by Cindy Davis
"Your gentleman friend is waiting anxiously in the waiting room. Should I have him come in?"
Paige's eyes grew round. “No!"
The doctor frowned first, and then the meaning of her words turned the frown into an expression of understanding. “I see. Do you want to tell me what happened? How your ribs got injured?"
"I fell,” she said, simply.
He nodded slowly and waited. Instead of elaborating, Paige turned her head toward the curtain. Someone moved on the other side, creating a rippled effect in the cloth.
"I see. Well, let's talk about your situation.” He walked to the wall and stabbed the nib of his pen at her x-ray. “You have a cracked rib, right here. Can you see this?” He tilted his head toward her. “No, you probably can't from there, but there's a hairline fracture right here.” He jabbed the ballpoint at the spot where she assumed her fracture was supposed to be located.
"What do you do about it?"
He smiled, revealing a pair of severely crooked front teeth. “We wrap you up like a birthday present and send you home. You'll have to take things easy for several weeks. I'll instruct the nurse to show you how to rewrap your dressing daily. Do you have someone to help you with it? Am I assuming correctly you don't want us to show him...” he gestured over his shoulder, “...how to do it for you?"
"Correct."
"All right.” He nodded again, the movement reminding Paige of the little bobbing headed dogs in the back of automobile windows. “I'll send the nurse in to tend you.” The pen scratched on a small white pad. “Here's a prescription for your pain. You'll probably need it for a few days. We'll send you home with a few sample packets you can use until your pharmacy is open in the morning. Get well.” He waved two fingers at her.
"Thank you."
A tall buxom nurse entered. She had a frizz of bleached hair that looked stiff and unyielding. Below the frizz, limpid blue eyes scowled. “Let's get you upright.” She grasped both Paige's arms and pulled.
Pain shot through her. “Take it ... easy, will you?"
"I'd say you're used to that kind of treatment. Don't know why you women take it. There's plenty of nice men out there."
"Is that right? Where, pray tell?"
"All over. Just stop looking for them in barrooms and singles joints."
"What makes you think ... Oh, never mind."
The nurse, whose nametag stated she was Freda, opened a box about the size of a pair of pantyhose then withdrew an ace bandage. She unwound it and rewound it tightly around Paige's ribs. As she bent forward, the deep vee in her uniform displayed a cleavage the size of Rhode Island. She wrapped, reaching around Paige in a grotesque hug, demonstrating just how tight it should be to inhibit improper motion, which might delay healing time. “You should replace the bandage with a new one every few days to keep the elasticity new. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Okay, we're finished here."
"Is he still waiting?"
"Yes."
"Is there another way out?"
The nurse smiled, an expression that Paige thought must be alien to her, an expression that did nothing to improve the sour mood Freda emitted.
Freda thumped a palm on Paige's thigh. “That's what I wanted to hear, dearie. Tell you what I'll do. I'll tell him we want to keep you overnight for observation. It's a common occurrence and won't make him suspicious. I'll tell him we're getting your room ready and he'll be able to see you in about an hour. Will that give you enough time?"
Paige placed a hand on the nurse's arm. “That will be plenty. Thank you so much, Freda."
"If you have nowhere to go, there's a woman's shelter a few blocks away. I could call you a cab."
"Please. Would it be possible for you to get my bill, and for me to pay it from here?"
"I think we could make that exception."
* * * *
The cabbie ran around the taxi and helped Freda off-load Paige into the back seat. Dawn was just creeping over the black-shadowed mountains in the near distance. A pastel yellow and gray light shone between two peaks, which Paige was certain had names, but their identities were unknown to her.
Freda gave the driver the address of the home on Wiltshire Road. On the way out of the parking lot, Paige asked the driver to first stop at the big yellow bumblebee, praying he was still waiting patiently in the emergency room.
Paige stepped painstakingly out of the taxi. From the pocket of her jeans, she withdrew Chris’ keys. They got her inside the cab to retrieve the suitcase containing the hundred thousand dollars she needed to begin her new life.
She settled herself in the taxi's back seat, and the driver moved into the road. Paige wanted to, but couldn't turn to glance back to see if Chris had followed. The cab wound through the streets of Fort Smith, taking corners carefully, considerate of her condition.
The memory of her last cab ride thrust her into a state of agitation and dismay. She couldn't shake off the vision of Habib on the pavement, with the mealy-skinned Davenport lying on top of him, forcing out Habib's last breath in a rush of bloody froth. Her stomach rolled and complained and the need for a bathroom embraced her.
Paige swallowed twice, willing the bile to stay down. When it refused she leaned forward as much as her taped ribs would allow and tapped on the separating glass. “Could you find me a bathroom, quickly?"
"I can take you back to the hospital right away,” he offered.
"No, I don't need to go back there. I just need a bathroom. Hurry."
* * * *
In a grimy stall at the rear of a Texaco station, Paige sat, letting her fear, worry, and remaining energy drain away. She drummed her fingers on the toilet paper roll wondering if ditching Chris had been the right decision. If he was one of Stefano's men, she was right where he wanted her. If he wasn't, they'd surely hurt or kill him, just like they did Habib.
Paige leaned her head against the grimy wall and sighed a small sigh because she couldn't inhale enough air for a large one. She suddenly realized how bone tired she was, and almost wished they'd insisted she remain in the hospital. The escape had exhausted the last of her limited supply of energy. And she still had to seek out a motel. Unable to let the taxi driver know where she was headed, she'd have to dig down deep, and do it on her own.
Paige flushed the toilet and went to the sink where she'd propped her suitcase and handbag. She drew out the auburn wig; its thick elastic cap was crumpled and looked very uncomfortable. With great effort, she changed clothes, removing the bloodstained pink blouse and replacing it with the blue striped sweater. Unable to bend enough to change her pants, she hoped the alterations would be enough to disguise her appearance from the waiting cabbie. She fitted the wig on her head, tucking her dark tresses underneath. Even through the smudges on the mirror she looked wan and tired.
Paige latched the suitcase and jammed the blouse into the bottom of the overflowing metal barrel under oily rags and damp paper towels.
A knock sounded on the wood raised panel door. “Madam, are you all right? Should I call for help?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine. I'll be out in a few minutes.” She unlatched and pulled open the door.
The driver stood to the right, leaning against the wall. As the door opened, he came erect, his face looked concerned. He didn't recognize her.
"She's all right,” Paige said, hoping he didn't recognize the case as the one he'd set on his back seat a half hour ago. “Just getting cleaned up. You know us women."
She reassured him with a smile and stepped away. “She'll be out in a moment.” She left, praying she didn't walk as bent over as she felt.
A block down the street, she ducked between a pair of brick buildings and leaned on the cool brick, waiting for the throbbing in her ribs to subside. She slipped one of the packets of painkiller from her pocket and downed the tablets dry. Resting her head against the wall, she tried to settle on her next move. She estimated she had about an hour before Chris realized she had given him the slip. She hope
d he'd shrug his shoulders and go back to his own routine, but she knew better. For one reason or another, Chris had attached himself to her.
Heaving aside the idea of calling another cab, fearful that the same cab driver would arrive to pick her up, she began to regret her decision not to go to the shelter. Neither the nurse nor the doctor would divulge the address, eager to do their good deed in protecting an abused female.
Not for the first time that week, she wondered what she'd gotten herself into.
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Seventeen
Exhaustion settled over her like smog. She sank slowly and painfully to the damp ground. Legs propped protectively over her suitcase, the purse behind her head, Paige slept.
When she woke, her first impression was that it was still night. Thick clouds had dropped over the mountains casting a dull, lifeless light over the alley. Her Timex told her it was nearly eight a.m. Paige slammed her fist on the suitcase between her legs; Chris must be scouring the town searching for her.
Her clothes were damp and stuck to her aching body in all the wrong places. She tiptoed to the back of the alley looking for a place where she could change. The dark space converged in a small courtyard shared by several apartment buildings and businesses. To the right, aluminum trash barrels overflowed with putrid trash. To the left was a dumpster heaped high with broken-down cardboard boxes. Overloaded clotheslines crisscrossed overhead like thick white spider webs.
Moments later, she hurried of the alley wearing a blue and black flower print skirt and blue peasant blouse. Her suitcase held a second new outfit, and the first floor apartment's clothesline now sported blue jeans and a bloody short-sleeve sweater. Paige clenched one arm around her bandaged rib cage; the other gripped the handle of the suitcase. It had begun to rain, a light precipitation that obscured her vision and chilled the air.
At the end of the block, Paige turned left, the smell of fresh brewed coffee and the need to get out of the rain, drawing her like a bumblebee to a rose. The restaurant was New England rustic with exposed hand hewn beams and raw wood paneling. The booths, sparsely filled this early, were bench style, the tables wide, irregularly shaped pine slabs. Lush green plants lined every available sill and shelf, bestowing private, quiet locations for romantic country dinners. The lighting was subdued and soothing. Oil wicked candles flickered at the back of each table, casting a yellow orange glow that was barely enough to read the menu by.
The menu was hand written, each dish personally named by a member of the restaurant staff. Donna's Delight was described as a ‘hearty three egg omelet oozing with aged Vermont cheddar cheese'. Gary's House Special was flapjacks doused in Vermont maple syrup and served with slices of Canadian bacon. The images literally made Paige's mouth water.
The youthful waiter wore creased blue jeans and a tan T-shirt sporting the restaurant logo. He delivered her mandarin orange tea to the table in a thick ceramic mug along with a wooden board holding thin slices of lemon, a stainless steel container of cream, and tiny wicker basket of sweeteners.
"Good Morning. And how are we today?"
"I don't know about you,” she replied, “but I feel as though I've been both shaken and stirred."
While Paige opened sugar packets and stirred them into her tea, the waiter gave a detailed description of the morning's specials, but she barely heard, unable to erase the thoughts of the Vermont cheddar omelet from her mind's eye.
She waited for her breakfast sipping tea leaned back against the hard, but somehow comfortable, wood booth. She closed her eyes and allowed the homey aromas of coffee and bacon to overwhelm her senses. She opened her eyes in response to some motion that turned out to be the waiter sliding her breakfast across the table.
"Careful, ma'am, the plate is hot. Could I bring you a fresh tea bag?"
"Thank you, that would be nice."
Paige eyed the enormous plate before her. What space that wasn't taken by the huge egg concoction and brown circles of bacon, was filled with deep fried country potatoes drenched in some mysterious red seasoning. She cut a forkful of the omelet and prepared to be transported to food nirvana. She closed her eyes, chewed, and swallowed.
The next time she looked up, she realized the waiter had settled a customer diagonally across and a few booths from her. With his back to her, she couldn't tell what he looked like, except that he was dark and wearing dark colors. The dim lighting cast lightly dancing shadows across the wood decor. She watched the waiter bring coffee and take the customer's order.
Paige prepared another cup of tea, stirring the cream thoughtfully, planning her day as if she was an ordinary housewife preparing to clean house and pick children up at school.
The waiter arrived carrying the customer's breakfast, a tall stack of pancakes and beaker of syrup. Paige's taste buds watered at the thought of freshly made maple syrup, one of the few things Paige had enjoyed at the Bryn Mawr girls’ school in Pennsylvania.
She finished the last of her potatoes and glanced once again at the customer across the aisle, engrossed in his breakfast. When finished, he lit a cigarette and leaned back in his seat. Paige wished she'd sat in a no-smoking section. The man's hand lowered to rest on the table, holding the cigarette between second and third fingers!
[Back to Table of Contents]
Eighteen
Paige swallowed hard to keep her breakfast from coming up. Her heart hammered against her aching ribs, creating waves of heat and sweat from head to toe. She looked desperately for a means of escape. Behind her booth were two more, and then a solid wall. No ladies room, no open window. Trapped.
She held her breath as he signaled for more coffee. The waiter refilled Chris’ mug and turned toward her. “More tea, ma'am?"
Chris swiveled in his seat to see who the waiter was addressing. Paige's heart stopped. Chris’ face was in complete shadow so she couldn't see his reaction, but his body language remained steady. He showed no sign of recognition.
She willed herself to shake her head in response to the waiter's question, desperate for them both to turn away. What morbid twist of fate brought him here? He wouldn't recognize her. He'd never seen this wig or clothes.
Maybe she could waltz right past him.
Her thoughts were dashed when she remembered her suitcase. Chris had handled it, had seen it up close numerous times. By now, he might even know what was inside. She could leave the case here and come back for it later. But, what if it was gone when she returned?
The waiter brought Chris’ check. He stood up, pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his Levis and tossed a few bills on the table. She held her breath as he retucked his shirt, straightened the hem of his jacket, ran a hand through his hair, and plucked at the ends of his mustache.
He was so handsome: tall and strong, polite and caring. And he probably worked for Stefano.
Chris picked up the check and the money, examined them and then added another bill. Unable to hold it any longer, Paige let a tiny breath escape. He took one step away from his table, turned and smiled at her. She met his gaze for a split second, willing him to get the hell out of there.
When he finally did, her dilemma increased triple fold. Had he recognized her? Was that smile intended as a challenge? Would he be waiting outside?
If so, would he be at the back or front door? The last time she'd attempted an escape, he'd guessed she'd leave through a back door. Should she now walk straight out the front, or would he assume she learned from the previous experience?
Paige dropped her head onto her hands, elbows on the hard table, feeling the pull of the Ace bandage.
"Is something wrong, ma'am?"
"Yes, actually. That man who was just here, he's been following me. I thought I got away, but...” She fumbled with her napkin and dabbed a corner in one eye.
"I think I can help you."
She raised hopeful eyes to the young man, threw a twenty on the table, and gathered her bags together. He led her through the immaculate kitchen and
down a narrow, dark hallway, to a heavy door. The iron latch grated when he lifted it, revealing another long hallway, this one dimly lit with recessed lighting along one wall.
"This is the building next to the restaurant. Donna owns both of them. She rents the bottom floor to a small publishing company and a guy who sells tobacco. She lives upstairs. You can go out this way."
Paige followed him to the far end, where he opened a solid metal door. Outside, it looked to be the opposite end of the block from either of the restaurant's exits.
She planted a quick kiss on the man's cheek. “You're a life saver.” She stepped into the rain and waved her thanks to the waiter, who'd already disappeared.
She found herself on a small side street, one block off the main drag. Traffic oozed past in the distance with much less fanfare and impatience than back in Barstow. To the east, the mountains were a mere darker shadow amid the heavy clouds over the tops of the buildings, which were several stories shorter than the ones in either Barstow or Fresno.
Torn between a need to stay on the main route and watch for Chris’ big yellow bumblebee and trying to keep out of sight, she elected to follow Burnett Street, which ran parallel to the main street. Here she could watch for the truck from the cross streets and contemplate what to do next.
Burnett was lined with elderly shade trees. Through the years, the heavy roots had grown up, bending and twisting the narrow tar sidewalk like a contortionist. Paige had to step carefully over fallen chestnuts and acorns. Though the worst of the rain didn't penetrate the thick treetops, large drops often plopped on top of her head or down the back of her shirt. She found herself wishing once again for a jacket. The street was densely populated with Victorian style tenement buildings whose driveways wound between the trees. Most of the homes were well kept, with neatly trimmed lawns, free of rubbish and toys. Mid-sized, mid-priced automobiles without dents or rust, attested to some measure of job prosperity in the area.
Maybe she should settle here, buy a little house, restyle and dye her hair, kick her shoes off, and set a spell. She could lose herself here, breathing in the clean smog-free air.
