by Cindy Bokma
I blinked and wiped my sweaty hands on a napkin, how was it possible for things to fall into place within one afternoon? I closed my eyes for a second and took a breath of clean, fresh air. When I opened my eyes, they landed on Will who caught my eye and waved.
“I was planning on looking for work once we got settled.” I turned to Clementine.
“This is perfect, I need an assistant, and you need a job. Do you have experience in an office setting? I admit, the pay isn’t great, but I have a health care plan.” Clementine reached in her purse and handed me a business card which I took and shoved in my pocket. “Let’s connect this week.”
I nodded and thanked her. My head was cottony and thoughts tumbled around in my brain. We were safe from Leo, we were settling down. Will hadn’t sucked his thumb or had a nightmare in a while; I wanted to believe things were looking up.
I chatted with Clementine then she walked away, leaving me alone. I enjoyed the feeling of the sun and the slightly chilly breeze.
As I was getting ready to leave and about to call out to Will, Anne reappeared at my side with a woman she introduced as Judy.
“Judy’s a realtor here in town and was telling me about a place right down the street.” Anne winked. “You said you were looking to rent...” her voice trailed off.
“Right, right. Yes, I didn’t expect everything to come together so quickly in one afternoon. Wow, I love this place, everyone is so friendly.” my smile was so big, my cheeks nearly hurt.
“If you’re not busy tomorrow morning, why don’t I show you around?”
I found myself agreeing and exchanging numbers with Judy.
Had I been dropped into the middle of a fairy tale? Was I dreaming? When was something going to go wrong, I knew it would. It always did.
“It’s a wonderful place for children,” Anne said, her voice thick with pride. She motioned to the kids running and playing. Their laughter and voices echoed. “We raised our family here and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
Later, with Anne and Midge’s numbers tucked into my purse, we left the picnic. They made me promise to call the next day. Poor Will was exhausted from running and playing but I was happy to hear him talk non stop about his new friends.
We checked in to a small hotel where we both collapsed on the bed and instantly fell asleep. Hours later, the sun was beginning to set and everything was bathed in a soft, gold light. We bought sandwiches from a deli and ate in our room. Will’s face was pink from playing outside in the sun, I forgot to apply sunscreen, but Leo wasn’t around to yell at me and call me dumb. I watched my son eat, one bite of his sandwich then one bite of a chip.
I loved him so much that it almost hurt.
“I want to live here,” he announced after his bath. “I like it.”
“Good. I do, too,” I said. We snuggled in bed and watched a movie. Everything was quiet, peaceful and almost too perfect. For the first night in a long time, I slept without waking up twisted in the sheets, panicking.
The next morning, Judy picked us up to show us a house. Before we arrived in town, I studied the available homes; most of them were described as old and charming. I knew “old and charming” might equate to needing a lot of work, but that was fine with me. Our house in Beverly Hills was so modern and cold, I was excited for a home that had potential to be warm and cozy. I looked at places in the area, most dating back to the 1800s with original woodwork and was excited to visit them in person. All I wanted was a yard big enough for Will to play in and maybe a spot where I could plant some vegetables.
“This one is perfect for you, I just feel it,” Judy announced confidently as she eased her car into the driveway of a white colonial with large windows and a front porch. “I have a knack for matching homes to people and I know you’re going to love it.”
Two gigantic leafy trees stood on either side of the house and the separate garage was at the end of the driveway. Verdant shrubs framed the walkway up to the porch steps.
I closed the car door behind me and took Will’s hand. “I love it already.” It reminded me of the home I grew up in which made me think of my parents.
Will ran ahead to the porch and sat on the swing, staring off into the distance like he had a million things on his mind. I was edgy about him blurting out a comment about Leo and my shoulders tensed.
“I like this swing,” he said. “I want to see the backyard.”
I released the breath of air I had been holding. “Of course. I want to see it, too.”
“Oh, it’s a great old home. Mrs. Jenkins lived here for sixty years until her husband passed away and she can’t take care of it now.” Judy lowered her eyes. “I don’t know much about your situation but since Anne mentioned you needed a place, I immediately thought this would be a perfect fit. You can walk downtown or to the library, the elementary school is a few blocks away.”
She had a curious look on her face, I wondered if Anne and Midge had discussed me.
Wanting to keep things simple, in a low voice, I repeated the story I told the women at the picnic. My husband left us. We were starting over.
Judy placed a hand to her neck and flushed a deep red. “Oh dear, I’m sorry.”
“Its okay, No need to apologize.”
The house was seventeen hundred square feet with original wide plank flooring, the patina worn down from years of footsteps. It was built back in 1880, so the steps groaned under the weight of our feet as we climbed to the second floor. The banister was hand-carved, and Judy pointed out it was the initial handrail from the Nineteenth century. I lightly traced over the intricate detail as I walked up the stairs.
There were three small bedrooms, each with delicate floral wallpaper in a light soothing color—sage green, lavender, and pale blue. The full bathroom was recently redone as Judy pointed out, with modern fixtures and a large claw foot tub and shower combo. The master bedroom featured a considerable window that overlooked the backyard. A flower garden tangled with weeds needed work, but as I looked outside, I knew I was up to the challenge. I imagined falling asleep with the windows open, the sounds of the ocean lulling me to sleep and the early morning fog rolling in to greet me in the morning. The smallest room contained a built-in bookshelf and an alcove. The third bedroom boasted a window seat and I thought about Will sitting there, reading books after school. He barely played with his electronics lately and I hoped he would be as into reading as I was as a child.
I took note of the damp, cold basement, a sunny kitchen, brick fireplace, wood paneled hallway, and cozy family room next to the kitchen. A functional little laundry room was installed in one of the hall closets downstairs. It was a simple, efficient home with old bones. Only one room needed to be redone because I couldn’t imagine my son sleeping and playing in a room with floral wallpaper.
“Are we going to live here?” Will asked, his eyes shining up at me. The look on his face reminded me of his father and my heart skipped a beat.
“I hope so,” I whispered as I grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze.
“I think this will work for us. How soon can we move in?” I asked, trying to do the mental calculations for first and last months rent. I’d want some kind of security system, too, just in case.
Three years ago, I made a bank account for Grace Jensen. Funds were in place for this very moment. From time to time I’d wire money into the account. Thanks to eBay, pawn shops and consignment stores, I got money from the jewelry Leo gave me that I never wore along with the high end dresses and purses. When would I ever need a huge emerald ring trimmed with diamonds? How often could I wear the sapphire earrings he paid five figures for? One designer purse cost over thirty thousand dollars and came with its own rain coat. I tried to get him to return these items, I had no use for such extravagant gifts and they sat in my closet, worn only once or twice. Leo liked to spend money on luxury items while I was happy with fake leather purses and comfy workout clothes.
I had enough money for a used car, nothing flashy
but an older, reliable vehicle. While I was sure we would be okay financially, I still needed to be frugal.
Before leaving Leo for good, I took my time, gathering as much information as I could about this particular town. I looked at rentals, job listings, schools. I knew I needed to be smart and have every detail planned precisely.
Besides using public computers and a burner phone, I had fake documents for Grace and Ethan Jensen. One of the women I met at a domestic abuse group helped me find people that could get me new identification, records, bank accounts and anything else needed to create a whole new life. Now here we were.
When I told Judy that I’d be needing furnishings for the house, she immediately referred me to a second hand shop a few miles away. “There’s an IKEA an hour away or some higher end stores in the city,” she added.
My heart skipped a beat as I realized that I was free to choose whatever I wanted. I could hang artwork that wasn’t modern or abstract. I could choose hues that pleased my senses. I would be able to burn scented candles and keep a fire in the fireplace. If I wanted to hang plants from the ceiling, I could do it. Not only had I executed my escape from Leo but I was building a happy future and comfortable home for myself and Will.
I did it. On my own, on my terms.
I squeezed my eyes closed for a second, barely able to contain the joy that surged through my veins.
When Judy asked if we wanted to look at more houses, I shook my head.
“I think we found our home,” I told her.
Then I opened the back door to explore the big backyard with Will.
Chapter 17
Past
Leo was in Canada working on his newest movie. He called and texted every day without fail, irritated when I didn’t respond immediately, which made him leave more messages imploring me to get in touch. I rarely went anywhere interesting, a little shopping, maybe the library or Whole Foods. There was no reason for him to be mad, I lived like a hermit.
I was relieved that, for the most part, he acted amiable on the telephone; although, his tone got hard and threatening when he demanded to know if I had been out with anyone.
“You haven’t been sitting around, gossiping with Sylvia?” he asked, his voice edged with ice. I pictured the flare of his nostrils, the clench of his jaw. “You and Angie haven’t been going out for cocktails, hitting on men?”
I almost laughed at how ridiculous he sounded. Occasionally I went to coffee or a yoga class with my neighbors, but I didn’t like going out at night and he knew this. I saw Claire once in a while but he never objected to me spending time with her.
“No, of course not,” I answered tensely. He wasn’t pleased until I swore up and down that I was sitting at home, reading books and paging through gardening magazines.
“Don’t touch my Japanese Garden,” he warned before hanging up. “You know what happens when you make me angry.”
The tone of his voice sent a cold drip of fear down my spine and I immediately relived the feeling of his hand across my face. The sharp sting of a slap on my skin. The sick feeling when his fingers dug into my upper arm. I closed my eyes against the memories but everything was still fresh and there was no way to escape.
My mind swam to Leo’s first wife, Aurora, who he only briefly mentioned throughout the past few years. I was curious about her and had done some searches on the computer but couldn’t find much information. Sometimes he let her name slip and told me little things about her. He painted an ugly picture of a stupid woman who couldn’t do anything by herself. At first I hated her based on his description, I nodded in agreement when he brought up her name, a snarl on his face.
As time went on and Leo grew easily irritated with me, I wondered about her, why did they really get a divorce? Did he get violent with her? Why did he distance himself from his parents? Where were his parents? His family? What really happened? I had so many questions that ate at me and kept me up at night. Who did I marry?
Dr. Hiller encouraged me to find answers. “Maybe knowing about his past will help you understand him,” she suggested. “Keep in mind, knowing things won’t fix the problem. You can’t change him.”
I tried to get him to talk about his childhood but he clammed up and changed the subject or things escalated into an argument with him demanding to know why I needed to know everything about him.
“Why are you asking me so many questions?” Leo’s skin flushed, his head tilted up so he looked down at me. I was treading on thin ice. My timing was completely off as I launched this discussion while in Neiman Marcus, searching for a dress. I don’t know what sparked my line of questioning in that moment but suddenly I found myself thinking about his ex-wife and I needed to know more.
It was quiet except for the clicking sound of heels on the floor and the occasional hushed tones of shoppers whispering. Someone’s phone rang and Leo looked around, clearly irritated at the peace pierced by a ring tone.
I bit my lip and glanced down at the rack of dresses, moving from one dress to the other without really seeing what I was looking at.
“I don’t know anything about your past and it bothers me. No family pictures, no relatives...” my voice trailed off. I held a gown out in front of me, a pale blue dress made of silk with a small row of embroidery across the hem. Leo snatched it away, shoved it on the rack and then grabbed my wrist, yanking me closer to him. He glanced around and, noting two women nearby, dropped his voice and leaned toward me.
“You can stop talking now,” he hissed. His face an inch from mine, his breath warmed my skin and made my heart pound. Those pale blue eyes stabbed me like knives and I flinched.
“I just want to know,” I whispered, attempting to free myself from his grasp but he kept his fingers tightly around my wrist. My skin burned under the heated clasp of his grip and I jerked away.
A blonde saleswoman approached, I saw her before Leo. She looked from me to Leo, back to me. “Everything all right? Can I help you find something?” Her face held a tentative smile. When her eyes didn’t leave mine for a few seconds, I thought, could she tell what was going on? I swallowed hard and blinked back the tears that suddenly flooded my eyes. The slightest bit of kindness in that tense moment made me want to collapse.
Leo released me and spun around. He smoothed his hair with one hand and offered her a charming smile as he stepped in front of me, blocking her view. “Fine, fine. Doing well, thanks.”
When she didn’t leave immediately, he repeated, “We’re good. Don’t need your help right now.”
We drove home in silence, my wrist red and swollen. The next day he sent me a dozen white roses and the blue dress. That was his attempt at an apology. I should have known better than to try to get him to talk about his family, his past, and of course his ex-wife.
I gave up asking questions though I didn’t forget.
While he was away on set, I went through his office. He kept the door locked but it was easy enough to open with a screwdriver, I slid it into a groove on the door handle and turned, opening the door.
Paranoid, I wore gloves so I didn’t leave fingerprints and when I left, I vacuumed behind my footsteps, erasing them completely. I looked for photos or notes, anything that would reveal something about him. I can’t explain the strong desire to get answers. A nagging feeling persisted, if I learned about his family maybe I’d understand him better and I’d be equipped to handle his moods. Like Dr. Hiller said, I wouldn’t change him. But maybe there was a clue to his behavior. Something that would shine a little light on his anger.
The drawers of his desk were locked. Piles of movie scripts with yellow Post-It notes sat in the open but I had no interest in those. I doubted I’d find anything on his computer and didn’t bother turning it on. Looking through his bookshelves, everything was in place, alphabetical and orderly. I didn’t bother pulling them down looking for clues inside the pages. Leo was smarter than that. If he had anything from his childhood, it would be locked away somewhere I’d never even consider, maybe
even a storage facility. I gave up for the day and vacuumed my footsteps then closed the door, locking it and praying he wasn’t watching me from the cameras that were installed to catch my every move.
On one lonely rainy afternoon, my inquisitiveness got the best of me and I typed out an internet search for “Aurora Kubias.”
As rain pounded on the windows, I found pages of random college listings and old articles about people having either the first name of Aurora or the last name of Kubias. I glanced outside, watching the steady rain fall in an unusual downpour for California. The clouds were gray, nearly black in places. I made a cup of tea and settled with my laptop on the couch.
For hours, I went from website to website trying to track down the first Mrs. Kubias. Finally, I hit pay dirt—a college alumni link that lead me to a connection for a culinary school which brought me to a restaurant in Louisiana where the owner and chef was named Aurora. With such an unusual name, it had to be her. I sighed and closed my eyes. A clap of thunder made me jerk my head toward the door. Leo. I swallowed hard then bolted from the couch to check the locks on all the doors.
Then I did it all again. And again. If Leo caught me trying to find information on his first wife...a chill went through my body and I shivered.
With my heart hammering, I sat back down on the couch and reloaded the page that showed a smiling Aurora in a white chef’s coat.
I scrolled through the restaurant website and saw that it was located in New Orleans. I had never been there before but it was on my Pinterest bucket list of places I wanted to visit. Anytime I wanted something that Leo didn’t agree with, he told me to add it to my Pinterest page. I had multiple boards with places I wanted to see, things I wanted to do, furniture I wanted to buy. It was his way of placating me, hoping I’d eventually lose interest.
Leo was gone for a few weeks on location, some remote town near Vancouver. He wouldn’t have to know I went to New Orleans. I could be there and back quickly. Licking my lips, I glanced down at the phone sitting on the coffee table. He’d know from tracking the location if I were gone. He always knew where I was going or when I was home. I couldn’t get around this; I’d have to turn it off for the short time I’d be away. Maybe I could fib and say my phone wasn’t working or it was having trouble. I wondered if I could get away with turning it off. No, that would never work. He’d probably come home to check on me if he was not able to call or text. As I agonized over this hiccup in my plan, I knew the trip would have to be quick. New Orleans then straight home.
