“Momma’s Okay, Fat Cat,” she told herself more than her furry companion. So named for his girth and ability to outdo any garbage disposal, the male feline was her favorite. He lay on her stocking feet as she sat at the vanity.
Christina blinked her eyes wide to thwart any tears from ruining her freshly applied mascara. Pupils rolled to the ceiling, she willed her emotions back into her stomach. Maybe her avoidance had steamed Jeff as much as it had the bathroom mirror. Or at least made him think about what he’d done. The click of her heels down the hall emphasized each syllable in her thoughts. Then, at the kitchen door, she halted. The range vent whirred on high speed.
What has he done now? She stared at the sink. Her favorite skillet rested in slimy water. On top floated brown gunk she assumed had once been scrambled eggs. Her arms clutched around her chest in a pretzel as she tapped away her anger with her foot. How hard was it to cook eggs? Perhaps she had spoiled him by doing everything for him all those years. She certainly didn’t have time to scrub it clean now. Jeff wasn’t the only one who had to get to work. She added it to her growing list of things to do before she hit the sheets that night, exhausted as usual.
She grabbed the last piece of raisin toast, filled her commuter mug with coffee, hopped in her seven year old Accord, and headed for the accounting clerk job she had held for the last fifteen years. It was the last place she wanted to be. Surely there was someplace she could go, one door she could open without stress tumbling out like junk from an overstuffed closet.
“Another day, another dollar,” her dad always said.
Today, Dad, it’s more like ten cents after taxes. Dad. Had it really been two years since the funeral? A whiff of memory, mingled with the damp March air, allowed just a pinch of grief to filter back into her heart. It had been overcast and gloomy that day, too.
Then it happened. One ray of sun poked through the gloom. When Christina reached the intersection to turn east towards work, a quote from her high school literature class marqueed across her brain. “Go west, young man, go west.” On a whim, she made a U turn. She dug her cell phone out of her purse, called in sick for the first time in years, and without a bit of regret, just kept driving.
Chapter 2 The Escape
Bluebonnets, Indian paint brush and wine cups poked from the prairie grass in the medians along the highway, a true sign of spring’s arrival in Texas. The smog and clouds dissipated with each mile. It turned into a gorgeous day—the kind that made adults feverish and persuaded children to play hooky. Not even her anguish could stop its lure.
Christina toyed with the small gold cross around her neck, dragging it back and forth on its chain. Her conversation with Jeff last night, if it could be called that, still burned in her heart. She reached for her cell phone to call her sister. The dial face said 8:05. She should be up by now. Carrie answered on the third ring with a groggy, “Hello?”
“It’s me. Gotta minute?”
“Sure. Just getting my coffee.” A long yawn. “You sound like you’re in a tunnel. Where are you?”
“In the car. On the road.” Christina heard the breakfast chair scoot across the floor in her sister’s kitchen, then her voice, more awake and serious.
“Okay, I’m sitting down. What’s up, Sis. Jeff? Josh?”
Tears formed again in her eyes. She sniffed them back. “Jeff. We had a non-fight.”
“And that would be . . .?” A spoon clanked round and round in a coffee cup.
“Well with Josh off on his own, there’s no ball games, Scout meetings or high school band functions to rush off to after we get home at night.”
“But, that’s kinda nice, right?”
“Not really. Every evening we sit in the den in front of the TV. He’s in his recliner and I’m on the couch. You know, our conversation time used to be rare and precious. Now, it’s dwindled to a few remarks about work and the weather. Is it like that for you and Paul?”
“At times. It took us a while to settle into not having the kids around.” The sound of her sister inhaling deeply was next. “Mmmm. What did mankind do before coffee?”
“Woke up grouchy I guess. Anyway, each night I feel like we sit in silence despite the noise coming from that boob tube. Same shows, week after week, all his choice, of course. Jeff says it helps him unwind. I hate it.”
“Then go do something else.”
Christina checked her rear view mirror, then switched lanes. “But, if I leave the room it irritates him. So I bring in magazines, crosswords, my Bible study, mending.”
“Ah. Playing the dutiful wife role?” The slurping of coffee came through the phone.
“I guess. It keeps the peace, ya know? Still, night after night he stares at that darn TV. Once, a century or so ago, he had told me he couldn’t take his eyes off of me.” She gulped back a sob.
“Uh-huh., know whatcha mean. Yuk. Forgot the creamer.” The chair legged scooted again . “So, what was the non-fight about?”
Through the earpiece, Christina detected slippers shuffling across the kitchen floor. She kicked her heels off and stretched her toes over the accelerator pedal. “My glasses. I was doing some sewing and couldn’t focus. I told him I didn’t know why I let that optometrist talk me into bifocals. Three years and I still can’t get used to them. I tossed them onto the couch and tried to thread the sewing needle by squinting. Do you know what he said?”
“No.” More spoon clinks.
“He muttered through the sports section in front of his face, ‘Then get a refund.’ I knew he was irritated. He has a way of snapping the newspaper when he turns the page.”
“They all do that. Universal male sign.”
“Anyway, Wheel of Fortune was on the TV. He looked up and said, ‘Buy a vowel, lady.’ As if the contestant could hear his advice.” Christina slammed on her brakes when a big rig in front of her stopped. The height of his truck prevented her from seeing the traffic light turn red.
“So?”
“He talks to the TV, but won’t even look at me. He doesn’t care, Carrie.”
Christina could hear her sister sigh, and then take another slow gulp. “Come on, Sis. You don’t mean that.”
“Yes I do. It’s true. I told him I can’t get a refund. It’s been way too long now. He snaps his paper again and says, ‘Ah, the Bears won.’
“So?” Her sister’s voice resonated with growing impatience.
“I got upset, Okay? I jammed the needle through the button of his shirt I was mending and pricked my finger. I threw it down, stood up and said, ‘Darn it!’ ‘‘
“Oh, you’ll burn for that one.” Carrie’s tone of voice began to mimic Jeff’s sarcasm.
Christina swatted away the barb. “He didn’t even see what I’d done. He told me to calm down and just go get another pair. A new pair is way too expensive. We can’t swing that right now. Carrie, you know what he did?”
“Tell me. It obviously upset you.”
The light must have turned green. The eighteen wheeler inched up the hill. Christina looked in her side view mirror to see if she could scoot around him. “He puts down the paper and says, ‘Then live with it. Either way, your choice. Then he punched the volume control on the remote—I felt my temper rising with each green notch on the volume bar—and told me, ‘While you’re up, I could use a glass of ice water. Now hush. The show’s coming back on.’
“He said that? What did you do?”
“I got his precious water and slammed it down next to him. I wanted to dump the glass in his lap.” Christina turned on her blinker and swiveled her head. The driver in a white pick-up behind to her left waved her to go ahead. She waved back.
“I’m sorry, sis. Maybe he’d had a bad day?”
“Lately, they all are. I’d had it. I stomped out of the room. I dug my nails so deep into my palms, they still hurt.”
There was silence on the other end. Then her sister’s voice returned. “What happened this morning?”
Christina shifted the cell phone to he
r other ear. “Nothing. I stayed in the bathroom until he’d left.”
“That solved a lot.” The sympathy in her sister’s voice evaporated.
Christina’s ears felt hot. The volcano inside her bubbled. Again. “You just don’t understand. Gotta go.” She flicked off the cell phone and threw it onto the seat. Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
Christina peered through the windshield at the Farm-to-Market road that stretched out ahead. Well, the heck with you, Jeff . . . and the office, and tax season. I’m sick of all of you.
She was tired of being ignored and feeling useless, sick of the day in and day out lifestyle that kept her world trapped in a rut. She was weary of compromising, of swallowing down the hurt and anger time, after time, after time just to avoid conflict and keep the status quo peace. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she flipped on the radio.
A blast from the past selection, Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild” screamed over the airwaves. He sang about getting out on the highway. Convinced the Deejay selected it just for her, she pressed her stocking foot down further on the pedal and locked her elbows. With her head back and the breeze whipping through her collar-length ginger hair, she zipped down the Texas Hill Country back roads, windows down, tunes blaring. The song made Christina feel thirty-five years younger. For the first time in eons, she felt free. Goodbye routine, do-for-everyone-else life.
Her cares swooshed off the back of her car like colored smoke in a wind tunnel experiment. The vibration of the airstream in her ear and the music numbed her brain to everything other than driving. The scenery, once so familiar, zipped by her as she sped around the curves. Mile after mile of wildflower-hugged posts in fenced fields lay ahead, dotted by an occasional oak or clump of mesquite and cedar. No buildings, no traffic lights, no bumper-to-bumper cars.
She slowed to a stop at the end of State Highway 290, and then stared at the mossy colored humps of the Texas Hill Country. They beckoned her. Her deepest and fondest memories, fuzzy and warmed by time, emerged from a cold dark place in her heart. As she inhaled the crisp countryside air, all the city smells left her nostrils. For a brief moment she sat, car idling, arms hunched forward on the steering wheel and breathed in. That is, until she noticed a rusty red Chevy truck growing larger in her rearview mirror.
I wonder how far this tank of gas will get me? Christina flipped on her right blinker, dropped her accelerator foot once more and zoomed ahead down State Highway 281 towards Johnson City . . . and beyond.
* * *
As he drove to work, Jeff pushed away the thought that his wife’s moodiness had anything to do with him. He just couldn’t see it. Women. Go figure.
Maybe last night she’d just been on edge because of work. He certainly had been. Christina worked for an accounting firm and next week the April frenzy would begin. It did seem to be getting her goat more this year. He remembered her whining about someone being out and she doing all the work. Sure, that’s all it was. Besides, he had his own problems and they hadn’t gone away after he locked his office door last night.
As soon as he walked into work, he noticed three people waiting for him, holding papers and quizzical looks. Great way to start the day. He unlocked his door, set his briefcase down, pointed to the apprentice who appeared the most bewildered, and motioned him into the office. “Morning, Jim. Whatcha got?”
“The new stadium addendum. I can’t make heads or tails of it. “
“That’s Bob Weaver’s isn’t it? Did ya call him?”
“Yeah.” The young man shuffled his weight and set the rolled plans down in a chair. “Left a message. Twice. It bids at Two.”
Jeff turned away before his face revealed the headache settling into his left temple. And to think he’d only been there five minutes. Feeling the intern’s eyes at his back, he flipped on the monitor and watched its soft glow filter onto the desk. He ogled the blinking white hourglass telling him cyberspace was coming to life. It mesmerized him for a second or two, draining his brain of the present.
Why had he accepted this management job? Because he was over fifty and that was what a man was supposed to do. It meant he’d climbed the rungs, made a name. Besides, it qualified him for the pension fund. As if he’d ever be able to retire.
A fisted cough broke his trance. Guessing he couldn’t stall much longer, Jeff sat down in the office chair. It creaked back in a slight recline. Two fingers motioned to the antsy eyes of the perplexed youth. “Let’s see it.”
“Yes sir. Thanks.” The kid nearly jumped over the chair in eagerness as he unrolled the plan over Jeff’s keyboard, jostling yesterday afternoon’s leftover coffee in his office mug, its rim stained with a film of coddled milk and caffeine oil. Just Do It! The faded red slogan on the mug yelled in silence.
Through the door Jeff saw the rest of the small pack had hung around. Were they waiting for his expertise or one of the warm bear claws in the bakery box Midge set on the break room table next to the gurgling coffee pot? Probably both. Was he the only one who actually did the work around here?
He wondered, if he got up and left, would he be fired?
Chapter 3 Okay, I’m In
Three hours later Christina stood in a doorway waiting for her eyes to refocus from a cloudless day to the darkened room. The cedar planks of the cabin creaked and groaned, seeming to question the presence of this sudden off-season occupant.
As well it should. Why did I end up here of all places?
Here, where she spent many a summer night listening to the rhythm of her parents’ snores, subconsciously in sync after many years of marriage, float across from the sleeping porch at the other end. Never again. They were both gone now. The strange silence blared in her ears, clashing with her memories of children’s laugher, Big Band music streaming from the old turquoise clock radio, and her dad rocking in his chair. A cold splash surged up her spine and into her tear ducts.
A Blue Jay cawed as it swooped past her. She jolted, which released the screen door she’d been holding open with her backside. Its hinges screeched closed behind her. The vibrating boing of the spring echoed into the room. It seemed as if the house, eager for someone’s return, pushed her inside.
Okay, Okay, I’m in. Christina set her purse on the table and ventured further into the stillness. She crept across the living room into the bedroom where she once slept peacefully as a child, careful not to disturb the past which clung to the dusty walls.
Her reflection in the oval mirror revealed a middle-aged woman with an inkling of gray in her hair. And with deep dark circles under her eyes. Ugh, do I really look that bad? She rubbed them to remove any smudged mascara, a futile attempt.
Christina plopped on the cot and peered at the soot-covered face staring back at her. The sun-faded quilt released a slight musty odor, a familiar fragrance from her childhood. The four-room cabin always held that smell before being aired out each summer, as had been the ritual for almost two-thirds of a century—that is until lately. It had been at least two years since she or anyone else had set foot in this place. Closer to three. She supposed her parent’s void was as painful for Carl or Carrie as it was for her.
A glance at her watch made her gawk. Already 10:25? Her mind held a vague memory of the last few hours. She remembered turning west and calling her sister, who could’ve cared less, about last night. She recalled the wind in her hair and feeling carefree. But what else?
“I could have ended up in a wreck. What on earth was I thinking?” Christina asked out loud to her mirror image.
The reflection didn’t enlighten her. Her brain answered, though. Maneuvering for the last few hours on autopilot, not having to think, but just …doing for once. And it had felt wonderful.
“Okay,” she said to the mirror. “Sure, there’s been times, driving the same route to work and back, day in and day out, I’ve zoned out only to realize I’d traveled several more miles than I thought.” Christina rationalized everyone did that. She often thanked God for taking over the
wheel at those moments. “But never,” she whimpered to her dust-covered twin, “Never for over two hours.”
Was she losing it? Had all those emotions she’d swallowed down finally fermented into an intoxicating madness? There had to be a rational explanation for this conduct. She shook her head as one would a Magic Eight Ball, expecting an answer to float up. It didn’t.
Christina slumped over the edge of the cot, resting her elbows on her knees. She kicked off her two-inch heeled pumps and traced the braided throw rug’s ovals with her stocking toes. A breeze outside rustled through the sapling oaks. It whipped dust particles which gleamed in the sunbeam through a crack in the door. They danced like microscopic fairies above the cedar planks. She could hear the ancient Cyprus trees creak as their limbs rubbed together in the wind.
This summer place always captivated her heart. Not the Federal style two-story residence in the posh, tree-lined neighborhood where she had been raised in San Antonio. Not the ranch- style house in Allensville where she and Jeff had raised Josh and lived for the last twenty-one years. This rustic cabin from her mother’s side of the family, nestled in the Texas Hill Country on a cliff overlooking a languid emerald river is what she’d always thought of as home. It had been a refuge from high society’s scrutiny during her childhood and repose from the ordinary working housewife existence of her adulthood. She realized how much she’d missed being here, perhaps more than she missed her parents.
Like a warmed beach towel just off the clothesline, a feeling of familiarity settled around her, full of edited memories that included only the good times. Not just good times, the best. Not like now.
Hill Country rivers were always cool— visitors said cold— fed by underground springs below the surface beyond the sun’s warmth. On a hot summer day when temperatures could soar into the lower nineties by midmorning, the sixty-eight degree river invigorated the soul. As kids, Christina, Carrie and Carl often washed their hair while swimming. And a cool dip right before bedtime guaranteed a better night’s sleep on sultry summer nights.
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