by Jen Waite
She sat down on her couch/bed and opened her laptop, determined to pass the three hours by working on an essay due the next week. She had been doing the bare minimum for her master’s program since Ethan reappeared, and it was starting to show. On her last research paper, the professor merely wrote, This is lacking, Anne. Anne stared at her notes, tapped the space bar a few times. Think. There was a big rock sitting on top of her brain, making her eyes feel heavy and her breathing shallow. She stood up, walked into the kitchen, poured herself a glass of water, sat back down at her laptop. She tapped the space bar again and then slowly bit each of her fingernails down to the quick. When she finished with her fingernails, she picked up her phone and dialed.
“Grace, I’m so sorry to call you like this, I know it’s early and a Sunday and—”
“It’s ok, Anne. What’s going on?” She sounded like she’d been awake for hours.
“Ethan’s come back and he had Thea last night for the first time and there’s nothing I can do. It’s a nightmare—” Anne paused for a moment to catch her breath and realized why she had really called Grace. “I need to tell you something—something I never told you during our sessions that I probably should have told you.”
“Ok, I’m listening.” A soft creak suggested she had sunken into a chair. Anne imagined Grace’s hand cupped under her chin, assuming the same position she did in her office.
“I had an affair.” Anne blurted the words out, wanting suddenly for them to be out of her body.
“When was this?” Grace asked, her voice smooth and neutral.
She recounted everything: the coffee dates, Ethan’s mood swings, the morning at the apartment with Joseph and Ethan walking in. When she finished her chest burned and she inhaled deeply, starving for air.
“So,” Grace said through the phone, bringing Anne back from Joseph’s face and hands to the hard sofa bed. “Did you continue your relationship with Joseph after that?”
“No, Jesus, no. But”—she felt herself finally losing composure and the next sentence came out broken by sobs—“a few weeks later I found out I was pregnant.” She wanted to tell Grace all the fragmented thoughts racing through her mind. She had been so close to leaving Ethan, then standing in the bathroom that morning holding the positive pregnancy test—before she made the decision to try with Ethan—her first impulse had been to grab her phone from the back of the toilet to google nearby clinics. The thought now, at how much her body and mind hadn’t wanted Thea, filled her with shame. She felt certain that everything that was happening now was karma, the universe’s way of punishing her for so desperately wanting to escape her marriage and the baby that grew inside her.
She wanted to tell Grace all of this, but instead she said, “I decided to make it work with Ethan. Of course, that ended up not being the right choice, either.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I have these thoughts, though”—she paused, twisting a thread sticking out of the couch between her fingers—“that everything that’s happening . . . is because of what I did.”
“What you did?” Grace repeated it as a question, genuine curiosity lacing her voice. Anne heard a car engine and looked out the window.
“Oh shit, Ethan is three hours early,” Anne said to Grace. “I’m so sorry, I have to—” She dropped her phone and ran out of the apartment, out of the building, and down the sidewalk, where Ethan’s car idled at the curb.
“What are you doing here? Is everything ok?” she panted when she reached his car, yanking open the back door. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong, Thee?” Thea’s face was red, sobs erupted angrily from her throat every half second, and her body convulsed in shudders. Anne unclicked the seat belts, pulled Thea from the car seat, and rocked her daughter. Thea buried her head into Anne’s shoulder. Her daughter’s body was sticky with sweat and her hair was matted.
“What happened?” She tried to keep the panic at bay, but her voice came out high and thick.
Ethan leaned against the side of the car. “Nothing happened, Anne,” he said with a cold smile. “She just wouldn’t stop crying. So I brought her back.”
She felt Thea calming in her arms, her sobs turning into quick hiccups. She looked at Ethan. “Give me her bag.” Anne took the overnight bag from his outstretched hand and turned toward her building.
“Thea,” Ethan called when they were halfway up the path. “See you in two weeks, baby girl.”
THE CABIN
ANNE
Anne watched her mother’s face as the man talked into Rose’s ear. Her mother’s face was steady, not betraying a thing, until the very end when she pursed her lips and Anne could see her jaw moving, her molars biting down on the inside of her mouth. The man swiveled and his eyes fell on Thea. Anne lowered her eyes slowly, painfully, because she knew what she would see; Thea had started to moan softly while the man spoke to Rose and to roll her head back and forth on Anne’s lap. Anne looked down now and saw her daughter’s eyelids fluttering up and down, struggling to stay open. Thea’s mouth opened slightly. “Mom,” came out in a hoarse whisper. “Shh,” Anne said as quietly and calmly as possible. She told her daughter with her eyes that she needed to stay quiet, that everything would be fine, but Thea’s eyes flicked around wildly, from Anne to Rose to the man.
“Thea,” the man was saying softly. “It’s time to wake up.” Anne looked at him quickly and then forced her eyes away because, with a jolt, she recognized exactly what it was she had seen before—not regret for what he had done, but for what he was going to do. She tasted blood and realized that her tongue was between her front teeth. Thea was shivering now. Anne could hear her gathering saliva to coat her parched mouth and throat and then she swallowed with a clucking sound. “Where?” she asked. Anne replied, “Shh,” again. She brought her hand to Thea’s forehead and cheeks. They sat like this for a few minutes, Thea’s head still on her mother’s lap, her eyes taking in the room, looking from Anne to Rose for answers.
“She needs to be closer to the fire,” Anne said to the man. “She’s too cold. Let me sit with her by the fire so that she can warm up and”—her voice caught but she continued—“get stronger.”
The man’s eyes never left Thea and it wasn’t clear he even heard Anne speak. She tried again, “She’s freez—”
“Fine,” he cut her off. “Go.”
Anne didn’t look at Rose as she got up slowly and moved to the fire; her daughter’s arms clutched her neck, her legs dangled almost to the floor. Anne pushed her mouth through Thea’s hair, finding her daughter’s ear. “Hold on to me. Don’t let go.” She lowered them both slowly to the floor in front of the brick hearth. The sides of their bodies facing the fire grew warm quickly. There was no grate, but the fire stayed contained in the hollow brick box. The larger pieces of wood burned steadily; soot and embers formed red, glowing clumps at the edges of the hearth. She felt Thea’s heart beating against her own, felt Thea opening her mouth to speak. Anne shook her head, No. Thea nuzzled her head into the crook of her mother’s neck. Anne didn’t know how long she had so she forced her body to stay tense, ready. She could feel Rose across the room, and her mother’s words echoed in her head, If we’re all going to get out of this. She quieted her mind and waited.
She did not have to wait long. A few minutes passed and then the man began walking toward them. He stopped, barely a foot away, and stared at the back of Thea’s head. He circled around them, like a child watching an animal through glass at the zoo, and lowered himself down behind them, in front of Thea’s face. Anne felt her daughter’s hot breath come faster into her neck. She heard him whisper, “Thea,” and then it was time. She reached into a clump of embers, felt their hotness searing her skin. In one motion, she spun her feet and body toward the man and threw the soot and ash into his face. He shrieked from what sounded like far away. She was already on her feet. “Hold on, hold on,” she told Thea, and her daughter did what she was told, her body went rigid and tigh
t. Anne ran to the cabin door. She didn’t know where the man was. It was quiet behind them now. Thea’s arms and legs were wound tightly around her and so she used both hands to pry open the front door and then they were out on the porch. It was pitch black outside, or looked that way at first, coming from the bright glow of the fire, and she couldn’t see anything, but she didn’t stop. She found the outline of the railing and took the steps quickly, tripping on the last one and coming down hard on one knee; she got up, with hardly any time lost, and kept moving, through the open clearing outside the cabin and into the woods.
Anne paused, eyes straining against the darkness and turned her head left and right, staring into nothingness. “Mom,” Thea breathed into her ear, and she whispered “Shh” again. She took a few steps forward, reaching her arms out in front of her and to the side. Her eyes had started to adjust, and she realized it wasn’t quite night yet. She could make out the branches that surrounded them and snagged on their hair, coats, and legs, a tug of resistance before they sprung backward, back into the night. She had no idea how far they’d traveled from the cabin. She tried to keep moving in the general direction of the main path, but with each step their location became muddled in her mind. She stopped again, opened her eyes as wide she could; she could make out the dark shapes of the larger trees and branches, and she searched for a path snaking its way through the woods. Thea was starting to sag down her thighs, and she placed both her hands under her daughter’s butt and boosted her up higher. She started walking again, ignoring the tight pinch in her lower back.
“Thea.”
Anne froze at the sound of the man’s voice.
“Thea, you have ten seconds to come back here before I shoot her.” His voice cut through the air, closer than she would have thought; they must only have been fifty or so feet from the cabin.
“Mimi.” Anne heard the anguish in Thea’s whisper and a silent scream ripped through her body.
“Thea, no,” she said, their cheeks pressed together. “We can’t go back. Mimi wouldn’t want us to go back.” She felt hot wetness dripping down her face, her daughter’s tears. “Thea, please,” and now she was crying, too, silently, their tears mixing together.
“Ten,” the man called out.
Anne closed her eyes while the man counted. Rose at her side in the hospital filled her head. Her mother washing her face and chest with a thin white washcloth when she couldn’t yet bathe and braiding her greasy hair into a thick French braid. “Beautiful, Anne, you’re just beautiful.”
“Six.” The man’s voice had an edge to it now. Rose scooping Thea from her arms when Thea was two months old, still so tiny and fragile, wailing for hours for something she couldn’t provide. “Rest, Anne, you need to rest.” She felt Thea shaking against her. “Mimi,” her daughter cried again, louder.
“Three!” he yelled, anger vibrating in his voice. The same tone that crept into Anne’s voice when she used the ten-second rule to get Thea out the door in the morning, Thea, I’m warning you.
She felt Thea pushing against her, her daughter’s hands shoving against her chest, Thea’s legs kicking to the ground, and she knew it was over. “No,” she pleaded. “Thea, no.” Anne dropped to her knees, taking her child with her, trying to hold on to Thea’s limp form, but her daughter struggled free, just like she’d been able to since she was a toddler, tensing and relaxing her body into spaghetti, slithering expertly out of her mother’s grip.
“Two.” The man’s voice was calm now, accepting, and in Anne’s mind, she saw him placing the gun against Rose’s temple.
“Mimi, we’re coming!” Thea’s high voice cut through the air. “We’re coming back, wait!” A moan floated through the trees. Rose.
Anne crawled for a few seconds and then staggered to her feet. Turned back toward the cabin, she could already see the dim outline of the building, lit from within by the glow of the fire. She heard Thea crunching through the woods ahead of her and took long strides to catch up. She got in front of her daughter and put her hands under Thea’s armpits; Thea struggled for a moment until Anne said, “It’s ok, Thee, it’s ok.”
It only took a few minutes to reach the clearing where the man stood with Rose. Thea wriggled out of her grip again and threw herself around Rose. Anne couldn’t look at her mother. She failed her by leaving and she failed her by coming back.
The man looked at them. No, didn’t look at them, looked at Thea.
“Good decision,” he said with a smile.
THE CABIN
THEA
The cabin was freezing and it felt like someone had smashed a hammer into Thea’s forehead. The last thing she remembered was running; she was racing her mom, and then . . . nothing. She looked around the barren room, eyes stopping briefly on the man with the gun. Raggedy facial hair covered most of his face, but she was sure she’d never seen him before. The man had separated her from her mom and Mimi so she sat alone at the back of the cabin. Her mom was toward the front door with the man, and she and Mimi were on opposite sides of the back wall. She pulled her legs toward her chest and shivered. It was freezing, even with the fire going. Thea knew from the silence in the room that her mom and Mimi were really scared. There was a thickness to the air. She wanted to ask questions but she didn’t dare open her mouth.
Thea took some deep breaths through her nose and tried to stay calm. “Don’t panic,” her teacher had said during the last active shooter drill. “It’s really important to keep a clear head in these situations.” Ok, she released a breath, don’t panic. She took stock of what she knew. There was a man with a gun: bad. But they were alive: good. The fact that they were still alive must mean that he didn’t want to kill them. Thea clung to this thought. She knew from school exactly what to do if there was ever a bad man with a gun. She had been doing lockdown drills since kindergarten. If she was in a classroom, they would hide in the closet while the teacher barricaded the door and the windows. If she was in the cafeteria, she would run to the storage room with the orange door that could fit a few dozen kids. Except both these plans hinged on having a spot to hide. Thea looked up again, moving her body as little as possible. There was nowhere to hide in the cabin. The man with the gun caught her eye. Those plans also hinged on the man with the gun not yet being in the same room, staring at you.
Thea closed her eyes to shut out the creepy man. She tried to focus on her breathing, pushing air in and out of her body. She couldn’t feel her hands or her feet and she tried to imagine the sun on her body, warming her from the outside in. She was going to die from the cold, she thought, and tears formed behind her eyes. She imagined herself on a beach, somewhere warm, and then, without meaning to, her thoughts were filled with Mr. Redmond. She scolded herself again; thinking of him right now was stupid, but she couldn’t help it and the more she tried not to think about him, the more she thought about him. She squeezed her hands into balls and remembered the first text she sent him, the week after he complimented her short story.
Hi Mr. Redmond/Ted (lol), it’s Thea. How are you doing? Just saying hi . . . I hope it’s ok for me to text . . .
Thea, hi! I’m doing ok . . . of course it’s ok. How is break going? ☺
Great! I’m in Florida with my mom.
Oh wow, that sounds great. I’m jealous
Yeah, there’s a pool and everything. See?
Have a great time, Thea. See you in class soon.
She had sent a picture of herself in the hotel pool, the water up to her waist, in her first two-piece bathing suit. Her mom bought it for her in anticipation of their first trip to Disney World—the zip-up top had Mickey’s face plastered across the front. An older man had walked past her at the pool, his flip-flops smacking against the wet concrete. He smiled, eyeing her up and down. “You’re going to be quite the heartbreaker, honey.” She had laughed and turned red. It wasn’t a big deal, he meant it as a compliment, but she’d plugged her nose and
sank underwater for as long as she could hold her breath, and when she came up for air, he was gone.
Her first day back at school, after winter break, she stayed after class, heart pounding, to ask Mr. Redmond a question about the Spanish homework he’d assigned for that night. She spent the last twenty minutes of class rehearsing the question in her mind, over and over, so that it sounded casual but real. She kept thinking about the bikini picture and his response, the dot dot dots, how they had started and stopped several times, while she held her breath. Had she made a huge mistake? Maybe she’d gotten it all wrong. Of course, she’d gotten it wrong. She was a huge idiot for thinking a man like Mr. Redmond would ever be interested in a gangly loner girl. But maybe . . . maybe he felt the same way. She had to know for sure.
“Thea?”
The word snapped her out of her reverie, and she adjusted her face from the angsty expression she was sure she’d been making to neutral.
“Class is over,” Mr. Redmond said with a smile. “You might not have noticed but everyone else has left.”