Chapter 18
GEORGIA
On Friday morning, I set my plan in motion.
I’ve placed the duffel bag at the bottom of the laundry basket, and each time I pick up Lucas’s discarded clothes from the night before, which he always leaves for me, I drop in things, little by little, like a toothbrush and socks into the duffle bag.
My plan can only work if Cora is home, so I find myself peering out the window every few minutes making sure her car is still there.
I look at Avery’s diaper bag and stroller in the corner of the porch as if they are in danger of being stolen.
They’re there. They’re fine. Breathe. Avery eats a big breakfast of yogurt and pancakes I cut into little seahorse shapes with a cookie cutter because she adores it.
She gums on the tail of her blueberry pancake, and she’s so happy and perfect, and I need this to work. Dear God, I need this to work.
After I clear away her food, I give her a toy and hope it interests her long enough for me to go down and empty the laundry from the dryer into the basket with my duffel bag in it.
I make myself walk slowly down the stairs, my heart beating in my throat when the sight of the cement room and the smell of the mop hits me.
I try to breathe and keep my mind focused on the plan.
I pull out the laundry, dump it on top of my bag and carry it upstairs.
It’s all ready. As soon as I see Cora outside, I have to make my move. I have to grab the bag, take the stroller down the five stairs from the porch to the street, and I have to quickly stuff her baby bag in the back, then put her into it and go.
Another painful hour and a half has gone by, and I am afraid she might stay in today.
She never stays in. She’s in and out all day.
Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I tell myself it’s okay.
It’s not a magic day, I have everything in place, I can wait until Monday if I have to.
It’s still all safe in my head. He can’t read my mind. Breathe.
It’s 11:42, and I wait outside. I’m sitting on the porch chairs even though it’s freezing.
I have on a down coat, and Avery is wrapped up in a blanket.
I feel for the rip in the chair and find the ID and watch with my fingers and very carefully work the items out until I feel them in the palm of my hand.
I hold them tightly and watch her house, and then finally, I see someone come out the door and her taillights blink with the click of her key fob.
For a minute I don’t recognize Cora. Her hair is different and she looks. ..different, but it’s definitely her.
“Cora,” I call, and she looks to me, quite surprised, but smiles and waves from her driveway.
I can’t imagine she thought I’d invite conversation as I never have before, so she leaves it at a wave, unlike her, and starts to get into the car.
My heart is beating so hard, I can see it through my coat.
My hands shake so it’s hard to grip the stroller handle.
My breath is shallow and painful, and I think I might collapse with panic.
I don’t have time to hesitate. I have to use every second. I have to go.
“Cora,” I say again. She stops and turns.
“Hi.” She smiles, but her eyes don’t match her face. She looks sad, distracted.
“I’m so sorry, I still don’t have a car and something sort of urgent has come up.
Is there any way you could take us to town if you’re going that way?
” I ask, so desperate I hear the quiver in my voice.
I know she may say she’s in a hurry, she’s late, and to get an Uber.
But her face changes. She smiles, and her eyes wake up.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’m happy to,” she says. “Oh, wait.” She stops.
“What?” I ask. Oh, my God, there is no turning back now. What?
“I don’t have a car seat,” she says.
“Oh, ours is in my car at the shop, but it’s okay this one time. If it weren’t urgent, I wouldn’t—”
She interrupts me, opening the garage.
“I know we have one in here. Maybe two!” She giggles and starts rummaging through shelves of toolboxes, a wheelie cooler, bikes, old sporting equipment. I think my heart might cave in. I don’t have time.
“I am waiting on grandkids... Well, not waiting, but she’s off to college in a year and a half, so it’s not too far off.
I kept all of her old toys, too. Hmmm. Hold on, I know it’s in here somewhere,” she says, and I look back at our house, and I know the cameras can’t see me now.
They only display all the rooms of an empty house with an escaped prisoner.
It’s been at least five minutes. If he saw me leave right away.
I have fifteen minutes max. If not, there is still precious little time.
I don’t let on. I can’t, of course. I look at the ground and shake my leg, nervously.
“Ah. I knew I’d find it,” she says and leans into the back seat.
“Now, let’s see if I remember how to do this part,” she says, and all I can do is nod gratefully.
She finally buckles the car seat into place, and I put Avery inside.
She seems thrilled by the adventure. I get into the passenger seat, and Cora backs out.
I feel like I can’t swallow, I can’t catch my breath, but she doesn’t notice.
She’s telling me a story about car seats and manufacturer recalls and how they made things better back in the old days.
And then just like that, she clicks her blinker on, and we make a left, and I see our house in the rearview mirror, and I wonder if it could really be the last time I ever see that absolute hell again.
“So where do you need to go?” she asks, headed in the general direction of the main shops and restaurants. I don’t have an address, and I can’t tell her I’m going to a pawn shop.
“Uh, you know, I’m meeting a friend. And it’s right by Spirit Pawn...uh, that Mediterranean café,” I say.
“Ephesus!” she says.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say, looking back at Avery’s amazed face at a rare car ride. The delicious coastal air spills into the car from the cracked windows, and the western juniper are rich and green, and I could cry at the sight of something as simple as the shops and restaurants along the roadside.
“I hope your friend is okay,” Cora says.
“I’m sorry?”
“You said it was urgent. I hope everything is okay. I’m here if you need anything,” she says, taking her eyes off the road for a moment to give me a reassuring smile.
“That’s—Cora, this is so nice of you, and that’s—Just thank you so much for being so kind to me,” I say, feeling the slightest sense of relief with each passing mile, but knowing the hardest part is in front of me. I wish I could pay her back.
When she drops me off, I unbuckle Avery, take the stroller out of the boot of Cora’s car, and sit her inside. It all seems to be taking an eternity, and now I actually have to go inside the Mediterranean restaurant because she thinks that’s where I’m meeting some friend in peril.
“Thank you, thank you so much again,” I say, standing at her window.
“Do you wanna put my number in your phone in case you need a ride back?” she asks. I want to tell her I’m never coming back, but of course I don’t, and I can’t tell her that I am the only person on the planet without a phone, so I don’t take her number either.
“Oh, my friend will take me, but thanks.”
“Okay, good luck, then. Bye-bye, Avery.” She waves and then pulls away.
I lean down to fuss with Avery’s safety belt and shoes, so I can wait until her car is out of sight and not, in fact, go inside the restaurant.
When I’m certain she’s gone, I hike the bags up over my shoulder and walk as quickly as I can to the pawn shop across the parking lot.
Inside, a man I can smell from across the store sits on a stool behind a glass display case.
His girth spills out from beneath his anime T-shirt, and he doesn’t look up when the bell above the front door chimes as we enter.
I don’t waste time. I walk up to the glass counter and stand in front of him. I clear my throat, and he looks up.
“Yes?” he says very formally. “How may I help you?” I pull the watch out of my pocket and slide it across the glass.
“I’d like to sell this,” I say, and he picks up the watch and examines it in the light.
“It’s Gucci,” I point out.
“I can read,” he says, but not in a snarky tone. He just sounds like he talks to everyone that way. He peers down at me and lifts an eyebrow.
“Where did you get this?” he asks.
“Uh, I don’t remember. Why?”
“Well, I hope it wasn’t a gift from your husband or anything because it’s a fake.” He hands it back to me. “Sorry.”
“No. No! It’s not. It can’t be!” I yell, then quickly lower my tone. “Please. Look again. Please.”
“I’ve been doing this for twenty-seven years. I assure you it’s an obvious knockoff. It’s not worth anything.”
“It has to be. It has to be worth something. Anything. Ten dollars. Anything,” I plead, and now the other employee and the two other shoppers have stopped to look at me but have quickly looked away.
“I’m sorry, but it’s not even worth that. I wish I could help,” he says, and everything becomes blurry, and the man looks like he’s moving in slow motion. My knees feel like they’ll buckle. I can’t go back. This can’t be happening.
“No. Check again. You’re wrong. You have to be wrong!” I scream.