Dear Anna

by Katie Blanchard

  “How did Ophelia and Hank feel about moving?” Les leans back in his chair.

  “Mad at first, until we got there. They each had their own rooms. I rented a two-bedroom apartment and gave them the bedrooms. I slept on the little futon in the living room. I felt blessed to have a new home; I didn’t care about having my own room. The place was small, not much bigger than the house we left, but it didn’t have the threat of my dad in it. The carpet was stained, but we loved it because it wasn’t giving us splinters like the damaged hardwood floor of the shack. I bought Ophelia a birthday cake, and she cried the whole time that we sang. We never got such a luxury before. We thought we were rich.”

  “You became a mother to them.”

  “I could never replace my mother,” I argue. “I couldn’t see working three jobs and not doing it for a purpose. They were my purpose.”

  “What happened?”

  “Hank graduated and soon so did Ophelia. I met John and─” I wave to the air “─that was that.”

  Les doesn’t respond. He lets me fill in our silence when I’m ready to answer his unspoken questions.

  “I dropped them for John and his lifestyle.”

  “You had to make a choice.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t try and put salve on the wounds I’ve created. I did wrong.”

  “I─” but he stops himself. “I won’t.”

  “Our session is up,” I announce. Les sadly nods as I gather my purse. “Les?”

  “Yeah?”

  I walk over to him, lean my body down and hug him. “Thank you.” Les’s arm reaches up to embrace me back.

  “Any time.”

  It’s a windy day on the top of the bridge, even more with the cars rushing behind me as I stand on the pathway. The wind does nothing to chill me. I feel dead inside already. I lean my head against the metal beam and look out on the river’s dark water.

  “Me-Me”

  “Phil.” I laugh as Ophelia scrunches up her nose. “What’s up, sugar cube?”

  “There are clothes on my bed.” She’s confused.

  “Yes.” I smile.

  “Why?” She scratches her leg and hitches up her too tight short sleeve dress.

  “Because you need school clothes.”

  “They’re for me?” As the realization dawns on her, I watch pure joy seep into my sister’s young fifteen-year-old face. “Seriously?”

  “Well, they won’t fit Hank.” I laugh. I have been dying for her to notice the clothes on her bed.

  “Very funny,” Hank grumbles from the couch as he’s watching a movie.

  “You got me school clothes?” Ophelia asks for confirmation. She’s terrified that’s it’s just a dream she’ll be forced to wake up from and go back to reality.

  “I got you both clothes.” I sip my coffee and puff out the newspaper in front of me, trying to act casual as if new clothing isn’t a monumental thing. But it is. To my siblings and I, it’s a rare thing.

  “You got me clothes?” Hank jumps up from the couch, no longer acting like a cool sixteen-year-old as he darts for his room. “Oh my god! Phil! Come look!”

  Ophelia takes off after my brother and with them out of the room I let the ear-splitting smile take over my face.

  “Fashion show!” Ophelia yells.

  I remember that day like it was only five minutes ago. I can still smell the vanilla air freshener trying to mask the mildew smell when I think about it — the rundown green carpet stained from the previous owners. The walls needed a few coats of paint, but it was home. No one was going to hurt us anymore.

  Except, I hurt them.

  I climb the railing and sit on top of it. I should jump and end it all. What good am I to this world? John has made sure that I’ll be left with the karma I deserve for leaving my siblings behind. I look down at the river. I wonder if it will be the fall, the water, or the cold that kills me.

  I could haunt John.

  All his belittling comments he’s stained my soul with would be buried with me. Anna would be welcomed in as a natural moving on process. No one would ever know what they did.

  I put my leg back over toward the pathway and make the other one follow. I jump back down on the path and start walking to my car.

  The idea of John winning doesn’t sit right with me.

  Twenty-Two

  Instead of jumping off the bridge, I drive to one of my favorite gift shop style stores with little figurines and trinkets in it. They annoy the hell out of John every time I purchase a new one. If I can’t divorce him, the least I can do is irk him. A small bit of power I can hold on to for the time being.

  I pop in and wave at the lady behind the counter. She’s not the old lady I’m used to, and I’m not in the mood for conversation, so I’m more than delighted to know that she as well wants to be left to her devices with the simple head-bob she offers me. I don’t look like myself today. I look at least ten pounds heavier than I am. I wish to be swallowed whole in comfort today. I probably give off a hot mess vibe that screams trouble.

  I head to the back of the store because I like to work my way from the back to the front. It feels more efficient that way, giving everything a once-over and freeing myself from the possibility of impulse buys when I see an item twice.

  I hear a familiar voice talking with the cashier over the low volume of Motown hits playing on the stereo. I try to place it before showing my undone face, just in case it’s one of the snobby wives that I’m supposed to play nice with. I peek my head around the etagere to see.

  It’s Anna. My heart skips a beat, and I duck behind the ceramic dolls. Their voices are soft murmurs, so I slink away from the speaker to hear them better than the blues. I want to rush up there and punch her. I can’t believe she made John think she went to a bookstore on her own accord. She’s the “wait for the movie” type. She doesn’t read ─ too busy screwing every guy in sight to open a book.

  “Samantha, I have news. It’s about John.” She’s leaning against the small sliver of the wall in front of the register. She’s cautiously examining her manicure, a tick of fret, while her friend rolls her eyes and continues her organizing behind the mahogany countertop.

  I crouch down in the nearest aisle so that to the cashier, it only looks like I am browsing the items on the lower shelf. I don’t want to risk being called out for eavesdropping, so I pretend I don’t hear them gossiping.

  “Did his wife finally take an ax to him for cheating on her?” She slams down a roll of tape in frustration at another employee’s displacement. “Here it is,” she mumbles toward the tape.

  “Samantha!” Anna scolds her, but Samantha shrugs. It’s obvious she’s familiar with the situation and no fan of John’s behavior. “We are in love. How can you say that? He’s coming up with a plan so that we can be together soon.” Anna reeks of desperation—a high-pitched voice, and she’s shuffling from left to right. She’s in love and craving the world to bend to her because of it.

  “Fat chance.” The stuffy cashier with her frizzy hair and pimply face scoffs at her. I wonder how these two ladies know each other. They are complete contrasts. Anna has long, smooth, blonde hair that looks like she takes time to maintain it and make it healthy. She has a long, slender body that shows she works out, and her nails are acrylic, but at least she pays attention to their aesthetics. Samantha has a muffin top, shoveling her face full of chocolate cake from the vending machine, and you can see the remnants of what used to be nail polish only on the middle finger of her right hand.

  “Sounds like the usual married man chatter.” Samantha raises her eyebrows as if it were as simple as that.

  “He is. He promised me.” It’s more of a question, longing for her friend to jump on board at the slight hope of possibility, than a statement with real conviction.

  “Why? Because he loves you?” Samantha mocks her with a smoochy face. “Come on, Anna. It’s the same thing that happened with Blake, and that’s how you became this guy’s secretary. Remember? You needed
a new job to get away from the last married boss you were screwing. Now you got this position, and you’re screwing this boss.” Tough love, Samantha. She doesn’t pull any punches. I like her. I don’t know her, and from this standpoint, she’s supposed to be Anna’s friend, but I feel like she is more on my team than allowing her loyalties to lie with Anna.

  “No, he told me his plan. That’s why I know he’s going to leave her.” The plan excites Anna, but Samantha doesn’t take the bait and continues cleaning her workspace. “Samantha!”

  “What?” Samantha looks up from the note on the desk she was taping down.

  “Ask me about the plan.” Anna’s tone is the definition of annoyance.

  “No.”

  “I’m going to tell you anyway.”

  Samantha rolls her eyes.

  “It’s brilliant. Her mother passed away a few months ago I think, or it may have been a year.” She touches her finger to her chin but waves it off. “Doesn’t matter. The point is she’s mentally unstable. I’m talking a mental breakdown that led her to be in the hospital and weekly therapy sessions.”

  Samantha glares at Anna.

  “So, he’s been able to get her to ask for higher dosages of medicine. He’s hellbent on sending her to a facility once he’s convinced her she’s crazy enough. Then, after a few months of that, he can divorce her for irreconcilable differences because he can’t handle the stress of losing his wife to mental illness. She won’t be able to fight him and gain any money that way because she’ll already be clinically insane.” She drums out a beat on the countertop. I slap my hand on my mouth to keep from throwing up on the thin carpeting.

  Samantha slams down on Anna’s happy hands. “That’s sick.”

  Anna rips her hands out from underneath her friend’s firm grip. “What?” She looks down from where she was envisioning her future life and shrugs at her friend. “He’s generous enough to offer to pay for her to stay there. Something about her being the reason he was able to keep out of jail when he was younger over being falsely accused.”

  “This could put you both in jail. You should stop that thinking right now. You’re the other woman, Anna. The only thing the two of you deserve is poverty and shame.” I am Team Samantha. She may not be able to uphold her appearance, but her morals are genuinely intact, and I smile at the lost art she is in this world. She sees through the lies that John is feeding Anna.

  “She doesn’t deserve him, Samantha.”

  “I agree with you. She doesn’t deserve a two-timing lying scumbag. And neither do you; you need to rise above this and drop his ass.” Samantha begins to restock the candy at the front of the store.

  “It’s love, Sammy. Love. You don’t just walk away from that.”

  “You do if it’s a ribbon wrapped around a pile of dog shit.” She slams candy bars into their spaces. “Why can’t anyone else bother to fill these? They look at them all day long from behind the counter. They know when they’re empty.”

  “Sam, I want you to be happy for me.”

  “I’m not.” She puts the candy box down and grips both of her friend’s shoulders in her sausage-fingered hands. “You are not living to your potential. You are just someone else’s whore.”

  “Jesus, Sam.”

  “It’s true.” Samantha lets go of Anna and fills the candy etagere some more.

  Anna insists that John is hers. But he isn’t. I look down at my left hand; he made a solemn promise to me to only be my man. Forsake all others. He isn’t hers in law. I have his name; I gave that identifying mark up to embrace his. He lives with me. He gets mail at my house. All the invitations say Mr. & Mrs. John Moore, and that doesn’t mean Anna. It means me, Medeia Moore. His wife. I didn’t go through the hell of it to have someone rip the title and not only leave me broke but deranged.

  I slump down on the floor beside the turtles, no longer strong enough to squat. How could John do this to me? I gave him everything. He still wants to take more from me.

  “And what about Thomas?” Samantha’s words haul me up on my knees.

  “What about him? We still see each other.” Anna vigorously fluffs her hair up. How dare Samantha not understand.

  “This isn’t normal, Anna. Most people don’t seriously date two guys at once.”

  “Well, John has her, so why can’t I have Thomas?”

  Samantha throws her hands up in defeat; she’s talking to a wall. “You have Thomas, the guy from the club, the married John, and the guy from Simply Fresh.”

  “I got to go. Meeting Thomas for dinner. Don’t tell him anything?” She points her coffin-styled manicure at Samantha’s face.

  “I wouldn’t dream of doing your job for you.” She pushes Anna’s finger out of the way and shakes her head as her friend storms off. When the door shuts, Samantha goes back to her work, like her friend didn’t just plot to have someone committed to a mental facility. As if all of that is normal in her world. It must be for Anna. How many times has she done this before?

  Once Anna leaves, I gather myself off the floor, grab one of the antique turtles from the bottom to avoid suspicion and pay for it. Samantha switches into the best-cashier-ever mode as she hands me polite talk along with my receipt as if I didn’t just hear what kind of nasty human-being she associates with in her down time.

  I walk out to my car and throw the turtle on the seat next to me. Samantha has given me an intriguing idea to take an ax to you, John. Well, I think a double murder sounds better.

  Medeia’s Journal

  Dear Anna

  I’ve decided what I’m going to do. I’m making my own plans, too.

  Twenty-Three

  “Heading out for drinks with some business associates. I’ll be back late.” John fiddles with the watch on his wrist.

  “Okay, dear.” I look up from my book and flash him my best smile.

  “Glad to see you’re no longer mad, Medeia.”

  “How could I be, dear? You made your point crystal clear.” Sharp as a knife.

  “I won’t be long.” John kisses the top of my head.

  “Take your time, dear.” I look back to my book and pretend to read as John saunters to the door. Off to his whore.

  I wait until I hear the motor of the garage door opener shut off, indicating that the door has closed, before I get up and make my move toward my car. I know where John’s going, so I’m not afraid of losing him. I press the button to lift the garage door for myself. Instead of focusing on gaining my security, I need to switch directions to taking John’s away.

  I pull into a parking lot near the warehouse, close enough for the camera app to work, and I turn up the volume after I put the car in park. Thanks to John for making me quit, I now have free time to replace their batteries and make sure they’re always working. The show must go on.

  “I’m sorry, I missed you too much today. I had to see you.” Anna is already waiting on their mattress when I hear John’s footsteps hit the top stair. I don’t see him yet. Dinner with Thomas must not have been enough for her.

  “Never apologize for that.” He rushes and holds her, lifting her into his arms. Asshole.

  “Tell me again, John.”

  John pulls his head away so he can better look her in the eye.

  “Tell me again how we are going to be together. The plan. I need to hear it again.” She’s desperate, doubting her love’s abilities to leave his wife.

  He motions for her to sit on the mattress, preparing her for a story, a fairytale. One that they don’t know I will stop and turn into an absolute tragedy.

  “Don’t worry, Anna. Medeia does what I tell her. She won’t be hard to convince that she needs to go to the facility. I just got her to up her dosage again. I think at least two more times of raising it should be enough. She’s weak. Not like you, sweet Anna.” He brushes her hair back from her face. “I can’t wait to wake up next to you every single day.”

  It’s all true. John just confirmed it. Heat rises in my chest as my body attempts to battle t
he adrenaline of the truth.

  “Couldn’t you just commit her now?” She’s begging him, grabbing onto his chest. I punch the top of my steering wheel imagining it as her face.

  “Anna, trust me. This is delicate. It’s going to happen, but we only have one shot at it. It has to be perfect so that it sticks. She’s not there yet.” He kisses her forehead.

  “I wish she’d overdose and die, then we wouldn’t have to wait anymore,” she whines into his shoulder. I hold my middle finger up toward the phone.

  “I thought she would early on, right after her mother died. She was so messed up.” I see a flicker of care on his face, and my heart jumps. I’m not the only one to notice it, though.

  “Why don’t you remind her of what her mother looked like lying on the floor in her own blood? Maybe that can push it along.” I turn the phone over toward my lap. The image of my mother’s death is conjuring up effortlessly in my mind at Anna’s words. How does she know? John told my secret to his dirty little secret.

  “Anna. Don’t talk like that. We are together now; let’s not talk about her. I want to make love to you.” They begin kissing, and I turn the phone off.

  My hand is around my throat; suddenly it’s hard to breathe in the car. I roll down my window and the night air rushes in and chills my bones. The cruelty that’s plotted against me, the way they disregard my mother and make love on their concrete nest of lies, chokes the oxygen out of my body. They aren’t good people. I agree with Samantha, they deserve nothing but poverty and shame, but I can’t think of a way to bring about that.

  I can’t get a divorce. John will be searching for clues that I didn’t quit my job now. And he’ll be trying to up my medication. I get nothing from the prenup; I have nowhere to go. I feel helpless in the fight for my own life.

  I want to take Anna from him. He’s taken everything from me. I won’t get her to pull away and go to Thomas; she’s in love with John’s money. Thomas is backup—just something to keep John’s attention, to make him fight for her. Even if she did leave him, how long would I have until another Anna came along? Where would it leave me? I’d still be stuck in this marriage with John.