by Cindy Bokma
The wind picked up outside, blowing the shutters against the house with a crash and a bang. The trees shook with forceful gusts and a chair blew across the patio. I jumped a little, nervous.
“Let me guess. No going out for ice cream?” Will whined, padding back into the dining room holding his iPad. He was watching Planet Earth, which I thought was educational. Maybe his father would approve. But of course, he wasn’t here. It would take a while to stop thinking about him, imagining his reactions to every little thing I said and did.
“Uh oh. We’re in for a storm tonight.” Camille rubbed her hands together. “Good thing there's ice cream here.” She winked at Will. “I’ll go see which flavors we have. I’m sure we can find something you’ll like.”
Will turned to me and asked again about his father. “Is he coming?” He tilted his head. “When can we go home?”
“We’re not going to see daddy for a little while. I’m sorry you miss him honey.”
He thought for a moment, pursing his lips and looking off to the side which he did when his mind churned. “Well, I don’t miss him yelling at me,” he said cheerfully, “Or him yelling at you. Or slamming doors”. He shrugged his small shoulders. My heart cracked into a million pieces as his lips tugged into a frown. Then he perked up.
“I’m going to watch Planet Earth.”
“Okay,” I murmured. Though I had been obsessing about running away with Will for a long time, actually doing it was scary. I folded my hands and sat at the table, watching the leaves blow in the harsh wind.
I did what I had to do.
Was it wrong?
I didn’t have a choice. Could we have worked things out?
A few times, I donned a wig and headed incognito to a meeting for victims of domestic abuse. I sat on a folding chair, my whole body thrumming like a tuning fork, worried that he would burst in and drag me out. I found comfort in listening to the other women in the meeting and didn’t feel quite so alone in those moments. One woman said, “Violence against you is affecting and damaging your children.” I couldn’t stop thinking about those words. The words of my loving husband echoed in those moments, “You’ll never leave me.”
Once we were getting ready for an awards ceremony, last minute stuff in our enormous bathroom. He looked so handsome in his black tux, but the expression on his face was ugly. My memories were jumbled and I couldn’t think back to what I did to make him lose his temper that night but I can still feel the cold smack of his hand against my cheek.
“Well.” He looked down, attaching cuff links to his sleeves before looking up at his face in the mirror, smoothing his dark hair. “Don’t even think about leaving. You’ll have nothing and I’ll make sure you never see Will again.” He paused, still staring at his image in the mirror smiling. “It’s a shame how you’ve become so addicted to those anti-anxiety pills. You’re practically a drug addict. How terrible to lose your only son due to an inability to deal with stress.”
“You know that’s not true,” I whispered.
“I’m not the villain,” he said with a shrug, “You drive me to act out. If you do what I ask, we wouldn’t have these problems.”
Clutching my cheek, I looked at him. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“I’ll give everyone your regards. Last minute food poisoning. Must have been some bad shrimp.” He pivoted on his expensive leather shoes, leaving me on the floor, wilted like a dead flower.
We had good times too, which is what kept me with him. But why were those memories so hard to think about? Why was it only the bad stuff that I remembered?
Now in Mexico, we were safe and that’s what I had to focus on. That evening, a storm erupted in the sky. Thunder and lightning kept me wide awake and panicked. Again, I went into Will’s room in case he woke up afraid. If Camille noticed my bed was not slept in, she didn’t say anything.
Will slept fitfully as I laid next to him, watching him sleep. I must have drifted off at some point because when I opened my eyes, the tangerine sun was beginning to rise. Slivers of light fell in strips across the floor.
I slipped from the bed and started packing my bags. It was time to go. Camille’s husband would be home later in the afternoon and I didn’t feel like answering questions. I asked Camille not to mention that we had been here if anyone started poking around.
Will thought it was a fun adventure to be in Mexico. I promised him we would rent some snorkeling gear and swim in the ocean soon. I planned on traveling a little bit and stopping at a hotel as we approached the border near Texas.
Our trip was mapped and planned, but I didn’t know exactly how everything would play out. Part of me experienced a sense of guilt for taking him out of school and away from his friends and routine, yet the other part of me needed to protect him and myself.
My goal was to be settled within the next couple of weeks. We couldn’t be on the run forever. Eventually we would set up house in a small town far away from Hollywood or Beverly Hills. I knew the place from when my parents brought David and I there as kids on the way to a wedding in Maine. It stood out in my mind as a peaceful place. I remembered the boats in the harbor, the rugged coastline. It would be the perfect town to start over.
I slipped into the shower, letting the hot water massage my back. Surely by now he discovered we were gone and with each passing hour his closeness edged in on me.
I lathered up a thick washcloth with citrus soap and then I washed my hair with lemon shampoo. Standing under the hot mist of water, I let it all rinse down the drain. I prayed Leo would let us live alone in peace. But I knew him too well. When did he ever leave me alone?
After a breakfast of fresh fruit and chewy brown bread, I told Camille we needed to leave. From the corner of my eye, I saw Juana watching me. Or was I imagining it? I angled my body away and turned to Camille.
“I appreciate everything, thank you.”
“Oh, don’t leave. Stay another day, I want you to see Joe.” she insisted, knitting her hands together.
“No, no, we need be on our way. Really, Camille, thank you so much for letting us stay here. I appreciate it more than you know.” I gulped the last of my bitter coffee from a green mug.
“I don’t want to leave! Miss Camille promised she would take me to the market. She said there are all kinds of things to see and I want to see them.” Will whined. His face was tan; he had gotten a lot of sun in it from swimming in the pool for the last three days. As always, when I looked at Will, I saw traces of his father and a stab of guilt pierced my heart.
“Will, don’t whine. And we’ll find other cool places to visit.” I looked at him sternly.
Camille offered to take Will to the Mercado while I finished packing. “You can be on the road by lunchtime,” she promised as Will nodded.
I relented and let her take Will. He scrambled away from the table to go brush his teeth while she went to get her purse and keys. I poured more coffee and sat back down, thinking. So many things weighed on my mind and there was tightness in my neck and shoulders that I couldn’t get rid of no matter how many yoga poses I did.
She came out of her bedroom dressed in a flowing pink dress, the fabric loose. Around her neck she wore a silver necklace which she informed me, was one of her designs. Aside from all her painting, she was dabbling in jewelry designing. Her small business was doing quite well and she mentioned something about opening up a store within the next few months. Maybe I could find something I was good at and make a living at it. I’d have to work when we settled down.
“Okay. Let’s go.” She ruffled Will’s hair and blew me a kiss goodbye. “I promise to be home within two hours.”
I grabbed Will and kissed his warm, sweet hair and said goodbye. As soon as they left, I went upstairs to pack, which didn’t take long. When I finished, I looked at my watch; I had time to spare until they would be home.
Sitting on the couch, I turned on the television and scanned the channels, everything was in Spanish. I watched a few mi
nutes of several soap operas and a music video, nothing good. Then I hit on something. The news.
I half expected Leo to appear and my palms began sweating in anticipation. I watched, waiting for his handsome face to fill the screen. We were now gone long enough for him to figure out we weren’t coming back, and it was only a matter of time before our faces were plastered all over the television. Since we were in Mexico, I was fairly certain news of a missing woman in the United States wouldn’t be covered, but how could I know for sure? Biting my nails, I watched the female reporter as she spoke into the camera, waiting to hear my name.
As I watched, my body went numb as if I were naked in the freezing cold instead of in a warm home. I realized I was holding my breath. Since we left California, I hadn’t taken my anxiety tablets with me. I didn’t want to rely on them. Those amber colored bottles sat in my medicine cabinet back in Beverly Hills, but I needed one now. How was I going to do this? Did I make a huge mistake? If he found me...I couldn’t let myself to even consider that might happen. Blood rushed in my ears as I attempted to calm myself. Breathe in and out, allow my thoughts to float by, imagine a safe place. I used all the tricks I learned from my therapist.
I turned the television off and ran upstairs, taking two steps at a time. From a distance, I heard the hum of Juana’s vacuum, but I didn’t have time to worry about her now. My hands shook as I rifled through the medicine cabinet. I found a pair of small scissors and without thinking it through, I began hacking off my hair, heart pounding in my chest, daring to break out of my rib cage. With each hack of the blade, my breathing began to slow and I regained a sense of control.
Long, thick wisps of waves filled the sink. For the past few years, my hair was my crowning glory. Leo loved my hair, running his fingers through it whenever he could, sometimes yanking it when he was blind with rage. Now my expensive highlights lay in the sink, looking like a discarded wig.
With my hands on the counter, I leaned over and stared at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognized myself, my eyes were wild, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair chopped to my shoulders.
I looked different, sharper. At some point I’d dye my hair so it was no longer the buttery shade my husband preferred.
Cleaning up, I wrapped the mess in a plastic bag and threw it in the garbage can. Gathering my hair in a low pony tail, I put on a ball cap. Dressed in a navy blue tee shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes I looked like an average mother. There was nothing calling attention to myself. Hopefully, I would blend in wherever I went. If people were going to start looking for me, I hoped they would look for someone dressed in designer clothes, staying in luxury hotels, ordering five star meals and champagne. No one would look twice at a plainly dressed lady toting old suitcases. Without cosmetics adorning my face and my signature golden hair, I looked very different than what the magazines and television portrayed.
My husband loved being the center of attention, but I shied away from events where the media would be with their microphones and cameras and bright lights. At first it was fun, like playing dress up. Then I began to tire of it. I couldn’t simply put on a nice dress and go, there was a whole production involved because Leo wanted his vision executed down to the smallest detail. It was draining.
A whole crew was called in to style my hair, buff and paint my nails, and carefully apply my makeup which had been chosen to match the dress. There was a stylist plus an assistant to pick out not only the dress, but the jewelry, handbag, and shoes.
The result was a perfectly polished version of me which I never recognized in photos online or in the pages of magazines.
Every season, he hired a fleet of stylists to shop for me. Tailors came to the house to fit the clothes to my exact measurements. I didn’t care about all of that. I wanted to be left alone to be in the garden, to plant and weed and get dirty and feel the earth in my hands just as my own mother when I was growing up. After about a year of the stylist and makeup artist routine, I no longer cared about fancy clothes and manicures. As the wife of a Hollywood director, however, I had to appear well-kept and sophisticated and Leo didn’t trust me left to my own devices. How would he be perceived if his wife wasn’t absolutely perfect in every way?
I remembered one particular event from years ago, the Golden Globes. He was nominated for Best Director. He was so concerned with my appearance that special diet meals were ordered for two months leading up to the event and he made certain I ate only what was designed for me. A personal trainer came in one month before the big night to whip me into shape then reported back to Leo about my progress. I was fitted for a special gown with hand sewn beads and imported lace, hair and makeup was done by an artist who made house calls to the tune of a thousand dollars an hour. When the transformation was complete, we headed out the door, and he grabbed my arm, digging his short, sharp nails into my flesh.
“Let’s go over this one more time.”
“What?” My hands went clammy and my knees turned into jelly as his eyes dug into mine. He leaned so close that I smelled the mint of his mouthwash.
“You know the rules, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“Tell them to me. I want to hear you say it.”
I swallowed, my face flushing, embarrassed.
“Don’t talk, smile. Don’t approach anyone,” I said.
He nodded. “Reporters will be on the red carpet calling out to me. You don’t need to answer, stand there and look pretty. Just like all the other times.” He relaxed his grip but only a little. He knew how to grab me in order to not leave bruises.
I nodded. We had been through this before but I was extra nervous this time.
Maybe it was luck that I tripped on the way to the limo and ripped the dress, ruining both my outfit and the night.
“It figures you’d find a way to sabotage my evening.” Leo barked, grabbing a handful of fabric and examining the newly ripped ends, shaking his head in disgust.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, staring down at my beautiful gown. “I can put on another dress. I’ll be quick. The black one you bought me, from Paris. I’ll wear that.” I forced a smile.
“You’re always sorry, aren’t you?” His lip curled as he dropped the dress. “Stay home; I’ll bring you a treat," here he paused. "Like a dog.”
He marched me back to the front door, and steered me inside. With a look of repulsion, he slammed the door and I jumped from the reverberating noise. Rooted in place, hand to my stomach, my heart raced. After a few minutes, I found the pure silence comforting.
Upstairs, I stood in my closet, changing into sweats. I was happy he was gone. I should be angry that he left me behind, or anything but happy. But, I was not really happy, was I? I blinked back tears, they burned my eyes. I was miserable, and the fact that this was my life and I was only able to be myself when I was alone sent a sharp pain to my chest. I should've hated him, but I didn’t know how. It was easier to pretend, and I ended up hating myself for it instead.
Now in Camille’s bathroom, those memories are pushed aside as I admire my new look. This was different from dressing in the latest styles, how Leo preferred me. The ball cap hid my face and with sunglasses, no one would tell I was Delia Kubias. I worried about Will, would he stand out? I had a hat for him and plain clothes. I hoped we’d simply blend in. Who would question a mother with her son?
I waited downstairs for Will and Camille to return from their shopping trip. Though I trusted my friend, a nagging voice inside my head told me I shouldn’t have let my son go with her.
It was a warm day; the sun was a citron ball of brightness in the clear blue sky. Sunlight poured in through the large panels of purple stained glass and turned my skin lavender. The scent of oranges and lemons wafted through the open windows and the overhead fans lazily spun around but this did nothing to settle the undercurrent of nerves that cursed throughout my body. I heard Juana’s off-key singing upstairs which normally would have made me chuckle but now it set me on edge.
I checked
my watch every few minutes, pacing back and forth in the driveway. Where were they? I started biting my nails; a nervous habit that Leo said was revolting. Every time he caught me biting my hails, he slapped my hand away from my face.
Finally, Camille’s car pulled up and Will jumped out, running toward me with his hands open, showing me what treasures he got.
“Look! Look!” he cried, showing me little wooden turtles with bobbing heads. They were tiny, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. “And this, too.” In his other hand, he held a wooden snake, long and curling.
“Did you let Camille buy all of that for you?” I asked, kissing his cheek. I couldn’t get enough of him. I loved him so much, I loved everything about him. I never know how fierce a mother’s love could be until I had Will.
Camille walked up, her arms full of bags. I could see the pale green tops of romaine lettuce poking out. “We had so much fun at the market. I couldn’t resist buying him some little mementos of his time in Mexico,” she said with a grin. “Are you leaving now? Are you sure you can’t stay?”
“No, we have to go,” I said firmly. I wanted to stay in this lovely home with the gorgeous plants and blue tiles and terra cotta plants with red geraniums. I wanted to stay and eat the wonderful meals Juana prepared, and sleep on the clean white sheets under a spinning fan. I longed to wake to sunshine spilling in over the hard wood floors and lounge by the shimmery blue tiled pool, but I couldn’t.
I thanked Camille and kissed her silky cheek, smelling her rose scented hair. She looked at me, holding both of my hands in hers. A quick glance down at my wrists told me she was still thinking of how I got the bruises. I pulled my hands away and yanked my sleeves down.
“Be careful. Call me if you need anything.” Then she reached into her woven purse and pressed something into my hand. “Take it.” she commanded, her eyes flashing.