Chapter 15
GEORGIA
When he lets me out the next morning, the only reason I know I’m free is because I hear the click of the door unlocking.
It doesn’t open, just a small click in the quiet darkness.
The only time he’s left me down there for more than a day was months ago.
It was two days, and I learned later he took Avery to a public day care while he went to work.
He doesn’t want to have to do that—he doesn’t want to display any out-of-the-ordinary behavior, so one night is usually it.
When I climb the stairs, I ignore my pain and hunger. In the night I peed in the floor drain by the utility sink and drank water by putting my mouth under the tap so I didn’t give him the satisfaction of running in desperation to the bathroom or for a bottle of water.
When I reach the top of the stairs and go into the kitchen, he’s sitting, one leg crossed over the other, reading the paper and blowing on a travel mug of coffee.
I ask where Avery is. He stands up, irritated, like I’m putting him out, and opens the door to the front porch.
I walk slowly outside to find her playing happily in her playpen.
She loves to be outside. Even in cooler weather, it’s the only thing that keeps me functioning—that small sample of a world outside.
So we’re always out here. I go to pick her up, forgetting momentarily about my broken ribs.
I wince and rest my hands on my knees for a minute, hunched over, trying hard to breathe through it.
Her playpen has mesh sides with pink plastic anchors; I easily remove the mesh side so it collapses so I can sit next to her and hold her to me.
After I hear Lucas slam the door and watch his car drive off, I remember the gold watch in my shoe.
I don’t know where he’s going, since it’s late in the morning on a weekend so not work.
I have to be careful, because he could come back anytime, and he’s always watching. Even more carefully after yesterday.
I spent hours last night thinking of where to hide it, and then I recalled a quarter-size tear in the vinyl cushion of one of the porch chairs.
I leave the ID where it is, but I slip the small metal watch out of my shoe and into my hand and eye the chair.
I don’t look up at the camera. It’s not a time we would take a nap, so I can’t freeze it, and I’m still not sure he didn’t find out about that.
It would be like him to wait so he could punish me again.
My only choice is to do it anyway and be careful.
I sit in the chair. Avery giggles at me in her fuzzy ladybug sweater and matching little hat.
I smile back at her and slowly run my hands down the sides of the chair until my fingers find the hole on the right side. It’s smaller than I thought.
With one hand, I tear it a little wider so the watch can fit, then I push the watch inside the cushion bit by tiny bit, moving as little as possible so it will appear as if I’m just sitting, if not a bit nervously, because why wouldn’t I be?
It’s almost all the way in, and I see Cora walking right up the drive toward me.
Son of a bitch. I’m still in yesterday’s clothes.
This is his fault. This is his goddamn fault if she sees the state I’m in.
He put Avery outside. He didn’t wait till I got cleaned up because he was too angry to act like an adult.
I push the watch all the way in and then have no plan, so I sit frozen a moment, thinking about how I could possibly explain away the fact that I am not only the horror show who showed up at her door yesterday but also have a bruised and scraped face.
Goddamn it. It doesn’t matter if it’s his fault: it’s now my responsibility to clean up his mess or repeat last night, or worse.
“Georgia, morning!” she says. And then she sees it all. She takes in my injury and dirty clothes, the dark lines under my eyes, the makeup I’m sure is smeared. “Honey, are you okay?”
“Cora, morning. Yeah. I’m so sorry about yesterday,” I say, imagining the ping notification Lucas is getting right now from his voice-detection alerts, listening to every word—if not right now, reviewing it later.
I have to be careful. I’m desperate to have a hot shower and eat something, but now I have to put on an improv show, and I’m just so not up for it.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m so sorry if there was a mix-up. Your husband didn’t seem happy about me having Avery,” she says. Then looks me up and down again and adds, “You don’t look okay. Can I help?”
“Oh, no. And no, he wasn’t unhappy about you having her, it was just that—Well, I mentioned about my car...”
“It broke down,” she confirms.
“Yeah, well, I mean, I was hit—rear-ended pretty bad, which is...which is why it broke down. The airbags went, all of that, so I think he was just really worried. He didn’t know what was going on is all,” I say, emphatically. I hope he’s listening, because I could win an Emmy for this.
“Ah,” she says. Okay, maybe not. Maybe she’s not buying it. I look down at myself. My clothes are soiled, my hair is still wild and frizzy. I have cuts on my face, and I can feel the dots of dried blood, cuts from my fall that haven’t yet been attended to.
“I was so worked up when I got home, I took a Xanax and fell asleep on the couch like this. I was just about to get in the shower, actually,” I say.
Not a bad performance. The women around here love their Xanax and lorazepam, but is it believable I came to her house in the late afternoon and am just now getting it together?
I don’t know, but I did the best I could. He can’t be angry about that.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. Can I help you out today?” she asks so kindly I almost want to cry.
“Oh, no, no, I’m much better now,” I say, going to Avery and bending to pick her up. It feels like my rib cage pierces all the way through my lungs as I try to lift her, and I cry out and breathe as slowly as I can to alleviate the pain.
“Oh, my goodness,” she says. “You really hurt yourself. Let me get her.”
“No, I’m really fine,” I say, because I have no choice. If she comes into that house, I’m so fucked. I don’t even know what he’d do. I feel the cold sweat bead across my back and between my breasts as I grit through the unbearable pain and pick up Avery. I clench my teeth and hold back tears.
“Well, you just let me know if you ever want me to watch her again. She was an angel. Or any—anything you need,” she says uncertainly.
“That’s so lovely, and again, I’m so sorry. I must look a fright. It was a rough night, that’s all. Thank you so much for checking in, though. Really,” I say.
“Of course,” she says, and I can tell she wants to talk more, but I smile and wave Avery’s hand goodbye to her, and we go inside.
I set Avery in her high chair and force myself not to scream at the pain in my side as I do.
I know she can’t be too far away yet. In fact, when I peer out the window, she’s standing on the sidewalk, looking at the house.
Cora, Cora, I think to myself. Please God, don’t get involved.
I close the curtain and take out a box of cereal.
I pour a pile of Cheerios onto Avery’s chair tray and make myself a bowl.
I start a pot of coffee and sit at the table, moving careful spoonfuls into my mouth until the coffeepot fills.
I stand at the sink and drink down three large glasses of water to try and rehydrate before pouring a glorious cup of black coffee.
I prepare myself for the pain this time before I lift Avery from her high chair.
It doesn’t matter if I deepen the fracture with each lift, I will have to keep doing it multiple times a day, so I brace myself.
I hold my breath and move her, painfully, so indescribably painfully, to her carrier in front of the TV.
I put on a sexist princess show and take my coffee into the bathroom.
The thin, black flakes of dried blood fall onto the white porcelain floor of the shower as I stand under the hot water, taking deep breaths, forcing myself to stay hopeful that there is a way out.
I realize, as I rub shampoo into my hair and let the fruit-scented foam run down my body, that I have no idea how dangerous Lucas could be outside this relationship.
What else does he get away with because of his status?
Is Cora in danger? He would never do anything overtly, he couldn’t take that risk, but is she too close after he found Avery with her, after that conversation on the porch?
The truth is, I just don’t know what he’d do given the opportunity.
Frame her for something? Plant something? I don’t know how to protect her.
After I dry off, I slip on jeans and a loose jumper and go into the living room to watch the rest of Sleeping Beauty with Avery.
She looks like a perfectly normal and happy baby, cooing to colorful animated movies and surrounded by expensive toys.
How much of what she’s seen at this young age will she remember?
How long until he punishes her for acting out?
Maybe he never would. He says he never would, but how do I know?
I go to the kitchen and sit at the table with a mug of coffee.
I think about the frozen camera out front.
Does he know? Did he get tipped off when trying to figure out how I got away?
I walk outside and try to appear as if I’m not up to anything.
I sit on the edge of the daybed, and with one hand, I try to carefully pull out the small remote I keep under the mattress.
It’s a subtle move. Practiced and slow, but this time, I don’t feel anything.
It’s gone. He’s figured it out. He’s got me. I don’t react.
I go back inside and pour a fresh cup of coffee into a Best Mom mug Lucas bought me when I first got pregnant, and then I sit on the stool at the kitchen island. My decision is made. I’m just gonna go.
I may never have this chance again. In college, my friend Kelsey got a Gucci watch for her birthday that looked like the one I stole.
It was thirteen hundred dollars. She told everyone, because she couldn’t believe her boyfriend would spend so much on her.
I haven’t seen any in this style less than five or six hundred, so worst-case scenario, I get three hundred dollars at the pawn shop.
That’s enough for a bus ticket two states away, and extra for a cheap room and food for a week or so.
I now have someone’s ID I can use to pawn. I cannot pass up making my move now.
I’ll have to steal something else once I get somewhere, maybe, and feel terrible about that, but I am keeping a mental log and I will return what I can. I’ll return this woman’s ID and pay for her watch. I will pay it forward, I will do whatever, but right now, I need to protect my baby.
If I walk out of the house right in front of the camera, he will notice quickly.
He can be home in twenty minutes. I’ll do it Friday.
It will give me a couple days to sneak a duffel bag and a few changes of clothes into the laundry basket.
If the video shows me dumping a pile of laundry into the washer, he might not notice me stuff some into a cloth bag.
I can do it down inside the washer. There is only one camera in the basement, and it’s not aimed at the washer and dryer, but I’ll still hide it just to be extra careful.
I can put Avery’s baby tote on the porch in the morning when I bring her out for coffee, pretend to do laundry, retrieve my duffel bag, and walk out the front door.
Her stroller, rarely used, has been stored in the corner of the porch next to oversize potted plants for ages.
I can take that, too. I’ll need help. I’ll need Cora.