by Grace Greene
They walked to the kitchen, where Sandra grabbed a glass and filled it with water. Her throat was so dry. She drank several sips before speaking.
“No, Mom. This is exactly like Trent. There is nothing at all strange about this. Pettiness. Vindictiveness. Manipulation. All dedicated to dominating me.” She sat at the kitchen table and sagged, not trying to fight the hopeless feeling wrapping itself around her. “Trent wins again.”
Her mother walked over to the kitchen sink and stared out the window. The curtains were still hanging from the rod, but the knickknacks were gone from the sill. She turned back to her daughter. Her arms were crossed, but she wore a calculating expression. “Too bad you don’t have the car title.” But she said it with a slight lilt at the end, as if it were a question.
“I do.” This car was the only asset in her name. It was a used car, not fancy, but it had been a goodwill gesture, a conciliatory move on Trent’s part when he’d schmoozed her back into marriage. “I do have the title. It’s upstairs in my suitcase.”
“Sell it, then. Take the car to a dealer and get what you can for it. Your father’s old car is in the garage. He hasn’t driven in almost a year. It’s old, and I was going to donate it, but it runs, and Trent won’t have a key for it.”
Sandra shivered. If Trent caught wind of this . . . If he had any kind of idea that she might sell his . . . No, this was her car. This wasn’t his business. But it would be better for all concerned if she could get it done quietly and under Trent’s radar.
“Good idea. Thank you. I don’t want Trent to know.”
“He won’t unless you tell him. And where’s your phone? That fancy one you had?”
“I left it. Trent would shut it off anyway, and he might have used it to find me.”
Mom shook her head, looking amazed. “I don’t think he’d need the phone to find you. You don’t hide very well.” She walked off but then stopped and turned back. “Get one of those phones like Barbara has. They’re cheap, and you buy minutes as you need them.”
She was referring to a burner phone. Very low-tech.
“The house phone will be disconnected soon, and you need your own. Also, call the car dealership today, the one on Broad Street. Your dad and I have done business with them for years. Ask for Bert Davis. Tell him you’re our daughter and what you need. If he can help, he will. Then drive over there tomorrow, and I’ll come pick you up when the sale is done.”
“Trent will know.”
“How?”
Sandra shrugged. “He always does. He’s dedicated. That’s what he calls his behavior. He’s dedicated to me, to helping me. He’s out there somewhere watching.”
“That sounds like an exaggeration.”
Sandra smiled, not pleasantly and not in agreement. “You don’t know him, Mom. Not the real Trent. Early in our marriage, I was planning to attend the first session in a lecture series of writers and poets at the community college. I thought it would be fun and different. A reason to get out. Trent wasn’t happy about it, but he said I should do what I thought best.” She forced herself to breathe. “So I went. I parked and went into the building and discovered the speaker had canceled. I didn’t stay long. I was inside for maybe thirty minutes. Anyway, when I returned to my car, it wouldn’t start.”
Sandra stood, her hands clasped. “It was getting dark. No one was parked near me, and the few people who were out there were all strangers, so I called Trent. He didn’t answer. I had to leave a message. I didn’t have money for a tow truck. I sat in the car and waited.” She remembered how it had felt. Marooned. Forgotten. Helpless. “It was a long wait, but then he drove up. Some little thing in the engine had come loose. He fixed it in the space of a heartbeat. Some cap or plug or something.” She wiped at her cheek and found a tear.
“Mom, he’d been there the whole time. That road he drove up on came from the maintenance area behind the school. No outlet back there. He’d sabotaged my car and then left me to wait.”
“Did you ask him about it?”
She nodded. “Yes. I confronted him. He said he’d called the school earlier in the day and discovered the session had been canceled. He wanted to see what else I might be up to. As if . . . as if I might be sneaking around on him. He said he drove to the school to see if I’d actually gone there. He denied sabotaging my car but admitted he’d deliberately made me wait.”
Sandra looked at her mother. She couldn’t read her face. “I thought about it. I felt like I’d actually done something wrong, had brought it on myself. In the end, no real harm was done, right? Except to my feelings and to my trust.”
She looked down at the table, staring at her hands. “He apologized, Mom. He said he was sorry. He said that it was important to always have options, a backup plan. He said he was glad I had learned that. He was sorry my feelings were hurt, but that this small lesson might save me from greater hurt next time.”
Sandra put her hands over her face. Stupid. She was the very definition of futile.
Her mother cleared her throat. “Call Bert Davis and sell the car. If Trent is somehow tracking you, he’ll assume the car is going to the dealership for repairs. Misdirection can be a useful tool. Let’s make it work for us.”
Sandra’s car wasn’t fancy, and this was essentially a distress sale, so the money wasn’t great. Still, it was something, and Sandra was holding a check for $5,400 when Mom pulled up to the curb.
“Will your bank cash it for me?” she asked.
“Of course.” Mom gave her a long look. “Are you really going to carry that kind of money around with you?”
“What choice do I have?”
“Get a checking account?”
“Maybe. When I find a job, I’ll need a bank account. Until then . . .” Sandra tucked the check in her purse. There was no way she’d risk Trent getting his hands on her funds. He could find a bank account. She didn’t doubt that for a second. But she didn’t say it out loud because her mom would never really understand what it was like to be watched and controlled. No, the money was safer with her. “After the bank, can we stop at the store to get that phone?”
Mom sighed. “Yes, but be quick. I have to pick up your dad from day care.”
Sandra stood at the windows watching the street through the screening of the same dogwoods, holly, and lilacs she’d seen her entire life. She’d given up the job hunt until after the house was sold and the move was done because Trent was out there, she knew it. She hadn’t spotted him yet, but he was nearby, and she didn’t want him to see that her transportation had changed.
Trent didn’t, couldn’t call. He didn’t have her new number, and the house phone was now disconnected. He had her mom’s cell number, but he hadn’t called her. She would’ve said so if he had.
Dad’s car was at the local mechanic’s shop. They were doing an oil change and replacing the tires, among other things. The garage owner was an old friend of her parents. A friend of the family. That was a perk of longtime roots in the same city. Dad’s family had been in Richmond forever. Mom had moved here when they married. To help their misdirection plan, Joe, the mechanic, had towed away Dad’s old car with most of the few belongings she had left already in the trunk. After the tune-up, he would keep it in an unused bay. The storage was free but not the repairs. Sandra felt her stash of cash slipping away.
What would Trent think when her car didn’t come back from the dealership? And when the movers came and the garage door opened, and he saw that only her mother’s car was parked inside, would he assume Sandra was leaving for sunny Florida with her parents? Maybe.
Would he finally go home and find someone else to beguile and control? Was anyone else naive enough to not only fall for him but to stay long after the truth of his obsession had become obvious?
Sandra stayed inside. She helped pack and clean and sort items of all descriptions for donation or trash. Neighbors hauled away the discards and dropped off donations to the Salvation Army and Goodwill. She was useful in the house a
nd, within these walls, she didn’t risk meeting Trent face-to-face.
Everything moved too quickly. When potential buyers came to view the house, Mom and Sandra left together and parked down the street, waiting until the prospective buyers left. On one such trip, her mother said, “I wonder if these people will make an offer. What do you think? Any guesses?”
Sandra nearly choked. She cleared her throat but refused to answer.
“Sooner or later, someone will make that offer, Sandra. The sale will happen. You could go to Cub Creek. Your aunt has plenty of room there.”
She was offended. She let the sentence hang in the air unanswered for a moment before saying, “Cub Creek? Aunt Barbara’s house? I hardly know her.”
Her mother gripped the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s a good time to get to know her better. She was fond of you when you were little.”
“Please.” If Sandra made a list of what she didn’t need, it would include a nosy aunt she hardly knew and a place she hadn’t visited in years and had never missed, located in the middle of nowhere with no opportunity to find employment. “No thanks, Mom. I need to find a job.”
Mom nodded. “It was a thought.”
The couple who was viewing the house came down the sidewalk with the realtor. As soon as they were gone, Mom and Sandra returned to the house, and Mom immediately went back to packing and sorting. Sandra wished she could slow her down. Or slow down time. She was watching her life, her history, devolve—deconstructing into bits and pieces wrapped in paper and crammed into boxes, then summed up with scribbled words in black marker.
The first lookers returned a week later and, after a second walk-through, made an offer. They wanted a quick possession. Of course they do, Sandra thought to herself. Mom was delighted. Dad was oblivious. The closing would be in two weeks. Two weeks, and then what would she do?
Time was cruel and contrary. It passed, regardless of her wishes or plans, and the final day arrived. Sandra watched her mother fold and layer the last clothing items into her suitcase, keeping out what she and Dad would need for that night and the next morning. Sandra was waiting to carry the case downstairs for her.
“How will you manage the car trip on your own? I mean, Dad can’t drive, so . . .”
“We’ll do fine. We can go as slowly or as quickly as we need to.” Mom lowered the suitcase lid and zipped the top closed.
Sandra waited. Desperation drove her. “I could help, you know. Both with the drive to Florida and to get you settled down there.”
“We’ll be all right.” Mom stepped back to allow Sandra to pick up the suitcase. “Don’t roll it. You might scratch the floor.” She touched her daughter’s arm. “Wait a minute, Sandra. There’s something I want to suggest to you.”
Her heart lifted. Florida?
“It’s about your Aunt Barbara.”
“Aunt Barbara?” she echoed. “What about her? We already discussed this, didn’t we?”
“I’ve asked her to come to Florida for an extended visit. I’ve been asking her all along, but she was reluctant. This morning she called to say she’d like to come. I’m thinking she’ll be there for about two months. It would be good for her, and I could use her help.”
“What?” Sandra felt her jaw tighten. Aunt Barbara? Really?
Hadn’t she just offered her assistance to her mother and father? Where had her aunt been during all the packing and sorting? Mom acted like she didn’t, or couldn’t, hear her daughter. Sandra was choosing her words, ready to repeat her offer to help, when her mother spoke again.
“She’s worried about her house and leaving it empty.”
“Mom—”
“We think a house sitter is the answer.”
Sandra gasped. She was still standing in the bedroom holding her mother’s suitcase by its side handle as an icy anger settled around her, and she shivered. Her jaw felt so tight she could hardly speak. “House sitter? Me? And Aunt Barbara goes to Florida? Now I see.”
She set the suitcase on the floor.
“That’s right.” Mom’s tone was suddenly bright and upbeat as she moved briskly around the room, busy again as she checked the already empty dresser drawers for the hundredth time. “I thought of you. I didn’t tell her you’d do it because I didn’t want to speak for you. Frankly, I didn’t know how you’d react.” She turned to face Sandra. “It’s out in the country. You know where she lives. You said you were hoping to stay in town and find a job, but the movers will be here tomorrow morning to get the furniture and boxes and then. . .well, where will you go?” Mom placed her hands on the dresser. “I told Barbara you might be willing to stay at the house while she’s away in exchange for room and board.”
That cold anger felt brittle inside Sandra. It wanted to shatter, and she fought it. “Room and board, Mom? I need a job. I need to earn money. I can do that in Florida and help you and Dad at the same time.”
“I think that what you need is a place to rest and be alone. It’s quiet out there at Cub Creek. I don’t mean to sound cold, but I think you’ve been confused for a long time.” She touched her daughter’s arm and lifted it by the wrist. “You get thinner and thinner.” She sighed and released her. “You need to figure out what your future looks like instead of just going from one thing to the next.”
“I’ve been under stress for a long time. At least give me credit for effort. I’ve suffered, but I’ve tried.” Sandra pressed her hands together and held them to her face, but for only a moment. Her anger turned hot. She held up her palms toward her mother as if warding off unpleasantness.
“Mom, I appreciate all that you have done for me, throughout my life and in recent times. But frankly, one thing I wish you’d done, both you and Dad, was to have loved me enough to teach me survival skills. Doing the right thing doesn’t guarantee anything in this life. You sent me out into the world like a lamb among hungry carnivores.” She stopped abruptly, gasping again. One hand went to her side to press against a shooting pain.
Nearly breathless, she continued. “I did everything that was asked of me. You, Dad, my teachers. Everyone. It was like a contract, right? I listen, I learn, I follow the rules, and everyone is happy. In college I chose the right major and signed up for the required classes and. . .I tried to tell you it wasn’t working for me. You and Dad said to apply myself. Work harder. Make friends, but the right friends, you said. Trent looked right. He was strong. He was certain about everything. But it was a lie. I did everything everyone wanted, yet you broke the contract. Every one of you.” The last words burst from her. “Here I am, the only one still trying. The rest of you are concerned with yourselves, with your own lives, while I’m left alone.”
Sandra closed her eyes and tried to visualize relaxation and peace. The ache eased almost immediately, and oxygen filled her lungs. She opened her eyes, both glad and guilty that she’d exposed her anger and frustration, had taken them out on her mother. Now what? It was Mom’s turn, and Sandra waited.
Mom bit her lip. She kept all expression from her face. When she spoke, she didn’t mention either her daughter’s outburst or her obvious physical discomfort. She kept her tone soft and level. “If you change your mind about house-sitting for Barbara, let me know.” She walked out of the room and into the hallway, then stopped and turned back to face Sandra.
“Tomorrow the movers will be here. Dad will go to the day care for the day, and when the movers are done, I’ll pick him up from there and head south. Will you be here tomorrow?”
Her mother spoke coolly, calmly, as if refusing to acknowledge that Sandra’s entire life, from the cradle to present, had become nothing more than a caravan moving on to the next life stop. This time without her. Without their child, grown or not.
Sandra felt deflated. She was done with forcing the issue, and she responded equally coolly. “I’ll help with the movers. You haven’t asked for my help, but I can give it, so I will.”
“Cleaners are scheduled to come in the day after tomorrow to sweep and such. If yo
u like, I’ll cancel them, and you can do that for what I would’ve paid them.”
Paid help. Despite the sale of the car, a little more cash could make a difference.
“I would’ve done it for nothing, but since you’re offering, I’ll take the job.”
Mom nodded, then continued into the next room to recheck the nooks and crannies for forgotten items she valued and didn’t want to leave behind.
The next morning, Sandra kissed her dad good-bye. She gave him an extra hug, which seemed to please yet confuse him. Mom left the house with him that morning as if today were no different from the ones before. For him, it may not have seemed different because he paid no attention to the stacks of boxes or to the bare surfaces devoid of knickknacks.
Mom returned with a box of doughnuts. The coffeemaker wasn’t packed. It sat on the counter, hard at work, brewing, with a stack of cardboard cups beside it.
“Sugar and caffeine,” Mom said as she offered a doughnut to her daughter. “Today is a day for breaking rules.”
The lines in her mother’s face seemed deeper, and the dark areas under her eyes were almost violet. When it came to the movers, she seemed content to let Sandra do most of the directing and fussing. Sandra noticed she was drinking coffee almost constantly. As far as the move itself, it went OK, but it continued into the afternoon. When the men finally slammed the back of the truck closed and left, Mom was eager to do the same. She seemed hurried, distracted, and stressed. She kept repeating that she had to pick up Dad, so despite the countless instructions about how and when Sandra was to leave the house, as if she’d never managed her own home or her own moves, she simply listened.
“Return the broom and cleaning products to the next-door neighbor tomorrow when you’re done.”
“I’ll leave with you. Then you can drop me off one street over, and I’ll come back via the alley and the back door.”