Chapter Sixty-Four. Betty, 1964
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
“‘Children at the Brandon Indian Residential School were test subjects of extrasensory perception experiments during the Second World War,’ states a science journal recovered from a university archive.”
—The Brandon Sun [Brandon, Manitoba]
The front door swung open that afternoon as Betty was arranging magazines in a fan on the coffee table. She’d been working on it awhile; she couldn’t seem to get the edges perfectly straight.
Douglas stood there, holding his briefcase and a small wrapped present, his face white.
“You’re home early!” Betty cried. And he’d brought her a present, which was so sweet.
He looked around the living room as if he’d never seen it. Then he began pulling his favorite books off the shelves, piling them in stacks on the floor.
“We need to leave. Get your things quickly.”
“Leave?” Betty echoed.
“Betty.” He crossed the room and grasped her shoulders. “Things have happened … we’re not safe. You’re not safe.”
“But I—”
“That’s enough!” Douglas had never before used such a harsh tone with her, but she knew some husbands did. She had no choice but to obey him.
“What should I pack?” she asked.
“Anything important.”
She hurried to the bedroom and took down her suitcase and filled it with clothes and toiletries again. She was wearing her pearls and wedding and engagement rings, her only valuable pieces.
She brought her bag to the living room, where Douglas was stuffing his books into her grocery shopping cart.
“We’re not safe?” she echoed his words.
He lifted his head and opened his mouth to answer. A knock on the door interrupted whatever he’d been about to say.
He lifted his finger to his lips, shaking his head.
“Douglas?” Dr. Trimble’s voice called from outside.
Betty stared at Douglas as he crept closer to her, whispering into her ear, “Don’t utter a word.”
Douglas couldn’t defy his boss. Unless … could this be a new experiment?
Dr. Trimble knocked again, louder. “Douglas, I need to speak with you. If you’re in there, it’s imperative you come with me. President Sherman has called me in for an emergency meeting.”
There was silence for a few moments, then Douglas walked quietly to the door and peered out the peephole.
“He’s gone. We don’t have much time.”
Douglas began carrying their things to the car, filling the trunk and back seat. He grabbed armfuls of clothes and shoes and their coats out of the closet and packed those in, too. The last thing he took was a box containing their checkbook and other important documents.
“When will we be coming home again?” Betty asked.
Douglas looked around the living room, then lifted up Betty’s bag and took her arm.
“Never,” he said, leading her to the Impala.
He drove too quickly, steering the car onto the highway, his expression grim.
“I don’t understand,” Betty finally said. “I need to say goodbye to my friends.”
Douglas shook his head. “They’re all gone.”
Betty swallowed hard. “They left, too? But David’s coaching job … and Ronald is in law school. Are we meeting them somewhere?”
“Oh, Betty.” At the unexpected sorrow filling his voice, she fell silent.
When they reached the highway, they passed a police car racing in the opposite direction, its siren wailing.
Douglas swore under his breath and tapped his brakes; he’d been speeding.
But the policeman tore by, heading toward campus.
As soon as it passed, Douglas pressed the gas pedal harder, until their surroundings blurred.
He was in a state. Perhaps he was ill? Douglas had never been prone to anxiety, but right now, she could see it in every line of his body.
Betty looked around for something to distract him.
“Is this for me?” Betty asked, reaching for the gift wrapped in light blue paper.
It was small and soft, perhaps a new nightgown for their surprise trip.
Douglas must have been joking about leaving for good; their record console and Sears dining set and wedding china were all in the house. Surely they’d come back.
“May I open it?” Betty asked, trying to inject a playful tone in her voice. Did he nod ever so slightly? She couldn’t be sure. But she slid her fingernail beneath the tape on one end and pulled out the gift.
“I—I don’t understand.”
It was a knitted yellow blanket, a bit smaller than the one Ivy had made for baby Sandra, with a ribbon of blue in one corner.
“Why did you give me this?” she asked.
Douglas shook his head. “It’s not from me. I found it on the front stoop.”
“No!” Betty yelled, putting a hand to her stomach. “Douglas, we must go back. Something terrible is going to happen.”
“Something terrible did happen, my darling,” he told her. “It’s too late.”
He sped faster. She grabbed the sides of her seat and held on tightly.
“You’re frightening me. Please slow down.”
Douglas turned to look at her. “Don’t you see? I have to protect you.”
A traffic light was a few dozen yards ahead; it was the same intersection she’d seen in her dream with a ruined baby blanket in the road.
The light flicked to yellow. Douglas didn’t slow down.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a truck barreling toward the intersection.
She’d misinterpreted one detail of the dream. The ruined blanket wasn’t to symbolize the loss of Ivy’s baby. It was for hers.
“Stop, Douglas!” she cried.
But Douglas was right about one thing. It was too late.
The vehicles sounded like wild animals fighting as they mangled together. Betty’s vision blurred briefly, then darkness closed in, muffling her last sliver of awareness.