The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (50 page)

Connie always knew what to do.
 

I reached an arm out for her, but withdrew it before touching her. How was I supposed to know what to do? I was the child. I wasn’t expected to deal with this type of thing. Was I supposed to go talk to him? Calm him down? Or stay here and comfort the woman who had always been the one doing the comforting?

“I'll go talk to him,” I heard myself say.
 

I expected her to tell me not to worry—that it was okay, she'd handle it.
 

“Thank you, Becca,” she said. Tears and exhaustion glistened in her eyes. I couldn't change my mind.
 

I put on a brave face—or at least I thought it was brave—tugged my purse higher over my shoulder and went out to the deck to face Dad.
 

Once I pushed open the screen doors I could hear quite clearly what he was saying. But it didn't make any sense.
 

“Carnations should be pink! Not red. Those miserable thieves took my pink carnations and gave me red ones. Red carnations aren’t natural.”

“Dad?”
 

“Vicki.” He stormed straight at me, before stopping only inches from my face. I was afraid he might fall into me. But he stood straight, impossibly tall and imposing for a man who was failing so monumentally. I tipped my head to look up to him.
 

“Dad, it's me, Becca.”

He reached out; his hand rested on my cheek in a way he'd never done before. A romantic touch. A gesture not meant for father and daughter. “Vicki, you look beautiful today. Have you been painting?”

I stared at him but didn't move his hand. At least he wasn't hollering anymore. I kept my voice low and said, “No, I haven't painted in years. You know that.”

Dad dropped his hand and took a step back. Shock lined his face, and something else—concern maybe? But then again, it wasn't me he was talking to.
 

“Not painting? Maybe it's time for a trip to the cabin. Would that help, darling?”

“The cabin?”

“We can go up for a long weekend,” he said. My voice hadn’t registered with him. “The fresh mountain air will be just what you need to recharge.”

I glanced at my purse that I'd tossed on a lounge chair when I came outside. I'd stuck the folder in there last night before falling asleep.
 

“Hold on,” I said and crossed the deck to grab the file.
 

“You mean this house?” I pulled out the paper with the photo and showed it to him.
 

Dad chuckled a bit and it sounded so good to hear him laugh that I forgot for a moment what I was doing. “Of course that's the house,” he said. “Your house. Should we go? I just need to make some calls and...” The smile faded from his face.
 

“Dad?”

“You're not Vicki.” His shoulders slumped and the broken, deflated version of my father returned.
 

“No, Dad. I’m not.” I put the paper away. Obviously the house had something to do with my mother, but I knew enough to know it wasn’t the right time to ask him about it. He wouldn’t be able to tell me anything.
 

I took him by the hand. He let me lead him across the deck to his chair, where he sat. Sagging into himself, his head tucked to his chest, he began to cry. His body shook gently with his sobs. Helpless, I sat on the chair across from him, held his hand and closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to watch.
 

After Dad calmed down and the tears stopped, I left him in his chair and returned to the kitchen to find Connie dressed. She didn’t look as put together as normal, but it was a marked improvement.

“Thank you,” she said, when I walked in the kitchen.

“I didn't do anything.”

“You were there,” she said. “You came today and you were there for him. Thank you.”

Connie looked like she might start to cry so I turned and got a bottle of water out of the fridge. One parent crying a day was my limit.

“I've been thinking,” Connie said behind me. “Maybe it is time. For a facility I mean.”

I whirled around. “Really? Just the other day you said—”

“I know what I said, Becca.” She was tired, just as defeated as Dad. I could hear it in her voice. More than that, I could see it lined across her face. “I didn't know what to do today,” she continued, “so I didn't do anything. If you hadn't come, well...I don't know what I would have done.”

And then it happened. Tears from parent number two.

It's awkward when a parent cries, especially for me. So I did what I thought I should and I put my water down and hugged her.
 

Should I say something? Should I keep hugging? I never knew quite what to do. It wasn’t natural to comfort a parent.
 

Fortunately, Connie pulled herself together and untangled herself from my arms first. “I’m sorry, Becca,” she said. “I know this can’t be easy for you, either. I shouldn’t burden you with such things.” She wiped her eyes and turned back toward the window.
 

“You know I’ll support whatever you decide,” I said. It was weak. I should have said something more. After all, it was my father we were talking about putting in a home. Where was Dylan when I needed him? He might be able to help, or at least help us make the decision.

She nodded, and when she turned back to face me, she looked like Connie again. Any sign of being upset or out of control was gone. “So, do you have time for a cup of tea?”
 

I glanced at my watch.
 

“Crap. I’m going to be late. Again.”
 

“Is it that time already? The morning went so quickly.”

“Half day kindergarten is definitely not all it’s cracked up to be.”
 

11:45 a.m. “Damn it.”

I turned the key in the ignition and accelerated backwards out of the drive way, narrowly missing an elderly lady walking down the sidewalk.

“Get out of the way,” I yelled out the window. “Sorry,” I added, and pressed on the gas.

Even if I had managed to navigate the side streets that led to the main thoroughfare with no further incidents, it would still have taken another twenty minutes once I got on the freeway, which would make me a full half hour late for pick up. My tardiness was beginning to turn into a habit.

When my cell phone rang, I didn’t even look at the caller ID screen, fully expecting it to be the school. I answered it and automatically said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Becca?”

“Jon?”

“You’re sorry? So we can talk?”

“No.” Shit. Not Jon, not now. “I mean, yes. I mean, I don’t know right now.”

“What?”
 

“Never mind. This isn’t a good time.” I swerved around a slow moving car.

“Becca, it’s never a good time.”
 

“Seriously, Jon. Do we have to do this right now?”

“If not now, when?”
 

I accelerated, trying to beat the car beside me which was trying to merge. “Jon, I know what you’re going to say, and honestly, I can’t hear it right now. My dad’s not well, Connie’s at the end of her rope and—“

“Look, I was just calling because I wanted to make sure you’re okay and—“

“Okay? You wanted to make sure I was okay?” I almost laughed at the absurdity of his comment.

I could hear his sigh of exasperation across the extension before he said, “Come on. Don’t be like that. I just wanted to make sure you’d be home tonight so we could talk.”

“Really, where else would I be?” I wedged the phone under my shoulder so I could take the wheel in both hands.
 

He sighed again. “So, tonight? Can we talk?”

“Whatever.” I was only half listening as I slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt bit into my shoulder as the cars in front of me came to a screeching halt. “Shit.”

“What? Are you okay?”

The line of red tail lights in front of me told me I’d be even later than thirty minutes.

“Yes, I’m fine. I mean, no. I mean…” I took a deep breath and squeezed my eyes shut. Coming to a split second decision, I said, “You know what, Jon? You need to pick up Kayla today.”

“What? Pick up Kayla?”

“That’s what I said. I’m stuck in traffic and I’m not going to make it on time. You need to get her—you’re closer.”

“Becca, I can’t. I have meetings. I have a showing in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your showing. Go get your daughter.”

I gazed out at the line of cars. Horns were honking. I could hear sirens wailing in the distance.

“Becca—”

“Look, this isn’t really a good time to talk. Just pick her up. You have a car seat, use it.”
 

“But, I—”

“Good.”

***

The minutes ticked by, and the longer I sat in traffic, the worse the pounding in my head got. The pain that had begun at breakfast was in full bloom. I rubbed my eyes and forced myself to take a deep breath.

More sirens wailed in the distance.
 

Perfect. It was a big accident.
 

I scanned the rows of traffic. If I didn’t get out of there soon, my head just might explode. There was an off-ramp to my right. Some of the other drivers were using it as an escape route, but it lead to the highway.
 

Was it better to take a detour and back track? It might take just as long if I was going to wait for traffic to move. My eyes fell to the folder on the passenger seat. It must have fallen out of my purse. Damn, I hadn’t had the chance to ask Connie what she knew about the house after all.
 

I grabbed the paper and pulled out the sheet titled, “Renter’s Information”. I had looked at the faded picture clipped to the top a few times now, but there was something about it that drew me. The cabin stood in a small meadow overgrown by a mass of wildflowers in brilliant shades of red, orange, yellow, and blue. A large covered porch extended off the front of the house, creating a pier into the sea of flowers. A dense mixture of pines and mountain ash trees created a wall around the clearing and the cottage. Something in the photo had a hypnotic effect; despite the old colors, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen such a stunning place.
 

The sound of the ambulance sirens racing past the car jolted me from my trance and I scanned the page again, looking at the words I’d read the night before. It was basic information: driving directions, where to buy groceries, that type of thing.
 

Rainbow Valley. I didn’t even know such a place existed, but according to the sheet it was only a four hour drive into the mountains. I lowered the paper and looked at the off-ramp again. The phone rang. This time I looked at the caller ID; Brookfield Elementary flashed on the screen.
 

Great. Kayla probably got sick of waiting and went into the office to make sure I was coming. I put my cell down without answering it. Jon was on his way there. Let him deal with her tantrum. Of course, he would probably tell her it was my fault.

I scanned the snaking line of tail lights.
 

Something inside snapped.

“Forget it,” I said aloud.

I shifted into gear and turned the wheel sharply to the right. The phone’s incessant ringing filled the car. With a smooth acceleration, I navigated onto the off-ramp that took me away from the chaos and out of town towards the highway.

Chapter 9

 
I’d been driving for a little over an hour. The houses and strip malls had thinned out and were replaced by the occasional gas station and roadside turnout. Grassy fields, dotted with cows, stretched over the rolling hills that flanked both sides of the single-lane highway. With every mile that passed, I could feel a little more tension release from my shoulders. Even my hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel and that persistent ache behind my eyes started to slide away.

With the radio off, I should have been enveloped in thick silence. Instead, there was the light whistle of the wind slipping through the window seal that Jon hadn’t gotten around to fixing. Instead of annoying me the way it usually did, I let the simple sound wash over me and fill the cavities of my mind, leaving no room for thoughts of what I’d just done and what I’d left behind.

The simultaneous ding and red warning light flashing on the dashboard interrupted my peace.

Dammit. Gas.

The needle hovered just over empty, a detail I’d overlooked. I scanned the landscape until I found what I was looking for.
 

***

“Fill it up, please,” I told the teenage attendant.
 

The boy shoved the nozzle into the tank and leaned back against the door. Taking the opportunity, I grabbed my purse and slipped out to visit the restroom.

Roadside bathrooms made me cringe. It was never clear when they were last cleaned, despite the chart on the back of the door proudly proclaiming they’d been sanitized on the hour, every hour, followed by employee initials. I'd read in Hidden Dangers that public bathrooms were breeding grounds for the worst kinds of germs.
 

Trying not to touch anything, I hovered over the toilet, used my foot to flush, and skipped the sink all together, opting instead for the hand sanitizer in my purse.
 

I backed out of the bathroom to avoid touching the handle.

“It’s fifty bucks,” the teenager said when he spotted me.

“Even?”
 

“Fifty, even.”
 

I fished the bills from my wallet as I walked to the car. I glanced at the pump that read $46.67 and handed him the bills. “Remarkable,” I said.
 

“I thought so.” He grinned at me and stuffed the money in his pocket. “Hey, my little sister has a toy like that.” He pointed to the backseat and wandered off to help the next customer.
 

My stomach flipped and for a second I thought I might actually be sick. I didn’t have to turn around to see what he’d pointed at. I knew.
 

Pup-Pup.
 

Shit.