Breaking Free

by Jennifer Slattery

  Her flutter turned into a full-blown knot when she reached his table less than five minutes later. His eyes locked on hers, accelerating her pulse. Swallowing, she brushed aside a stray lock of hair tickling her forehead. “Hello. What can I get you?”

  The man smiled. “Thought I’d order me some of those slimy pancakes you told me about.” His sun-kissed skin glowed beneath a crisp gray and tan button-down shirt.

  She fumbled for her order pad. “Pancakes it is. Anything else?”

  The man studied her for a moment, his head cocked, eyelids lowered slightly.

  She held her breath. Was he about to ask her out?

  “How about a cup of coffee?”

  Her hand trembled as she wrote his order down. “Were you able to find the freeway yesterday?”

  “Eventually.” He laughed. “You’d think I’d be able to find my way to the freeway by now.”

  “Where’d you move from?” Why was she still talking to him? Not that there was any way to avoid him. Besides, she was only being friendly. That’s what waitresses were supposed to do, right?

  “Emporia, Kansas.”

  “Where’s that?”

  Again, the man laughed, a throaty, alluring chuckle that quickened Alice’s heart. “I get that a lot. Between Kansas City and . . .” He scratched his head. “And a wheat field.”

  “Ah. So what brought you here?”

  Melba whizzed by, bogged down with dirty dishes, scowling when she and Alice made eye contact.

  “I better go.” She motioned toward her other customers.

  “Yeah, OK. What time’s your break?”

  Her stomach flipped and she lowered her eyes. “I . . . uh . . .”

  He leaned forward, and his gaze intensified, holding hers. She shifted and fiddled with the hem of her apron.

  “Hey, waitress.” A low voice to her right called her attention to a man three tables down. “Gotta go down to Columbia to get the coffee or what?”

  “I’m coming, sir.” She turned to go.

  The stranger grabbed her arm. “You never told me your name.”

  She hesitated. “Alice.”

  “Good to meet you, Alice. I’m Austin.”

  She nodded and hurried to the man with the empty mug. She sensed Austin’s eyes following her. A sideways glance confirmed her suspicions. Cheeks burning, she turned back around.

  By nine o’clock Austin had left. Alice—busser and waitress rolled into one—strolled over to the empty table and began to clear away the dishes. Tucked beneath the plate she found a 20-dollar bill and a folded napkin. Printed in smooth, careful writing were the words, “Call me,” followed by a phone number. She picked it up, ran her finger across the edge of the napkin, then set it down.

  She smiled. After all these years, it felt good to know someone found her attractive.

  CHAPTER 33

  The house was quiet. Depressingly quiet. Empty vodka and beer bottles littered the coffee table and dirty dishes filled the sink. Days worth of mail lay unopened on the kitchen table.

  Trent grabbed the remote and turned on the television. His phone rang, and he studied the caller ID. After a long, internal debate, he answered.

  “Hello, Mr. Goddard? This is Mrs. Northrup from First American Savings Bank.”

  “Yeah, I meant to call you back.”

  “We are trying to work with you here, Mr. Goddard. No one wants to see your property go into foreclosure.”

  He watched a lady with raven-black hair play the harmonica on the television screen. He flicked the channel.

  “As I mentioned previously, you are behind on your mortgage payments. Adding the contractually agreed upon 5 percent late fee puts you at . . .”

  Trent flicked the channel again as Mrs. Northrup droned on about all the money he owed. Wasn’t much he could do about it now.

  “So what are my options?” He cut her off in midlecture.

  “As I said, we’re willing to work with you on this. Are there extenuating circumstances we should be aware of?”

  Did losing his family count? How about getting laid off while the debt multiplied? Having thugs hunting after you?

  “Listen, I’ve got to go—”

  “I suggest you deal with this, Mr. Goddard. Before we deal with it for you. I’m trying to help you out here.”

  Closing his eyes as if doing so would make it all go away, he raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled. “All right. You tell me. What do you want to do here?”

  “Perhaps it’s time we talk about a short sale.”

  “Do what you gotta do.”

  “I’ll need you to fill out some forms in order to prove financial hardship.”

  He sighed. “You can fax them to my work.” He gave the number then hung up. Short sale, foreclosure. What’d he care? Either way he lost the house. The bank would probably ask for Alice’s signature but considering she still avoided his calls . . . So he’d forge her name.

  He grabbed his beer and brought it to his mouth.

  A single drop fell on his tongue. Time for another.

  He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. An empty cardboard box sat on the top shelf. Empty bottles littered the counter and spilled from a nearby trashcan. He needed to scrounge up a few bucks.

  Moving to the living room, he searched the seat cushions for change. He found two quarters, a dime, and three pennies in the couch. Searching the recliner proved pointless. Maybe the boys had left a few coins lying around. He walked into Danny’s bedroom, opened his dresser drawers, and rummaged through T-shirts and mismatched socks. Nothing.

  A pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor. He grabbed a pair of jeans and checked the pockets. Empty. Two shoeboxes lined the closet shelf. He pulled them down and dumped their contents on the carpet. Old movie stubs, school photos, and soccer game brochures spilled out.

  A note from Alice was tucked inside a blue-and-tan birthday card. Trent’s eyes burned as he picked up the smooth paper.

  He slipped it back into the card, sifted through the rest of Danny’s keepsakes, then closed the lid. Back to the closet. As he ran his hand along the dusty shelf, his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. He moved a pile of sweaters out of the way and found a pale blue piggy bank. The day Danny had decided to save his very first dollar played through his mind like an old movie clip.

  “For me, Daddy?” The boy’s eyes widened when Trent handed him the crisp bill.

  He ruffled his hair. “Don’t go spending it all in one place.”

  Danny responded with a cheek-bunching grin. “I won’t! I’ll put it in my paddy bank right now!”

  Breathing deep, he forced the memory aside. He pulled the porcelain bank down and ran his fingers over its smooth surface. It was heavier than he’d expected.

  Unscrewing the bottom plug, he turned it over and shook until everything spilled out. Crumpled wads of cash and numerous coins spilled across the tan carpet. He counted through the bills. Adding it all together, it totaled $29.63. Enough to buy a large bottle of vodka, maybe two. Swallowing down a wave of guilt, he shoved it all in his pocket and left.

  The streets were quiet as he made his way through the neighborhood. A woman pushing a stroller glanced up as he drove by. She flashed him a smile. Trent looked away and continued down the street.

  Rain started to fall, light at first, growing heavier until large drops flooded his windshield, making it hard for him to see. He kept driving, past single story homes with white picket fences, a strip mall, a row of restaurants and trendy storefronts, and onto the freeway.

  Two exits down, he turned onto a side road and into the parking lot of his favorite liquor store. The rain pounded against his roof and splattered onto the asphalt. A flash of lightning lit the sky. His hands went slick on the steering wheel.

  What was he doing, robbing his own son?

  He squeezed his eyes shut as his nerves cried out for alcohol.

  “For me, Daddy?”

  “No one wants to see yo
ur property go into foreclosure.”

  “You’re off your game, Trent. You’re off your game, Trent. You’re off your game . . .”

  A knock sounded on his window. He looked up to find a man with bushy eyebrows and a tangled beard staring down on him.

  The man cupped grimy hands around his face and leaned into the glass. “Hey, buddy. Spare some change?”

  Trent cranked the key in the ignition and threw the car in reverse.

  Alice sat on the edge of the bed and counted her money. Fifty bucks in tips, largely due to Austin’s generosity. Not bad for eight hours of waiting tables. It was more than she’d made in a week of bussing. If things continued, she’d have an apartment in no time. Though she needed to pay her phone bill, and in a few months her car insurance would come due. Tim’s as well.

  Would she need a three-bedroom rental? Hopefully. The boys still weren’t taking her calls.

  They just needed time. Right?

  A knock rattled the door.

  “It’s open.”

  Beth poked her head in. “You up for an awesome jam fest?”

  Alice set her money down.

  Beth rested a shoulder against the doorframe. “Should be interesting. Sanctified and Lampstand are playing at Gas Works Park.” She broke out in song, snapping her fingers and shaking her hips. “When my love, my love, my love gets hold of yo-o-ou.”

  Alice giggled at the exaggerated way Beth shoved her rear out when she danced. “What time does it start?”

  “Eight.”

  She loved Gas Works. Stretching just over 19 acres, it was once Seattle’s Gas and Light Company’s gasification plant, and it had retained a good deal of the factory’s equipment, some in original form, some refurbished.

  She and her boys used to spend hours there, back when they were young. She’d read a book or snap a zillion pictures as they climbed the plant’s old exhauster compressor in the “play barn.” Then, they’d hike the 15-meter high hill to fly kites, pausing on numerous occasions to check the time using their shadows and the massive sundial on the ground. Sometimes, Beth and Luke would join them, and they’d have a picnic on the waterfront with geese to their back and private planes circling overhead. Often, they’d end the evening munching on potato chips and watching the sun set over Lake Union.

  “Come on, Alice.” Cutting through her thoughts, Beth stepped further into the room. “It’ll be fun. Just like old times, well, minus toting diaper bags and sweaty boys around.”

  “I’m kind of tired.”

  “Nah. You just need a little fire under those dancing feet of yours.” The corners of Beth’s eyes crinkled as she gave her hips another shake. “Ed’s at a men’s retreat and Luke’s at a youth group lock-in.” She walked over and stood in front of Alice, pushing her lips into a pout. “You’re not going to make me go all by myself, are you?”

  Alice threw her hands up. “All right. I’ll go.”

  “Yay!” Beth clapped and hopped up and down like an excited middle schooler, turning Alice’s chuckles into rolling laughter. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

  They arrived to the park early and parked across from Fisheries Supply, finding the lot nearly full.

  Beth cut her engine and glanced about. “This seems like a lot of people for an unknown, independent band.”

  “Maybe they’re here for a protest or something.”

  Beth made a face. “I sure hope not.”

  Despite it’s relatively isolated location, four miles from downtown and on the south side of the middle-to-upper class Wallingford neighborhood, the park’s history boasted numerous political rallies, including a seven-month vigil in the 1990s in opposition to the Gulf War.

  The two made their way down a gravel road and past a row of cement support columns that resembled upside-down horseshoes, continuing toward the waterfront.

  Blankets covered the landscape in a kaleidoscope of color. A handful of giggling girls chased after a group of geese, ribbons and braids bouncing off their tiny backs.

  Beth stopped a few hundred feet from a rusted, 30-foot tall structure—part of the old gasification plant. “This look good?”

  A gentle breeze stirred Alice’s hair, a few strands tickling her cheek. With the sun warming her back, she inhaled slowly and let the fresh air pull her mouth into a relaxed smile. “Perfect.”

  Beth spread a blanket on the ground and sat, legs folded beneath her. Alice sat beside her and hugged her knees. She gazed above the crowd at the gold and pink reflecting off wisps of clouds on the other side of Lake Union.

  When Sanctified stepped onto the concrete stage, people cheered, a few jumping to their feet. Quiet came just as quickly when Filip, the lead singer, moved to the mic and, without introduction, started to sing. Each word vibrated in his throat before pouring out in a low, husky chord.

  When you close your eyes, what do you see?

  When you cry on your pillow, will you come to Me?

  When your world is crashing, will you reach out your hand?

  In Me alone will you stand. In Me alone will you stand.

  Oh my beloved, push past the pain.

  My dear sweet beloved, just call My name

  Lift your eyes until you see My face,

  Child, surrender to My embrace.

  Alice rested her chin on her knees and closed her eyes as the lyrics flowed through her, settling deep within her heart.

  It’d been too long. Much too long.

  Beth wrapped her arm around Alice’s shoulder. “Want to pray?”

  She opened her eyes. Inhaling, she straightened. “I’m fine.”

  “Why do you keep shutting me out?”

  “I’m not.” She stood and brushed grass from the back of her pants. “I need a minute. I’m going to go for a walk.” She needed to think, to process. To figure out how she wanted the rest of her life to play out.

  CHAPTER 34

  Trent slowed the car as he approached his house. Thick shadows shrouded his front door and walk. Minus a few porch lights, the neighbors’ homes were dark.

  He pulled into the carport and cut the engine. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Was someone watching him? He jerked his head to the right. A tall alder stood between him and the nearest streetlight, breaking the beams into fragments reflected on the oil-slicked street. He looked to the left. Nothing but empty cars, and yet, the fear in his gut increased. Someone hid in the shadows, watching him.

  Watching the street again, more carefully this time, he noticed a black sedan with tinted windows. Amidst the darkness, the silhouette of a man emerged. In an instant, recognition surfaced.

  Perspiration beaded on Trent’s forehead and upper lip. He threw the car in reverse and squealed out of the drive. With a constant eye on the rearview mirror, he punched the gas, blowing through three red lights. An approaching driver laid on his horn. The high-pitched blare electrified Trent’s nerves. He checked the rearview mirror again. A car followed close behind. Holding his breath, he accelerated. Blinkers flashed. The car disappeared down a side street.

  He exhaled and scanned the road behind him. Another vehicle lagged 20 feet back. Was it the sedan? Trent accelerated and took a quick right. Then a left. He slowed, eyeing the single story houses on either side of him like a trapped doe seeking shelter. Ten minutes and three turns later, he parked between a six-foot fence and a metal shed. He killed his lights and wiped sweaty hands on his pants.

  His thoughts immediately turned to his boys. What if they came home? Would Jay have Bruce unload on them? Trent’s hand shook as he reached for his cell phone and called Tim. It rang once. He hung up. It was after midnight. Both boys would be asleep, wherever they were. Besides, what would he tell them? “Hey, Tim. It’s your dad. Don’t come home anymore.”

  He needed to call Alice.

  Alice pulled the blanket to her chin and nestled into her pillow. It had been a wonderful night. The music, Beth, watching children dance under gently swaying tree branches—all of it. Things were s
tarting to turn around. She could feel it. Pleasant weariness seeped into her muscles. Sleep would come quickly.

  She closed her eyes and let her mind drift into restful oblivion. Visions of giggling toddlers holding ice cream cones, chocolate dripping down dimpled chins emerged as sleep took hold.

  The evening concert replayed, mingling with her subconscious. Tim and Danny nestled in their father’s arms. Alice sat on the edge of a pink blanket sifting through a basket of food. Soft notes drifted from a faraway piano. She rose on her knees and looked toward the sound. Her children’s voices grew dim as the melody enveloped her.

  Across the meadow, a stone passage wound its way between clusters of daffodils and bluebells. Their delicate petals danced in the breeze. Alice stood and walked toward the path, her vision narrowing until everything else blurred and then darkened. A strand of hair tickled her cheek. She brushed it away, laughing as a hummingbird flitted between the branches of a blossoming cherry tree.

  Pausing to lower her face to a hyacinth, she inhaled its soft fragrance. A flash of color to her right caught her attention. Turning, her gaze locked on two dark eyes peering through yellow-green fronds. Pointed ears protruded from the top of the foliage and a bushy tail flicked from side to side.

  Alice straightened as goose bumps erupted on her arms. She stepped backward, her eyes held by the tiny slits of coal in front of her. Spinning around, she ran back in the direction of Trent and the boys as dark clouds blew in, swallowing the sun.

  Trent stood, his expression flashing from smiles to hatred as if stuck on instant replay. He held his arms out to her. The boys caved by his side, their faces pale, eyes wide.

  “Momma!” They clung to their father’s leg, reaching for Alice with their free hands, their tiny fingers grasping at the air.

  “Danny! Timmy!” She ran toward them. The wind grew fierce, ripping through the trees like an angry force. The clouds exploded with rain, pelting her face with icy droplets.

  “Momma! Help us!” The boys drifted into the distance, their hands still grasping.