Breaking Free

by Jennifer Slattery

  She shivered as an intense cold ran through her. A clap of thunder rumbled, followed by a flash of lightning.

  She fell to her knees. “Danny! Timmy, come back!”

  A sharp ring sliced through her dream, jolting her awake.

  Alice sprung to a sitting position, damp with sweat. It took a moment to free her mind from the images of her nightmare.

  Her phone rang again. She grabbed it. “Hello? Timmy? Danny?”

  Silence. A shiver ran through her.

  “Hello?” Her voice squeaked.

  “Alice, it’s Trent.”

  She exhaled and rolled her eyes. Shoving her hands through her tangled hair, she looked at the clock. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “I’m sorry to call so late.” His voice trembled. “It’s . . . I . . .” He paused. “I need you to call the boys. I need you to tell them not to come home.”

  “What is it? Are you OK? Is everything all right? Where are you?” The words tumbled out.

  “I’m in trouble.”

  CHAPTER 35

  Trent studied the brick house in front of him. The faint glow of a porch light dangling from a wrought-iron hook elongated the shadows encasing the windows.

  Behind him, a long row of fences formed a barricade between the narrow alley and the single story cottages lining the street. A Neighborhood Watch sign hung on a wooden post. He couldn’t stay here. Not unless he wanted the police on his back. But he couldn’t go home, either.

  He thought briefly about calling his father—the drunk would be awake—then tossed the idea aside. Trent hadn’t spoken to him in years, ever since his mother had slit her wrists, driven to it by his father’s alcoholism.

  Like father like son.

  He pulled out of the driveway, down the alley, and onto a quiet road lined with streetlamps. A handful of vacant cars dotted the curb. His pulse quickened as an image of Jay and Bruce resurfaced. Gripping the steering wheel, vision dulled from lack of sleep, he saw them in every shadow and darkened window. Where could he go where they wouldn’t find him? And what about the boys and Alice? Were they safe? How far would those thugs go to get their money?

  It was a good thing Alice and the boys had left, so they didn’t have to get all wrapped up in this mess. As if they weren’t already.

  Trent rounded the corner and followed the curve of the road. He searched the tree-lined street in search of shelter. An abandoned house he could hide away in, a Dumpster he could park behind, another alley—anything.

  Others slept on the ground or park benches. But there was nothing but manicured lawns surrounded by garden lights and white picket fences. He was about to give up and head to the city—not that he wanted to fight off a bunch of gang bangers—when he caught sight of a neighborhood playground.

  Making a quick U-turn, he pulled into the parking lot, drove to a dark corner, and cut the engine. Reclining his seat as far back as it would go, he grabbed a sweatshirt lying on the floor and shoved it under his head.

  Sleep came slowly and was disrupted by unsettling images. The kind that made him sweat, causing his shirt to cling to his clammy flesh like a second skin.

  A distinct tapping startled him awake.

  He lurched to an upright position. Air caught in his chest as his eyes fought to focus.

  A man stood over him and aimed a flashlight through the driver’s side window.

  Trent scanned the interior of his car. His keys, where were his keys?

  He groped the seat beside him. His sweaty hand closed around the smooth plastic of his key chain.

  Three more taps, louder this time.

  Trent’s mouth went dry. He jabbed the keys in the ignition, his shoulder muscle twitching.

  “Hey, buddy. You can’t stay here.”

  Trent dropped his hand and stared at the man standing beside him. A gold badge attached to a dark blue uniform glimmered in the dim light. Trent’s muscles slackened, and he sighed. Great. He rolled down the window.

  “You can’t stay here.” The policeman touched the handle of his gun.

  “Sorry, officer. I’ll leave now.” To do what? Roam the streets of Seattle until he ran out of gas?

  Seated at the kitchen table, Alice nursed a cup of coffee, not that she needed it. Her nerves were so fired up, caffeine would only send them in overdrive. The smell of eggs and bacon wafting from the stove where Beth cooked churned her stomach even more.

  She couldn’t get Trent’s words from the night before out of her mind.

  “I’m in trouble.”

  He’d gone on to tell her just how deep. Gambling, losing his job. About how a couple of loan sharks were watching their house. Because Trent owed them money he had zero ability to pay.

  And now she needed to call the boys and tell them it wasn’t safe for them to come home. As if they hadn’t already been through enough.

  “Morning, ladies.” Ed crossed the kitchen and wrapped his arms around Beth’s midsection.

  She giggled as his lips grazed her skin. “You hungry?” She grabbed two slices of bread and popped them in the toaster.

  “Always. And a few gallons of coffee won’t hurt, either.” He plucked a mug from the cupboard and filled it.

  Beth turned to Alice. “What about you? Want a piece?”

  “I’m not hungry. Thanks.”

  Alice watched the clock. 7:15. Was it too early to call the boys? She had wanted to phone them last night. Had spent 30 minutes fretting over it as images of muscle men scoping out their house flashed through her mind. In the end, she’d decided it’d be best to wait till morning.

  “Get ’em while they’re hot.” Beth flashed a smile and handed a plate of eggs and toast to Ed.

  “Thanks, babe. I gotta go.” Taking the food, he planted a kiss on Beth’s cheek.

  “So much for that.” Beth laughed and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel before facing Alice. “I guess I better get myself ready. Are you going to the ladies tea this morning?”

  Alice shook her head. She looked at the clock again and pressed her palms together, back straight.

  “If you change your mind . . .”

  She offered a polite smile. The minute Beth disappeared around the corner, she called Tim. As usual, his voice mail picked up.

  She sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. This wasn’t something she could leave on voice mail. “Good morning, Tim. Your father called and asked that you not come home.” Or even better, “A bunch of thugs are camped outside the house, so stay away.”

  She tried Danny. Again, voice mail.

  “You know what to do. Beep!”

  “Hey, sweetie. Call me. Please. It’s important.”

  He wasn’t going to call. Neither of them would. Fine. If they wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to them. She tucked her phone in her purse, slung it over her shoulder, and hurried out the door.

  Ten minutes later, she stood face-to-face with Mrs. Luttrell.

  “Alice. I’m surprised to see you this morning.” The woman’s face tightened as she smoothed the front of her navy pantsuit. Crossing her arms, she angled her face like a teacher addressing a wayward child.

  “I need to talk to the boys.”

  “Have you thought more about what we discussed? Because the best way to help your boys is to help yourself first.”

  “I know it’s early, and I’m sure you’re in a rush—”

  “Have you seen—?” Mr. Luttrell came to the door holding a leather briefcase. “Oh. Hello.”

  Alice forced a smile. “Good morning.”

  The Luttrells exchanged glances, and Mr. Luttrell looked like he planned to leave, but then his wife raised her eyebrows and moved aside.

  Mr. Luttrell’s face fell. He sighed, slouched his shoulders, and set his briefcase on the floor. He glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting at 8:30, but I suppose I can spare a few minutes.”

  Heat flooded Alice’s cheeks. Reluctantly, she stepped inside and scanned the meticulous entryway. “May I please speak with Dan
ny and Tim?”

  Mrs. Luttrell led the way to a formal living room with burgundy curtains. A long, gold mirror stood above the mantel behind three perfectly aligned picture frames.

  “Have a seat.” She motioned to the couch.

  Not again. Alice chose an armchair instead. She focused on the spiral stairs to her right where she heard laughter and energetic voices.

  “Hey Mom, have you seen my MP3 charger?” Alex’s voice traveled down the stairs. He emerged holding a blue backpack. Danny and Tim followed.

  The three of them halted in midstep, eyes wide, smiles gone.

  Alice stood. “Danny, Tim, good morning.” Her heart ached to pull them close. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

  Danny frowned and chewed on his thumbnail. Tim scowled and rolled his eyes.

  “Please.” She turned to Mr. and Mrs. Luttrell, who now stood at the base of the stairs. “Would you mind?”

  A spasm flitted across Mrs. Luttrell’s left cheek. With a sigh, she threw her hands in the air. “All right. But please make it quick. They have to get to school.”

  Her two-inch heels clicked across the wooden floor, her arms swaying staunchly at her sides. Her husband followed, and Alex bolted back up the stairs.

  Breathing deep, Alice turned to her boys. “I’ve missed you.” She reached up and touched her youngest’s cheek.

  “What do you want?” Tim asked.

  “Your father called—”

  Tim snorted. “And?”

  “He’s in trouble. And . . .” Alice tucked her hair behind her ears and swallowed. “It’s best if you don’t go home for awhile.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Trent woke with a stiff neck and the impression of a door handle pressed into the side of his face. After hours of bouncing from one neighborhood to the next, he finally settled on a diner parking lot. Next to a very busy, 24-hour gas station. Needless to say, it hadn’t been a restful night. Between the headlights of approaching cars and the occasional ear-splitting stereo system—a pack of kids decided to use the lot as their hangout sometime around two a.m.—he’d gotten less than three hours of sleep.

  The glare of the sun burned his eyes and made them water. The tremors of withdrawal were setting in. Lifting a shaky hand to block the rays, he surveyed the parking lot. A woman in a pale blue polyester dress with black, chin-length hair made her way across the asphalt.

  He sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes. Was that . . . ? No, it couldn’t be.

  The woman paused at the restaurant door and tucked her hair behind her ears before disappearing inside. Trent rubbed his face again. It had to be.

  He jumped out, slammed the door and half ran, half walked across the lot. Pausing midway to catch his breath, he studied his reflection in a nearby car window. What a mess. Stubble covered his sweat-drenched face and his hair was matted to the side. He spat on his fingers and ran them over wayward clumps. Cupping a hand in front of his mouth, he exhaled, wrinkling his nose. His breath stank. Bad. With trembling hands, he dug in his pockets for a mint. Nothing.

  A man dressed in a plaid shirt and torn jeans approached and touched the brim of his hat. Trent nodded and resumed his stride. Standing in front of a long, dusty window a moment later, he cupped his hands around his eyes and pressed his nose to the glass.

  Alice stood in front of a small, round table holding a pen and tablet. A man with blond, curly hair and a square chin sat in front of her, visually devouring Trent’s wife.

  The man said something, the corners of his eye crinkling, and Alice glanced down once again, tucking her hair behind her ears—a nervous habit. She glanced at the man through lowered lashes and cocked her head, a slight laugh rippling through her soft body.

  Trent jerked back, his hands clenching into fists. He lunged for the door and started to burst inside, give this yahoo a what-for, when the image of his reflection in the glass stopped him.

  Dropping his head, he slumped, turned, and walked away.

  Sunday morning, Alice closed her eyes and let the warmth of the sun caress her skin. The crisp air, filled with the soft scent of lilacs, soothed her. A lady in a cloche hat adorned with a bright blue ribbon smiled at her and held the church door open.

  “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” She handed Alice a bulletin.

  “Delightful.”

  It felt good to be new. Unknown. Alice nodded hello to two men dressed in heavy work boots and coveralls sitting on a bench along the far wall. Beside them, brochures, flyers, and pocket devotionals topped a long, rectangular table, above which hung a corkboard with what appeared to be missions and ministry pictures.

  Alice proceeded into the tiny sanctuary. She chose a seat in the far back corner—in case she cried through the entire service. Not that she planned to. But her emotions rarely operated according to plan.

  The pews filling the small sanctuary looked like they had seen their fair share of parishioners, but the dull wood and faded carpet only added to its warmth. A rainbow of color streamed through the stained-glass windows set high on the wall.

  She slid her purse under her seat, leaned back, and closed her eyes, her body relaxing into the wood.

  “Hello. Is this seat taken?” A stocky woman with short, gray hair held her hand out. “I’m Betty. Betty Frye.”

  Alice tried not to look annoyed as the lady pumped her arm up and down with enough gusto to tear her shoulder out of socket.

  “This your first time?”

  She nodded. “My home church is in Kirkland, but I’m thinking of changing.” She needed a fresh start—someplace where she could reinvent herself without memories of Trent and their old life weighing her down.

  “So you’re ‘church shopping’ as they say? Me, I’ve been here 35 years, ever since I gave my life to Christ. Don’t understand kids these days, the way they hop from one church to the next like they’re out shopping for a new car. The body of Christ isn’t supposed to work that way. Know what I mean?”

  Alice shifted, feeling slightly exposed. “I guess.” She watched a woman in a floral dress sit behind the organ, hoping this inquisition would soon end. Any hopes of an immediate reprieve were shattered when a man in a suit and tie, presumably the pastor, engaged the organist in conversation.

  “I don’t know what I would have done without my church family. When Daddy died,” Betty held her hand to her chest, “and Momma got sick, I wanted to crawl in bed, pull the covers up over my head. Up over my head!” She jabbed Alice in the ribs. “But thanks be to God, my brothers and sisters in Christ carried my burdens. Carried my burdens, child, just as if they were their own.”

  The man with the tie walked to the center of the stage and grabbed the mic. “Hymn number 487.” His deep voice contrasted with his wiry frame.

  Alice pulled a thick green book from the shelf in front of her and flipped to the assigned page while her newfound “friend” belted out a high-pitched vibrato. Three songs later, the pastor grabbed the microphone again.

  “No better place to be on such a sunshiny morning, isn’t that right?”

  “Amen!”

  “I’ve been coming to church ever since I can remember. Came from a long line of religious folks, and I could talk it up with the best of them.” He paced as he talked. “Said my ‘amens’ and ‘hallelujahs’ like a good Christian boy. Even threw a few verses in the mix when I wanted to sound extra spiritual. I was like all those respectable Pharisees walking around in their long flowing robes. But inside, I was terrified. Terrified that someday someone would see through all my religious acts to my dark heart underneath.”

  Alice straightened and stared at the wooden pew in front of her.

  “Then one day, I’d had enough.” He walked to the end of the podium and paused. “I was done playing the religious game. I wanted more. I wanted to experience reality. I wanted to experience God.”

  He continued for another 20 minutes, but Alice barely heard him. Her mind remained stuck on what he said about wanting to experience
God. How long had it been since she’d drawn near to Christ, craved His presence? And yet, she had lived the lie for so long, she didn’t know how to be real anymore. Didn’t even know what real was. But it wasn’t this—her life as it was now—that much she knew.

  When the service ended, Betty turned to her and grinned. “It was a pleasure to meet you. I’d love to stay and get to know you better, tell you about some of our programs—our women’s tea is coming up next month. Might want to think about coming. It’d be a great way to get to know people.”

  Alice glanced at white and gray heads all around her, then turned back to Betty. She held her bulletin in the air. “I’ll have to check that out. Thanks.”

  Bold typed words in the center of the page grabbed Alice’s attention.

  FOR RENT: Mother-in-law apartment. Great location. Full kitchen. Prefer single mom or college student. Call Betty Frye for more information.

  A phone number followed.

  Alice lowered the bulletin and looked Betty in the eye. “Is this you?” She pointed at the bulletin. “Do you have an apartment for rent?”

  Betty squinted, read the bulletin, and smiled. “Yeah, that’s me all right. Why? You know someone who’s needing to rent?” She frowned. “Not one of those bachelor types that like to throw parties all the time and have people coming in and out all hours of the night. Momma couldn’t handle that, poor thing. Ever since Daddy died . . .”

  Blinking rapidly as tears pooled in her eyes, she pressed one hand to her chest and fanned her face with the other. “Need to find someone that won’t go tearing down the place. Been trying to rent it out for a long time. Not for the money, mind you. Daddy made sure Momma never wanted for nothing. Great plug for our friends in the insurance agency, wouldn’t you say?”

  Alice offered an awkward laugh and glanced around. Most everyone had already left, and she was beginning to feel out of place.

  “Once Daddy died, Momma got forgetful. Distracted and real lonely. Tried to get her to go to one of those ‘retirement’ places. Found a real nice one, too. With Friday socials, craft days, you name it. But she wouldn’t hear of it. Said she’d birthed four kids and buried one husband in that home and wasn’t about to walk away now.”