17

Liddy

Liddy googles “how to disappear.” No credit cards. No phone calls. No internet. No car. Delete social media accounts. Destroy photos, amass cash. Dye hair, buy new clothes, get a hat. Quit job, concoct an excuse for friends. Go far away, plant false leads, construct a new history, etc., etc., etc. Some of the advice isn’t relevant, as she’s not trying to disappear forever. But much of it is, because Garrett is sure to hire a detective to find her.

She continues to give Garrett the cold shoulder, and he’s growing tired of playing the repentant apologizer. He presents Boston Partners in Education with the gift she promised, in an attempt to prove his good intentions, but the other day she caught him reading her texts. He claimed he was looking for the time of a dinner date, but then why didn’t he check her calendar? He insists they share all their passwords and gets angry and carries on if she doesn’t inform him when she changes one.

She tells her friends and the Burke that she’s going to a writers’ retreat for a few months to work on her novel. She tells the twins the same and explains that there’s no cell service but she’ll have access to a landline and will call them. She returns her leased car to the dealer so the addresses in the GPS will be wiped clean, drops her cell into a storm drain, clears her computer’s history, and donates it to the Burke. Then she cleans out her secret bank account. Two hundred thousand dollars in cash should be more than enough to hold her until she figures out her final exit strategy.

She buys a bed, bureau, couch, desk, chairs, tables, lamps, television, refrigerator, kitchen supplies, dozens of books she’s always wanted to read, even a few inexpensive paintings and rugs. She ships them all to Metropolis under a variety of false names, a different name for each purchase, procured from a diverse group of stores, always with cash. When she shops, sometimes she wears a long dark wig, sometimes a short blond one. Sometimes glasses, sometimes not. Sometimes in heavy makeup, sometimes clean-faced. Hats.

She gets the same kick out of this probably unnecessary subterfuge that she gets out of copping cocaine from Sandy in a hotel bathroom, and she takes a quick trip up to Rockport to do just that. She orders a case of cabernet and a few bottles of vodka. She buys a computer and a printer and a box of paper. She retrieves her old manuscript from the back of the closet.

Every time she leaves the condo, she brings a few items of clothing with her—nothing obvious, nothing bulky, just enough to fill a couple of shopping bags. She doesn’t want to take so much that Garrett will notice her closet appears emptier than usual. Nor is it necessary to have everything in place when she moves in. At first, Garrett’s detective will be searching for her at writers’ retreats, not looking for her at Metropolis, or in Cambridge, for that matter, so she’ll be free to pick up whatever else she might need. Just to be safe, she’ll stay in the unit most of the time. Hence, the books and the manuscript she’s planning to rewrite. When she ventures out, she’ll wear one of her disguises.

Rose has been helpful with the logistics, particularly in directing the many delivery people to #421 no matter what name is on the order, and helping her set up the unit. She’s paid her for her time, of course, but Liddy feels uneasy with Rose’s willingness to drop everything if she thinks Liddy needs her, and even more uncomfortable with what seems to be Rose’s desire to be close friends. Part of this is because in order to make her plan work, Liddy was forced to confide in Rose more than she would have in ordinary circumstances. A few days ago, Rose showed up with a box of her mother’s dishes, silverware, and glasses—even a toaster oven. Yesterday, she shyly presented Liddy with a pair of hand-painted teacups as a “housewarming present.”

On a late September morning, Liddy leaves a note informing Garrett she’s going to a writers’ retreat, that he won’t be able to reach her, and she doesn’t know when she’ll return. She casually exits The Tower, walks to Tremont Street, and hails a cab to Cambridge. She’s jittery and scared. She’s also thrumming with adrenaline.

This is it. She’s finally doing it. She isn’t going to be that obsequious little patsy anymore, purring while caged within Garrett’s golden bars. She’s going to reclaim herself, the self he tried to destroy, almost did destroy. She’s going to write that novel he ridiculed. She’s going to figure out how to get away from him for good. She’s going to be happy.

But happiness doesn’t come as easily as she’d hoped. Once she’s settled in the unit, her pied-à-terre as she tries to think of it, happy is not what she feels. As confidence in her vanishing act deserts her, vulnerability and fear sweep in. She flinches at every sound, certain it’s Garrett come to claim her, punish her, humiliate her, maybe even kill her for leaving him. He’s sneakier, crueler, and more persistent than she’ll ever be, and he has the resources to get what he wants. And what he wants is for her to be back in her place, under his control. His detective is most likely already hot on her trail. Men like Garrett refuse to lose.

When she calls Robin from Rose’s cell, her daughter is upset. “Dad texted me and Scott last night and asked if we knew where you were.”

“Scott and me,” Liddy corrects automatically.

“Mom,” Robin whines.

“He knows where I am.”

“About the writers’ retreat, yeah, but he doesn’t know where it is, and he sounded kind of mad. Where is it, anyway?”

Liddy sighs loudly and gives the answer she’s prepared. “I’m afraid he’ll come here and try to convince me to come home. Now that you kids are away at school, I need to find out if I have what it takes to be a writer.”

Robin pauses, as if she understands more than Liddy is telling. “Okay, but you should tell him anyway.”

“I’ll think about it,” Liddy says.

As homey as she tries to make the space, there’s no hiding the cinder-block walls and the concrete floor, even after she and Rose put down a couple of rugs. And it feels claustrophobic, despite the two round windows and the high ceiling. She understands now that her plan to stroll through Cambridge in a wig and sunglasses was naïve, and she huddles inside her unit. He sounded kind of mad. She’s afraid to go out, to expose herself to the detective. The days are endless, the nights even longer.

In the evenings, Liddy stretches out on the couch, her feet on the coffee table, a throw pillow Rose gave her scrunched at her back, and watches sitcoms. Tonight, the show is predictable, but she has trouble following it. She hasn’t been able to read a book, not even a magazine, and she lacks the focus to work on her novel.

Along with the numbing fear, unanswerable questions swirl through her mind. Will he find her, hurt her, kill her? Where will she go next? What will she do when her money runs out? What’s the long-term plan? What about the twins? It all seemed easier when she was scheming, packing, buying, checking items off her list. She was moving forward then. Now she’s moving nowhere, staring at an idiotic TV family worried about a rabbit in the garden.