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I need money saved, but I don’t want John to know about it. Money equates to options, something I don’t have right now. I could go back to my job, but then who would watch Margot? I can’t stand to leave her. Plus, I’m not ready to face them after the incident. I don’t even think, in truth, I have a job to go back to.
I decide to send out my resume to a couple of companies for some freelancing work. A few copywriting jobs catch my eye online. The cash isn’t great since I can only do part-time, but it’s a start. And they’re remote jobs, so I don’t have to leave Margot. Best of all, John will never have to know. I can start stashing some cash for if—when, I correct myself—I need to get out in a hurry. I imagine myself packing a bag, stowing Margot in the car, and driving into the night. The mere thought of leaving our life, the familiarity of it all makes me dry heave. Our lives have been intertwined for years. How can I just sever that tie? Can I just chop down the vines without decimating who I am?
I take five deep breaths and steady myself by thinking of what matters the most. Feeling accomplished after a morning of applications, I gaze out the window. It’s a gorgeous day, a few wispy clouds splashed in the bright blue sky. I decide it would do me some good to take a break from snooping. My therapist used to insist that fresh air was a wildly effective medicine for a troubled mind.
I don’t text John to tell him where I’m going. He has lost the right to know. I load Margot up along with the diaper bag and a cooler with some food. I slap sunscreen on both of us and step outside, breathing in the fresh air. I know exactly where we’re headed.
***
Back before Dad went to prison, when I was about six, we used to head up to Bear Lake. It is a small state park with some cabins, kayaks, and fishing spots. Mama and Dad would bring me up here to go swimming and picnic. They are some of my happiest memories. I remember Mama and Dad would always sit on the blanket on the beach waving to me as I splashed in the water. Sometimes, Dad would even come in with me. We’d get some hot dogs and ice cream at the concession stand that sat by the water. We’d stay out there all day, and when we left, I was so tired, I’d drift off in the backseat of the car. The thing I remember most was that they were happy. They were in love when we were at Bear Lake. There weren’t yelling fights or thrown beer bottles. There was just bliss sparked by the natural serenity of the lake. It’s like the peacefulness of the place seeped into their blood. It was the only place we were connected as a family.
Until it all detonated.
***
Things in our trailer were never perfect, true. There were drunken nights and angry days. Mama and Dad fought often. Still, things were good enough. We had food to eat. I had a cat named Jinx that I adored, and things were relatively peaceful.
Until one day, I came home and found Mama in a heap on the floor. I’d just returned from my second day of first grade, armed with construction paper creations I couldn’t wait to show Mama. But instead of proudly handing over my art to be taped up on the fridge, I let it fall to the floor.
“Mama, what’s wrong?” I asked, fear worse than the fear of the dark or the monster who hid under my bed taking over. Jinx, my beloved cat, was curled up by my Mama, who sobbed on the floor. I had never seen my Mama cry. It wasn’t who she was. Sturdy, hearty, she never faltered, never backed down. Even when Dad was roaring drunk, she did not cower or tremble. She was fearless. So to see her so upset was horrifying to my six-year-old self.
At the sound of my voice, she pulled herself up to a seated position. She quickly stopped sobbing, wiping at her eyes as if she could destroy the evidence. The anguish on her pale, gray face was a memory that haunted my nightmares for years to come.
“Mama?” I asked, tiptoeing into our tiny living room. Mama stood up, nodding her head as if a wave of determination had taken over.
“Evette. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.” Her words were serious, calm. She sniffled a few times, but other than that, it was like her tears had dried up. For a moment, I thought I must have imagined it. Jinx stalked over to me, rubbing my legs. I picked her up.
“There’s been a situation, Evette. There’s no easy way to say this. Your dad is going away for a long time.”
I stared, stunned, holding the cat. I eyed my Mama in her blue nightgown. There was no soft reassurance in her eyes.
“I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, in truth. But he’s done something really bad. He’s not the man I thought he was.”
“What did he do?” I put Jinx down, stepping toward Mama. She turned from me and walked the few steps to the edge of the trailer. She looked out the sad box of a window into the empty forest behind our trailer.
“What the hell,” she whispered. Later, I would realize she was debating the best way to handle the situation with a six-year-old. She was a woman of simple means. She was not a woman of Dr. Phil, internet, here’s how you handle a crisis with kid gloves era.
So she turned then, and said, “He killed someone.”
“What? Why?” I was young, but I knew killing was bad. That it was forever. My hamster Stubbs had been killed by Jinx the year before. I’d waited for him to come back for months until Mama made me understand.
“I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s bad, though, Ev. Really bad. There’s lots of proof he did it. So he’s going to be gone now. It will just be the two of us. I am sorry. Really sorry.” Her voice cracked. I thought Mama might cry again.
I stood still, trying to figure it all out. We’d just been to Bear Lake that past weekend. Everything was fine. Daddy was mean sometimes, but he wasn’t bad. He was a good man. That was what Mama had always said. He was good. How could she be wrong?
“Why are you sorry?” I asked, turning my attention to her response.
“I don’t know exactly. I just—this is going to be hard. I thought he was different. I really did. But Evette, listen to me. No man is trustworthy. No man is who you think he is. Let this be a lesson. We will be okay in the end. We will. Now go change. It’s almost dinner time.”
There was no hug, no allowance for my own tears. From that point on, it was as if Dad didn’t exist other than as a warning, a red flag of what could happen if you trusted someone. Mama was strong. She helped us survive. She instilled in me a killer work ethic that got me places. She shielded me from the man she had once loved. I never visited Dad because she didn’t let me. She said it was better to leave the past in the past, especially when it was a past like him.
But seeing her alone sometimes, when she didn’t know I was watching, I knew she was lonely. I knew she pined for the man she fell in love with, imperfections and all. I knew sometimes she wished she could’ve helped him. When I got older, I would sometimes imagine Mama and Dad as Bonnie and Clyde on the run. Would they have taken me with them? Of course they would. What a life that would be, I sometimes thought. Escaping the dullness of the trailer and seeing the world from the fringes.
My therapist would later say the way Mama didn’t allow me to process the loss of my father affected me deeply. She was probably right. And in some ways, Mama’s words stuck with me.
There were no more trips to Bear Lake—only tears from Mama about how she would ever make it. About how her whole life was a lie. How men were trash.
For a while, I guess I believed her. For a while, I thought life, in general, was a lie, an illness, a plague. For a while, I stopped wanting to try at all.
***
I put Margot in the stroller and push her down to the picnic table closest to the water. A big tree shades us, and with the breeze blowing, it’s the perfect temperature. I fed her before we came, and now she rests in her stroller. I unpack my simple picnic and stare out at the water. What will Margot remember about John and me? Will she have happy memories to tell someday? Will she talk about how in love we were?
It seems more and more unlikely.
I sit at the table for a long time. Margot doesn’t fuss, lulled to sleep by the sounds of nature I suppose. I watch some kids play at the beach, some families hiking on the trail nearby. I breathe in the warm air and breathe out all of the confusion, exhaustion, and heartache. It’s apparently what my soul needs. Being here is the first time I’ve felt relaxed since, well, I guess since the delivery. Since John started metamorphosizing into someone unrecognizable—or perhaps too recognizable. For the more and more I see him, the more and more he reminds me of the first man in my life. My dad certainly proved to be untrustworthy. I don’t know why I got my hopes up that my life would be different. I should’ve seen the red flags. I should’ve known.
I glance toward the dock at the other end of the lake, up near the cabins where John and I once stayed. I think about how different we were then. I avert my eyes. This is now.
After a long while, I pack up Margot in her stroller and head down the trail. We walk for a while through the woods. It’s probably not the best idea with a baby, but I’m not ready to go back yet and face my life. I meander down the trail, at least a mile. My legs start to ache from the incline of the hill, but it feels good. It’s been so long since I’ve exercised properly. I really should work on that.
It’s still there. The dilapidated yet charming cabin that sits empty most of the time since they built the newer models. I smile, remembering my dad bringing me to this secret location and showing me how to jimmy open the back door. He used to hide here with his friends when he was young.
I’m not interested in breaking in. I peek in a few windows just to make sure it's still empty. Gladdened when I realize it is, I lift the stroller precariously up the two steps on the front porch. The swing is a bit rusty. I test it with my hands. It holds. I smile, Margot now awake. I pick her up and cuddle her into me before taking a place on the ancient yet reliable swing. She coos as I rock her, my feet grazing the splintered porch as I stare out into the forest sanctuary. Out here, it is just me and my baby, what I wanted most in life. There isn’t Olivia or John or back-alley meetings. There isn’t a dad in prison or a Mama who is dead or an office full of gossip about the psychotic woman who used to work there. There’s no Dr. Fountain squinting at me with her judgmental eyes or riddles to solve in my marriage. There’s just the two of us like it should be.
I think when we leave John, we’ll find a small place in the woods. I would love for Margot to grow up as a girl of nature, of inner peace, like I never got to.
Mama did her best with me, I realize as I swing on the porch. She gave me a chance in life to be something else, even when her world was falling apart. And it is because of her I know I can do this. I can raise Margot on my own. I can show her a better version of life than even I had.
I don’t know how long we stay there, both content. I don’t know what makes me decide to leave, either. Perhaps it’s knowing to live this life, I need to settle mine out, for better or worse. I traipse back to the car, pack up Margot, and aim the car toward the house of lies. It didn’t always use to be this way, I think with sadness. There was a time I thought John and I would get that happily-ever-after. There was a time when he was home and our house was my refuge in a cruel, ugly world.
Once we’re out of the mountains and back to civilization, my phone buzzes. Ten missed calls. I realize it’s much later than I thought. All of the calls are from John. He probably is worried. Good. Let him suffer.
When I get home, he’s waiting at the kitchen table, his head propped in his hands. He looks up when I come in with Margot.
“Jesus, Evette, I’ve been calling and calling. Where have you been?”
I keep my face stoic and nonchalant. I shrug. “I needed to get away. We went to the lake for a while.”
“I was worried about you,” he says. There is a genuine note in his voice that tells me he means it.
“I’m sorry. I needed to clear my head.” I take extra care to ensure my words are calm and subdued. My lips stick together after the last word in a solemn line.
“Did it help?” he asks calmly.
“It did,” I reply. He nods. We exchange simple niceties, small talk. All the while, I think about the mountain air, the serenity, and how someday soon, I’m going to claim what’s mine. It helps. It helps more than anything.