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“You want to talk about it?” she asks, her words blanketed in worry.
“Not now, Ma.”
“Figlio, I’m worried for you.”
“I know you are, but don’t be. I’ll be fine. I just need some time to clear my head.”
“Va bene figlio. Ti amo.Call me if you need me.”
“Thanks, Ma, love you too.” I flip the phone closed and toss it on the couch.
When I look up, I notice that Lena left behind her beloved books, her bookshelf untouched, including the framed picture of us that sits on the top right. We went to a wedding last year, and she said this was her favorite photo from that night because we weren’t looking at the camera, but instead, we were laughing and looking at each other. I stand and grab the frame. I thought we were happy. “WHY?” I scream at no one and hurl it against the wall, watching the glass shatter into a million pieces the same way my heart has.
CHAPTER 9
1,301 Miles
MARIALENA
THE KNOCK AT THEdoor jolts me awake. “Housekeeping,” the voice says before knocking again.
The brightness of the sunlight peeking through the curtains causes me to squint until I can adjust to the morning light. My hand extends to pick up my glasses from the night table, and I put them on. When I glance at the clock next to the TV, it reads 9:07 a.m. After driving a little over ten hours yesterday, I had to stop for the night and ended up crashing at this hotel outside of Cleveland. What a long day it was.
It started with me packing the last remaining items and loading up my car. Before leaving the apartment, I called my mother to tell her part of my plan. She’s the only person I told about leaving. I contemplated not telling her anything, just like everyone else, but in the end, I didn’t think that was the best idea. I opted to tell her I was leaving Massimo and Boston but not the reason or where I was going. She started with the usual guilt trip she’s so good at giving. I’m used to her methods though, and know that I have to let her lay it on thick. Once she finishes, I can do the talking.
It took a lot of convincing to get her to understand that the best thing for both of us was for her not to know any details. Otherwise, Massimo would grill her until she gave in, and I didn’t want to put her in that position. I also asked her to relay the message to my father. I’d have better luck talking to him once I was gone. With him, it’s better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.
Our conversation ended with my mother saying, “Se dice el pecado pero no el pecador.” This was my mother’s not-so-subtle attempt at getting me to give her all the details because, in her mind, she can keep a secret and keep it well. Except this wasn’t about her, it was about Massimo.
As soon as I hung up, I got in my car, drove to the bank, and then hit the Pike westbound. I wanted to get at least halfway to Des Moines, putting as much distance between Boston and me as possible. I knew Massimo would be frantic looking for me, and I couldn’t risk it.
I kick the blanket off and swing my legs over the side to stand, tiptoeing across the rug. I hate carpets and don’t understand why hotels have them. Cracking the door open, I leave the safety lever in place.
“Hi. I’ll be checking out in about half an hour if that’s okay,” I say. The short, stocky woman nods, and I close the door and head into the bathroom.
A quick shower has me feeling refreshed and ready for another day on the road. But first, I need coffee and a quick bite. The front desk clerk checks me out, and before leaving, I ask him where the closest coffee shop is. He directs me to a Starbucks a mile down the road.
I buckle myself in and make a right onto the road with my large coffee in the cup holder and croissants in the bag lying on the passenger seat. While sitting at the traffic light, I put my Marc Anthony “Todo a Su Tiempo” album into the CD player and turn up the volume. I love this album, even if it does remind me of the first time I took Massimo to my family’s Christmas Eve celebration.
God, I hope I made the right decision. I didn’t have much time to plan, but with Massimo away this weekend, it was my best opportunity to flee without him finding out. He’s probably freaking out already because he hasn’t spoken to me. Ugh, I don’t want to think about it. Otherwise, I’ll start doubting my decision.
The highway blurs, exit after exit looking the same. I shift my eyes to the dashboard clock, and it reads 1:02 p.m. then check the gas gauge, which reads one-quarter tank. Now is an excellent time to take a break, stretch my legs, have some lunch, and fill up. I’m making good time, considering I got a late start.
It takes me another ten hours to get to Des Moines, Iowa, the place I’d chosen to be my new home. When I was in high school, I read the bookThe Bridges of Madison Countyand fell in love with the book’s scenery. When the movie released, I fell in love even more. It seemed beautiful, idyllic.
The day I decided to leave Massimo, the book came to mind, and when I looked at a map, Des Moines was the biggest city closest to the Madison County depicted in the book—although it’s a small city in comparison to Boston. Even though Madison County seemed beautiful, I’m still a city girl.
Driving through the quiet streets of Des Moines, I spot a hotel and pull into the parking lot. I check in for a few nights, and when I arrive at my room, I place the Do Not Disturb sign on the door handle, turning the lock and latching the safety lever.
I’m exhausted, so much so that I forego a shower and brushing my teeth; peel off my shirt, pants, and socks; and crawl into bed. By the time I pull the covers up and lay my head on the pillow, it’s past midnight.
It’s almost noon when I open my eyes. I have a headache, and I’m groggy, thirsty, and desperately need coffee. I tie my hair up and get into the shower, enjoying the hot water and extreme water pressure that streams from the showerhead, washing away the long drive from yesterday.
Once dressed, I grab some lipstick from the makeup pouch in my pockabook and stand before the mirror. Glaring at myself, I ask, “What have I done?”
Massimo must be looking for me. He must be agitated and calling everyone we know, driving them all crazy with his insistence. I can only hope it won’t last long and that he’ll accept that I’m gone and move on. That we can both move on.
I pull the top off the lipstick tube and swipe it first across my top lip, from the center down each side, and then across the bottom lip from left to right, smacking my lips together to spread the color, placing the cap back onto the tube. While checking my lipstick, I see a few stray hairs around my chin area. Ugh, how I hate them. I grab the tweezer from my makeup bag and tweeze the stubborn wire hairs until I can no longer see them.
