On a Quiet Street

Chapter 10 #2

“No. It’s fine. I just—You startled me,” I say, and she sees Avery sleeping and then puts her finger to her lips, indicating she’ll be quiet. She sits down without being asked, so I sit back down as well.

“We had the toy drive last month, and I found a box of baby toys in the garage that got left behind, so I brought little Avery this,” she says, producing a plush octopus from her bag.

“Oh,” I say. “That’s really lovely. Thank you. She’ll love it.”

Cora smiles, pleased with herself. I know a sane person would offer tea, and since she’s showing no signs of leaving, I ask her if she’d like a cup.

“That would be great. Thanks,” she says, and I remember the porch camera is frozen, and if I go inside while the surveillance shows me sleeping, I will be so incredibly screwed.

“You know what, I’m so sorry. I just used the last tea bag,” I say. “I was planning to go into town and get some today.” It’s all I have. I don’t think she believes me.

“That’s okay, dear. I just wanted to make sure Avery got this is all.”

I should offer her something else, but I can’t, so I make conversation instead, as it’s all I have to offer.

“It’s nice today,” I start.

And it is. It’s sunny today, which is fitting because I feel light for the first time in months. It’s still light-jacket weather during the day and cold at night, but I know winter is coming, and I feel this rare flutter of hope expanding in my chest that maybe I’ll escape before it gets here.

Cora continues making small talk about things I don’t have the luxury to care about—Weight Watchers, and a new organic cat food she found to feed the neighborhood stray she’s apparently named Alfalfa.

Avery begins to stir. Cora puts her fingers excitedly to her lips and smiles as if she’s never seen a baby before and will endure physical pain if she can’t touch her.

Avery wakes happily today, blinking at us and stretching her little legs. Cora looks to me.

“You can give it to her if you want,” I say, and she gives a joyful little shimmy of her shoulders, takes the stuffed octopus, and sits next to Avery on the daybed.

“Hi, sweet girl,” she says softly, and Avery coos and flexes her hands, reaching for the stuffed animal.

“This is for you. What should we name him?” she says, tickling the bottom of Avery’s feet.

I see Cora’s open bag next to her empty chair.

I can feel my cheeks flush with shame at the very thought of stealing from the nicest woman on the planet.

I will pay her back, though. If she knew why, she wouldn’t fault me, I tell myself.

I just need ten dollars to get to town. How?

I can’t have her go inside to get something or bring Avery in or anything.

It will tip off the motion-sensor cameras inside. It would ruin everything.

“Looks like someone needs a fresh diaper. Did you tinkle? Yes, you did,” she says, and it sounds a little more like she’s talking to a puppy than a child, but Avery loves it.

Cora doesn’t even ask me: she just pulls a clean diaper out of the bag of toys and baby supplies that sit near the front door and begins to take control.

I feign cleaning up by plucking up Avery’s bottle and a few toys and then sit in Cora’s spot.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“I love helping, especially with a baby,” she says, and I peer down at her bag, my heart beating so loudly I think she can hear it.

She starts to tell a story about when her daughter was young, but all I hear is my pulse.

I keep my eyes steadily on her back as I ever so slowly reach my hand into her bag and pull out her leather clutch.

“That was before we had mommy blogs, you know, so...” she continues. She turns slightly, looking for somewhere to chuck the dirty diaper, and I leap up, concealing the clutch.

“I’ll take that!” I say and take the diaper, then quickly turn my back and pull out a twenty—that’s all she has—and walk the few steps to pull a plastic bag out of the baby bag and stuff the diaper inside.

I walk back to her spot, the clutch inside my cardigan, and sit back in her chair. She turns around, picking up Avery.

“Isn’t that better? Yes,” Cora says to her.

I can imagine I look pale as a ghost. Shit, shit, shit. She sits at the edge of the daybed, bouncing Avery on her lap.

“Her booties,” I say, desperately hoping she turns back around and doesn’t just reach down and pick them up off the deck floor where Avery must have kicked them off.

“Booties! Yes, sweetheart, it’s chilly, isn’t it?” She sweeps Avery up in her arms, lays her back down on the daybed, and pulls on her tiny crocheted bunny booties, and I drop the clutch back into her bag and let out the breath I was holding for so long my lungs ached.

I exhale and watch how tender she is with Avery.

I think for a second that I have found someone to trust. In a wild, mad moment, I want to ask her if she could possibly watch Avery for a little bit.

I’ve only had the camera frozen for about twenty minutes.

If I could get there and back in an hour, Lucas might just think we’d taken a longer nap, and it might not raise any red flags.

He hasn’t noticed anything amiss yet. It could be my only shot.

I could take a cab with the twenty and be much faster than a bus and much faster without Avery. It’s not mad. I have to try.

“She sure likes you,” I say, and Cora’s eyes fill with pride or pleasure or something like that. “There’s no way you’d want to watch her for me, for just a little bit, is there?” I ask, nervously.

“Of course!” she almost shouts, not missing a beat.

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” I say, out of obligation.

“I’d be thrilled to,” she says.

“I was gonna make a quick run out now and be back in an hour,” I say.

Cora’s face is a mix of something: surprise and disappointment, if that’s possible.

I can imagine she thinks I am capable of leaving the house but just don’t want to do it for her, perhaps.

But I really don’t have time to worry about that.

“Of course,” she says.

“I should just be an hour, hopefully less.”

I watch Cora cross the street to her house with Avery on her hip and a giant baby bag slung over her shoulder.

I hope I can trust her. I have to act fast. I need to go in the clothes I have on.

First, I slide my plate with the dealership envelope under it, inside the front door, carefully, with one arm, so I’m not caught by a camera.

Then, once I know Cora isn’t within eyeshot, I make my way around the side of the house.

I can’t walk down our street and risk being spotted and having it mentioned to Lucas.

I head for the small park behind the house, and when I see it’s empty except for a young mom I don’t recognize pushing an infant on a swing, I sprint across the park and keep running until I hit a main road.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I left Avery.

It’s okay, I tell myself. Focus. I don’t have a phone to order an Uber, and it’s not the kind of city that is full of passing cabs.

I don’t have time for this, I think, as I walk backward down the sidewalk, blocking the sun with my hand and searching for any sort of Lyft, cab, or Uber that might stop, but I don’t see anything, so I put my thumb out.

I’ll probably get murdered, but I have no choice.

It’s the middle of the day on a busy street, so maybe I’ll just get groped and not murdered.

It doesn’t take long for someone to pull over. Of course it’s a middle-aged man.

“Hey there,” he says, pushing open the passenger door.

The car is a Passat from the ’90s, and he brushes empty beer cans off the seat to make room for me.

He smiles at me from behind a frightening tangle of unkempt facial hair, and I notice his feet are bare.

I weigh my options. Is this my only shot, or will I inevitably waste time fighting him off?

Then I see a taxi, four or five car lengths behind him, coming up to a red light.

I run at it, and I throw myself in front of it as it slows.

The diver honks at me and waves me out of the way, but when he stops at the light, I open the door just as he tries locking it to keep the crazy lady out, and I throw myself into the back seat.

“What the fuck are you doing, lady? I’m off duty. I’m on my lunch.”

“Please. It’s urgent. It’s only a few miles away. Please. It’s an emergency,” I beg.

“Well, call the cops,” he says.

“It’ll take too long! Please!”

“Jeez,” he says, running his hand through his hair. I look at the address on the envelope. I can’t give him a bank address because he’ll wonder why the bank is an emergency and maybe kick me out. I know it’s at Keller and Sixth, so I ask him to drop me there. He just shakes his head and drives.

“I’m so grateful. Thank you. Thank you so much.” After we drive the short distance, I ask how much.

“The meter is off. Just go,” he says.

“You’re a saint, really,” I say with tears in my eyes and then run through the pharmacy parking lot across to the front of the bank.

I try to pause before going in so I don’t give away my desperation and alarm anyone.

I take a couple breaths and tuck my hair behind my ears.

I try to calm down before going inside. It feels so incredibly strange to be outside of the walls of that house; everything seems to move slowly, in a sort of surreal haze.

I feel light-headed with adrenaline as I wait in line to speak to a teller.

I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This. I think about the camera and how long I’ve been gone.

I’m still okay, it’s been less than an hour total, but I have to hurry.

When it’s my turn, I approach the bank teller—a woman in her thirties with a slicked back ponytail, large hoop earrings, impractically long nails.

I show her the bank statement and ask to withdraw the balance and close the account.

She says the usual We’re sorry to hear that spiel and then asks why. I say I’m moving, that it’s urgent.

“Certainly. I just need your ID, and you can fill out this form.”

“No, I don’t—I didn’t bring my ID. I thought this statement with my name on it would be enough,” I say, my voice breaking. I hadn’t thought about not having ID because he took mine so long ago, but I thought this would be enough. I don’t know why, but I thought there was a chance.

“How do we know that’s your name without ID?” she says.

“Please. Please, I beg you. I need this money. It’s mine. That’s me!” I yell. She raises her eyebrows at me. This can’t be happening. I’m so stupid.

“I literally beg you. Woman to woman. It’s urgent. I need to get away,” I say, looking in her eyes, willing her to understand that I am in danger, and I think she does. She softens and swallows and purses her lips.

“I’m so very sorry,” she says. “It’s just not possible.

I would if I could, really,” she says, and I open my mouth to scream—to throw myself onto the counter between us and wail and beg and tell her everything, but that sort of scene would mean police, and Lucas has the police in his back pocket.

I can’t scream. I need to get back to my baby.

I can’t run with no money, and I would never leave Avery behind.

I feel tears flooding my eyes. The woman signals to another teller to take her spot a moment, and she comes around and helps me into a chair. She kneels next to me.

“Are you all right? Do you need help?” she asks kindly. Yes, I need help, I want so desperately to say, but I don’t.

“I need a taxi. Please. Can you please call for me? Quickly?” She nods but lingers a moment, seeing if I might say more, then she goes behind the counter and makes a call.

I see someone who looks like a manager type in a navy suit and comb-over eye her and furrow his brow.

She quickly escorts me, the woman making a scene, out the front door.

“They’ll be here soon. They said to wait out front,” she says, still sympathetic but ready to be rid of the problem.

I sit on a bench in front of the building and wait for the taxi.

I’m too heartbroken to cry. A woman with a kid of about seven sits next to me.

He carries a Happy Meal and has one hand inside of it, pulling out fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

Then he drops the red box and begins to howl.

His mother consoles him. She kneels to gather up what’s salvageable, telling him the burger is wrapped, so it’s okay. Then my cab pulls up to the curb.

She’s left her purse on the bench as she helps her son.

I’m a monster, he’s turned me into a monster, because I grab it and tuck it into my coat before running to the cab door and letting myself in.

I watch as we drive away: she hasn’t noticed.

I greedily pull out its contents, praying so hard there is a cell phone. There’s not.

I find a gold watch. I think it might be a Gucci.

I quickly put it in my bra. There’s forty dollars, which I also take, and that’s it.

Besides a hairbrush, some makeup, a roll of Tums, Advil, hair ties, a baggie with half a browned apple, and keys.

Goddamn it. I took her keys. I take her ID and shove it into my shoe.

Then, I tap the driver and hand him the purse.

“Someone left this on the seat. There’s a name on the credit card if you can get it back to her.”

He takes it with a sort of grunt of recognition but doesn’t really say anything.

I lean my head against the window and let the tears fall, blurring out the world rushing by. The world that I am no longer a part of.