The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (51 page)

When I built up my courage, I looked into the back seat only to confirm what I already knew. That morning, on the way to school, Kayla had decided she wanted to take Pup-Pup to class but at the last minute, by some miracle, I’d managed to convince her to leave him in the car.

Shit. Kayla couldn’t sleep without him.
 

I pulled my phone out of my purse and stared at the blank screen. Dead.
 

I got in the car, slammed the door and stared out the windshield. The mountains weren’t too far away now. I could be there in under an hour if I kept going. I reached around to the seat behind me and grabbed the toy. Visions of my little girl crying herself to sleep filled my brain. Would Jordan lend Kayla her special stuffed animal? Would Jon know she liked the pink elephant almost as much?
 

I'm sure they’ll manage, I thought. It’s not like I've never gone out before.

But I’ve never run away before. The thought popped into my mind before I could stop it.
 

The more I tried to block the image of Kayla crying at the loss of Pup-Pup, the more it persisted. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force it out. My stomach twisted and my fingers went numb from clenching the stuffed toy. When I opened my eyes, I was staring into the rearview mirror. I'd have to turn around.

A rapping at the window startled me, breaking my trance. The teenage attendant was gesturing for me to unroll the window.
 

“You need something else?” he asked when I managed to start the car and get the window down.

“My phone is dead.” I felt like a moron but I held it out.

He gave me a strange look and for a minute I thought he might tell me to move my car, but instead, he said, “Let me see.” He took the phone and walked away. And I let him. It was the only thing I could think to do, so I sat and continued to stare out the window, stroking Pup-Pup’s fur.

A few minutes later, he returned with my cell and a black cord. “Here,” he said, and thrust it at me.

“What is it?”

“It’s a car charger, lady.” He looked at me much the way Jordan did when I said something she thought was intensely stupid. “You plug it into the lighter.”

I shook my head in an effort to wake up my body. “I know that.” I took the phone from him. “What I meant was, where did you get it?”
     

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “Some dude left it here.”

“How much?”
 

“On the house.” The boy jammed his hands into his jeans. “Like I said, some guy left it here.”

I eyed him. “Thanks.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah.” I shoved the charger into the lighter. “I’m good.”

“Here,” he said, and pulled his hand from his pocket, holding it out to me. “Your change.”

Through my daze, I managed a smile. “Keep it. For the charger.”

“Thanks.” He pushed his hands back into his pockets and shrugged. “If you need anything...”

“I’ll be okay now.” I slid the car into gear, and drove to the corner of the parking lot.

Once I got the phone plugged in and powered up, it started ringing right away.

Jon.
 

I flipped it open. “Have you been trying to call?”

“Jesus Christ, Becca. Yes, I’ve been trying to call. Where are you?”

“The battery in my phone died. I didn’t notice.” I rubbed my temple, feeling the headache start behind my eyes again.
 

“I've been worried sick. Where are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s been over an hour, Becca. You can’t still be stuck in traffic. I’ve been waiting for you to get home. I have meetings. Where the hell are you?”

“I told you, I’m fine.”
 

“Okay, good.” Jon softened. “I mean, it’s good that you're fine, obviously. Where are you? How long till you get here?”

“I'm going away for a few days.” I squeezed Pup-Pup’s ear.

“What? Where are you going? Becca, what’s going on?”
 

“I need a break. It’s too much.”
 

“What's too much? Look, I know we left things badly last night and I was a jerk this morning. We need to talk. But we can't talk if you're running away.”

“I'm not running away,” I whispered.

That was exactly what I was doing.
 

“Just come home and we can sort it out,” Jon continued. “Running away won’t solve anything. We need to work through this together.” His voice was quiet and soothing, the way he spoke to the girls to pacify them.
 

“You're not listening.” I took a deep breath. “I need to think for a few days. Just leave it, okay?”

“Leave it?” Jon's voice broke, his calm veneer cracking. “You're just going to run away from your life? From me? And you want me to ‘leave it’?
 

“Jon.”

“What about the girls?” he whispered. Kayla must have been in the room.

“I’m not leaving forever. I'm sure you can handle things for a little while.”
 

“When will you be back?” His voice started to take on an edge. “Where are you?”

I ignored him. “I’m sure spending some time with the girls will be good for all of you. Oh, and, I just realized I have Pup-Pup. I’ll send him.”

“You have Pup-Pup?”
 

“Yes, he was in the car.”

“Pup-Pup?” Kayla’s little voice sounded in the background.

“You’ll send him?”

“Pup-Pup,” Kayla started wailing.

“Just give her that elephant that’s on her shelf. She likes that one, too. And if Jordan lets her sleep with one of her old stuffed animals, that will help, too. Just tell her Pup-Pup is having a sleepover.” I looked out the window and noticed a Greyhound sign. “Jon, I’ll send him right now. He’ll be there by tomorrow morning.”
 

I had to squeeze my eyes against the sound of Kayla's cries and the pounding in my head. “Don’t forget to brush Kayla’s teeth, she thinks she can do it herself, but you'll have to check them. And Jordan will have homework. Even if she tells you she doesn't. Oh, and you'll have to make lunch for her tomorrow. Just don't send peanut butter. Kayla can eat with you after you pick her up. And don’t—”

“Becca, I can't do this. Just come home. Don’t send the stupid dog—bring him home.”

I took a deep breath. “Of course you can do this.”

I would have said more, but I'd said everything I could think of and just then the teenager stepped out of the building and leaned up against the brick wall. “Jon, I have to go. Don't forget to pick Jordan up at three. And tell the girls I love them.”

I clicked the phone shut before he could protest further and tossed it on the front seat. I grabbed Pup-Pup and headed across the parking lot.

The teenager smiled cautiously when he saw me approaching. I'd probably freaked him out enough for one day.
 

“Can I help you with something?”
 

“Yes,” I said. “I need to send the dog.” I held up the stuffed animal. “The bus goes into the city, right?”

“You bet.” He looked at his watch. “Should be here in an hour or so. You want me to...” He gestured to the dog.

I held Pup-Pup to my chest. “No, I couldn’t possibly.”
 

“You said you needed to send it. Your kid’s, right? My little sister can’t sleep without hers.”
 

I nodded. “My daughter,” I said. “I can do it. I’ll just go—”

“I’ll take good care of him,” he said, reaching his hand out. “Besides, Christy, the girl who works inside,” he said, and a slight blush tinted his cheeks, “she’s pretty cute.”

I gave the dog another squeeze. “You promise you’ll take care of him?”

“Lady, I get it. My sister goes crazy over hers.”

I glanced again at the Greyhound office. A pretty girl with a blond ponytail was working at the counter inside. I turned towards the mountains. They were so close. Finally, my decision made, I turned back to the teenager. “Okay.” I rummaged in my purse until I found an old receipt that I scratched my address on and gave it to the boy, along with two twenty dollar bills.
 

“I promise I’ll take care of him.”
 

I gave Pup-Pup a kiss and entrusted him to the eager teenager who immediately headed inside with him. I watched him saunter into the office and talk to the girl. He put Pup-Pup on the counter and waved out the window to me. It was done. Kayla would get her stuffie in the morning and I could go to the cabin without guilt. Well, with less guilt.
 

I raised my hand, waved to the boy, and returned to the car.

***

I followed the twisty highway west and it wasn’t long before I was surrounded by towering walls of stone. The mountains rose on both sides of the road, imposing in their solid presence. I tried to recall the last time I’d been to the forest, but I couldn’t remember. Surely not since Kayla was born? When Jordan was a baby, we’d make the effort to go for picnics and short hikes, but it seemed like too much work with more than one. Everything seemed like too much work with more than one child.
 

Just being close to the mountains felt therapeutic. The further I drove, the more my head cleared, until the headache that had built while I was talking to Jon faded completely. I unrolled the window and a blast of piney sharpness hit me with force. I inhaled deeply and let the scent surround me. A quick look into the rearview mirror revealed Kayla’s empty car seat and a fresh flash of pain struck me in the chest. It wasn’t a new feeling. I’d been experiencing what I referred to as guilt pain since before Jordan was born. Whenever I drank a coffee or ate soft cheese, or whatever else I wasn’t supposed to do when pregnant, the pangs would start. At first I thought it was heartburn or something worse. It took me three trips to the doctor to rule out anything serious before he kindly pointed out that the pain might be in my head.
 

Only a week ago, on one of the rare occasions that I’d been early to pick up Kayla, I overheard a group of women talking. They weren’t the kind of ladies I usually tried to make conversation with because they were the annoying type that always looked put together, with full make-up and wrinkle-free clothes. As a general rule, I tried to avoid them. I was leaning up against the wall, trying not to attract any attention, while they were talking about mother guilt, of all things. As if any of them knew what that was. One woman described it as feeling nauseous whenever she thought she should be doing something for her daughter, like steaming fresh organic beans instead of serving frozen. Another lady said it was more like a constant niggling in the back of her brain whenever she left her children with a babysitter so she could get her shopping done. To me, mother guilt felt more like someone had stuffed my heart in a vice, occasionally giving it a twist to squeeze it tighter. For me, the pain didn’t happen once in a while; it was a state of being.
 

The pain I thought was heartburn when I was pregnant only got worse when Jordan was born. The aching started when I couldn’t quite get the hang of breastfeeding, leaving me with chapped, bleeding nipples and engorged, leaky breasts. Instead of the close mother-child bond I’d anticipated, I was left with a screaming, starving infant on my lap and the dull ache of guilt. Books, like Breast is Best and Mother’s Milk, only brushed over nursing difficulties, suggesting a lactation consultant to solve any problems. But there was no way I was going to drag my newborn to a clinic. I was already embarrassed enough with my total failure at the basics of motherhood. It was easier to switch to formula. And really, it’s not like anyone but me cared.
 

That’s what I thought anyway, until I went to baby group. The guilt grew deeper, and the pain sharper, when the other mothers asked me about the bottles and then launched into a lecture about the benefits of breast milk. I hoped it would get better when Jordan started on solids, but the first time I whipped out a jar of mushed peaches to the incredulous stares of the other mothers, I was not at all prepared for the fallout.
 
Not only was I not preparing my own organic peaches, but I had broken the cardinal rule of Feeding Baby’s Health: The Bible Of Baby Food, by introducing fruit before vegetables. It wasn’t long after that episode that I stopped going altogether. When Kayla was born, I didn’t bother looking into the groups. After all, despite my failings, Jordan had survived.
 

I wasn’t sure if it was normal for mother guilt to manifest as physical pain, but after fourteen years of motherhood, it certainly wasn’t subsiding.
 

Lost in thought, I almost missed the sign marking Rainbow Valley. It was wooden and weather-worn and looked like it was once brightly painted with a carved rainbow on one side. Now the colors were chipped and faded, with bits of paint still clinging to the wood. The sign heralding my arrival wasn’t much, but there was no way I could miss the magnificent entrance to the valley. It was far better than any signage. Throughout the four-hour drive, I’d alternately climbed and descended as I’d navigated the numerous valleys and passes of the mountain range. Now, the road curved sharply and hugged the mountainside, spiraling down into the town. As the car rounded the bend, the trees dropped away on one side to reveal the valley below. Rainbow Valley.
 

The view was so spectacular, I had to pull off onto the shoulder to fully appreciate it. The road spiraled down into the valley, where the trees swallowed it again. A lush blanket of pines and aspens covered the mountainside and a river sliced its way through the green carpet. To the left of the river was a cluster of buildings and houses. The town. For a few minutes I sat motionless, absorbing the sight below. It was hard to believe that someplace so beautiful existed so close to home. The fingers on my right hand twitched. What would it be like to paint the scene? The thought was so sudden and unexpected, it shocked me. I hadn’t painted anything in years. I had barely even sketched pictures for the girls. Hadn’t wanted to. But I couldn’t deny that the feeling was strong. Just the way I remembered it years ago. An eagle soared overhead, letting out a shriek that broke my reverie. I cleared the image of a brush meeting canvas from my mind, put the car into gear and began the steep descent down the mountainside.