and bring her home and beat her again, only this time he might not stop. She wanted to tell them that she was terrified because she didn’t know where she was going to sleep tonight or how she was going to eat when the money ran out.

She could feel cold air against the window as towns drifted past. Traffic on the highway thinned and then the roads became crowded again. She didn’t know what she was going to do. All her plans had stopped at the bus and there was no one to call for help. She was alone and had nothing but the things she carried with her.

An hour from Philadelphia, her cell phone rang again. She cupped the phone and talked to him. Before he hung up, he promised to call her before he went to bed.

She arrived in Philadelphia in the late afternoon. It was cold, but not snowy. Passengers got off the bus and she hung back, waiting for all of them to leave. In the restroom, she removed the duffel bag and then went into the waiting room and took a seat on a bench. Her stomach was growling and she sliced off a little cheese and ate it with crackers. She knew she had to make it last, though, so she put the rest of it away, even though she was still hungry. Finally, after buying a map of the city, she stepped outside.

The terminal wasn’t located in a bad part of town; she saw the convention center and Trocadero Theater, which made her feel safe, but it also meant she could never afford a hotel room in the area. The map indicated that she was close to Chinatown, and for lack of a better plan she headed in that direction.

Three hours later, she’d finally found a place to sleep. It was dingy and reeked of smoke, and her room was barely large enough for the small bed that had been crammed inside. There was no lamp; instead, a single bulb protruded from the ceiling and the communal bathroom was down the hall. The walls were gray and water stained and the window had bars. From the rooms on either side of her, she could hear people talking in a language she couldn’t understand. Still, it was all she could afford. She had enough money to stay three nights, four if she could somehow survive on the little food she’d brought from home.

She sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, afraid of this place, afraid of the future, her mind whirling. She had to pee but she didn’t want to leave the room. She tried to tell herself that it was an adventure and everything would be okay. As crazy as it sounded, she found herself wondering if she’d made a mistake by leaving; she tried not to think about her kitchen and bedroom and all the things she’d left behind. She knew she could buy a ticket back to Boston and get home before Kevin even realized she was gone. But her hair was short and dark and there was no way she could explain that.

Outside, the sun was down but streetlights shone through the dirty window. She heard horns honking and she looked out. At the street level, all the signs were in Chinese and some businesses were still open. She could hear conversations rising in the darkness and there were plastic bags filled with garbage piled near the street. She was in an unfamiliar city, a city filled with strangers. She couldn’t do this, she thought. She wasn’t strong enough. In three days, she’d have no place to stay unless she could find a job. If she sold her jewelry, she might buy herself another day, but then what?