Run Away Baby

by Holly Tierney-Bedord

  Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, she took a quick look inside her plastic bag to reassure herself that everything was still okay.

  She examined all of Barabara’s information, working for a few minutes on memorizing everything about her. She wanted to take off her shoes and feel cool air on her feet, but she was afraid if she took them off she’d never want to put them back on, so instead she loosened the laces a bit.

  She remembered hearing once that the waitresses who got the biggest tips weren’t the cheerful ones but the ones who seemed like they were really stressed out and barely holding it together. So that was her plan. At least at first, anyhow. Once she got out of danger and was truly on her way, heading up north to mountains and fall leaves and lighthouses, she was going to be a disgruntled waitress. She’d be the one who made each and every table she served feel like she was hanging by a thread, but hanging on just for them. Like, Here’s your omelet, and then set it down with a really stressed out smile.

  She’d go by Barbie. People would like that. It would make them think of Barbie dolls. When people asked why her name was spelled Barabara instead of Barbara, she’d tell them she come from a poor, uneducated family “Down South” and that her mom and dad didn’t know how to spell, and neither did anyone at the hospital. They’d feel sorry for her. Maybe she’d be the recipient of one of those huge tips that made the news.

  She scratched at a few of her many bug bites. “Okay, don’t let it go that far,” she told herself.

  She returned Barabara’s information to the bag, forcing herself back to the present. Exhaustion and dehydration were making it hard to think. Charlie and Rake and Meggie had probably looked for her all night and all morning. At some point they’d likely watched the news. Had they assumed she’d flagged down some motorist? Were they still looking for her, or were they on the run themselves, far away from here, afraid she’d gone straight to the cops?

  The last scenario seemed the most likely to her. They’d assume that everything they’d done had erased all her original schemes. And since they knew nothing about her money and new identity, since Charlie thought she was relying entirely on him, they wouldn’t think she’d be capable of surviving without his help.

  Settling on this, Abby made herself comfortable, sitting with her back to a tree, and dozed for the remainder of the afternoon and early evening. When the sun went down she started walking again. The little road branched off to a bigger road, but she continued walking alongside a fence.

  As night moved in, the heat did not subside. A swarm of mosquitos hovered along with her, unrelenting. She swatted at them, but it was futile. Eventually she gave up, too tired to fight them off any longer. The night was velvety dark, the humidity diffusing the little bit of moon and starlight, and she couldn’t move as quickly as she had the night before, since it was a struggle to see where she was going. Throughout her trek she kept thinking, jealously, about that dog getting sprayed with the garden hose. She’d give anything for a drink of that cold water.

  The highway was gone now. She couldn’t hear it, couldn’t see it. She had no idea if it was half a mile away or ten miles away.

  Deep into the night, she crossed a small road and saw a little house where the road curved. The house had a wide front porch and a big dormer double window on the second floor. There was no garage, no swing sets or kids’ toys, no evidence of a dog. Two non-junky cars were parked in the driveway. One was a Jetta. The other was a new Hyundai. Nothing amazing, but proof of two adults with jobs. The house was surrounded by trees and nothing else.

  This was it. This was the house she’d been waiting for.

  Chapter 47

  Early the next morning she watched them leave. He wore khaki pants and a polo shirt. She wore a little skirt and blouse, and heels. She even looked like she was close to Abby’s size. They went outside at the same time. He locked the door. They kissed goodbye and pulled out of the driveway in separate directions. Except for him locking the door, which Abby had expected to happen, it was almost too good to be true.

  She waited a few minutes to be sure neither had forgotten something and needed to come back for it. She then emerged from the woods and darted across the road. Her heart was booming, more in excitement than fear.

  She went straight around to the back of the house and checked the back door. It was locked. She then noticed a garden hose coiled in the grass. She cranked the spigot and forced herself to let it run until it got cold. To be extra careful, she sprayed the water off toward the flowerbed behind her so a puddle wouldn’t form. When the water got cold she took a long, long drink, then sprayed a little on her face, then took another drink. It was heaven.

  When she could drink no more, she cranked the water off and got down to the business of breaking in. What appeared to be a brand new central air conditioner was humming away on a cement platform by the backdoor. The windows were closed to keep out the hot air. Some of the blinds had been left open and Abby could see that the house was neat and deserted. No dog came bounding up to the window to bark its head off at her.

  She peeked under the welcome mat, beneath large stones, in the lights by the doors, looking for a key. Nothing. She went around to the front of the house, stood back by the road, and looked up at the second floor dormer above the porch roof. One window was open a fraction of an inch. There was no screen in it either. Abby guessed these people had recently had central air installed, and not long ago a window unit had been in this room.

  She hesitated. This may have been the easiest entrance point, but it was also on the front of the house. So far no one had driven past, but it was only a matter of time before someone came around the corner. She went back behind the house and got another drink of water. If she broke in through one of the back windows no one would see or hear her. It was very tempting. But she hadn’t wanted to leave a trace.

  She tucked her money bundle behind the hose reel, between two shrubs, and went back around to the front of the house. She climbed up onto the porch railing, holding onto the thick corner post for support. From here, she was able to easily see onto the roof. Still hearing no approaching traffic, she put both hands on the roof, leaned onto it, lifted one of her feet up to the metal flag bracket affixed to the post, tested it with a shove of her foot, and when it felt solid, boosted herself up onto the roof. Clinging on like Spiderman, the window a few feet in front of her, she crawled on her belly to it.

  When she reached it she steadied herself, kneeling on the roof, and dug her fingertips beneath the frame. At first the window wouldn’t budge. She looked out at the yard and road, catching her breath, trying to remain calm. She gave it another try and it lurched up. One more shove and she was able to squeeze through. Seconds later she was in the couple’s bedroom. She pushed the window back down into place but not quite all the way there, just as it had looked, and drew in a deep breath.

  This room was a cozy oasis after all she’d been through. A collection of crosses and a framed marriage prayer hung on the wall above the stenciled, calligraphic words, Kiss Me Goodnight and Tell Me You Love Me. One pillow said Mrs. and the other said Mr. A framed photo of the happy couple rested on the nightstand. She picked it up and examined it. They were cute, average looking people, probably a little older than she was. They were smiling adoringly at each other. The frame was engraved with the word Forever.

  It was all too precious for words. Being immersed in this sweet, simple, wholesome life pulled the bottom out on Abby’s adrenaline rush. She sank to the floor, deflating, and held herself while she wept. She was so dehydrated that no tears came from her eyes.

  Eventually that sudden black cloud that had descended on her began to lift. She stood up, drained and empty, looking around her at the bedroom, doing her best to refocus.

  It would probably be safer to hang out here all day instead of being out there, she told herself. But she was afraid she was telling herself that because it’s what she wanted to believe.

  Don’t get comfortable anywhere,
she reminded herself. Not yet. You’re not even close to being comfortable.

  She went down to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and saw a loaf of bread on the countertop. She opened it, took one piece, and ate it. The loaf would still look the same to anyone who didn’t have obsessive compulsive disorder. The house was tidy, but not manically organized. As long as she didn’t do anything stupid, she felt like this was all going to go fine.

  She went back upstairs and opened the closet. There was an array of purses, totes, and beach bags on the top shelf. She carefully pulled out one of the larger tote bags. Navy. Nondescript. This lady had plenty of stuff. She wouldn’t immediately notice one tote bag missing.

  Abby took off her shoes and socks, and found a fresh pair of clean white socks to put on. She added a spare clean pair to the bag. Next she found the woman’s underwear drawer and took out a couple of pairs from the back. She pulled off her shorts and undies and put on one of the woman’s fresh pairs, too relieved about being out of her own nasty knickers to be grossed out. She opened another drawer. Bras. The woman was bigger than Abby so she skipped this step. T-shirts next. Abby took one from the bottom of the pile, a plain black one, and put it on. She added a gray one with a small sports logo to the tote. They both smelled kind of musty, like they’d been at the back of the drawer forever. The woman would never miss them.

  There were endless shorts. Abby took two pairs and put them in the tote. She found a pair of frumpy jeans that were a little too big and put them on. It was very hot out, but wearing them made her feel older and incognito. Her long legs had always drawn too much attention, and would now more than ever, since they were covered in mosquito bites.

  Next she grabbed a gray baseball cap off the woman’s closet shelf and a pair of cheap looking, brown sunglasses from a basket on a dresser that was filled with jewelry and more sunglasses.

  With all the new, clean clothes and her small collection of dirty clothes, the bag was filling up quickly. Abby looked at the bottom of her shoes. Despite her time on the run, they were pretty clean since it was so dry outside. She double checked the area where she’d come in the window and looked out at the roof, making sure there weren’t prints anywhere. It all looked clear, so she put her shoes back on in case she had to go in a hurry.

  Satisfied that she had as much clothing as she could safely take, Abby headed to the bathroom. She used the toilet and then washed her face with a wet wad of toilet paper that she then flushed away. Next she rummaged through the bathroom cupboards and found a few toothbrushes still in plastic wrappers with the name of a dentist printed on them. She opened one, put the wrapper in the tote, and brushed her teeth. She took a couple of tampons from a box of tampons, and sprinkled a few aspirin and ibuprofen tablets into the inner pocket of the tote. She grabbed a couple of ponytail holders from a dish on the vanity top and threw them in the tote bag. Then she saw something that presented quite a dilemma: A box of hair dye. Radiant Chestnut. One lone, missable-if-gone box of hair dye.

  Abby hemmed and hawed. She could probably dye her hair very safely here. It was like her own personal bunker until the end of the workday. Or she could at least take the dye with her. Or she could leave it exactly where it was.

  She decided to leave it there and think about it for a few minutes while she gathered other stuff.

  She took another look at the bedroom, and decided it looked exactly as she had found it. Ditto for the bathroom.

  She went downstairs, and started collecting food. No one would miss one slice of processed cheese, two bottles of water from a fridge full of bottles of water, one apple, one granola bar, one snack size bag of chips. She put all her findings in the bag. She began opening drawers until she found the junk drawer. She took out a pair of scissors (the only one in there, but didn’t people frequently misplace things like scissors?), a book of matches since they were scattered throughout the drawer, and the oldest, junkiest flashlight in the drawer, after checking that it did in fact work.

  She went out into the living room and slid a book off the shelf, a Nicholas Sparks paperback, and rearranged the remaining books to hide the gap that had been created. A person could sit almost anyplace and read a book, especially one like that, and people would figure they were up to no harm.

  Abby couldn’t stop thinking about the hair dye. It reminded her of that story about God and the boats and the helicopter. She’d heard that story at least ten times at church when she was a kid. Risky or not, she went back upstairs to have another look at the box of hair dye. Maybe this was her helicopter from God.

  She was standing there holding the box in her hand, thinking, when she heard a car door slam down below.

  Her first inclination was to freeze, and for a second she couldn’t move as she listened to the sound of footsteps coming up the porch and then heard the sound of a key turning in a lock down below her. Then she kicked into gear. She shoved the box of dye back in its place, grabbed the tote she had fortunately brought back upstairs with her, and ran on her tiptoes into the bedroom. She planned to escape through the window, but realized that opening it and crawling across the porch roof would make too much noise and be too risky. Instead she crouched down and rolled under the bed. Since there was no bed skirt, her eyes were level with the top of the stairs. It was basically like she was lying on the floor in plain view. She rolled back out and crawled over to the closet, the floor creaking in perfect time to the sound of the downstairs toilet flushing. Inside the closet, she crept to the back corner and reached forward to pull the door almost all the way shut like she’d found it. She was standing on shoes, hidden by some long dresses and coats, wedged against the very depths of the space where the ceiling slanted down, crouching to fit.

  Seconds later the stairs began to creak, step by step, closer and closer. Abby stood frozen, trying to even her breathing. She inched even farther into the slanted, claustrophobic depths of her hiding space. And then the closet door opened and hangers started coming out as someone undressed and hung clothes back up. The strong scent of perfume wafted in. Abby breathed an internal sigh of relief that she hadn’t stolen the ripe banana she’d seen in the kitchen. Its aroma would have overpowered the closet. This made her realize she likely smelled just as strong. She held herself as tight and still as possible, trying to be small, trying to be as inoffensive and invisible as humanly possible. There was more jangling of hangers; it was all happening inches from her. She pressed her lips together, barely able to stand it. Then the woman closed the closet door, all the way shut, clicking it into place.

  Abby exhaled very, very slowly. The desire to stretch, or jump around, or scream, tickling every cell in her body. She wiggled her finger tips to combat the claustrophobia. She tried to wiggle her toes a little, but they were firmly cushioned in place, trapped by the fresh new pair of stolen socks and her own tightly laced running shoes. Sweat was tickling its way down her temples, the drip on the left side in a slow race against the drip on the right.

  Trying to distract herself, she thought about the hair dye that she hadn’t taken. She had missed her chance.

  Missed my chance, missed my chance she repeated, over and over in her head. She shifted and her bag made a little noise as it scraped against the wall. She froze, expecting the door to fly open and a cold barrel of a gun to poke her in the face, but nothing happened.

  Despite all her good reasons for being there, Abby decided that hiding in a closet was really creepy, particularly to the homeowner. If the lady discovered her it would probably traumatize her for the rest of her life.

  There were noises outside the closet door again and she bit her lip. She was about ready to call out and turn herself in, to give up on everything, when she heard the beeping of a phone call being placed.

  “Hi… I’m home for the day… Yeah, already… Nothing… Not at all… Gonna take a little nap... Yeah… You wanna surprise me? I’ll be here waiting… Exactly… Yeah… He won’t be back all day… Backdoor’s open… Not that backdoor…” The woman
giggled. “Okay. See you in a few.”

  All day. Abby had heard the woman say all day. She could barely balance or breathe. She couldn’t make it all day. And what about her bag of money and IDs, hidden steps from the backdoor? Hopefully Mr. Rendezvous was so excited about dropping by that he wouldn’t notice a plastic bag shoved in some shrubbery.

  The bed creaked, and then the floorboards. Then Abby heard water running in the bathroom. She shifted her weight a little and raised the tote bag strap to her shoulder, considering whether to make a run for it. Before she could do anything, she heard footsteps again and then some drawers opening and closing. Finally the woman seemed to have settled into bed. She clicked on the television and the room was filled with the sound of fake, exaggerated moans and groans and generic porno music. Abby breathed in deeply and adjusted her cramped body a bit.

  Moments later she heard someone coming up the stairs. She waited for the sound of plastic crinkling and some jerk saying, “Hey, I found this bag in your bushes,” but instead she heard a woman’s voice: “Hi, Neighbor.” It was squawky and sounded like someone much older. Was this the affair person or some huge mistake? Abby gripped the tote bag in anticipation.

  “Hi to you,” said the woman. “What are you waiting for? Get your ass over here.”

  At least it wasn’t Charlie, Abby told herself. She’d begun to think everyone in the world who was fucking someone was fucking Charlie.

  These two went at it forever. Like the word on the picture frame. They kept the background noise going and approached sex like it was a competitive sport. Gadgets whirred and, at one point, something that sounded like an industrial strength blender took off. It lessened Abby’s closet lurker guilt and gave her a little freedom to move around without being heard. Eventually the women stopped having sex and went into the shower together.