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“More coffee, and …” My pause is brief. She has her pencil at the ready. “A waffle, and, I know chocolate chips are for the pancakes, but could I have them and whipped cream with it?”
When the plate-sized Belgian specialty appears, it is gooey with chips. Moving the whipped cream to the side, I slather on marmalade and then push the cream back to cover everything. I clean my plate. I’m celebrating, dammit.
By the time I work my way through the enormous breakfast, groaning from greed, the early morning regulars are gone.
I waddle down to the CTA bus terminal on the corner to catch the 151. So many footsteps behind me as other commuters rush to cross the street to Union Station or to catch other buses at the terminal, so I just keep on my straight path.
A faint impression out of the corner of my eye makes me turn around once to see if Sam is chasing me, but shadows distort, and I don’t see him on the crowded sidewalk. I keep on walking and gratefully board the bus, even though it won’t leave for another ten minutes.
A few people lean in and ask the driver if the bus stops at one place or another, but there is only one other passenger when we take off. By the time we approach Water Tower Place, riders crowd in, jamming the aisle. I’ve paid no attention to who might have boarded and feel uncomfortable. My plan was to go straight to Max’s house, but I enjoy my escape too much.
I get off at Chestnut and walk over to Fourth Presbyterian Church to sit in the cloister. The short walk helps relieve the bloat from my overindulgence at breakfast. The outdoor space is inviting, even in chilly weather, and I check out all the early flowers. Then I sit on a bench and enjoy the April sunshine after a couple of rainy days.
Text messages beep and my phone rings. Did JL get my text? He has, and he’s pissed.
JL: What the fuck? Why are you out alone?
ME: Felt cooped up.
JL: Too bad. Answer your phone.
The phone had stopped but now it’s ringing again. GSU is the caller.
“Hello?” I sound more hesitant than I’d like.
“This is Case. Where are you?”
“Fourth Pres on Michigan Avenue. Sitting in the cloister.”
All I hear is breathing. Could this be Sam fooling me into divulging my location?
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Stand at the corner of Delaware and Michigan and look for the black SUV.” He hangs up.
When I get back to Max’s house, he’s pacing outside. He shouts, waving his arms. “Where the hell were you?” When I get close enough, he grabs my hand and hustles me inside, calling out to Case, “Call JL and let him know his wandering client is safe.” He mutters to himself, “You’ll be lucky to have a job after this.”
Cress is in the living room, mouth pinched, wringing her hands.
“What the bloody hell were you thinking?” Max’s face is hard.
Maybe I acted like a rebellious teenager instead of a forty-six-year-old professional woman, but I don’t care. I’m not going to be intimidated. “I’m a grown woman and I needed to get some time alone, not in this house. I feel like I’m in prison.”
“You snuck out.” His snarl chills me, bringing home the realization of how dangerous Max really is. “Anything could have happened to you.”
My natural resistance kicks in. “But it didn’t.” I turn to go up to my room. Over my shoulder I shout back at his scowling face. “I can move out if you want.”
“Don’t say that, Micki.” When I swivel toward Cress, her face has crumpled. “We’re just worried. No one knows where Sam is. He could have attacked you out there.”
“How did you travel?” Max, in a milder tone, asks.
“Uber to Lou’s.”
“And?” Max gives me a gimlet glare.
“Uh, I took the 151, but just to the church.”
Cress’ jaw drops. Max’s face reddens. “Excuse me, did you say you took the bus?”
“Yes. It was empty when I got on.” I set my shoulders and loosely make fists.
