He kissed her.
“I’ll be home tomorrow night,” he said.
“I’ll miss you,” she said, leaning into him, putting her arms around his neck.
“I should be home around eight.”
“I’ll make something that I can reheat when you get home,” she said. “How about chili?”
“I’ll probably eat on the way home.”
“Are you sure? Do you really want to eat fast food? It’s so bad for you.”
“We’ll see,” he said.
“I’ll make it anyway,” she said. “Just in case.”
He kissed her as she leaned into him. “I’ll call you,” he said, his hands drifting downward. Caressing her.
“I know,” she answered.
In the bathroom, she took off her clothes and set them on the toilet, then rolled up the rug. She’d placed a garbagebag in the sink, and nak*d, she stared at herself in the mirror. She fingered the bruises on her ribs and on herwrist. All of her ribs stood out, and dark circles beneath her eyes gave her face a hollowed-out look. She wasengulfed by a wave of fury mixed with sadness as she imagined the way he’d call for her when he walked throughthe house upon his return. He’d call her name and walk to the kitchen. He’d look for her in the bedroom. He’dcheck the garage and the back porch and the cellar. Where are you? he’d call out. What’s for dinner?
With the scissors, she began to chop savagely at her hair. Four inches of blond hair fell onto the garbage bag.
She seized another chunk, using her fingers to pull it tight, telling herself to measure, and snipped. Her chest feltconstricted and tight.
“I hate you!” she hissed, her voice trembling. “Degraded me all the time!” She lopped off more hair, her eyesflooding with rage-fueled tears. “Hit me because I had to go shopping!” More hair gone. She tried to slow down,even out the ends. “Made me steal money from your wallet and kicked me because you were drunk!”
She was shaking now, her hands unsteady. Uneven lengths of hair collected at her feet. “Made me hide fromyou! Hit me so hard that I vomit!”
She snapped the scissors. “I loved you!” She sobbed. “You promised me you’d never hit me again and Ibelieved you! I wanted to believe you!” She cut and cried, and when her hair was all the same length, she pulledout the hair dye from its hiding place behind the sink. Dark Brown. Then she got in the shower and wet her hair.
She tilted the bottle and began massaging the dye into her hair. She stood at the mirror and sobbeduncontrollably while it set. When it was done, she climbed into the shower again and rinsed it out. She shampooedand conditioned and stood before the mirror. Carefully, she applied mascara to her eyebrows, darkening them.
She added bronzer to her skin, darkening it. She dressed in jeans and a sweater and stared at herself.
A dark, short-haired stranger looked back at her.
She cleaned the bathroom scrupulously, making sure no hair remained in the shower or on the floor. Extrastrands went into the garbage bag, along with the box of hair dye. She wiped the sink and counter down and tiedup the garbage bag. Last, she put eyedrops in, trying to erase the evidence of her tears.
She had to hurry now. She packed her things in a duffel bag. Three pairs of jeans, two sweatshirts, shirts.
Panties and bras. Socks. Toothbrush and toothpaste. A brush. Mascara for her eyebrows. The little jewelry sheowned. Cheese and crackers and nuts and raisins. A fork and a knife. She went to the back porch and dug out themoney from beneath the flowerpot. The cell phone from the kitchen. And finally, the identification she needed tostart a new life, identification she’d stolen from people who trusted her. She’d hated herself for stealing and knewit was wrong, but she’d had no other choice and she’d prayed to God for forgiveness. It was too late to turn backnow.
She had rehearsed the scenario in her head a thousand times, and she moved fast. Most of the neighbors wereoff at work: she’d watched them in the mornings and knew their routines. She didn’t want anyone to see her leave,didn’t want anyone to recognize her.
She threw on a hat and her jacket, along with a scarf and gloves. She rounded the duffel bag and stuffed itbeneath her sweatshirt, kneading and working it until it was round. Until she looked pregnant. She put on her longcoat, one that was roomy enough to cover the bump.
She stared at herself in the mirror. Short, dark hair. Skin the color of copper. Pregnant. She put on a pair ofsunglasses, and on her way out the door, she turned on her cell phone and set the landline on call forwarding.
She left the house through the gate at the side. She walked between her house and the neighbors’, following thefence line, and deposited the garbage bag in their garbage can. She knew that both of them worked, that neitherwas at home. Same thing for the house behind hers. She walked through their yard and past the side of thehouse, finally emerging onto the icy sidewalk.
Snow had begun to fall again. By tomorrow, she knew, her footprints would be gone.
She had six blocks to go but she was going to make it. She kept her head down and walked, trying to ignore thebiting wind, feeling dazed and free and terrified, all at the same time. Tomorrow night, she knew, Kevin would walkthrough the house, calling for her, and he wouldn’t find her because she wasn’t there. And tomorrow night, hewould begin his hunt.
Snow flurries swirled as Katie stood at the intersection, just outside a diner. In the distance, she saw SuperShuttle’s blue van round the corner and her heart pounded in her chest. Just then, she heard the cell phone ring.
She paled. Cars roared past her, their tires loud as they rolled through the slush. In the distance, the vanchanged lanes, angling toward her side of the road. She had to answer; there was no choice but to answer. Butthe van was coming and it was noisy on the street. If she answered now, he would know she was outside. Hewould know she’d left him.
Her phone rang a third time. The blue van stopped at a red light. One block away.
She turned around, walking into the diner, the sounds muffled but still noticeable—a symphony of platesclanking and people talking; directly ahead was the hostess stand, where a man was asking for a table. She feltsick to her stomach. She cupped the phone and faced the window, praying that he couldn’t hear the commotionbehind her. Her legs went wobbly as she pressed the button and answered.
“What took you so long to answer?” he demanded.
“I was in the shower,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m about ten minutes out,” he said. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said.
He hesitated. “You sound kind of funny,” he said. “Is something wrong with the phone?”
Up the street, the signal light turned green. The Super Shuttle van’s turn signal indicated that it was pullingover. She prayed that it would wait. Behind her, people in the diner had gone surprisingly quiet.
“I’m not sure. But you sound fine,” she said. “It’s probably bad service where you are. How’s the drive?”
“Not too bad once I got out of the city. But it’s still icy in places.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Be careful.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“I know,” she said. The van was pulling over to the curb, the driver craning his neck, looking for her. “I hate todo this, but can you call me in a few minutes? I still have conditioner in my hair and I want to rinse it out.”
“Yeah,” he grumbled. “Okay. I’ll call you in a bit.”
“I love you,” she said.
“Love you, too.”
She let him hang up before she pressed the button on her phone. Then she walked out of the diner and hurriedto the van.
At the bus terminal, she bought a ticket to Philadelphia, hating the way the man who sold her the ticket kepttrying to talk to her.
Rather than waiting at the terminal, she went across the street to have breakfast. Money for the shuttle and thebus ticket had taken more than half of the savings she’d collected during the year, but she was hungry and sheordered pancakes and sausage and milk. At the booth, someone had left a newspaper and she forced herself toread it. Kevin called her while she was eating and when he told her again that the phone sounded funny, shesuggested that it was the storm.
Twenty minutes later, she got on the bus. An elderly woman motioned to her bulge as she moved down theaisle.
“How much longer?” the woman asked.
“Another month.”
“First one?”
“Yes,” she answered, but her mouth was so dry it was hard to keep talking. She started down the aisle againand took a seat toward the rear. People sat in the seats in front of and behind her. Across the aisle was a youngcouple. Teenagers, draped over each other, both of them listening to music. Their heads bobbed up and down.
She stared out the window as the bus pulled away from the station, feeling as if she were dreaming. On thehighway, Boston began to recede into the distance, gray and cold. Her lower back ached as the bus rolledforward, miles from home. Snow continued to fall and cars whipped up slush as they passed the bus.
She wished she could talk to someone. She wanted to tell them that she was running away because herhusband beat her and that she couldn’t call the police because he was the police. She wanted to tell them that shedidn’t have much money and she could never use her real name again. If she did, he would find her and bring herhome and beat her again, only this time he might not stop. She wanted to tell them that she was terrified becauseshe didn’t know where she was going to sleep tonight or how she was going to eat when the money ran out.
She could feel cold air against the window as towns drifted past. Traffic on the highway thinned and then theroads became crowded again. She didn’t know what she was going to do. All her plans had stopped at the busand there was no one to call for help. She was alone and had nothing but the things she carried with her.
An hour from Philadelphia, her cell phone rang again. She cupped the phone and talked to him. Before he hungup, he promised to call her before he went to bed.
She arrived in Philadelphia in the late afternoon. It was cold, but not snowy. Passengers got off the bus and shehung back, waiting for all of them to leave. In the restroom, she removed the duffel bag and then went into thewaiting room and took a seat on a bench. Her stomach was growling and she sliced off a little cheese and ate itwith crackers. She knew she had to make it last, though, so she put the rest of it away, even though she was stillhungry. Finally, after buying a map of the city, she stepped outside.
The terminal wasn’t located in a bad part of town; she saw the convention center and Trocadero Theater,which made her feel safe, but it also meant she could never afford a hotel room in the area. The map indicated thatshe was close to Chinatown, and for lack of a better plan she headed in that direction.
Three hours later, she’d finally found a place to sleep. It was dingy and reeked of smoke, and her room wasbarely large enough for the small bed that had been crammed inside. There was no lamp; instead, a single bulbprotruded from the ceiling and the communal bathroom was down the hall. The walls were gray and water stainedand the window had bars. From the rooms on either side of her, she could hear people talking in a language shecouldn’t understand. Still, it was all she could afford. She had enough money to stay three nights, four if she couldsomehow survive on the little food she’d brought from home.
She sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, afraid of this place, afraid of the future, her mind whirling. She had topee but she didn’t want to leave the room. She tried to tell herself that it was an adventure and everything wouldbe okay. As crazy as it sounded, she found herself wondering if she’d made a mistake by leaving; she tried not tothink about her kitchen and bedroom and all the things she’d left behind. She knew she could buy a ticket back toBoston and get home before Kevin even realized she was gone. But her hair was short and dark and there was noway she could explain that.
Outside, the sun was down but streetlights shone through the dirty window. She heard horns honking and shelooked out. At the street level, all the signs were in Chinese and some businesses were still open. She could hearconversations rising in the darkness and there were plastic bags filled with garbage piled near the street. She wasin an unfamiliar city, a city filled with strangers. She couldn’t do this, she thought. She wasn’t strong enough. Inthree days, she’d have no place to stay unless she could find a job. If she sold her jewelry, she might buy herselfanother day, but then what?
She was so tired and her back throbbed. She lay down on the bed and drifted off to sleep almost immediately.
Kevin called later, the bleating of the cell phone waking her up. It took everything she had to keep her voicesteady, to betray nothing, but she sounded as tired as she felt and she knew that Kevin believed that she was intheir bed. When he hung up, she fell asleep again within minutes.
In the morning, she could hear people walking down the hall, heading for the bathroom. Two Chinese womenstood at the sinks and there was green mold in the grout and wet toilet paper on the floor. The door to the stallwouldn’t lock and she had to hold it closed with her hand.
In the room, she had cheese and crackers for breakfast. She wanted to shower but she realized she’d forgottento pack shampoo and soap, so there wasn’t much point. She changed her clothes and brushed her teeth and hair.
She repacked the duffel bag, unwilling to leave it in the room while she wasn’t there, and slung the strap over hershoulder and walked down the steps. The same clerk who’d given her the key was at the desk and she wonderedwhether he ever left this place. She paid for another night and asked him to hold her room.
Outside, the sky was blue and the streets were dry. She realized the pain in her back had all but vanished. Itwas cold but not as cold as Boston, and despite her fears she found herself smiling. She’d done it, she remindedherself. She’d escaped and Kevin was hundreds of miles away and didn’t know where she was. Didn’t even knowshe’d left yet. He would call a couple more times, then she’d throw away the cell phone and never speak with himagain.