by Cindy Bokma
I opened my hand and saw a wad of cash. “I have—”
Shaking her head, she refused the money from me. “Let me help you. You never know. Put it somewhere safe.”
I shoved it into my pocket and hugged her tight, thanking her for her generosity. Will kissed and hugged her too, begging for another visit soon.
“Of course you can come back!” Camille said, “Anytime you want.”
“In two days?” Will asked, looking at me expectantly.
“We have plans, you and me.” I laughed but my chest was tight and throat constricted. “Big adventures, remember?”
She offered to drive us into town and I relented, letting her do one last favor. I didn’t know when or where I would see her again. There was no doubt in my mind that if Leo found us, he’d kill me.
I couldn’t take that chance. Staring at the smooth curve of Will’s face, my stomach clenched as I remembered Leo coming at me, his harsh words hitting me like slaps across my face. His voice rose to a deeper pitch with every step he took. I backed away further and further until I cowered in a corner. We had been through this scene before, and as I raised my arms over my face to protect myself, I heard a voice say, Leave him. Protect your son. I would swear that voice belonged to my mother and in that heated moment I received the clarity I needed. I had to leave.
In a black wig and oversized glasses, I attended a domestic abuse meeting but left before it was over, nervous Leo would find out. I went for therapy but had a suspicion that Leo was having me followed; he kept calling every ten minutes asking where I was. In a town where my famous husband knew everyone and everyone knew him, there was no way for me to go places where I would not be recognized.
With Will in the back secured in his car seat, we drove to Torrance where I met with a counselor at a women’s center. She gave me information about shelters and filled me in on the short-term effects of domestic violence on children.
I paced her small office with Will heavy in my arms. He was only a year old, yet as the counselor talked, it wasn’t hard to imagine a future with Leo and his bursts of violent anger. I worried how it would impact our son because there was no doubt it would have negative effects on him.
What would happen if he did finally kill me? Will would be raised by this monster. What kind of man would he become? Or, what if he hurt Will? He often threatened to take our son from me when he got angry. At that time, Will was a baby, but what would happen as he grew older? If Leo lost his temper and did something to him, I’d never forgive myself. How could I raise Will in an environment where we had to walk on eggshells not to spark his father’s rage? I didn’t know how to teach Will not to make him mad, I didn’t know myself. The smallest, most insignificant incident would set him off and start a cascade of outrage I could not stop.
I read something in a domestic abuse brochure about children not hating their abuser, instead hating themselves. Is that what I wanted for Will?
Now in Camille’s car, I grabbed his small, warm hand and gave it squeeze. He was staring out the window but glanced at me and gave me a grin then turned back to the window where he put his face toward the sunshine and closed his eyes. Was he thinking of his father? Wondering where we were going? I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Things were going to be okay, they had to be.
We drove in silence to the center of town, where it was dry and dusty, a change from the lush green of her house and gardens. People buzzed about carrying bags and heading to the Mercado, beggars wandered the streets, and skinny dogs with sharp ribs roamed around hoping to find a scrap of food. Kids in woven leather sandals trailed after their mothers. Saying very little, I thanked my friend one last time before I took my luggage from the trunk and slammed it with a thud. She drove off, waving her hand out the front window, while Will and I remained standing in the warm Mexican sun until the next bus came to take us somewhere new.
Chapter 11
Present
Bus windows down, warm air licked our faces. Will fell asleep with his head in my lap. Tenderly, I pushed back sweaty hair from his forehead. The back of my shirt was drenched, perspiration dripped between my breasts and under my arms. Only a week ago I was driving down Beverly Boulevard in my luxury vehicle with icy air blasting from the air conditioner, wearing a silk wrap dress and leather sandals. What a difference a week made.
I watched the brown landscape blur by as the bus trundled on. Limp palm trees barely swayed with the lazy breeze. There was construction here and there; we frequently passed tired looking men wearing long sleeved shirts and long pants, dabbing at their wet faces with dirty rags and then shoving them into their back pockets. I couldn’t imagine working outside in the heat but if it meant keeping Will and I safe, I was willing to do it.
A recent article online talked about how people moved from farm to farm picking fruit and I imagined myself up before the sun rose, laboring in groves and orchards. If I didn’t have to take care of Will, it would have been an option. But Will, I needed to put him first, to think of how my choices would affect him.
The bus was almost empty; our travel companions were a few elderly men and a middle aged woman reading a newspaper. At the moment, we were safe. No one on the bus recognized me. My mind floated to Juana, a nagging feeling followed me like a shadow but we were hundreds of miles away now and she didn’t know my carefully constructed plans.
Shifting so my head could rest against the window, I let my breath grow measured and relaxed. I fought to stay awake, as my tired eyes begged to close for a minute. There was no reprieve from the heat and the sensation of hot wind reminded me of an air dryer in a public bathroom. When I used to go clubbing with Camille, back when we were trying to be movie stars, we’d go out dancing until we were drenched with sweat and then we’d go into the bathroom, splash our faces with cool water, and dry our hair with the heat of the dryer. I almost laughed at the girl I used to be, the girl who went out and had fun, whose biggest worry was paying the rent. What would that girl think of me now?
Leo sat front and center in my brain. I wished things had been different and that we could have divorced amicably. There were times over the years where I mentioned it, but the very word inspired rage.
“You will never take my son from me,” he screamed during one particular argument, jaw clenched and eyes blazing. “You really want to get lawyers involved, Delia? You know you’d lose in a custody battle. I’d make it so you’d never see your son again.” He laughed that horrible laugh that meant he thought I was an idiot. “You won’t see a penny of my money either,” he added as he walked out of the bedroom and slammed the door so hard that a framed photo fell from my dresser.
I sat on the edge of our huge king sized bed, sobbing, feeling trapped and helpless in my own home. I stayed on that bed for what seemed like hours, until Will called out for me and I gathered my strength to take care of him.
Running away was risky, yes but staying was risky, too. Every time Leo’s hand made contact with my flesh I wondered if that was going to be the last time.
I had been lucky so far, he seemed to know just how far to take things, but what about the next time, the time after that?
Petty arguments escalated into fights where he used physical strength against me. The crack of my head against the countertop was a sound I’d never forget. The dizzy, spinning feeling, the black curtain falling over my eyes as I fainted, waking up on the floor, not knowing how I got there, these were the memories that made me keep going now. I rubbed my eyes and realized I was crying but these were not tears of sadness, they were tears of frustration and anger. Tears of fear and uncertainty.
Surely by now Leo knew we were gone for good. As the bus rumbled on and Will slept, I went through the house, mentally sifting through each room. Had I left anything behind indicating we were never returning? Carefully I assessed every drawer and cabinet.
No, I didn’t leave anything out of place. I made absolute certain that the house was neat as a pin, not even a piece of lint was on the floor when I clos
ed the door behind me.
I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes, the sun started to go down and the bus eased into the last stop for the night. The sky was a dark purple, the lights of the bus stop were neon bright and it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. Taking a deep breath, the air was thick and heavy like soup. I twisted and turned, attempting to rid my back of the knots from sitting so long.
Will rubbed his eyes with his fists and whined about his stomach being empty. It must have been five hours since we ate.
“We’ll get dinner soon, I promise,” I said, as the driver pulled our bags out from storage.
I asked the bus driver where to find a hotel and as he wiped his brow with a red bandana, he told me where to go, motioning with his hands, pointing down the road.
“Can’t we go back to Camille’s house? I want a drink . . . I want to eat . . . Mom, it’s so hot! I want a pool . . . where’s my iPad? I want to watch Planet Earth. Where is it?” He went on and on, asking me questions and complaining, his voice turning whiny
“I know, baby, I know it’s hot. We’ll find a place to stay for the night and we’ll get some food, okay?”
“I don’t wanna walk . . . ,” he cried, slumping his shoulders forward like an old man.
“Sorry buddy, we’ve got a short walk then we can get some food. You can do it. My boy is so big and strong.” I tried to smile but even my lips were tired.
Following the bus driver’s directions, we walked six long blocks along the dusty road. I carried the suitcases while Will pulled the fourth, his backpack cumbersome on his small back. We passed trinket shops and silver stores, and stopped at a convenience store where I bought two ice cold waters and a couple of bananas.
The hotel sat in front of us, reminding me of Aunt Priscilla’s squat house. Single story stucco, partially white with yellow patches from dirt and time.
Inside, we were greeted by a woman standing behind a counter. Her black hair was twisted into a bun on top of her head. She dabbed at her forehead with a crumpled tissue. The air smelled lightly of old cigarette smoke. A portable green fan lazily circulated the stale air. We communicated in half Spanish and half English then she pushed a silver key affixed with a plastic orange oval across the counter to me.
When I pushed open the door to our room, we were greeted with stale air. Will crinkled his nose.
“Smells bad in here,” he said, dropping his backpack. “Daddy wouldn’t like it.”
I paused. Should I have a talk with him now, about all this? No, not now.
“Just think of all the crazy things you can tell your friends later, huh?” Will was used to luxury accommodations thanks to Leo’s desire to stay in five star hotels and resorts.
As I settled us in, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a place I stayed with my parents and brother when I was a kid, not much older than Will. We had taken a road trip to Disneyworld and stayed outside of the park in a small motel. It was nothing fancy, two double beds with a tiny bathroom and an air conditioning unit in the window that hummed and rattled as we slept. David and I swam in the turquoise pool then my dad brought us fast food for dinner. We talked of nothing else but our excitement about going to Disneyworld the next day. I remember the anticipation was almost as fun as the actual visit. I was thrilled to be somewhere exotic like Florida and the single story motel was a novelty. Maybe someday Will would look back on this trip fondly.
“It’s only for a few nights.” I remember my mother saying as she glanced at my father. David began to jump on the bed and as he jumped, there was a loud noise and the bed collapsed. It looked like a sinkhole.
We stared at each other in silence for a few seconds and then we burst into laughter. I was young at the time and cannot recall what happened next but this room where I now stood with my son, brought me back to that very place and I wished once again that my parents were alive.
“Well”—I turned to Will, who perched on the corner of the bed tearing the label off the water bottle—“what do you think? Looks cool for now, huh?” I smiled and he offered a scowl.
“Can we go back to Camille’s? I liked it there. When are we going back?” He scratched his head and his hair stood up on end thanks to dirt and sweat. He needed a shower and so did I. Weariness settled in my bones and I longed for some yoga, a massage. I knew as I planned for this time that I’d have a strict budget and there was no room for luxuries.
“It’s going to be fun, I promise.” I busied myself fussing with the suitcases, opening them and pulling out our toothbrushes and soap. In the bathroom, I vigorously scrubbed my face, which felt layered with grease and grime. My stomach was queasy from the bus ride and nerves. I still anticipated an angry knock on the door at any minute and as I reached to grab my purse, my hands shook. Unreasonable, but the fear remained. I hoped Will didn’t notice how shaky I was. “Do they have room service?” Will asked. Truly my son was spoiled. I rolled my eyes. Welcome to real life, kid.
“No, but as soon as you go to the bathroom and wash your hands, we can find a place to eat.”
The closest restaurant was only a half a block from the motel, a dimly lit diner with a limited menu, typed out in both Spanish and English. A Frida Kahlo painting and a few ornate crosses hung on the walls. Other than that, it was simple and bare. The tables were aged, the wood well-worn and buckled in places, and the chairs had clearly been sat in for years. How different it was from the ante comedor or breakfast room that we sat in for our meals at Camille’s home. Here there was no saltillo serape used as a floor mat or fresh fruit in Talavera bowls or fancy blue tiles.
I ordered a burrito for Will and enchiladas for myself. Our food was served by a young girl, a teenager with a pretty face and big, dark eyes.
“You’re weak,” Leo said it so much I began to think it was true. I pushed away the thoughts and watched Will eat. As he dipped a chip into a bowl of salsa, he smiled at me, pieces of cilantro in his teeth. I laughed.
“I love this.” He munched on his chips and smiled with his mouth full.
He looked so much like his father, it was going to be impossible to look at my son and not see him.
Though we sat in the back of the restaurant which was practically empty, I looked over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but feel like I was being watched and the thought someone had their eyes on me made my stomach flip flop. I nibbled at a chip as my gaze met that of our waitress who stared at us. Did she recognize me? Was there an alert out for a mother and son? I quickly looked down at my lap.
Pulling my hat further down, I sunk into my seat. I let Will order flan and I tried to make small talk as he finished his dessert.
“What should we do tomorrow?” I fiddled around with my knife and fork as he ate his dessert. In the knife I saw a sliver of my reflection. I looked exhausted. Purple circles under my eyes made me look years older.
He shrugged his little shoulders, and then his eyes brightened. “I know! Can we go to the beach? Can we swim?” he pleaded. “It’s so hot here. Please Mom.”
“What a great idea. Let’s plan on that for tomorrow. The beach sounds perfect.” I pushed away my half eaten enchilada as a burning sensation filled my throat. Heartburn. Sipping water did nothing to help the sensation.
As I waited to pay the check, I traced my finger up and down my sweating water glass, letting my thoughts wander. Will was telling me about what he last saw on Planet Earth, something about deer and Borneo, and I smiled and nodded, but my thoughts were not on wild animals. I asked myself over and over again if I made the right decision by escaping. Escaping a beautiful life with all the conveniences and luxuries that came with being the wife of a movie executive, people would think I was crazy to leave.
If they only knew what went on behind closed doors. If my friends saw Leo’s flaring temper, if they experienced the heat of his open palm as it connected with my cheek, the rage behind eyes as sharp and gray as a knife. . . then they’d understand why I was sitting at a restaurant in the middle of a town in Mexi
co wearing a hat and hiding.
I thought about my so-called friends; the superficial acquaintances whose interests circled around gossip and materialism. Who had more? Who had the best? Who was prettiest? Whose husband made more money? Who was having plastic surgery this month—Botox and collagen, liposuction, and implants? Whose movie made what at the box office? I couldn’t handle it. At home with Will, reading or knitting or baking, that was where I wanted to spend my time, not out at fancy parties or events.
When I told Leo that I wanted to move to a small town somewhere and raise Will like a normal kid he laughed.
“Normal? You’ve said a lot of stupid things Delia, but come on. Do you know how many people want your life?” Leo cocked his head to the side and sneered. “You don't think before you speak. You should try that some time.”
Take away the designer outfits, the clothes from Neiman Marcus and Barneys, the custom designed gowns worn to fancy parties, and I would be content if all I had was a good, kind man to love me and my son. At one point, I thought he was, but now I see he was abusive. Controlling from the start.
My thoughts were interrupted by the waitress who dropped the check on the table and began to clear our dishes. I tuned back to Will, who was now filling me in on something called a vampire squid. Looking at his sweet little face, I knew I made the right choice. I just needed to pray that that no one would find us.
The heat of the sun beat down on us as soon as we stepped outside; I was more than happy to take Will to the beach where I hoped the air would be a little cooler. We walked along the dusty road, getting sprayed with gravel and pebbles every time a car or truck whizzed by. Liberated with my shorter hair, I liked the breeze on my neck. When I removed my ball cap yesterday, Will’s eyes grew large and round.
“Mom! Where’s your hair?” He blinked up at me in confusion. He only ever knew me with long hair. I could only imagine Leo’s reaction. Anytime I made the slightest change in my appearance without his approval, Leo grew irritated. “Never change anything without checking with me first,” he’d growl. On more than one occasion he slapped my cheek to “help me remember.” I refused to call up any more memories. Leo wasn’t here to chide me over the choices I made and that feeling filled me with a sliver of joy.