by Jen Waite
He had been afraid that he would have trouble staying awake and so he pulled into the first rest stop off the highway and bought an old-fashioned bottle of Coke. He needn’t have worried, though. Even without the caffeine, adrenaline was coursing through his veins at what he was about to do. He drove straight from ten p.m. until morning. Around eight a.m., he pulled slowly off the highway into a little town in Ohio. He chose randomly. It didn’t matter what town or what state because all towns had schools. It wasn’t fair for him to spend his whole life living in gray. It wasn’t his fault that he was born the way he was born (and it definitely was nature, not nurture, as the court psychologist hinted in his questions before the sentencing: “Were there any times your parents touched you in ways that made you uncomfortable?”). The truth was, he had had a nice childhood, and his parents had done everything right. His mom read him bedtime stories, told him he was special, held his hand in parking lots, helped him with his homework at night. His father never made much of an effort, but he’d never hit him, never screamed at him—the only time his father had raised his voice was when the boy got sent home from school for that essay he wrote and, well, that was understandable. That was also around the time his dad switched from beer to hard liquor at night. He tried to feel a connection, or an attachment at least, to his parents; sometimes he sat on his bed and closed his eyes and imagined them dead. Feel something, he told himself. He imagined his parents lying on the side of the road, bodies twisted, glass from the windshield of their car sprinkled in their hair, and he felt about the same as when his favorite cereal ran out. People were born all kinds of ways, but even as a boy he knew his feelings weren’t “normal” and he also knew, by the time he was sixteen, that they weren’t going away.
He worried that it was too late, that everyone would be in homeroom by now—his own school day started at 8:05 a.m., and most kids were already seated, ready to raise their hands for attendance at eight a.m. But as he pulled into the parking lot, he saw another car pull in, careening around a corner and slamming into the last parking space at the far end of the lot. If it was a boy, obviously he would have to keep searching, but the driver’s-side door opened and out stepped a girl, short and chubby with dark hair. If her backpack is red or blue, I’ll keep looking, he told himself. That was fair, those were decent odds. She ran to the passenger side of her car, threw the door open, and slung a backpack over her shoulder. Green. He drove to the road that separated the parking lot from the school and put the car right in the girl’s path as she crossed. He rolled down his window. “Is this the high school?”
The girl slowed her pace and peered into the window, taking in his unfamiliar face. “Yeah. Are you new here?”
“Yeah. My family just moved to town from Chicago.”
“Chicago? That’s so cool.” She laughed, though he didn’t know why. “I’m Julia. I’m a junior.” She laughed again. “Sorry, I don’t know why I told you I’m a junior. I go to school here.” The way she smiled when she apologized made her look much younger than a junior in high school. He would have pegged her for a freshman.
“Do you think you could get in and show me where to park? This lot is full.”
The girl hesitated. It was almost 8:05 a.m. The boy bet that Julia, with her nervous laughter and desire to please, was not the type to be late to homeroom. He put a half-smile on his face and forced himself to look her in the eye. “Come on. You can tell the principal that you were showing the new kid around. That it was your civic duty.” At this, the girl relented, seemed excited even, to be chosen for this task. It wasn’t until he left the parking lot and turned down an empty side street that she started to fidget and laughed again. “Where are you going?” When he stopped on the side of the road and told her to get into the back seat, she did. He thought maybe he’d have to force her, pull her hair or something, but he didn’t have to; she just silently climbed over the center console into the back seat. In fact, even during it, she didn’t really scream, which surprised him. She bit him when he put his hand over her mouth, but even after he took his hand away, bleeding, she didn’t scream or yell. Only quiet crying, the whole time. When he was finished he told her to get in the passenger seat again.
It wasn’t until after he dropped her off at the school that he noticed she had completely ruined his dad’s car. The blood had soaked right through her jeans, pooling in the fake leather seat. He turned away and kept his eyes on the road ahead, but the smell wafted into his nostrils and made him gag. From the school, he drove to a deli in the small town center and ate a sandwich and waited.
He rubbed the memory out of his mind and moved his eyes back to the girl in the cabin, got up from his crouched position, and moved slowly across the room.
THE CABIN
ANNE
“Not awake yet,” it was between a question and a statement. The man stood right in front of them, staring at Thea. Anne kept her eyes low as the man bent down and picked up a few strands of her daughter’s hair, rubbing them between his thumb and pointer finger. She moved her eyes to his hands but stayed as still as possible. “Julia,” the name came out in a whisper. Anne jerked her head up to his face. The man’s eyes stayed on Thea, and Anne watched his face contort. She read something like regret, maybe even sadness, in his eyes. She didn’t realize that she was holding her breath until he stood up abruptly. He walked across the room and this time, instead of pacing, he slumped down against the front door. He kept the gun in his right hand, resting on his knee.
“Excuse me.” Her mother’s tone caught them both off guard for the second time. “I have to use the bathroom.” Rose wrung her hands. “I am going to have an accident.” She spoke as if she was a schoolchild, waiting for the bell to ring.
“Just go,” grunted the man.
“Sir, we’re not animals,” she said, almost chidingly. “I’d really rather not sit in pee, and I don’t think it would be pleasant for anyone else, either, considering how small this room is.”
Nice try, Mom, Anne thought. The man didn’t care whether or not the cabin smelt of piss.
He grunted again. Tapped the gun against his leg. Ran his eyes over Rose’s plump sixty-five-year-old body. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Anne erased the surprise from her eyes and stared blankly as the man came to get Rose. He took her mother’s arm roughly and pulled her to a standing position. She met her mother’s eyes for one second and Rose looked at her hard. She didn’t have time to figure out what her mother wanted her to do before they were out the door. She heard Rose take a few steps off the deck, but the man stayed close to the cabin door and said loudly, “I have my gun on you. Hurry it up.”
Anne was already wasting time. Her heart beat in her chest. She whispered her daughter’s name several times and ran her fingers across Thea’s face. Nothing. Though it seemed like hours ago, it had been only a handful of minutes since Thea and the man collided; Anne was not going to panic yet, Thea could still wake up on her own. She gently shrugged Thea out of her arms and placed her daughter carefully on the floor. She couldn’t make too much noise—if she could hear him out on the deck, then he could hear her inside. She scanned the cabin quickly. The sun was almost fully set and her eyes strained against the shadows. She heard a clicking sound and spun around, peering into the dark corners of the cabin, before realizing the sound was coming from her teeth. She bit down hard, pressing her molars together, and the chattering stopped. She stood up slowly and moved to the closest window. Ran her fingers along the ledge. Nothing. She kept moving, scanning the floor for rocks. There was only grit and small pebbles from the hundreds of boots that must have walked the floor over the years. Shit. Time was running out and she had accomplished nothing. She heard the man say, “Hurry the fuck up, lady,” right as her eyes landed on one of the wooden chairs. It was across the room. Anne didn’t know if she had enough time, but she was already moving quickly, squinting her eyes as her boots crunched over the dirt on the floor.
She squatted down in front of the chair. One of the bottom pegs, connecting the legs, hung loose and had almost snapped in two. She thought she could snap it the rest of the way but it would certainly make a sound. “Oops!” she heard Rose exclaim outside and then a thud. She heard him muttering “God fucking dammit” and used their voices to mask the noise of stepping on the piece of hanging wood and pulling. Her fingers were numb and she couldn’t feel the wood but she kept pulling. A chunk broke off and she shoved the wood, sharp point up, into her boot. She heard the man grumbling, dragging Rose up the steps; their boots against the old wood stairs made loud scraping sounds. She took large, quiet steps back to Thea. Her head was light with adrenaline. She had just pulled her daughter back into her arms and shut her eyes when the door opened. She kept her eyes shut tight as she felt her mother slide down beside her. She forced her breaths in and out of her nose evenly.
Anne opened her eyes. The man stared at her. She stared back. The wood rubbed against her calf. She waited until his head was bent between his knees before she stole a glance at her mother. She talked to Rose with her eyes. I’m ready, she said.
THIRTEEN YEARS
BEFORE THE CABIN
ANNE
It was early May, right before Anne found out she was pregnant, the days were warm and the nights felt hours longer than they had in March and April. Ethan was in the office until after dinner most nights, arriving home around nine p.m. or later—Anne already tucked into bed with a book—but that was normal, the way it had been since Anne quit her job three months after the wedding. What wasn’t normal were the angry outbursts and snide remarks that had seeped into their interactions over the past few months. He had been the one to convince her to quit her job at the law firm, saying nothing would make him happier than to support her while she figured out what she really wanted to do.
“And if that turns out to be lying in bed with you, drinking coffee?” she’d joked (half joked) the Saturday morning he’d brought it up.
“Then I say . . . lean in,” he’d responded and kissed her neck. “Seriously, babe, I make more than enough money to support us and it would make me happy to come home to a happy wife, instead of a miserable, grumbling monster.”
Anne had burst out laughing and climbed on top of him. “I’ll show you a monster.”
So, she’d done it—she’d quit the law firm. Why not take a few months, or a year, to figure out what she really wanted to do? And in the meantime, she could spend more time with Ethan, cook in her new kitchen, decorate, do all the grown-up things that were suddenly a part of her life. But over the past month—or was it the past several months?—something had changed in her marriage. She couldn’t pinpoint when, but Ethan stopped kissing her when he got home from work, instead throwing out a quick “Howwasyourday?” before jumping in the shower. Rather than telling her in detail about his meetings, he’d turn on the television. “I just need to zone out, babe.”
It was a phase, obviously. Her husband was stressed and on edge because of work, but unlike in the past when their relationship seemed to be his respite from a stressful workday, suddenly everything she did and said made it worse. She couldn’t figure out how to make herself into the person she had been when she made him happy. First, she tried to do more, to be more funny and more talkative and more affectionate. Then she tried to be less, like a pleasant shade of soft gray blending into the walls.
It all started because she had gone to Whole Foods and spent two hundred dollars on groceries. Ethan had never cared, had never even noticed before when she bought the groceries, but she didn’t realize that his company hadn’t been doing as well and he was worried about their finances. When he saw the Whole Foods bags, he asked her to show him the receipt. She told him that she’d already thrown out the receipt but that the groceries came to around two hundred dollars. She didn’t think anything of it at the time, because they’d never been on a budget before.
“You spent two hundred dollars on groceries for two people?” Ethan laughed.
Anne laughed back. “Well, Whole Foods is expensive, but I got the normal stuff.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice changed. “Two hundred dollars for two people,” he repeated. “Return it.”
“What? I can’t return—”
“Those groceries need to be out of this house tomorrow.”
They argued until her husband screamed, “Goddammit, Anne, I’m sick of this shit. Do you even realize how entitled and spoiled you are?”
She walked into Whole Foods the next day, carrying two bags overflowing with food; her face sweaty and hot, her arms burning. She told the manager she hadn’t remembered that her husband had done the grocery shopping the day before. Silly me, so forgetful. The manager was gracious, looking down when she had to brush away tears and wipe her nose on her sleeve.
“So sorry, I’ve just been spacey lately,” she said as he credited the two hundred dollars back to her credit card.
After that, Anne learned to read Ethan’s energy as soon as he walked into a room. There was the fun, brilliant, kind man she had walked with for miles on their first date, and then there was this second Ethan, the on-edge Ethan, the one she learned to be careful with—but he was temporary, a creation of circumstance. He’d only materialized for the first time in the past few months, since they had married, in fact, so he couldn’t be an actual part of her husband; she was certain he would disappear completely once things at work settled down. She truly believed this.
The last time they’d gone out—an effort to get Ethan out of his work-TV-bed routine—they’d met Lana and Steve at the same Lower East Side bar where Anne had introduced Ethan to her friend more than a year ago. This time, Ethan texted Anne, saying he’d been held up at work and he’d meet her there. When she arrived, she found Lana and Steve cuddled up on a couch near the back of the room. Anne greeted her friends, mentioning that Ethan would be joining them from work, and then went back to the bar for a drink. After she had grabbed her drink and left her credit card with the bartender, she sank down onto the couch next to Lana. It felt good to be out with her friends solo. She listened to Lana go on about her first art exhibit the following week. Lana’s paintings (gorgeous, vibrant colors splattered across huge canvases—the opposite of her somber personality) were being shown at a small, hip gallery downtown.
“It’s a big deal,” Lana acknowledged flatly. “I’m excited.”
“This is huge. I’m so proud of you.” Anne grinned; she knew that her friend had worked for years for an opportunity like this. “I promise that I will be the first one in the door and the last one out. Actually, hold on.” She downed the rest of her whiskey and ginger ale in one gulp. “We’re taking shots to celebrate.”
“Yes, tequila!” Steve yelled as Lana smiled the tiniest bit in approval.
Anne put three shots of tequila on her tab and moved back through the crowd to the couch, balancing the three shot glasses between her fingers. The smell wafted up and burned her nostrils and her body felt loose from the strong cocktail she’d downed a moment ago.
“To Lana,” Anne declared. “A star will be born next week,” and the three of them carefully clinked their shot glasses together and then poured the liquid back. The alcohol, smoky and sweet, ran down Anne’s throat and she closed her eyes as it made its way to her stomach. When she opened them, Ethan stood before her, watching her with an amused expression.
“Babe! You’re here!” Anne threw herself into her husband’s arms. “We’re celebrating Lana’s gallery showing next week.” She kept her voice elevated, happy; she couldn’t force her husband to have fun, but she could at least set the tone.
“Oh, congrats.” Ethan gave Lana a quick peck on the cheek and shook Steve’s hand hello. “Next round is on me,” he said with a wink, and Anne relaxed and let out a breath. Over the next couple of hours, Anne sat with her back touching Ethan’s and talked with Steve about his wo
rk as a project manager for a marketing start-up. She leaned her head against the back of Ethan’s neck as she sipped her third cocktail. This was going to be a good night for them.
Eventually, they parted ways, Lana and Steve set off for the L at Fourteenth Street and Anne and Ethan strolled a half block to catch a cab.
“That was so much fun.” Anne nuzzled her head against Ethan’s shoulder in the car and let the nice, warm feeling of the alcohol spread through her head.
“That was fucking humiliating.”
Anne lifted her head, too quickly, and saw stars before her vision cleared, and then, her husband’s face, dark, angry, his jaw clenched, working against nothing. “What are you talking about?”
“I had a nice little chat with Lana. About your ex-boyfriend. The guy you dated before me. She went on and on about how into him you were, but how he messed with your mind and how glad she was that you ‘settled down with me.’” Ethan spat out the words.
“Ok . . . I’m sorry, I’m confused. Why—why is that a bad thing?” The car was speeding up Sixth Avenue, lurching around slower vehicles, and Anne’s stomach flipped as the driver sped up and then slammed on the brakes repeatedly.
“I’m glad I could be your fucking consolation prize, Anne.”
“What? I’d broken up with Drew, like, six months before I met you. I think Lana misspoke or you misunderstood . . . You’re not a consolation prize. You’re my husband.” Anne tried to laugh, but her heart was drumming too hard in her chest and she felt queasy.