Page 11 of Castaway Whirlwind
I jump on top of the biggest suitcase to zip it closed. “Yes, but—”
“Lock yourself in a room and don’t open the door for any reason. I’ll be there in less than three minutes.”
“No, no! I’m ok. But Steven’s been drinking, and he took off in his car. I’m scared he’s going to kill someone.” I run around the house, grabbing my photo frames off the walls to throw them in the smaller suitcase with my toiletries.
Sheriff curses in my ear, and it’s the one time I don’t mind. There’s a series of slamming doors, then a high-pitched siren. A crackle from his walkie-talkie follows shortly, and Sheriff describes Steven’s black car to someone on the other end of the line. I hurry to give him a description of the new car, andhe relays the information as I wheel my luggage out of the house and into the trunk of my car.
“I’m sending someone to the house in case he comes back before we find him,” Sheriff says.
“You don’t have to do that.” I hate the thought of the police using their resources on me when they’d be better served elsewhere. I don’t bother locking the front door before hopping into my driver’s seat. “I’m leaving.”Something I never thought I’d do. My car, for once, turns on the first time I twist the key in the ignition.
“Good. Let me know when you get somewhere safe.”
I drop my phone on the passenger seat as soon as we end the call, then back out of the driveway, leaving all the furniture Steven and I bought together as a couple since I can’t fit any of it in my car. I roll down my window, finding freedom in taking off my engagement ring, a suffocating weight lifted off my chest. I pull my arm back to throw the ring out the window, but stop right before I let go. If I’ve earned anything in this life, it’s this ring that I’ve suffered through so much to keep. I drop it in my tote bag, then tap on the map app on my phone, searching for the closest pawn shop.
* * *
Russell
The longer I’m away, the antsier I get, crushed by a looming sense of doom I can’t seem to shake, even though I’m enjoying my vacation for part of Paul’s winter break in Colorado with my ex-wife, Renee, her husband, Francisco, and their teens,Savannah and Dallas. Renee and I may have been divorced for nearly twenty years, but we split on good terms and have been determined to provide a stable life for our son, even if we didn’t make sense as a romantic couple.
Renee, Francisco, and I are in the hot tub on the deck below the second-story balcony of our rental cabin together, watching the elk graze along the narrow river bank in the valley of the snow-capped mountains after the kids head inside to play video games in the basement media room. As beautiful as the scenery is, and as relaxing as the evening should be, especially as the hot water does its best to work out the kinks in my muscles after a three-hour hike in Rocky Mountain National Park, I can’t help but think of what Layla might be doing right now. Is she alone? In pain with no one to take care of her?
I set my crystal tumbler of bourbon on the lip of the hot tub and rub my chest.
“Ok, what gives?” Renee asks, her highlighted light brown hair pulled back by the kind of hair clip Layla likes to wear. Our son may have gotten my darker hair and build, but he got her easy-going personality, which I’m thankful for. She’s sitting sideways on Francisco’s lap, her arm draped across his shoulders while she idly strokes the side of his dark brown hair.
There’s not a single ounce of jealousy seeing the two of them together, yet just the thought of Steven being anywhere near the vicinity of Layla eats me up inside. Thinking of them sharing a bed is what’s going to wind up killing me one day.
“Nothing. Just trying to enjoy the view.” I nod toward a few elk who graze closer to the cabin.
“Trying and failing,” Francisco says, rolling theR. When Idon’t respond, he cajoles, “Come on. Tell the truth.”
I mumble my answer, pointedly looking away from the happy couple. Actually, there is some envy there, but it’s only because I want the kind of marriage they have. I also know that I never will.
“What?” Francisco looks to Renee to translate my garbled nonsense.
“He said he’s thinking of his woman and wishes she was here with us.”
I snap my gaze to her. “No, I didn’t. And she’s not my woman.” Especially after I insulted her, which wasn’t my intention. She’s beautiful. I simply wanted to point out that Steven isn’t good enough to be her man, letting her run ragged and exhausted, which no amount of makeup can hide.
Renee chuckles. “But that’s what you meant.”
Francisco says with a playful grin, “What woman?”
Chest tightening, I ask Renee, “How the F do you know about her?”
“Who’s ‘her’? And when did you stop cursing like a sailor?” Francisco asks, shocked that I curtailed my speech.
Renee says with a teasing tone, “I heard through the grapevine that you’re sweet on a waitress at Granny’s.”
I deadpan, “And by grapevine, you mean Faye, don’t you?” Renee used to babysit Faye when she was a teenager, and they still keep in touch all these years later. I just didn’t realize how often.
“Yup.” Her humor fades, and her brows crease with concern. “That’s not all I heard.” She sinks into Francisco, who wraps his arm around her middle.
I take a large swallow of bourbon, dread thickening the atmosphere.
Francisco rubs his wife’s knee. “What else did you hear?”
