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HARPER
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THERE WERE TWO BUSES waiting in the parking lot. It reminded me of taking a school field trip.
I'd played out this leave-taking in my mind. I was going to give him a quick peck on the cheek and get out of the truck before he had a chance to come around and open my door. I'd grab the small case from the backseat and walk toward the bus, turning once and giving him a friendly wave.
As soon as he parked, I moved into action. "See you in a week," I said, sunnily. I unbuckled my seatbelt then stretched across the seat.
The muscle in his jaw was flexing as I planted a kiss on his face.
"This will be good for us. You do realize that you have the same ritual every time you come home from work? You check to see if I'm still wearing your ring, whether I've cleared out any of my clothes."
His right hand was curled in a loose fist atop his thigh. I put my hand over it and gave it a squeeze. "I want to prove to you that I can be trusted. That this time I meant those vows."
"Call me when you get there." His harsh tone said I wasn't convincing him of anything.
I gave his hard face one more swift kiss. “I love you.”
His hazel eyes flashed with obvious disbelief. "Save those words for when we've been married for two years. Then I'll believe them."
I exited the truck. I did not turn around and give him the happy wave I'd anticipated. Our goodbye had been too heavy for that.
I checked in with one of the instructors and handed my bag to the driver who was loading the suitcases in the compartment underneath the bus. Some of the attendees had brought some fairly sizable luggage. I'd packed particularly light, probably too light. But I'd wanted to emphasize that this was just a casual trip that I would be back before he knew it.
As I boarded, a girl with beautiful bouncy ringlets gestured for me to take the seat next to her.
Wrong decision. She was as lively as she looked and I felt as if I was going through an existential crisis. She was looking forward to the tour and I was thinking of it as a means to strengthen my marriage.
Her name was Joy and it suited her.
She had a pastry cookbook on her lap with numerous colored papers marking the pages.
"I was in the liberal arts program and then made an abrupt change to business classes. I couldn't concentrate. They were so dull," she said. "I'm taking a break from college. I love baking so I thought, why not?"
She reminded me of myself. No real direction. I wondered if she'd had a similar upbringing with no real roots. Or maybe she had caring parents and this was just her temperament—footloose and fancy free.
We were probably nearly the same age, but I felt much older and more than a little jaded.
I gave myself a pep talk. I had goals now. I wanted that job in the French bistro. But mostly I wanted to make a success of my marriage. I realized suddenly that Joy was still speaking.
"I think a pastry chef is what I'm meant to be," she said.
"Those positions aren't easy to get. Even apprentice jobs are—" I stopped talking as I watched her smile fade. What was I doing discouraging her? Maybe her bright-eyed optimism would make her a shoo-in.
"At least, for me," I quickly added, "but then I was just working in a glorified donut shop. I'm sure completing this program will make a big difference."
I called Rowley the moment I arrived at the motel. I wasn’t sure whether he’d had a chance to replace the smartphone he’d demolished, so I phoned our home landline. He did not hide the fact that he was still unhappy. It was a short and not so sweet conversation. Before hanging up, he confirmed all the information I'd already given him; the name of the motel, and the address and phone number for the front desk.
After we delivered our suitcases to our motel rooms we climbed back into the bus. We were given a quick tour of the institute’s Las Vegas campus, and then we set off again. They'd chosen a chocolatier to visit for our first day.
I knew the moment we walked into the mid-sized confectioner's shop that this was going to be the highlight of the trip. The scent alone made me all warm inside.
I'd never made candy before. We were all given aprons and then our choice of chocolate molds. The chocolate coating for the candy was already made, so it was really just a matter of choosing fillings. A child could do it, but it was so satisfying to pop those perfect sweet treats out of the mold. I wondered if all the experiences they'd lined up would be like this one. Simple, without any real skills needed.
Four days in and Rowley still hadn't accustomed himself to my absence. I put on false cheer and gabbed enthusiastically about the classes I'd taken.
On the fifth day, I'd gotten to the assigned meeting place and realized I'd forgotten to charge my phone. Rowley's call went through to voicemail. His message was thick with frustration.
On the sixth day, I was in the middle of making a whipped cream frosting, but thinking about Rowley.
"Harper, you are whipping that cream into butter." The guest instructor's sharp tone shook me out of my daydreams.
"You'll rip up the cake frosting it with that. Start from scratch."
I switched off the mixer and stared at the chunks of cream. I couldn't concentrate. Hadn't I pushed my point far enough? Go home early, I told myself. Surprise him.
I dumped the failed frosting into the trash and washed the bowl. I cleaned up my station and removed and folded my apron before leaving the kitchen. I wasn't going to think too hard about the fact that I was quitting the tour early to be back with him.
I let the guide know I was leaving and taking a bus home.
I picked up my small suitcase at the motel, and used a phone app to buy a ticket. There were only seats available on the last bus leaving that evening. I wouldn't be home until well after midnight. I ordered the ticket anyway.
It didn't take long to decide how to kill time before I needed to be at the station. Rowley preferred me with my natural red color. I searched online for a hair salon that would take walk-ins, and then arranged for an Uber.
I'd calculated the time to and from the stylist and allotted a generous amount of time for the actual dyeing process.
What I hadn't counted on finding in an unimpressive strip mall was an expert colorist who insisted that varying shades of red instead of a single-process color would look far more natural.
I was getting antsy by the time she rinsed and conditioned my hair. When we returned to her station, I didn't take a seat. I left the fee along with a generous tip on her table.
"Don't you want me to blow it out?"
"I can't stay. I have to catch a bus."
As soon as she unfastened the protective cape, I grabbed my purse and carry-on and left.
It was already getting dark out. I stood in front of the salon, my hair wetting my t-shirt, waiting for my ride. I gathered my hair to the side and twisted it to get out some of the moisture.
The driver seemed to be new at this. He made wrong turns and the digital voice kept telling him to ‘proceed to the route’.
We hit a traffic jam as we neared the bus station. I checked the pedestrian route on my phone. If I ran part of the way, I could make it faster on foot.
"Drop me here," I said to the driver.
I jumped out of the car and jay-walked across the street. I took a shortcut through an alley and then turned down a side-street.
I was panting, and my arm ached from carrying my luggage, but I was making decent progress. I switched the bag to the other hand and checked the time and my position on the map in relation to the station. I was going to make it. I shoved the phone into my pocket.
Hearing the rumble of an engine, I glanced over my shoulder to find a motorcycle turning a corner. I returned my attention to where I was putting my feet. I could feel the reverberation of the engine through the soles of my sneakers as the motorcycle passed me.
I watched the motorcycle slow and make a u-turn. The driver was clad in black from his helmet to his boots. The passenger on the back was wearing black as well, except for the neon pink helmet. My senses were on alert, but it drove past me again without incident.
See, there was nothing to worry about, I told myself. Just a couple out for the evening. They'd simply realized they were going the wrong direction.
A man glanced up at me from watering his lawn. He gave me a quick wave which I returned.
I heard the sound of the engine approaching from behind again. Ominously, the headlights went off. What the hell? I ran up onto someone's grass prepared to knock on a door and ask for help if I had to. There was a sudden, powerful yank on my purse that spun me around. The strap tore and I found myself grasping at the air, knowing it was useless, knowing I was falling. And then there was blinding pain followed by an inky darkness.