“Mommy’s coming, Savannah.” Marti Johnson’s nine-month-old daughter was a mirror image of her with big brown eyes and dark curls, although Marti straightened her own with enough chemicals to open her own lab. Savannah huddled in the middle of the crib, tiny hands slapping her legs in a baby tantrum. Marti usually timed it just right. She would shower, dress, and run a brush through her short hair before Savannah awakened. But today she was five minutes off schedule and Savannah knew it.
The infant howled when she caught sight of Marti, a baby version of a scolding. “Are you hungry, sweetpea? Mommy has your breakfast heating now.” She lifted Savannah from the crib and laid her on the dressing table. After a diaper change and a quick swipe of Savannah’s face with a wet cloth, Marti hoisted the infant on her hip and carried her to the kitchen where she sat her daughter in a high chair.
Both Forrest and Marti wanted a houseful of kids. They were well on their way as Marti had just learned she was pregnant again. Forrest had a great job as a bank manager, enabling Marti to quit her retail management job to be a stay-at-home mom. They had moved from a roach-infested apartment in Gary, Indiana a year ago to a beautiful condo overlooking a golf course in Chasen Heights, Illinois.
Marti placed one piece of cinnamon raisin bread in the toaster, then poured herself a cup of coffee while the television newscaster gave the weather report. Savannah entertained herself with measuring spoons, banging them on the tray and babbling in baby talk. Sunny and seventy degrees at eight o’clock in the morning. It was looking to be another great summer day.
Marti dabbed the spoon into the jar of baby food and touched it to her tongue. “Still hot, baby. Let’s give it a few more minutes.” She set the jar aside and placed a few Cheerios on Samantha’s tray to placate her until the food was ready.
The breakfast nook was located in front of a bay window overlooking the golf course. Their building was situated at an angle which protected their second-floor windows from stray golf balls. The windows in their unit folded in for easy cleaning. Marti had affixed a bird feeder to the window where she and Savannah would watch as the finches feasted on the thistle seed. Marti set her cup of coffee down and was just ready to slide onto the bench seat when the phone rang.
“I bet that’s daddy.” She kissed Savannah’s head and hustled to find her cell phone. She picked up a stuffed dog from the floor and placed it on the glass top coffee table. The phone continued its chirping and Marti soon located it on the couch in the living room buried under a stack of yesterday’s newspapers. She smiled as she said, “What did you forget?” The smile slowly faded as she listened to the voice. Her face took on a Stepford glare as she set the phone down. Marti walked over to the door, slipped on her tennis shoes and tied them. She didn’t bother to grab a jacket or her keys. Without looking in on her daughter she calmly walked out of the condo and took the stairs. Once in the lobby Marti walked past the guard without her typical sunny hello. Two people at the curb were emptying their car of groceries. Not one of them thought it strange that Marti didn’t have Savannah with her, nor did they watch as she headed toward the gate. Aromas from a nearby Burger King wafted through the air. The sun was blinding, streaking between the tree branches, prompting the guard at the gate to pull a visor down on the window of his guard shed. He looked up and waved but went right back to his morning paper. He didn’t follow her with his eyes to see her turn at the light and head toward the expressway two blocks away. Cars were zipping by on River Oaks Drive while joggers and power walkers maneuvered along the sidewalk. Marti was completely oblivious to the activity around her.
A patrol officer sat behind the wheel of a squad car writing out a speeding ticket for the truck driver parked in front of him. He gave more than a passing glance at the attractive woman as she walked past. As an afterthought, he checked out her ass in the rearview mirror. But something wasn’t right. For one thing, she paid little attention to cars, not looking once before crossing the side street. Her pace was determined, not a stagger to her step as if she were drunk or on drugs. When she reached the top of the overpass she turned and without hesitation climbed over the railing. He rushed out of the squad car and ran toward the woman.
“HEY!” he yelled. Either she couldn’t hear or was ignoring him. She never acknowledged him nor the screeching of tires or loud horns of passing motorists who weren’t quite sure what they were witnessing. The semi-driver on the expressway below didn’t see the woman either until her body hit the windshield. He was going seventy miles an hour.