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I’m loading the bags in my car, wondering what I was thinking. Even on a binge, I could never eat all of this. Even if I could, I can’t afford it. Not now.
I take a deep breath. Ann’s book says breath is one of our most important assets. Seems like a simple concept to me, but people pay her good money for such simplicity—reminding me that common sense isn’t always common practice. Anyway, I breathe and I remind myself that my intentions were pure. The point was—to do normal people things. Things like cooking and making friends in the grocery store. Just in case my husband shows up. Which he probably won’t. But just in case.
I want him to see that despite whatever has happened, I can be the woman he fell in love with again. She’s still me. I’m still her.
Speaking of, I check the time, which is really an excuse to see if he’s called or texted. He hasn’t.
It isn’t until I go to lift the last of the bags into the trunk, that I see it. Like a bad omen, on the edge of my periphery. A kitten as gray as the day, as gray as my mood, is crouched next to my tire. It’s a tiny thing, scraggly and so dirty that at first glance, I almost mistake it for a piece of discarded trash. Squatting down, I speak softly. “Hey there.”
As I move closer, I expect it to cower. It only blinks. I’ve always found cats interesting. Ethan is allergic. They carry disease, my mother always said. Not that she ever let me close to one. Better to be safe than sorry.
I’m hoping it will run. But it isn’t scared. It doesn’t move. It just peers up at me. It doesn’t even make a sound, and for a moment I consider that it’s just another one of those illusions I’ve been accused of having. Maybe it’s hurt. It’s chilly out, and the thing is so tiny. I lean in close, checking for visible injuries. Maybe it’s been hit.
No. It looks fine to me.
My heartbeat cranks up a level. In a crisis, I’m amazing. It’s the little things I can’t manage. My husband used to tell me this all the time. I push myself up and search the lot. I don’t know what to do. I can’t very well back out with it under my tire, so I turn back and try nudging it out with my foot. Go on, I say. But nothing happens. It doesn’t move.
I nudge it again, this time a little harder, until finally it makes a faint squeaking sound. Still, it stays put.
Again, I search the lot. There’s a part of me that thinks maybe Ann Banks will materialize and fix this too. But even I know my luck isn’t that far-reaching.
Quite the opposite. Instead, it feels like I’ve landed in one of those terrible animal commercials you see on late night TV. In the early days, Ethan and I used to watch those infomercials together. He said it made him feel like his problems weren’t so bad, considering the alternative. He liked the emotion. I just liked the music.
Fuck, I think, throwing my hands up. I realize I can’t just leave it there without it going splat for the next person that pulls in. That’s a good way to ruin a person’s day, for sure. When I look up two women have stopped and are staring. I crack my knuckles one by one, and they go on their merry way. I can do crazy really well, or so says my husband.
I’m not even a softie, and yet, I can’t force my foot to connect with it again.
Perfect. Now, it looks like I have both food and a kitten I don’t need, and if only there were a two for one shelter that would accept them both, all of my problems would be solved.
Almost.
I spot my husband’s scarf in the backseat. In an instant, the decision is made. This is how I’ll rid myself of it. This is how I let go. Little by little, piece by piece. I’ll save the cat and the stranger from their respective bad days with the scarf, and then I’ll toss it. Easy-peasy. It’ll save me hours anyhow, no longer sitting in the car, crying into it, long after the engine has stopped running.
I bring it to my face and inhale deeply. His scent still lingers on it. It’s hard to erase that. Oh well. One less reminder of what used to be but no longer is.
There are little pieces of him everywhere, landmines left for me to trip over.
Speaking of landmines, I recall the old towel in the trunk left there from our last beach trip, and I decide I should cover the seat, in the event that he does come back. Ethan is deathly allergic to cats. Probably better not to take the risk. As I shake it out, grains of sand dust the pavement. Memories follow suit. Although, that beach trip was months ago now, for me, it could have just as well been yesterday.
It was one of my good days. I’ll never forget how it felt to have the sun and my husband’s grace shine upon me. Or the manner in which we laid side by side on our backs, soaking it in. We listened to the waves grow closer and closer, both of us careful to keep our eyes steady on the birds overhead. I realize now this is just my version of that day, of course. It’s likely he was plotting his escape even back then. They say a person does, at least dozens of times, before they actually make their break. Separation never comes as a shock to the one doing the leaving.
The memory is as clear as ever today; it’s the visceral kind. The kind that hits you out of nowhere. The kind that’s good enough to bottle and sell.
Birds squawked, children played, we stared straight up at the sky, both too content and too afraid to break the spell. It feels like a dream looking back. One good day sliced into a reel of a bunch of shitty ones. I can’t blame him for wanting that version of us more than what we had become. I hold tight to that image too. Two lovers on the beach. Happy. Content. Safe.
Ethan’s fingertips reached out and just barely brushed mine. I thought it was his way of telling me that things would be all right. But then, he couldn’t have known that, could he?
My breath caught when he squeezed my pinky, just the tip. It felt like an unspoken promise. Afterward, he’d placed his hand over mine and rested it there, and it made me believe. It was all still there. Just buried. I could have stayed like that for hours. Forever, maybe. Ethan had a way of anchoring me to the earth. Otherwise, I would have been just as happy to float away.
CHAPTER FIVE
SADIE
Ann Banks saved a human. Big deal. I’m saving a cat. Something that sounded like a good idea until I’m firmly in the middle of it.
The thing is hell-bent on touching every surface in my car, thereby marking it as its own. No good deed goes unpunished. Great. I’ll have to spend the rest of my life making sure I erase any evidence it was ever here. Ethan would kill me.
There’s a veterinary place on the way home. I plan to drop it on the doorstep and hightail it outta there.
