Breaking Free

by Jennifer Slattery

  “What calls?” He smacked his forehead with his palm. “Oh, my phone! I totally forgot. I had to get a new number a few weeks ago. I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

  Mr. Lowe angled his head and tapped a pen on his desk.

  “Are you seriously doubting me?” Trent slipped into the defensive. “After how long I’ve been here, all the accounts I’ve handled. Why would I lie about something as stupid as a phone number?”

  “And a blown account.”

  Trent shook his head, raked his fingers through his hair. “About that. I have no idea why those execs were so upset. They didn’t say a thing. Just came into the meeting, slammed my flash drive on the table, and told me I’d wasted my time.”

  “You saw the file, right?”

  “After I sent it to Cherice, you mean?” He shook his head once again. “What was the point? I’d given those guys my best work, and they hated it. Didn’t even have the courtesy to discuss it with me, tell me what they wanted me to change.”

  Trent held his breath, exhaling when Mr. Lowe’s face relaxed. “If what you’re saying is true—”

  “What do you mean if? I’ve always been forthright.”

  “There’s no beautification project.”

  “You mean . . . ?”

  “Tell me about your files for the Peak Performance account.”

  “I sent the full proposal to Cherice the Friday before the meeting and asked her to email it to the company’s execs. I wanted to give them time to review it before our meeting. That way they could come with questions ready. Obviously that didn’t happen. Do you think Cherice sabotaged my files? I mean, I know she was pretty upset, after her friend got fired and all. I guess those two were pretty tight. And then—what happened to her, anyway?”

  “She quit.” Mr. Lowe’s eyes narrowed, as if he were deciding whether or not to believe Trent. Hopefully his past performance, and the company’s need for his skills, would win out. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt on this one, but don’t blow it.”

  “Of course not, sir.”

  Alice sat at the kitchen table going through a stack of bills. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have paid any attention to them—probably wouldn’t have seen them at all the way Trent kept sneaking around. Apparently, he’d rerouted their mail and changed the passwords on all their accounts, but Alice fixed all that. Although, considering all their past due accounts, she almost wished she hadn’t. As the saying went, ignorance was bliss—at least temporarily. But even ignorance unraveled eventually. Like when creditors came knocking.

  Thinking about all the companies they owed made her jittery; unsettled. Exposed. Worse, it felt like there was nothing she could do about it—about their finances, her marriage, the mess her life had become. Even if she found a job, which she was beginning to doubt, it’d take years to pay back all they owed. And what about money for an apartment, utilities, food, and all the other expenses involved with raising teenage boys?

  Her phone rang. She set down a past due water bill and answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, hello. Is Mrs. Goddard in?”

  “This is she.”

  “This is Mrs. Feuring from Kirkland High School.”

  “Good afternoon. What can I do for you?” She probably wanted help with the PTA end-of-the-year banquet.

  “I’m calling about Tim.”

  “Is everything all right? Is he hurt?”

  “No, he has not been hurt.”

  She released the air she’d been holding and relaxed her death grip on the receiver. “Oh, good.”

  “Tim is fine . . . physically. However, there have been some behavioral issues I would like to discuss with you. Is there any way you could come in this afternoon? How does one o’clock sound?”

  “Yes, yes, that will be fine.”

  She ended the call and dropped her head in her hands. Her husband was a raging alcoholic who entertained himself by watching a bunch of dogs try to kill each other. They were so far in debt it would take a miracle to keep their house, and now Tim was falling apart. What next?

  The hour hand ticked by slowly. By noon, her anxiety level grew too intense to wait a moment longer. Even if it meant sitting in her van, she grabbed her keys and marched outside. As usual, Priscilla had her head in her dahlia bushes. Alice eased the door closed and turned the key slowly, hoping to avoid the usual round of 20 questions.

  Alice had barely stepped forward when Priscilla shoved to her feet and waved a chubby arm in the air. “Alice, good morning.”

  She nodded a quick hello and turned toward the carport. A lifted hand drifted through her peripheral vision. She turned to see a man sitting in a blue station wagon parked across the street. She paused and shaded her eyes to get a better view.

  Her breath caught. It was one of the men who came to her door that night she’d been home alone.

  Her chest squeezed and she brought her hand to her neck. The man responded with a crooked smile, and a chill ran up her spine. Taking a step backward, her vision narrowed on his hardened face. Was he watching their house? An image of Trent sitting in the basement with blood spilling from his lip resurfaced.

  After a moment of frozen fear, adrenaline propelled her toward her van. Her hand trembled as she turned the key in the ignition. The van started with a jolt, and she peeled out of the driveway.

  The 15-minute drive to Kirkland High only provided time to fuel her ceaseless what-if scenarios. When she pulled into the parking lot, her breath was raspy and her hands were clammy.

  Jumping out of the van, she dashed around parked vehicles. A couple of students stopped, holding fast food bags, to watch her. Alice slowed to a half run and offered a tentative smile.

  Once inside, she paused to catch her breath. Students bumped into her as she made her way through the crowded hall toward the principal’s office.

  The secretary, Ms. Wiles, smiled when Alice walked in. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Goddard. How may I help you?”

  “Hello. I’m here to see Mrs. Feuring. We have a one o’clock appointment, but I wondered if perhaps we could meet a little earlier.”

  Ms. Wiles nodded and picked up the phone. “Mrs. Goddard is here.”

  A boy with curly, brown hair sat in a chair to Alice’s right. He wore an orange T-shirt and Bermuda shorts and was chewing on his pinky nail.

  “Mrs. Feuring is ready to see you.” The secretary smiled and resumed her duties.

  Alice nodded and walked the receptionist’s counter, down a narrow corridor lined with plaques and an occasional abstract painting, and into the principal’s office. Void of windows, the boxlike room had a stale green tint. Three long fluorescent bulbs flickered on the ceiling.

  Mrs. Feuring stood to meet her in a crisp, tan dress suit. Her thick, black hair was piled on top of her head, save a few loose ringlets. To the right, Tim hunched in a leather chair, scowling, eyes locked on the beige carpet. Blood trickled from a cut on his left eyebrow, and his right cheek looked red and swollen. He glanced up, stabbed Alice with a hateful glare, then looked at the floor again.

  “Mrs. Goddard. So glad you could make it.” Mrs. Feuring gave her a firm handshake. “Please, sit.” She motioned to a chair next to Tim.

  Alice perched on the edge of the seat, looking between Mrs. Feuring and her son. “What’s going on, Tim?”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Tim was in a fist fight.” Mrs. Feuring returned to her seat positioned behind an immaculate desk void of family portraits or endearing figurines of any sort. Only the bare necessities: a computer, phone, nameplate with gold lettering, and a few other office items.

  Mrs. Feuring cleared her throat. “Which by itself is disconcerting enough. We certainly do not condone fighting.” She leaned forward and placed folded hands on top of her desk. “But I believe this is an indication of a larger problem.”

  Alice swallowed.

  Mrs. Feuring grabbed a manila folder sitting on her desk and flipped it open. “Tim’s grades
have gone from As and Bs to Cs and Ds, and teachers have complained about his reactive attitude.”

  A swirl of images flooded Alice’s mind—Tim’s angry eyes and clenched jaw, Trent staggering in the house, dead dogs shoved inside plastic garbage bags, the man parked across the street. They all blurred together in one dizzying mass.

  Mrs. Feuring’s lips pressed together, forming tiny lines around the edge of her mouth.

  Alice closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. This couldn’t be happening. Not with Timmy. And yet, she knew it was true. She had witnessed it herself—the hateful, rude comments, the disregard for authority, the sudden lack of interest in school.

  “Is he expelled?”

  Mrs. Feuring looked at her for a long time, glanced at Tim then back to Alice. “Is there something going on that we should know about?”

  “I . . .” She shifted. “Things have been . . . tense . . . but we are working on it.”

  “Expulsion is always the last option.” Mrs. Feuring closed the manila file. “I hope now that you are aware of the problem . . . I’m certain you and your husband will discuss this and deal with it appropriately.”

  “Yes, of course.” Alice spoke quickly.

  Mrs. Feuring turned to Tim. “And you, young man, are much too smart to throw your life away. You are at a fork in the road here, and the direction you take is ultimately up to you. You can turn things around and set yourself up for success, or you can continue down the path you’re on and end up flunking out to work minimum wage jobs for the rest of your life. Not to mention, you could lose your athletics eligibility, and I know how important sports are to you.”

  Tim didn’t respond. Didn’t show any reaction whatsoever. But he had to feel some sense of apprehension. The kid lived and breathed soccer. Then again, according to the eligibility packet Alice had signed at the beginning of the year, all he had to do was pass four classes each semester, and Ds were technically passing grades.

  Mrs. Feuring stood and rounded her desk. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mrs. Goddard.”

  Alice wiped the sweat off her palm before shaking Mrs. Feuring’s extended hand. “No, thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

  “Hopefully next time we will meet under more . . . pleasant . . . circumstances.”

  Alice followed her son out of the office and into the hall. She grabbed his arm. “Tim, we need to—”

  Jerking free, he whirled around, glaring.

  “What’s going on with you?”

  He snorted. “Why? Am I embarrassing you? Ruining your Sunday School image?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m worried about you—about your future. Unless you start acting more responsible—”

  “What? You’ll ground me? Take away my spending money?”

  “Watch your tone, young man. I know things have been—”

  “Lay off already.”

  She reached for him again. “Tim, stop. Listen to me,” she yelled over the noise of hurrying students. Apparently too loud, because teens stopped, turned.

  Tim looked around, his face coloring. “What? What do you want from me?”

  Tears stung her eyes. “I want the anger to stop. That’s what I want. I want my sweet boy back.”

  And with that, she knew exactly what she needed to do. It was time. She needed to act, before she lost both of her sons.

  CHAPTER 25

  Alice’s heart raced as she crammed her belongings into the suitcase. A plastic bag filled with dirty clothes lay at her feet. She didn’t have time to do laundry. She wanted to be gone, with the boys, before Trent got home. Whenever that would be. If she had any decency at all, she would confront him, tell him what she knew, why she was leaving, and what he needed to do to get her back.

  Running away was easier. Besides, she couldn’t leave any doors open. If he conceded to her demands, if by some miracle he promised to change, she’d have no choice but to stay. And that wasn’t a chance she was willing to take. It was too late for that.

  Do you trust Me? Will you turn to Me? The words swept through her mind, stilling her thoughts.

  And where were You when my marriage collapsed?

  She didn’t listen for God’s response. Steeling her heart, she resumed packing. She grabbed a pair of sandals along with her red pumps, and shoved them into the outer pocket of the suitcase.

  Fighting nausea, she surveyed the room. What should she take? It’d be easier to pack if she knew her destination. Now that her parents’ place was out of the question, she needed an alternate plan. Beth was her next option, and Alice was fairly confident that she would take her. Although the thought of asking made her stomach clench. “Hi, Beth. How are you? Mind if the boys and I crash on your couch . . . indefinitely?”

  After adding a few more necessary items, Alice zipped the suitcase shut and lugged it into the living room. She scanned the area again, found nothing of importance, and continued to the kitchen. Should she take the dishes and silverware? This question evoked a thousand more—was this it? Was she leaving Trent for good? Would they get a . . . she couldn’t even say the word.

  Unwilling to deal with the implications of her actions, she decided it was better to pack as many items as she could jam into the van. If she’d been thinking clearly, or had planned ahead in the slightest, she would have rented a storage locker, not that she had the money. Nor would for quite some time. Her next step? Save for an apartment.

  She looked at the clock. School had just let out. The boys were probably on their way to soccer practice. What would they say to all this? Maybe she should have talked to them first, but she was afraid Trent might come home early. She didn’t want a scene. More than that, she feared if she waited, even a few hours, she’d lose her courage. No, she’d waited long enough.

  Grabbing two backpacks from the coat closet, she packed overnights for the boys. They could return for the rest later. Then, she loaded everything into her van and hurried to the high school.

  Kids dotted the soccer field. The track team made their warm-up laps while the soccer players raced back and forth across AstroTurf. Coach Davis and his assistant, Mr. Puzo, stood on the sidelines talking between themselves. They looked up when Alice approached.

  “Mrs. Goddard. Good to see you.” Coach Davis rocked back on the balls of his feet. “How can we help you?”

  “I need to speak with the boys.” She shaded her eyes against the bright afternoon sun and searched the field for Danny and Tim.

  Coach Davis frowned. “May I give them a message?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt practice, but it’s important that I speak with them.”

  The coach sighed and blew his whistle. The athletes stopped, looked. Cupping his mouth with his hands, he bellowed, “Goddard boys, over here.”

  Danny and Tim exchanged glances, and then Tim jogged across the field. Danny trailed him with shoulders hunched, head down. A moment later, they stood in front of Alice, looking from her to their coaches.

  “What?” Tim’s tone was icy.

  Danny stood beside him.

  “I need to talk to you both. In private.”

  Tim rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Watch how you speak to your mama, boy.” Coach Davis scowled at him.

  With a huff, Timmy stomped toward the far bleachers, leaving Danny and Alice to follow.

  Tim stood with his back to his teammates. “What do you want?”

  Alice flinched at his biting tone. “It’s . . . I . . .” There wasn’t an easy way to say it. “I’m leaving your father. We’re leaving.”

  Both boys’ eyes widened. “What?”

  “We’re leaving. Tonight.”

  “Why?” Danny asked.

  “Get real.” Tim laughed, as if daring Alice to challenge him.

  She faced Danny. “What do you mean, why? Your father—” she clamped her mouth shut. Gambles on dog fights. “It’s better this way.”

  “Better for who?” Tim crossed his arms.

  Danny�
��s forehead creased, and he suddenly looked five years younger. “Where will we go?”

  Her hands quivered at her sides as she fought the urge to wrap him in her arms and pull him close. “I know this is hard, but it is for the best, for all of us. We’ll stay at Beth’s.” Hopefully. “Until I save enough to get our own place.”

  “Where, on their living room floor?” Tim scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You do what you want, but I’m not going.” He flicked Danny’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Come on.”

  “Tim, wait!” Alice reached out for him, grasping at air. She turned back to Danny, who watched his brother retreat with sad eyes. “Honey.”

  When she touched his arm, he recoiled as if burned. “Leave us alone. Can’t you do that?”

  Before she could say more, he spun around and jogged back to the soccer field.

  Chest heaving, she headed toward the parking lot on wooden legs.

  Now what? Oh, Lord, now what? Her legs went numb beneath her, threatening to buckle. She wanted to shake her fists at the sky, cry out to God in the middle of the high school parking lot, beg Him for mercy—anything. But it was too late for prayers. If God cared, He would have helped her long ago.

  Twenty minutes later, she stood on Beth’s doorstep with a suitcase in her hand, sore and swollen eyes, and a sinking feeling in her gut.

  Beth opened the door and glanced at the Alice’s luggage. “Is everything all right?”

  Alice blinked.

  “Come in. Come in.” She grabbed Alice’s suitcase and led the way to the living room.

  Alice followed in a daze. Was she making a mistake? Was it too late to turn back? No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. But what about the boys? Would they come after practice?

  Did they hate her?

  Beth set the suitcase against the wall and guided Alice to the couch where Ed sat watching the baseball game. A bag of potato chips lay in his lap.

  Sliding his feet off the coffee table, he looked at Alice. “Is everything all right?”

  Hugging her middle, she hunched forward.

  “Everything’s fine.” Beth wrapped one arm around Alice’s shoulder and motioned with the other for him to leave.