Day Five - Joy Moore
Joy Moore
Day Five
Footsteps outside my door. Three taps. I get up, blinking away the spots before my eyes. Gloria holds out a tray—an apple and a granola bar this time. A bottle of juice.
“Just checking in.”
I take the tray and stare at the apple. There’s an eruption of laughter in the kitchen down the hall.
The thud of something hitting the floor.
A sternly worded reprimand. I know now that Gloria’s aware of my situation.
That even though my abusive spouse is no longer the problem, I’m still not safe.
That I’ve been instructed to hide out until the cops see fit to retrieve me. “Thank you. For everything.”
She adjusts her fuchsia eyeglasses with a frown and a nod, and it occurs to me with a belated twist of shame that my situation might affect the others here.
I might even be endangering them. If someone leaks my whereabouts and this shelter makes it into the news, I’ll have compromised everyone’s safety.
The expression on Gloria’s face all but confirms that she wishes for me to leave.
I don’t blame her at all.
But before I can surrender to my fate, her frown lifts. “Is there anything else I can do? Anything at all.”
My chest deflates with emotional whiplash as reality comes back into focus.
We’re all hiding from dangerous people. That’s the whole point of this place.
Gloria isn’t upset with me—she wants to help.
Moved by her generosity, I cast about for words, voicing the first thought that pops into my head.
“Is there—” My tongue is thick. “Is there any way to see a doctor?” It might be days before I’m able to return home, and I can’t wait any longer.
Gloria beams like I’ve just presented her with an award.
“There is, in fact.” She explains that there’s a discreet doctor who works with the women here.
She donates her services, and she won’t require any information I don’t want to provide.
Gloria could arrange for me to be taken there first thing tomorrow.
“And it’s safe? It’s okay for me to do this?”
“We’ll make certain of it. Consider it done.”
Grateful tears fill my eyes. “Thank you.”
She nods, then disappears down the hall.
“YOU DIDN’T EAT your mulligatawny.”
I blink up at Mitali and then at my nightstand. The bowl is gone. My cheeks burn. She must have taken it away while I was sleeping. I didn’t even get around to emptying it. “I’m so sorry.”
“You need to eat.”
“I know. It’s just…” The thought of eating makes me sick. “Not now.”
She takes her usual spot at the foot of the bed. Studies me. I want to look away but find that I can’t. Gently, she says, “What are you going to do?”
I don’t understand her meaning until her gaze shifts to my belly.
“How…”
“Your secret is safe. Does anyone know?”
I sent my parents on a cruise to protect them from the fallout of the divorce, having no idea the world was going to end. I pushed everyone else away. I’ve done everything wrong.
“No one.”
“Not even Benny?”
It’s as if she’s laid bare my soul. “I couldn’t.”
“Because you were afraid?”
“It’s a long story.”
Mitali settles in beside me. “Go on, then.”
And so I do.
The truth is, I’d always intended to hide away this week.
The plan was to send Benny the memoir through a series of clues—the whole memoir to date, not just the three chapters I shared with Xander when he insisted I show him what I was writing.
Then I would record the episode letting our listeners know we were taking a break and hide out while Xander was served with papers.
In that order. When the dust settled, I would return home so Benny and I could have a proper talk.
I knew it would take Benny a minute to “piece together” my clue, but he would eventually get it.
I realized, though, as soon as I reread that final chapter, that I’d made a terrible mistake.
So I snuck a note into Benny’s pocket: Meet me tonight.
Here. 7pm sharp. Very important. Because he deserved to hear the truth in person.
Deserved to record with me what could possibly be our final episode.
But the way he looked at me when I started to explain. I didn’t deserve for him to be looking at me that way, with so much love, not after all the secrets I’d kept. I wanted it, but I couldn’t convince myself that I deserved it.
I can’t imagine what he’s been going through these past few days.
“The police have told Benny by now, don’t you think?” I ask. “That I’m okay?”
“I’m sure they have.”
I hope she’s right. I need to believe she’s right. “I’ve always thought I’d be a much better survivor than this.”
“Well, this is an awful lot of surviving to have to do without your sword.”
I laugh, then abruptly close my mouth. My entire head goes hot.
“It’s okay,” she says. “Laughter is allowed.”
It’s nice of her to say, but it still feels wrong. Everything’s so turned around. “Have they written to you?”
She blinks down at me with her soft brown eyes.
“The police,” I say. “You said you gave them your email. In case they have any updates.”
“Oh.” She shakes her head. “Nothing. I promise I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I sink deeper into my pillow. “I don’t know how I can repay you. You’ve been so kind.”
“It’s the least I can do for my favorite podcaster. I’m honored you shared your story with me.” She squeezes my knee. “If you need anything, I’m just across the hall.”
IT’S SWELTERING OUTSIDE, and my hands are covered in dark, loamy soil. Potsie barks at the coyote down the hill as Carlotta and I plant vegetables in her garden. I dig a small hole, and she shakes her head. “Deeper.”
I go deeper, and deeper, but she keeps shaking her head. Even when I’m up to my waist in the earth, she remains unsatisfied. “Deeper,” she says.
When I wake, I’m covered in sweat. It takes me a minute to realize I’m still in my bed, in the shelter, and not digging a human-sized hole in my neighbor’s yard. But even after the sweat is dry, I’m still thinking about Carlotta.
I knew nothing about horticulture when I started gardening with her. She taught me the basics of soil pH, pollination, drainage, companion planting, pruning. She was a good teacher. Patient. Motherly.
“Do you have kids?” I asked one day. I’d never seen any visit, but I figured she must.
“No.” She snipped off a knobby green cucumber and placed it in her mesh basket. “We tried, but no.”
I turned to her, tomatoes in both hands, to tell her I understood. But somehow, the moment I met her eyes, I felt she already knew.
“It’s nice of you, helping me with this,” she said. “Emil likes to have his hands in pretty much everything but soil.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “He does seem to keep busy.”
She tapped her nose twice. “It’s the cancer. Ever since it came back, he’s kicked it into high gear with the side hustles. I have the pension, not as much as it would’ve been if I hadn’t retired early, but you know how it is. Even with health insurance, five years of illness starts to add up.”
“I get it,” I said with a knowing nod. “Xander’s provider instinct is pretty intense as well.”
“Hm.” She studied me for a second. “Speaking of, I keep meaning to ask—has Xander mentioned anything about a project with Emil?”
I twisted another tomato off the vine. The men had been friendly for months, ever since Xander hired Emil as his trainer, but I told her no. Not that I was aware. “Why?”
Carlotta waved it off. “Forget about it. I must’ve heard Emil wrong. You would know.”
I wasn’t sure that was true. Regardless, the conversation was over. She handed me a basket, filled to the brim with that day’s pickings, and sent me on my way.
But I didn’t forget about it. I thought a lot about that conversation over the coming months as my world grew smaller. Because it turned out Xander and Emil did have a project.