Pink Slips

by Beth Aldrich

  Nodding my dad agrees. “That’s a great idea, honey. Now get some rest tonight.”

  “Sounds good. I think I’m going to invite Misty over so the kids can hang out and us moms can talk. I’ll feel safer with her here with me.”

  The driveway leading to my garage is short, so we pull right in after Dad clicks the door remote. As I hop out of the car, I run into the garage, and before the door shuts, I slowly watch his car back up and disappear. I throw one last wave goodbye before exiting the interior garage door—quickly making my way up the walkway to the house.

  The pavers leading to the house are lined with a gorgeous array of fall flowers that partially spill over the walkway of speckled rocks. A sweet Quan Yin statue that Steven gave me for my birthday years ago watches over them. He knows I’ve taken a liking to the female version of Buddha ever since I started my meditation class. The patio, situated closer to the house, is made up of a sturdy bluestone, housing my teak patio dining table with a navy umbrella and two teal-, white-, and navy-striped lounge chairs. It matches my house colors perfectly. It’s the ideal yard for family entertaining.

  While walking toward the house, I take in the tumbling sound of the fountain in the corner of the yard and fixate on the beauty and functionality that we worked so hard to create in our backyard retreat. I don’t notice the landscaper, Antonio, who’s also looking down and walking straight toward me. Startled, and trying to avoid a collision, I lurch back and give my him an alarmed look. I’m frozen as I size up the man before me. He’s about six feet tall, wearing a dark cotton bomber jacket, and sturdy black work boots—like what my attacker in the city wore and the stalker was wearing when I identified him after my walk at the beach with Barney. Why am I pointing fingers at all these people? Everyone has become a suspect. Snap out of it, Betsy.

  “Hello, Mrs. Ryan,” he says, smiling at me. “Beautiful day.”

  “Oh, Antonio, hello, you startled me,” I cautiously reply, not sure if he understands why on earth I’d be startled.

  Antonio smiles and goes about his work as I quickly scurry to the side entrance, unlock the door, and slip inside. What am I thinking? This landscaper has worked for some of my friends for years and came to work for us with excellent recommendations. I truly believe he would never think of harming me.

  Thankfully, I gave a copy of the new side gate key, after I changed the locks, to

  the landscaping office, so he could enter the gate without me having to be home. That reminds me, I should add Give a new key to dog groomer, to my to-do list when I get inside.

  I decide that before I get suspicious of Antonio, I need look at the solid evidence. I’ve not encountered him during one of the incidents.

  The quiet rumble of thunder off in the distance grabs my full attention as I stride over to the window and peek out. I watch Antonio complete his excellent, detailed work in my yard. Pausing, I scan the property as I form a brief grin on my lips and nod, feeling very appreciative that he keeps my yard the sanctuary that it is.

  Without notice, Misty unlocks and slides open my patio door, causing me to jump back from the window. I slide the shutter back to its closed position. Barney greets her with an affectionate lick as she enters the room. He’s grown to love her as much as I have.

  I smile and meet her at the kitchen island. She’s smartly dressed in a pair of dark Levis and a leopard skin belt, a crisp white button-down shirt, and brown Coach loafers—looking like my perfect Secret Service agent. I fill her in on the latest developments with our case. She nods in amazement as I share the next steps of the plan.

  “For now, though, we should just have an ordinary evening with the kids, like any other Friday night. We can order in some Chinese from PF Chang’s and splurge on kiddie cocktails, direct from my secret stash of Cokes in the wine fridge.” Steven has never understood why I filled it with soda, given that I don’t drink the stuff, but I think tonight’s a good night to let loose and sip on pops intended only for company. Soda twice in one week… I’m living large. I’m determined to focus on my kids, our friendship, and Steven’s recovery—not that psychopath.

  “That sounds great to me,” Misty responds. “By the way, I wanted to tell you a secret.”

  “Oh, sounds juicy! I could use something else to think about right now. Do tell.”

  “I met someone… on a dating website. Before you start lecturing me, just hear me out.”

  “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  “To avoid hitting the bar scene again, I decided to go online to a dating website and create a profile. Within a couple of days, I’ve gotten three responses.”

  “Wow, you go, girl!”

  “I agreed to meet one of the guys today for lunch, and boy, was he a cutie. Tall, dark, and handsome… and would you believe it? He’s a doctor.”

  “Just what I’ve always dreamed for you! After a few dates, if things go well, we should go on a double date—of course, after Steven recovers.”

  “Geez, you’ve already got a double date planned and I’ve just met him. Slow down, buckaroo. Oh, I hear the door opening, your mom must be home with the boys.”

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of this conversation that easy, Misty. We will discuss that lunch date of yours, after dinner while the kids are watching the flick.”

  “Sounds like a deal. I’ll grab the backpacks and get the kids geared up for a fun movie night.”

  “Any requests?”

  “I was thinking maybe we could watch Mulan. I know it’s an oldie, but given your heroism lately, it’s fitting. I can be the sidekick, Mushu, to your Ping. I do look good in red-orange dragon garb.”

  Laughing at my always-positive and energetic friend as she heads out the door, I visualize a cartoon version of Misty taking on Shan Yu and the rest of General Li’s army, kicking, punching, and taking them down. I know I picked the right person to be my protector. Barney looks up as if to say, Mom, I’d like to be Mushu, if it’s okay with you? I seem like a better sidekick.

  “You’re right, Barney, old boy. I’ll talk to Misty about that later. You are my number-one protector.”

  I’m starting to enjoy my one-sided conversations with Barney—they’re rather interesting.

  The slow, rhythmic sound of the falling rain on the rooftop and the intermittent cracks of lightning piercing the early evening’s sky set the backdrop for our family movie night with Misty and the girls. The storm has set in for the long haul, offering low rumbles of thunder to keep us aware that a bigger storm is brewing in the distance. The kids probably don’t hear the rumble over in the living room where they’re talking and giggling.

  “At least I don’t have to water the yard tomorrow,” I say to Misty as I lower my voice. “The sprinkler system is on the fritz, so the landscaper told me to water everything a few times a week. Those plants and bushes are worth a fortune, so I want to make sure I keep up with it. I almost walked right into Antonio in the yard today. Nearly jumped out of my skin. Everyone is making me on edge.” As Misty replies, I throw back the final bite of my eggroll.

  “Aw man, Betsy, even Antonio is on the suspect list? What motive does he have? On another note, that’s why I said you should’ve created a rock garden, instead—no watering required.”

  “Ha. Why don’t you grab the kids’ plates and rinse them in the sink? I’ll go take Barney for a quick walk to get the job done. I could use some fresh air before the rain starts to pour. I’ll stay close. Then later this evening we won’t have to go for a walk, he can just piddle in the yard.” It seems that Barney likes to go number two when we’re on leashed walks, and not in the yard. I completely agree with him. Who wants to poop in their own yard?

  “Sounds good. We’ll start the movie now and then later we can eat that awesome chocolate cake you baked.”

  “Correction, the gourmet grocery store baked that cake. There’s not enough time to bake these days, given that I have a stalker to keep track of.” My humorous defenses can’t overshadow the constant pump of
adrenaline in my veins.

  “Very true. Either way, I’m going to indulge. I’ve been working out all week and I’m ready for a sweet.”

  Misty starts the movie as the four kiddies snuggle on the couch under a fluffy blanket. Misty hops in my tan chair and nestles in, just the way it’s intended to be sat in. I can wrestle her for that spot when I get back. I hesitate before I attach Barney’s leash to his collar and watch the kids jockey for position, giggling and smiling. Life is good. I smile along with them.

  “You can catch me up on the movie when I get back from our walk,” I call, as I step out the side door with Barney, realizing the rain has beat me to the punch. We’ll make this walk quick. With a burst of confidence and strength, I step out the door.

  With an umbrella in one hand, I wrap Barney’s leash around my other wrist and latch my thumb inside the loop at the top. I learned this trick from an animal trainer back when we first adopted him. She taught us so many useful dog training tips, most of which I use to this day. Ironically, if I’d known back then that Barney could understand me, I could have just told him what to do. Then again, what toddler, or even teenager, listens to their parents? It’s probably best that I discovered our special bond at his midlife stage. This way we can bond as adults, without the immature stunts that most kids go through. Barney is like my grown-up kid, after all.

  A startling flash of lightning brightens up the sky and the follow-up roll of thunder comes seconds afterward. The full moon hangs hidden behind thick clouds in a pitch-dark sky. We forge ahead several feet on our soggy walk, determined to get a number one and maybe even a number two in so we can skip our late-night bathroom stroll—every dog owner’s dream.

  Barney has always been a true champion when it comes to peeing on demand. All I need to say is, “Let’s go potty, hurry up,” and he gets the cue. And now that he understands me, I can just reason with him and explain that it’s cold, or hot, or raining, or whatever and, ideally, he should get the job done.

  I encourage him so we can get back inside. “Barney, let’s try to get all of our business done on this walk so we don’t have to go out late tonight. Does that sound good?”

  While he sniffs around fervently, I giggle as I imagine his reply. Uh, yeah, okay, Mom. Just give me a couple of minutes. I’m picking up a few scents from some German Shepherd and poodle friends who were near this tree earlier. I’d like to pee here to make my own personal statement, if it’s okay with you.

  I smile, thinking how funny I must look and sound. “Oh, by all means, Barney. Take your time. I’m sure the rain won’t melt me. I’m in no rush. Thanks for sharing.”

  Sniffing and walking in a circle near another tree, distracted, Barney continues his doo-doo quest.

  Causing myself to laugh even harder I get carried away. Um, yeah, Mom. Thanks for not tugging on my leash and pulling me away from this juicy gossip, like you usually do. It appears that the cute little schnauzer from across the street and the crazy Doberman from the block over were both here a little while ago, too. I’d like to leave my own scent, just so they know I was here, too.

  Now that I realize just how social this behavior is for my dog, I come to recognize why he always wants to go on walks and why he wants to go in different directions. He must get bored with the same old gossip and scents. From now on I must remember to give him more variety and social stimulation.

  My mind wanders further past my make-believe conversation with my pet as we walk along the sidewalk, lit only by the streetlights and glow of the moon behind the rainclouds.

  Then my mind shifts to my current stressor: the stalker. What makes someone want to hurt or stalk someone else? There must be a need or longing that has not been met. Maybe they’ve been abused or bullied or tortured. These thoughts pepper my mind as Barney has success with number two. I poke around in my soaked raincoat pocket to find a doo-doo bag to gather up our mess as Barney kicks his back feet into the wood chips, attempting to cover his deposit; I toss it in a trash can along our route.

  Making our way back around my property, I hear a couple of teenagers scrambling from the storm to reach their cars. I silently send a little prayer of protection their way so they drive safely. You never know how slippery the roads might be. I throw in a prayer of protection for us on the walk, too.

  Everything has gone still and calm except for the cadence of the rain. “Barney, do you hear or smell anything or anyone?”

  Sniffing into the air, my dog stops, then continues his pursuit of animal scents along our path.

  A chill works its way up my spine and settles in on the small hairs on the back of my neck. An odd sensation has taken over me. I decide to walk in a measured pace to clear my mind and get back to the house, keenly paying attention to my surroundings.

  Barney’s ears pinch back, and he stops walking, causing me to stop, too. The rain is beating down harder now, making it difficult to see.

  “Let’s get in the house, boy. I’m getting drenched. Plus, I’m not in the mood to bump into some crazed stalker this evening. That’s why our walk was a quickie tonight.”

  We enter the gate, and hear a crashing sound near the garage that causes me to jump. The garage light isn’t on, so I am unable to make out who or what is over there. Looking back at the house, I see and hear Misty and the kids sitting on the couch talking, thanks to my view of the patio door. The shutters prevent me from seeing the television screen, but I can tell they are watching intently. I make a mental note for my to-do list to install some sort of window covering on those patio doors. From outside we are very exposed on a dark night; anyone could see in from the back of the yard or even the alley behind our garage.

  Barney starts to pull me in the direction of the garage, causing me to slip and stumble on the wet sidewalk. The grass is spewing mud and bits of plant material on the walkway from the flowing stream of water heading to the sewer drain at the back of the yard.

  I gently tug on Barney’s leash and ask him to heel. He yanks his head forward and instead starts to growl. He’s pulling me harder.

  I can’t resist his strength, so I let the leash go. He runs over to the garage and starts barking and growling and scratching at the door.

  Shoot. I forgot my phone. In the barking confusion, I hesitate, wondering if I should go run to the house and get Misty—and freak out the kids for possibly no good reason—or should I just quickly check the area by the garage? Maybe there’s a skunk or a raccoon?

  I catch up with him, as he growls and scratches at the door. I turn the handle as we enter the dark, damp garage, and flick on the light. It doesn’t work. I wish I had brought my flashlight on the walk. The drain in the yard has partially overflowed and seeped under the trim of the door’s threshold, causing water to empty into the garage like flowing rapids.

  “Shoot. Look at all of this darn water, Barney!” I let him enter to run in the containment of the garage.

  I hear Barney barking, and from the corner of my eye, I see him running in circles where Steven’s car is usually parked. I attempt to use the wooden broom to swish the water back toward the doorframe to prevent a flooded garage. It’s a futile effort at fixing the water situation, but I try anyway.

  As I hold the broom in my hands, I glance over at Barney again in the dark, trying to see him over the hood of my car. His barks echo in the closed garage, and then they become violent growling, as if he’s trying to bite something.

  Bark, bark, bark!

  Out of nowhere, someone comes from behind me and places a white rag, filled with a pungent liquid, over my mouth.

  I struggle, but can feel myself passing out. The last thing I hear him say, as he’s slamming the door, is “Get out of the garage, mutt.” Barney whimpers, as if he might’ve been shoved or kicked. I black out.

  In a foggy, dazed state, I feel my hands bound in front of me with duct tape. I’m sitting on an old milk crate in the dark garage. I keep my head down in the unconscious position as I try to access the situation. The baby is ki
cking and rolling around furiously as I try to focus on a way to escape.

  “Wake up, Betsy. I know you see me.” My attacker walks toward me. His sweaty stench fills the air around me. The smell brings me back ten years ago to my city attack, causing my heart to hammer with fear.

  My cover is blown. I slowly raise my head, fighting off the dizziness and the taste of vomit in the back of my throat. I inhale through my nose and exhale silently, trying to maintain focus and clarity in the haze of the garage, which is only dimly lit from the light peering in through the door and window located in the middle of the wall.

  “Before you speak, I would be very careful.” With a shock, I recognize that voice. It’s Dr. Hildebrandt. “Do not attempt to call out to anyone, because if you do, I will kill you. Understood? I should have killed you at the beach when I had the chance.”

  I nod, trying to focus on a spot by the wall, remaining silent. The realization that I am, once again, being attacked by a man while I’m pregnant turns my body numb. Not again. I won’t let him or anyone harm my baby. I’m wishing inside my heart with all my might to fixate on my dog, Barney, who is somewhere outside. If there is a God, please get him to bark loud enough to alert Misty. I know it’s crazy, but it’s all I have right now. Within seconds, I hear a muffled sound outside the garage in the pouring rain. It’s my dog, Barney, barking ferociously.

  Dr. Hildebrandt is walking around me in a circle, eyeing my every move, however he doesn’t seem to register that my dog is frantically trying to alert Misty.

  God, please, this is important. Get Barney to go to the patio door and scratch very hard and bark. Otherwise this man will kill me and my baby. Begging and pleading with all my soul, I hope my prayers are answered. If there are angels or something watching over me, please. Help me.