For an eternity, Jessica stood frozen in the sun. It barely mattered, after the first few seconds, that she finally realized the Tempo’s driver was a stocky Hispanic teenager, not David, after all. And he was honking at the car next to him, gesturing that he wanted to merge into another lane.
By the time Jessica climbed back into the van, only seconds before the light finally turned green, there was nothing she could do about the tears. She was sobbing. For those few seconds, standing in the middle of Biscayne Boulevard, she’d nearly collapsed because she thought she had seen David. Jessica was paralyzed with the realization that the life she had known was over. Simply over. Her rationalizations, her acceptance of David’s history just to keep the peace, could not change that.
Kira looked at her with worried tears in her own eyes, but she didn’t say anything. Jessica almost never cried in front of Kira, because she remembered how terrified it always made her feel when she saw her own mother cry. If Mommy couldn’t make it better, then no one could. To a child, it meant chaos. And lately, all she’d been doing was crying.
“I’m sorry, Kira,” she apologized through her sobs.
Through the window, Kira watched as they drove past the doll store’s friendly yellow sign. She turned her head and craned her neck to watch it disappear behind them, then her eyes were back on Jessica, hopeful, as though she thought Jessica had made a mistake. Teacake’s cries, which were close to Jessica’s ears because he had curled up in a corner directly behind her, sounded frantic.
“Are we going away now?” Kira asked.
Still sobbing, Jessica nodded. She’d stopped in a turning lane, waiting for a break in the traffic so she could follow the signs pointing toward 1—95. Almost there.
“What about Daddy?” A whine crept into Kira’s voice.
“Daddy’s meeting us. We’re going to Disney World.”
What a pathetic attempt. Even a five-year-old would have to be brain-dead to buy a story like that. But the assurance seemed to relax Kira, and she leaned back thoughtfully in her plush seat. All of a sudden, she looked so remarkably small sitting there.
“Is the monster coming, Mommy?” Kira asked after a silence.
Jessica stared at her daughter. She tried to say “No, honey,” and explain they were just taking a surprise vacation. But she couldn’t answer or speak at all, not even to tell a happy lie.
46
Dawit believed he would go mad in the silence.
There was the large silence of the house, which he had so foolishly stripped of the music he’d always insulated it with to disguise the hours of emptiness. As he stood gazing through the window at the still yard, the gentle stirrings of insects echoed his loneliness, magnifying the absence of all other sounds.
In one terrible instant, he knew the silence was something more than what it seemed. He knew before Jessica’s mother called from the hospital wondering why she had not heard from Jessica, saying there was news about Alex’s upcoming surgery. He knew before he found the telephone number for Gallery of Dolls on Biscayne Boulevard, and the good-natured Bahamian woman who ran the shop said she had not seen Jessica. She was about to close up early because she had not had a customer since two, she said.
“Summertime,” the woman complained. “Everything dies here in summer.”
Then, Sy called shortly after five, asking Dawit to have Jessica call him immediately about some legal matter pertaining to an important story of hers that the newspaper would not be able to print without her input. She ran out without saying a word to anyone, Sy told Dawit. Was everything all right?
In the House of Mystics, which Dawit had never visited except to attend their ceremonies to predict the world’s annual events, the conjurers would call it premonition. Dawit had felt it most strongly that day with Adele, when they stopped by the tree at the river. And now, again. He felt so severe a cramp deep in his belly that the pain alone brought tears to his eyes.
He sat on the windowsill hoping that the van would drive up and shatter his fears. Yet, the longer he sat and waited, the more certain he became. She could have driven to the doll shop and back twice, even three times, by now. For some reason he could not fathom, Jessica had taken Kira and was gone.
At first, he was stricken with worry. Dawit was reasonably certain Mahmoud was the one responsible for Alex’s attack, though the failed attempt was so uncharacteristically sloppy. Dawit could not think of what reason Mahmoud might have for striking, except as a warning. He could just as easily harm Jessica and Kira too. Perhaps he’d threatened Jessica, and that was why she’d fled.
Or, perhaps Mahmoud had chosen a different route.
Mahmoud might have reached Jessica and told her stories of Dawit’s history: his amusement with decapitation as a warrior, or of his unbridled sexual tastes in the brothels. Those things would shock her. Or, more likely, Mahmoud could have revealed to Jessica Dawit’s most recent transgressions—his killing her friend and the old man, Uncle Billy. That certainly would have made her flee! Why had he never considered Mahmoud would do such a thing?
Now, Dawit remembered the odd slant of Jessica’s eyes when she had walked into the house. He was certain he would see it in her face again once he developed the photographs he had taken of her; consternation, eyes vacant. He’d believed she was still distraught over Alex, and he’d intended to take her in his arms that night and lull her to sleep with gentle kisses to ease that expression away.
But what if, this time, her eyes were so empty because of him?
It could not be. And yet, yes, it was. It was.
Worry gave way to a new, foreign feeling: sweeping rage. He had been betrayed, first by Mahmoud, and now by Jessica. After all he had told Jessica, risking the wrath of his entire brotherhood, she would leave without giving him an opportunity to defend himself, to reassure her? And take his daughter besides?
Kira was gone. She had been in this house, this very room, not even an hour before. Now, she had been stolen from him.
Dawit found himself trembling from anger, sorrow, fear. All three emotions swamped his reason in waves as he sat helpless in the window. This pain, so thoroughly well known to his weary psyche, would not do. He would not resign himself to live in suffering. Not again. Never again.
“On my father’s soul,” he said, and he heard in his vow the voice of the warrior he had been so very long ago, “my wife and my child will be with me. I swear it.”
He uttered the final words in a rasp he himself could barely hear, even in the silence. “Forever,” he said. “Forever.”
47
Jessica didn’t allow herself to stop—except to pay a toll and ask the attendant for the quickest route out of the state—until they were in Palm Beach County, more than an hour’s drive away. She would have happily plowed on even then, but Kira’s complaints about needing to pee had been constant. And although Teacake had finally quieted in the last few minutes, curled near Kira’s dangling feet, the cat was panting and obviously needed water. Not to mention food. Hell, she herself hadn’t eaten anything except a muffin at the hospital that morning. No wonder she felt so dizzy and sick to her stomach. It was nearly six.
“Where are we?” Kira asked drowsily, peering to try to see over the dashboard as Jessica coasted off the Turnpike.
“West Palm Beach. Remember where we stopped on the way to Disney World? All the drivers in the big trucks were here? And there are … bathrooms!” She tried to sound excited, to make it more a game than a nightmare.
Kira, scowling, didn’t look entertained. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you a juice, then, okay?”
She didn’t need gas, thank goodness. The van still had half a tank. This would be a quick stop. The full-service complex was like new, painted pink and aqua like the Art Deco buildings in Miami. The smells from the competing fast-food chains inside made Jessica’s mouth melt with saliva. She was starving.
It wasn’t until Jessica finished chaperoning Kira in the bathroom and stood in
front of the juice machine searching for a dollar bill that she realized she only had two dollars and change left in her wallet. Her heart thudded. Feeling the familiar panic, she glanced wild-eyed throughout the lobby.
There was an ATM on the wall, next to an arrangement of touristy brochures of Florida attractions. “Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. She had plenty of credit cards with her, but stocking up on cash was the only way to be safe. She might as well take out the limit, however many hundreds the machine would allow.
“Mommy, Teacake is hot in the car,” Kira said as Jessica slipped her Barnett Bank card into the machine.
“I know, baby. It’s not good to leave him out there. We’ll be back in two minutes, I promise.”
The message on the ATM’s screen starded her: INVALID CARD, it read with a beep. The saliva gathered, this time, in Jessica’s throat. The machine advertised the Honor network’s deep-blue logo, and Barnett was an Honor card. What the hell was wrong?
CONTACT FINANCIAL INSTITUTION FOR ASSISTANCE, the machine said, beeping again. Jessica held out her trembling hand, waiting for the card to be spat back out at her, but no card came. The next message that flashed across the screen in green was WELCOME, asking the next customer to please insert a card.
“What—” Jessica tapped on the screen with the heel of her hand. “What in the world … ?”
“Ate your card,” came a drawling man’s voice behind her, startling her. A bearded white man in a Grateful Dead T-shirt, which was stretched nearly threadbare across his big belly, stood in line, arms crossed. “Happened to me once when I forgot to make a deposit and I was bouncing checks up and down the seacoast. Just took the damn card. They can fix it at the bank.”
“The bank’s closed,” Jessica said feebly, as though the stranger could offer some solution, some comfort.
The man shrugged, not saying anything else. Did he think she was asking him for money? And wasn’t she?
“Mommy …” Kira prodded, yanking on Jessica’s pant leg.
It came to her then. David must have done something to make the machine take her card. Maybe he had cleared out the account, closed it. Maybe the bank had some way of tracking her down, and she’d just revealed her location.
Jessica grabbed Kira’s hand, pulling her without looking back at the man with the beard. She felt her knees shaking. They had to go. They weren’t safe yet.
Jessica stopped frozen at the northward exit’s automatic doors. She’d forgotten about the cat. He needed water. But she couldn’t take care of it now. Running, pulling Kira with her, they escaped through the doors.
They should not have stopped. Jessica couldn’t worry about eating now, or when they would have to stop for gas, or how nervous she would be in a short while, when the sun would be all but gone and she’d have to face the road at night.
“Mommy, why are we running?” Kira asked.
“We’re in a hurry, that’s all,” Jessica said.
“Is Daddy coming?”
Lord God, I hope not, she thought. “Not yet, Kira,” she said.
Jessica found the ramp to the Turnpike with a squeal of the van’s tires. Teacake’s awful cries started again.
What else was David capable of, besides making sure she would be broke? She didn’t know. But Jessica felt very strongly, and with a deep sense of dread, that she was about to find out.
She’d decided on Georgia. She would take the Turnpike up to where it merged with 1-75 north of Orlando, as the toll attendant had told her, and that would lead straight into Macon. Bea had a half-brother there Jessica knew only as Uncle Bigger—last name Gillis, or Giles, she couldn’t remember which—someone she was sure David didn’t know about. They could stop there, with family, and she’d decide what to do. She would have time to think safely.
Already, with a plan, she felt better.
She wished she’d been able to warn her mother somehow, but she was sure Bea was protected in the hospital with Alex. David wouldn’t dare try to hurt them there; Jackson, the emergency room hub for the county, was never deserted at night like the nursing home in Chicago must have been. Once Bea realized that Jessica and Kira were gone, she would probably assume she’d had a fight with David. She would worry for a while, but not for long. Jessica decided she would try to reach her the next day, from Macon.
And the police. She’d have to do that too. The composite sketch she’d tucked back into the drawer in her desk would be proof enough for Reyes. She’d leave a message for him the next time she stopped, so at least he would be notified by morning.
David would be a fool to chase her now. Was she secretly hoping he would simply give up and go away without police involvement? Even now, after everything he’d done? That seemed to be the only fitting outcome: David had to go back to his home. Whatever he was, wherever he belonged, he was a freak in their world.
Damn. She’d told herself that she wasn’t allowed to think about David, because the road was slick with drizzle and it was nearly impossible for her to see through tears. Her head would have to go somewhere else for now. She would concentrate on details.
It was nine o’clock, and she’d been on the road for nearly four hours. Orlando, the green road signs announced, was sixty miles away; already, each billboard for a gas station or tourist stop advertised tickets for Disney World. Every few miles, Jessica saw a new set of Mouse ears. Jessica was thankful Kira had curled up in her seat to sleep after tiring of the Alphabet game. She’d been stuck on Q when she finally dozed off. She would be disappointed that they weren’t going to Disney World after all, though she probably already suspected that.
Jessica turned the radio on softly, finding a static-filled R&B station to make up for the loss of Kira’s chatter. The closer they got to the city, the stronger the Orlando station’s signal.
Because of the cat, she hadn’t been able to save gas by driving with the air conditioner off and the windows open, not as hot as it was; Peter had once told her how, when he was in college, his cat died while he was driving on the interstate in a car without AC. So the luminescent gas gauge was past Empty, and she would have to stop for gas soon or be stalled. There was no choice. And Jessica needed to eat; the growling in her stomach was fierce, and she had a headache even a three-course meal and plenty of aspirin wouldn’t help by now.
Cash wasn’t an option. Since both her Visa and Discover cards were maxed out, she’d have to pull off at the next exit and find a gas station that took American Express. And she’d have to hope David hadn’t thought of that too.
Most of Florida’s large stations had mini-marts, luckily, so she could find some hot food, some Pop-Tarts and fruit for Kira to eat for breakfast, cat food, maybe even cat litter. Teacake had been quiet for two hours straight, but now he was scurrying close to her feet, worrying her near the brakes. Jessica loved Teacake, but she was sorry she’d brought him. That had been dumb. Another thing to worry about.
Damnit. They really needed to stop.
Alongside the Turnpike, gas stations and fast-food franchises advertised with lighted signs perched on mammoth poles above the slash pine treetops. She saw another cluster of lights rising a half-mile north of her, from three gas stations and a Comfort Inn.
A motel. Did she dare stop, to rest? No. As ludicrous as it seemed, she’d never sleep a wink, worried that David could find them simply by spotting their van in the parking lot. She wanted to get as far away from him as possible.
Gas and food only. Then, back to the road.
“I want to talk to Daddy,” Kira said, barely awake after Jessica roused her, sounding closer to tears than she had all day.
“Shhhhh,” Jessica said, kissing her forehead, which was striped in red from the neon of the gas station’s window display. “You will. I’ll try to call him, okay? But we might not be able to talk to him right now.”
“Where is he?” Kira whimpered.
“He’s going to meet us tomorrow, honey.”
Jessica said all of this, somehow, despite the st
one-sized lump in her throat. She planned to make a call, all right, but it wasn’t going to be to Daddy. Her fortress of lies would crumble soon. Wouldn’t it be best to try to slowly tell Kira the truth, that they had left Daddy behind? She couldn’t do it. Not yet. When she did that, she would have to admit it to herself.
Kira cheered up a little inside the mini-mart, after Jessica told her she could pick any candy bar and plastic toy filled with bubble gum she wanted. Meanwhile, Jessica shopped the cramped aisles for necessities: a comb, travel toothbrushes, cat food, a cat dish, bottled water, crackers to snack on. There was cat litter, but no litter box. Forget it. Teacake would just have to shit in the van.
The greasy, shriveled hot dogs rolling on the pins of the roaster looked two days old, but the sight of meat made Jessica’s stomach tumble eagerly. She fixed herself two, and had already eaten half of one by the time she made it to the counter with her armload of booty. Kira carried the Meow Mix.
The man behind the glass was middle-aged, a brother with glasses whose hairline formed a perfect, shining U. There was a paperback folded near his hands on the counter, a well-worn copy of Terry McMillan’s Waiting to Exhale. Seeing the book made Jessica smile, at ease. It was good to see a brother reading a book by a sister.
“Durn. Looks like somebody forgot to pack,” he said. “Who’s this pretty little lady down here? What’s your name, Sleepyhead?”
Kira didn’t speak or smile, so Jessica answered for her. “Sorry she’s grumpy. It’s been a long drive,” she said.
“This’ll be all for you?” the man asked her.
“I’m going to fill up my van at pump one,” Jessica said, handing him her American Express card with a silent prayer.
“All right. Lemme run it through, and when you come back in I’ll give you the total.”
Jessica watched, not blinking, as he zipped the card through a computer scanner. After a pause, the machine made a high blipping sound and Jessica exhaled, relieved. It had worked.
My Soul to Keep (African Immortals) Page 35