Cries of Penance: 5 (Chronicles of Surrender)

by Harte, Roxy

  Through the boutique window, I see the same dark car driving past.

  Shaking, I present my credit card and am rewarded with a fast transaction. After the woman’s helpfulness I know I seem exceedingly rude as I rush away from the counter and herd the kids out of the store. The car is parked at the other end of the block, making me wish I hadn’t walked so far. Idiot. I’m such an idiot. This is not my imagination!

  I toss shopping bags in the trunk, strap kids into car seats and hurry back toward the school. Halfway there, I call the principal’s office and tell them there’s been an emergency and I’d like the children brought to the front door so I can pick them up early.

  The secretary informs me I have to come in and sign them out.

  Frustrated, I start to lose it a little and imagine she thinks I’ve lost my mind. “I cannot take the time to come into the office and sign them out! Do you understand that I said it’s an emergency?”

  I feel like a lunatic, but when I pull up to the curb I am relieved to see the children waiting with the principal. He walks them to the car as I’m climbing out. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t standard procedure.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  I meet his gaze. “Pray.”

  I secure seat belts and climb back behind the wheel with no plan. As I leave the parking lot I memorize every car, and as I get closer to the house I try to pay specific attention to each person…a workman on a telephone pole, a woman walking a dog, a man sitting in a car across the road, reading a newspaper. This is a new neighborhood, each one of these people might actually be perfectly in place but even though Garrett’s assurances made perfect sense I don’t feel like I’m being ridiculous now.

  Maybe I am transferring my concerns about Thomas’ safety into baseless fears, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. Thomas would want me to pay attention to what my gut is telling me.

  I drive past the house. “Hey, kids, wanna go to the beach?”

  Cheers come from the backseat.

  I call Enrique and give him a list of groceries to bring to us.

  Looping around, I drive to Thomas’ Sea Cliff Road property. The house is familiar since I spent almost three months here with Thomas. I feel safe here. Maybe because it’s only two levels instead of four—that’s a lot fewer rooms to hear noises from—but more I think it’s because it is Thomas’ house.

  Strangely, as I prepare dinner from a hodgepodge of pantry finds and the children watch cartoons on the television, I begin to feel a certain rightness, like this is what I’ve been waiting for all along. Why did it take Thomas’ house to make me feel at home?

  I don’t want to consider it, but I do.

  I try not to think about the day Garrett asked me to marry him and I couldn’t or the day I asked Garrett to marry me and he couldn’t. Or that I whispered to Thomas that I felt already married to him. I can’t help that my soul feels drawn to his.

  Settling the children around the dinner table, I imagine Thomas sitting at the head. He would be comfortable there, surrounded by his family, but try as I might, I can’t see Garrett taking on the role. I can envision him as Uncle Gar, making hasty entrances bearing hugs and gifts, and even hastier exits, always in a rush to get back to his real world.

  Our real world, right? I am Kitten.

  Ding-dong. When the deep-toned doorbell rings, I almost jump out of my skin. I tell the children, “Stay in your seats. Don’t move.”

  Heart pounding, I cautiously look through the peephole. Enrique. Opening the door to let him in, I see his arms are laden with bags of groceries, but I don’t assist him. Noticing the same black car from earlier, the one that followed me to the school and then into town, parked along the curb, I jerk him inside by his sleeve.

  “Why ju not come home to da new house?”

  I slam the door but keep an eye on the car through a narrow window. I’m truly terrified when a man steps out. I try to remember every detail. He is wearing sunglasses and a ball cap. It’s dusk and everything is shaded. I couldn’t identify him if I had to. I grab an envelope and a pen and write down the details about the car he is driving but can’t see a license plate number. I notice another vehicle that’s been parked out front too long, a white late-model van with Huey’s Carpet Installation written on the side.

  “Did you notice that van out front?”

  “Ju are scaring me.”

  “I’m scaring myself,” I admit as I google Huey’s Carpet Installation on my phone. Nothing. Not a single match. “If he was legitimate, wouldn’t his information pop up on my screen?”

  Looking over my shoulder at the screen, Enrique shrugs.

  Calling 9-1-1 seems out of the question. I tell Enrique, “You should go back to the house.”

  “I’m not leaving ju here alone.”

  Meeting his gaze, I try to convince him. “Please go. I’ll be fine.”

  He stands his ground and I leave him to gather the children off to bed. It seems early but they don’t argue. We’re all nervous and even though I’m doing my best to hide it, the children sense my fear. I can see it in their eyes.

  * * * * *

  At midnight I risk looking outside. Two men sit in a car, seeming so clichéd FBI I almost laugh except I can’t find the humor. The same woman walks by with her dog. I try to remember details from earlier and decide it could be a different woman, maybe even a different dog, but as she glances up to the house, I know I’m not being paranoid. She is watching us.

  Panicky, I ramble through the kitchen, opening every cabinet, even opening the stove, turning all the dials, then I check each bathroom. Nothing. What did I expect? A secret panel?

  I walk back to the bedroom. This is Thomas’ house. He wouldn’t live in a house that didn’t have special security measures. Think. The bedroom is a huge room, but when I pace off the inside room against the number of paces down the hallway, I end up two feet short.

  Back inside the bedroom I tap the wall behind the bed. It sounds hollow but there are no hidden levers on the headboard. No remote control. Nothing. Lying on Thomas’ side of the bed, I inhale a deep breath and exhale, trying to think like he would. Reaching down, I feel under the bed, running my hands along the underside of the frame. There! Two buttons. Shit, shit, shit. Which button? “Here goes.”

  I push the first button and the wall beside the bed opens. I leap out of the bed and find a small arsenal.

  “Holy mother of God,” I mutter under my breath. At the same moment Enrique comes into the room and echoes the sentiment.

  “I told you to go away. Go home.”

  He comes up to stand beside me. “What are you doing now?”

  I look at Enrique because I’ve never, ever heard him speak without his thick accent. I pick up a small caliber and tuck it into my waistband. “I have no idea, but I’m going to be armed.”

  “No, no, no.” He reaches for the gun. “This is too dangerous.”

  “The safety’s on.”

  Grabbing two boxes of ammunition and two handguns, I lay them on the bed.

  “You’re going to get you and Thomas’ children killed. That’s what you’re going to do.”

  Racing down the hall to the garage, I find the family cars, an Audi SUV and a BMW wagon with three car seats in the back and although it looks sporty, I assume the wagon was Lattie’s. I’m so used to seeing Thomas either behind the wheel of a sports car or on a motorcycle. The cars here remind me he also has another life—as a family man.

  Enrique steps down into the garage with me and whistles. “Q-Five.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  “Fast, supercharged. Off-road, up mountains, this baby is designed for speed and maneuverability.”

  I nod, not knowing what I’m thinking but thinking hard. Enrique opens the door of the Audi and looks inside, inhaling deeply. “Leather.”

  “You said fast. If you were going to pick a getaway car, which one would you choose?”

  “Getaway car? What are you talking ab
out? You’re scaring me.”

  “Garrett doesn’t want to believe that we are being followed or watched, and that whatever is happening is taking place in Africa, but I know in my gut that we are and I don’t like it. I don’t know if the people out there are here to protect me or kidnap the children or kill us all in our beds while we sleep, but I don’t want to stick around to find out.”

  My gut tells me I have to get the kids off the grid, and I hurry back into the house for the shopping bags of clothes I bought earlier. They are by the front door where I dropped them because I was in a hurry to start dinner and try to put my fears out of my mind.

  I toss the bags into the trunk of the Audi SUV and then start transferring car seats from the large BMW van to the smaller vehicle. I’m one short. They didn’t have Atso when they lived here. “Enrique, get Atso’s car seat out of my car in the driveway. Use the side door.”

  He doesn’t question, and he’s back in a flash.

  “You have to help me if I’m going to make this work,” I tell him as I buckle the final seat into place.

  Eyes wide, he nods. Together we load the car with Atso’s diaper bag, the snacks and the bottles of water and juice I had Enrique bring us in preparation for a few days at the beach, and a quickly packed bag from what I could find in Lattie’s closet for myself—honestly not many of her things would fit me in my present state, but at the back of her closet I’d hit pay dirt, finding several loose-fitting caftans and stretchy pants that I could wear pulled up only to where my big belly starts.

  It looks like we’re going on a long trip. I can’t think about that—the long or short of it—I only know I have to escape this house right now. “You are going to take the BMW and peel out. Head toward Mexico. I am going to head the opposite way. They can’t follow both of us.”

  “This is a stupid plan.”

  “I don’t have a better one.” He is close on my heel as I head back into the house. I empty my purse of everything that identifies me as other than Blair Harrington. Being more paranoid than I’ve ever been in my life, I leave both of my cell phones lying on the table, fearful whoever is following me might use them to track us. “Help me get the kids loaded.”

  “This is insane.”

  I smile despite myself; hearing his lack of accent is weird. Hurrying through the house, I tell him, “If I have to tie you up and gag you I will. Is that what you’d prefer?”

  He looks truly torn. “Where will you go?”

  “I can’t tell you. Someplace safe. And when the dust settles and we can all live happily ever after again I’ll come back.”

  “Have you forgotten you are pregnant?”

  “I know.”

  “And dragging four children God knows where—”

  “Yes, I am. Look, I can’t sit around here…waiting for the worst to happen.”

  I wake up Hektor and ask him to get Atso and buckle her in her car seat. Picking up Nikkos, I pray he won’t wake and start crying. Fortunately his head rolls against my shoulder like a drunken man’s. He is out.

  Gently as possible, I awaken Olympia. “Wake up, sweet girl. We’re going for a ride.”

  “To see Papa?”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  I buckle Nikkos and Olympia into their seats. On the other side of the car, Hektor buckles in Atso.

  Behind me, Enrique begs, “At least call Garrett.”

  Frustrated, I turn toward him. “I did but he’s busy dealing with his own emergency. He thinks I’m imagining things and if my fears do materialize, I can’t wait for either of my men to rescue me.” Looking over the roof of the car, I tell Hektor, “Get into the front seat and fasten your belt.”

  Fortunately the boy doesn’t argue with me. Should I be concerned the children are taking my midnight madness in stride? Climbing behind the wheel, I try really hard to convince myself that I’m not overreacting. I glance at Hektor, and the look he returns is stoic.

  “Is this an emergency, Aunt Celia?”

  I shake my head robotically, not wanting to frighten him or the others.

  “Because if it is, we have to follow the rules.”

  “The rules?” I ask dumbly as I turn in my seat to double-check each of the children’s car seats. I try not to think about the fact that my gut instinct was to choose this car for speed instead of the wagon.

  “We have to follow the emergency evacuation plan. We’ve practiced it lots, like a fire drill at school but for home.”

  Of course my Thomas would have trained his children to escape in case of an emergency. I should have just asked the son if there were guns in the house. I would have probably saved some time, except I look at Hektor and see a little boy. He shouldn’t know about guns and escape plans.

  “I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving the car.

  “Hektor! No!” I watch him hurry back through the garage door and into the house. “Enrique, stop him! We have to go now!”

  But I needn’t have worried; Hektor is back before Enrique can even chase him. He returns carrying a duffle bag and four child-size backpacks. He climbs in and I help him maneuver the bags to the rear floorboard. He explains, “We can’t leave without our Go Bags.”

  “Go Bags,” I repeat.

  He presses a lever overhead, opening the sunglass holder, and removes a remote control. He tells me, “Push the red button.”

  I do. Nothing happens. I was expecting the garage door to go up.

  “Count to twenty,” he says, as if repeating it from memory, and starts counting aloud with, “Two…three…four…”

  I keep the count going in my head…eighteen…nineteen…twenty.

  “Now what?”

  “Is it still an emergency?”

  “Yes! Hektor. What do I do now?”

  Swallowing hard, he opens the glove box and pushes a button on the garage door opener he finds inside. He braces himself, squinting his eyes closed. “Start the car and as soon as the door is up push the black button and floor it.”

  “What happens when I press the black button?”

  “I don’t know, it’s what Papa told Mama to do.”

  I push the black button and go, burning rubber out of the driveway and onto the residential street. I look in the rearview mirror to see that Enrique did what I told him to. Following in the BMW, he turns at the first intersection that will lead him to the interstate but is immediately blocked off, surrounded by black SUVs.

  Shit, oh shit. Did I just send Enrique to his death? I accelerate, expecting a pursuit and not knowing what to do to help Enrique. This was a stupid plan.

  Beside me, Hektor still has his eyes tightly closed.

  I keep my eyes on my rearview mirror. It appears no one is following us. I sigh with relief as I pause at a stop sign, but then from nowhere two black SUVs appear, barreling toward us. I push the accelerator to the floor, leaving behind more rubber…and then all hell breaks loose behind me. The house explodes. Four smaller explosions follow, taking out each of the nearest fire hydrants.

  The closest SUV dodges falling debris. The second vehicle isn’t so lucky. A chunk of falling metal hits its hood, stopping it cold.

  “Oh! Shit! Oh no!” I blew up Thomas’ house! I drive like a maniac, zigzagging through residential streets until I am certain no one is following us. The streets are deserted, except for the fire engines and police cars flying in the opposite direction. I keep driving away from the house. “Now what?”

  Calmly, Hektor opens the glove box and takes out a GPS. He plugs the adapter into a cigarette lighter and scrolls through a list of favorites. I try to see the choices but the words make no sense, the letters seem combined nonsensically.

  He selects one seemingly at random.

  “Where are we going?”

  He shrugs.

  “What were the choices?”

  “I just picked the month from the list.”

  I nod, sure. Pick a month, any month. “You picked May, right?”

  He giggles beside me. “Yes, A
unt Celia.”

  The GPS leads me out of San Francisco.

  “You are a seven-year-old boy, right?”

  For some reason my question makes him giggle.

  “So your dad programmed the GPS?”

  “Yes.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, because he’ll know where we are…even if I still don’t know where I’m going.

  As I follow I-80, I figure out we’re headed toward Nevada. I don’t know if that’s better or worse than where I’d have chosen if left to my own devices. Four hours later, on a long stretch of I-50, I know I wouldn’t have chosen this road. There doesn’t seem to be another person anywhere. No cars, no houses. No artificial light sources at all, except for my headlights. I feel like a sitting duck. We’re out in the open, and although it’s still hours until daylight I don’t feel the cover of mere darkness is enough. The GPS reveals we still have four hours until we reach our destination.

  All of the children are asleep except the ones inside my belly, and I think they have decided it’s time for a game of soccer. I hold the tender spot under my ribs, wishing the twins would at least give me a break from their constant kicking.

  At eight fifteen we reach the town of Ely. After a quick fuel stop, I make a hard left off-road toward the mountains just as the kids are waking up. Hektor is a huge help, doling out juice boxes and snacks from their Go Bags in answer to their cries of “I’m hungry” and “I’m thirsty.” I feel horrible for thrusting so much responsibility onto him and have to keep reminding myself he is only seven.

  Forty minutes later, I am sure we are lost. We are surrounded by mountains and rocky fields that seem hardly capable of sustaining the cows grazing there. I haven’t seen a single vehicle or person since we left town. We’ve been off-road for twenty minutes, steadily climbing a rough, rocky route. Suddenly the GPS announces, “You have arrived at your destination.”

  I stop the car in the shade of a gray limestone formation, idling, not bothering to get out because there isn’t anything to see. Dirt. Scrub. A few unidentifiable trees. I don’t know what I expected but rough camping in the desert wasn’t on the list. Looking closer at the pile of rocky terrain next to us, it starts to take shape. I put the car into park, climb out and walk around the hill, realizing as soon as I reach the other side that it is an adobe earth house half buried into a hillside. I breathe a huge sigh of relief.