Contingency Plan

by Lou Allin

  I sat on a pile of bags of soil in the shed. The smell of moist earth surrounded me. I was potting paper narcissus bulbs for a fall forcing. Something to cheer up the house.

  Now instead of life, I thought of death.

  “Five days?” That sounds awfully risky.” I said. “How was he saved?”

  “Good question. But in spring, temperatures aren’t that cold. My thought is that he kept his emergency supplies on him or had stashed them. Power bars maybe. Small heat packs. And of course he was much bigger. More fat and muscle. She wasn’t more than a hundred and ten pounds. It was damned smart, if that’s the right word. Took plenty of planning. Nobody could prove a thing. And they never will.”

  I shuddered in spite of myself. What did he have in mind for me? A sailboat trip with a storm on the horizon? Both of us had taken out expensive policies with the idea that we were a family now.

  It was more than money for him.

  It was the arrogance of power.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Bye, Mom. I’m going to Mandy’s. We’re planting a geocache at the old bridge. Then we’re making pizza.”

  “Have fun. Be back by nine. School tomorrow.”

  I watched my little girl as she bounced down the front walk toward the Sheftels’ minivan. How had she grown so tall so quickly?

  That night I made a gourmet meal that even Joe couldn’t criticize. Shrimp cocktail, prime Alberta beef filets, creamed potatoes, Caesar salad, an Australian Shiraz that had cost fifty dollars, and chocolate cheesecake for dessert. Joe never questioned bills for our home, clothes and dining.

  “Now that’s more like it, little one,” Joe said, his face relaxed and approving for a change as he cleaned his plate. He flashed an okay sign. “You got the steaks just right. Perfecto.”

  I had also polished the silver and got the windows gleaming. How fake was my smile? What would he pick on next? What new rule would I break? It had taken a week of groveling to get back to this hell. But I had a good reason. Now I was ready to make plans.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Joe asked after dinner. He played with a strand of my long blond hair as we sat on the sofa in front of the early news. I wondered if he was going to wind it around my neck.

  We sat under the oil painting of me, based on a photo, that he’d commissioned. It greeted me from above the marble fireplace the day we moved into the house. “My last duchess, like the poem by Browning,” he had said. At first I thought the idea was charming.

  Later, I’d found the lines in a book of verse. I wasn’t so stupid about literature that I couldn’t see the comparison. Another jealous husband. A young wife. End of story. As the Duke said, “I gave commands; then all smiles stopped…”

  “Happy?” he asked as we finished our decaf. The cruel curve of his mouth froze me. The dimple on one cheek mocked all innocence. He was holding my hand so tightly that it ached.

  “Who wouldn’t be?” That pleased him. I prayed that he couldn’t feel my heart breaking out of my chest.

  “I keep my promises, darling. For as long as we both shall live. Remember that. You have a forever home. Good girls always do.” He gave my ear a playful pinch.

  “And Jane?”

  “Bright little Jane will be off to university in a few years. I think back east. They have a world-famous marine biology program at Queen’s. Then we’ll have more time for ourselves. Won’t that be wonderful?”

  That night our lovemaking earned a solid-gold Oscar for me. For him, the usual silver star for excellence. My body responded in spite of itself. I was almost grateful. That helped the performance.

  * * *

  I started trembling as we lay like spoons, his favorite position. His arm pulled me closer. He read my fear as passion and began again. He’d had a shower earlier, but I could still smell his expensive cologne. Now it made me sick. Never was I so happy that he had agreed I should be on the pill. Bringing this man’s child into the world would have been a death sentence.

  At least Scout was safe. Joe’s first wife Chrissie was beyond help. Jane and I had to find a place where he would never follow us.

  I lay awake thinking. The property was in both our names. Everything else—at least everything I knew about—was held in joint accounts. I wouldn’t have put it past him to be monitoring them to trap me.

  Joe had turned away and was snoring. Moving like a zombie, I got up and went to the toilet. For several minutes, I retched silently with a towel over my mouth. Tears poured down my cheeks. His lovemaking felt like the coils of a serpent. Squeezing, squeezing. I was waiting for the perfect moment, but where could I get the money to leave?

  Then I remembered.

  The next morning, I talked with Jane. “Get those twenty-dollar American double-eagle coins Grandma left you.” I had never mentioned them to Joe. They were my daughter’s university fund. For years I had been watching their value rise as precious metals soared toward two thousand dollars an ounce. I’d never get full value, but I’d get enough.

  Del Finch, the investigator, sold them for me in Seattle and kept a small percentage. He brought me forty thousand in large bills. We never met at the house. A woodland path behind our property led to a small stream where I walked and he waited.

  I put my escape money in a box of sanitary pads for heavy periods. Heavy periods. Too right.

  I worried about Bonnie. The weak link.

  “I’m going to be…away for a while. Joe and I haven’t been getting along,” I said on the phone.

  “Now, now, dear. Couples have silly fights all the time. It’s natural. You both have to give more than fifty percent in a marriage. I suppose that’s what they call a compro… oh, something.” She paused for so long that I thought we had been disconnected. “Is that the right word? I’m getting rather forgetful.”

  I told her that if she didn’t hear from me for a few weeks that she wasn’t to worry. “Our plans aren’t fixed yet. Jane and I are going to get away from the city.”

  “But what about school, dear?”

  “I’ve told the principal that it’s a family emergency. Jane’s bringing her books and assignments with her. St. Anne’s is very flexible.”

  I would contact her when I found a safe way.

  She gave a worried laugh. “You’re acting so dramatic. Have you tried a marriage counselor? People should be able to work things out. Where will you ever find such a wonderful man like Andy? I mean…oh, dear.”

  “I love you, Bonnie. Take care.” I swallowed back tears as I said goodbye. I hoped she didn’t hear my voice breaking. It made me feel better that Sharon, her neighbor and friend of thirty years, was a nurse who looked in on her every day. She had experience in assisted living. Bonnie had also given her power of attorney years ago. At the time, Andy and I had lived too far away to be of regular help. Whether or not the women were more than friends, I didn’t know. Love had many faces.

  Joe’s wasn’t one.

  * * *

  Jane and I were playing Scrabble that night when I told her the plans. Joe had gone for a jog.

  “He’s evil, Mom. I know. I saw those bruises on your shoulders.”

  I had tried to keep the worst from her. Maybe that had been a mistake.

  A question hung over my bowed head. What had I done to my daughter?

  “He’s never…touched you, has he?” Would she have told me?

  “No way!” Jane stood up and pushed her tiles aside. “Why can’t we tell the police? Aren’t they there to help us? I don’t understand.”

  “That’s the problem, honey. He’s never going to leave us alone. It’s not in his nature. He didn’t show me his dark side until it was too late. Some people are so dangerous that even the police can’t help. I’m sorry that I got us into this. But I’m going to get us out. Here’s what I’ve done so far. You can be a big help.”

  The new identities cost ten thousand dollars. Del had friends in the Vancouver black market. When it was more convenient, Jane did some transfers by meeting Del at he
r school. The driver’s license and birth certificates were enough. Passports I could never have afforded. Living outside the country was beyond our reach.

  But I was comfortable in the wilderness. That was a strength. And the hours were counting down. Freedom was calling my name.

  Andy’s grandfather had built a little trapper’s camp in north central BC on Holy Cross Lake. Nothing fancy. Not even electricity when I’d been there. A retired logger, Tom Sinclair had belonged to the Cheslatta band, otherwise known as Carrier People or Dakelh. When a Dakelh man died, his widow carried around his bones and ashes for a period of mourning.

  I’d been to the cabin once, on my honeymoon. And that’s where I was headed now, my kid in tow.

  Back to where Andy’s family had been. It seemed like the one safe place.

  The plan was to make our way off the island in an indirect way. The first places Joe would look would be the airlines. His money and power would buy any information he wanted. Being off the grid would help me. And I’d never mentioned the cabin. I was sure of that.

  When I told Jane the plan, she looked almost relieved. “Good job, Mom,” she said. “When do we go?”

  “That’s my girl,” I said, pulling her close. She hadn’t seen half what I had. He managed to hold himself in check in front of her. He didn’t want any witnesses.

  “It’s not as different as last time when we moved,” she said, sounding older than her years. “This is almost like going back to Dawson Creek.”

  “I’m proud of you, Jane. It’s not easy to leave friends behind. If things work out, we can move to a larger city later. But we can’t take any chances.” Joe would never give up searching for us. Nobody took anything from him. The strong crushed the weak. They did what they did because they could.

  * * *

  Then to close an important deal, Joe had to go to Calgary for three days.

  “I don’t like leaving you two alone. Keep your cell handy. I’ll be calling,” he’d said, giving me a stern look. Jane and I saw him off at the airport. We even waved. That beautiful silver plane rose into the air, our hopes with it.

  At the house, we took only our suitcases. Two lives in little parcels. Most of the expensive presents Joe had given me were vested in the house. A three-thousand-dollar espresso machine. A grand piano. The wine cellar. I planned to pawn the rings. The rubies and diamonds were real, Del’s jewelry contact had said. We took a few clothes and pictures of Andy. His memory rode lightly in our hearts.

  Under my new name, I had used a thousand dollars to buy a reliable old Bronco. I had left it in a mall parking lot. I asked our taxi driver to drop us off a few blocks away from downtown. At a pawnshop we got five thousand for the rings. I was taking no chances that Joe could trace the cab records and discover the Bronco.

  Cash in hand, we hit the highway. We headed up island to Comox. From there we took a ferry to remote Powell River on the mainland. More direct routes to Vancouver seemed risky. Call me paranoid, but I was taking no chances. Still, I found myself looking over my shoulder. Every move was critical in this chess game. There were no do-overs.

  At a cheap motel, I cut Jane’s hair, bleached it, and set out the clothes we’d bought at Value Village.

  “Mom, that’s a pair of farmer’s overalls. And that plaid shirt. How can I wear that?”

  “Pretend we’re in a play for the first few days. Let’s make it a game. See if you can act like a boy.”

  She giggled, which relaxed the tension, and modeled in front of the cracked mirror.

  “You mean, like, spit and swear? I’m allowed?”

  With spray-gray hair and a frumpy dress, I was her grandmother. Dredging up some high-school French added to the illusion. Our paperwork read Suzanne and Denise Dupuis. Del had told me that most likely they were dead. Their names would have been taken from burial records back east. Only the ages would match. This unfortunate mother and daughter had given us a second life. I would remember them in my prayers.

  We went to bed that night with the sound of trucks roaring by. Air brakes made the windows shake. The sheets were threadbare. Jane’s pillow was ripped. Tiles were missing in the bathroom. Even the pizza we had ordered was cold. Through thin walls we could hear a drunken party with laughter and loud music.

  I felt like I had gone to sleep in paradise.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The coastal highway wound its way to the seaside town of Gibsons. We ate a burger and fries at a stand while we waited for the ferry across to Route 99 to Vancouver and then on to Route 1 east. Jane went for a walk. I admired the postcard glory of Howe Sound. Dark blue waters, light blue sky, white-capped mountains to the north where we were eventually headed. The green islands to the west looked so vulnerable. I’d have to forget the tang of salt air and the moan of foghorns. What did that matter if you lived in a prison with torture as your daily bread?

  Jane came back with a whoop and showed me the gps screen with a little treasure chest image. “I found a neat cache, Mom. It’s called ‘Rock-a-Bye, Baby,’ and guess what? It was in a fake rock. Pretty cool, eh? Some guy who was caching told me there’s a lot more…”

  I nodded, only half listening.

  Then I remembered something that froze me. Everyone knew cell-phone transmission could be located. One tower, another, then a third. Zeroing in by triangulation. That’s why we weren’t carrying a phone. What had Joe said to Jane when he gave her the gps? Now you’ll always know where you are. So could he find us if the unit was on? Even if it wasn’t? If it had been rigged with a homing device? Joe could afford the best. Would he know that we’d left even if he were in Calgary?

  “Turn it off,” I said. “Please give it to me. No arguments.”

  Jane looked mildly hurt but obeyed. She followed as I went out of sight around a corner into a group of cedars. I smashed the screen with a large rock, then threw the unit 15 meters out into deep water.

  “Mom! What—?” Tears welled in Jane’s eyes.

  “He may be using it to track us. I’m no expert, but we can’t take the risk,” I said. “Please try to understand, honey. I’m sorry I didn’t think about it sooner.”

  “Can I get another one in Vancouver?”

  “Sweetie, we can’t stop right now. Later maybe.”

  Twenty minutes later we drove onto the ferry to North Van, the ramp clanking under us. The steel doors closed as a seagull flew out to freedom. Somehow I expected to see Joe’s car behind us. Had I dodged a bullet? None too soon.

  It took us two days to make our way to Williams Lake, careful to stay beneath the radar. We stayed in cheap roadside motels, empty of people now that October had arrived. If I saw one more greasy hamburger, I was going to scream. At least now we could take off our disguises.

  Then came Quesnel and Prince George. The strong arms of the North folded around me. The sweet, clean air gave me hope. Grandpa Tom’s camp was south of Vanderhoof. Tourism, logging and milling were the mainstays.

  We picked up supplies in Fort Fraser, a town of only a hundred. Then we headed for Holy Cross Lake. The name felt blessed and safe.

  Carrying the cash made me nervous, but the nearest bank was probably 80 kilometers away. The money would last us for a few years. What would happen when we ran out? Maybe I could pick up a job in the summer when tourists arrived. Cleaning, cooking, money under the table. I couldn’t think that far ahead.

  Running for our lives made me feel like an animal. Always keeping my head down. Wondering where the next meal was coming from. Where we could sleep without one eye open. Could a deer escape a mountain lion? Gramps had said that all beasts had their special powers, even rabbits and deer. Rabbits were survivors through seasonal coloring. More than one man had been killed by a deer’s hooves striking his chest. As for Joe? I saw him like a mountain lion.

  Strong. Relentless.

  Merciless.

  I hadn’t been to the old place in nearly f ifteen years. Gramps didn’t own the land. It was leased on a long-term basis. Suppose it w
ere occupied, or worse, no longer standing?

  I shook off my fears. People didn’t care to live full-time in a rustic cabin. As for sturdiness, the camp was built to last.

  Please be here for us, I prayed.

  The four-wheel-drive Bronco turned out to be a good choice. We pulled onto a bush road, the snow-brushed ruts packed from the cold. When we neared the lake, the road forked. I stopped. Which way? Everything looked alike. Had I been crazy to come so far from the island? For Jane’s sake, I kept my spirits up. If we couldn’t rest here…

  Then I saw a huge, familiar boulder with a white star.

  “Right turn,” I said, breathing out a happy sigh. “Your dad used to climb up on that boulder. He played King of the Castle.” I wondered where my own cruel king was at the moment. Pounding his desk now that he had lost our signal? Hiring an investigator like Del? He would know that I had found help. But I hadn’t told Del our plans.

  We drove on another few kilometers. A weathered plank on a tree caught my eye. Sinclair, it read. Three miles. The days before metric.

  “Is that it, Mom?” Jane asked at the end of a long and hilly road. She’d heard Andy talk about the place. His first .22. Hunting for deer and partridges. Then getting a bigger gun for moose and bear. “It’s so tiny. Like in a fairy tale.”

  I got out and watched my breath steam in the cool air. The cabin was even smaller than I had remembered. A bit shabby, like a lost dog. The key to the padlock hung on a hook under the windowsill. Weeds and saplings crowded the clearing. The cedar-shingle roof had some moss, but seemed solid.