1940
My fingers trembled as I crumpled up the Butterick pattern. I’d sewn both two-piece ladies’ suits in red rayon, one a size smaller than the other. The peplum jacket would provide the illusion of a womanly figure. I set fire to the paper, using a poker to nudge it toward the back of the fireplace. With a September chill in the air, I’d complained to Charles of the cold all day, so he wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Tonight, he was meeting with his lawyer at the Hotel Palomar in town. I’d overheard their phone conversation weeks ago, noting the date and time. This window of opportunity allowed me to risk everything, to reach out to Ricky with my plea for help.
Edging toward twilight, the darkening sky reminded me I ought to leave. My heart sank, thinking of Evie and how I had lied to her again. I remembered what a gas we had when we’d traveled to the Woolworth’s in San Francisco, purchasing matching wallets. Had that only been two years ago? I had difficulty recalling a time when Charles didn’t control my every move. I swallowed, praying she’d brought the bag of clothing to Ricky. If Ricky didn’t arrive tonight . . .
I needed to be strong, for Olive. Would I hurt her? The impact would inflict less damage than Charles could. I had no other choice.
Opening my Woolworth’s wallet, I stared at the Social Security card printed with the word “Specimen” and a nine-digit number. The sample had always been there, but the night I began sewing, I hoped it would serve a vital purpose.
For the past week, Charles and I had eaten supper in silence, save for the newscaster’s voice on the crackling transistor radio. I enjoyed FDR’s “Fireside Chats” and his calm, collected demeanor, but now with the escalating threat of war, Charles had become paranoid. He called his lawyer daily about the draft, asking how to manage his hidden assets overseas. The stress wore on him, and with it, his patience with me diminished. I could sense his rage building.
The pink scar on my wrist shone in the dim light, a reminder of Charles’s cruelty. If I failed to escape this time, there would be no second chances. Picking up my sewing shears, I walked into the bathroom.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I looked at my pale reflection. Breathe. The sun would set in an hour, and I didn’t have a moment to waste. A faint purple bruise began to show beneath my right eye, a parting gift from Charles. Removing the bobby pins from my curls, I watched my long auburn hair fall in waves over my shoulders. The scissors felt cold in my hands.
I pressed my lips together. I’d always loved my hair, taking pride in its shine and scarlet richness. But I felt numb as I snipped, watching it tumble into the sink. When I finished, the bob grazed my jawline, making my blue eyes appear larger. I gathered the hair, tossing it into a paper bag from the supermarket.
Tearing open a cardboard box, I took out a tube of black hair dye, applying it from my roots to my newly shorn ends. Evie hadn’t noticed the Valmor dye in my shopping cart, hiding beneath a carton of eggs. My eyes watered from the sting of the chemicals and my nose twitched from the terrible scent.
For crying out loud!
I grabbed a piece of toilet tissue and wiped up a drop of goop that had fallen on the sink before it could stain. Oh, why hadn’t I thought to wear an old pair of evening gloves? The tips of my fingers were turning purple. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I swallowed. It was nearly seven-thirty.
Sticking my head beneath the faucet, I rinsed my itching scalp. The water ran a muddy purple, and I grabbed an old towel. I stopped, holding my breath when I thought I heard Charles turning his key in the lock. But it was only a trick of my imagination. Patting my hair dry, I felt the lightness of my new cut—the freedom of it. I mopped the water from the bathroom floor, and then hurried outside.
The street was quiet. As discreetly as I could, I lifted the lid of a trash bin two doors down, discarding the wet towel, the paper bag with my chopped hair and the empty tube of hair dye, along with its box. The skirt I’d sewn hugged my growing belly, the red peplum jacket hiding the small swell. Opening the side door of my home and darting inside, I walked into my bedroom. I took a white chiffon scarf from a drawer and wrapped it around my head, tying it beneath my chin. With my new haircut and color completely concealed, I exhaled.
Seven-thirty.
Checking my reflection in the vanity, I put on a swipe of red lipstick, and then my black sunglasses. But the purple of my fingertips . . .
My stomach lurched as if I were waiting at the peak of the Giant Dipper roller coaster. Shaking my head, I slipped on a pair of white gloves. There was no time for detail. Charles could be driving home this very moment. I clenched my teeth, touching the bruise on my cheek. He wouldn’t harm us anymore. This time, I would escape for good.
ADRENALINE PUSHED ME out of the house. I walked briskly along the footpath, carrying my large handbag as if it were a bomb. My eyes darted toward every car that passed. Charles was likely having me followed. However, being watched was all part of the plan. Onlookers would witness my fall from grace.
The sun hung low in the sky. Purple shadows stretched long over the pavement, the branches of the cypress trees gnarled and menacing. In less than half an hour, everything would fade to darkness. Walking faster, I held my breath.
A pair of boys walked down the road, perhaps thirteen years old. Looking at the sidewalk, I attempted to pass without drawing their attention.
“Good evening, Miss. Do you have a cigarette, perchance?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I replied, my voice trembling.
Turning on my heel, I walked away quickly. If I appeared distraught, that would aid my story. But the fewer people I spoke with, the better. The winding footpath brought me closer to the bluffs overlooking the ocean. I swallowed. A couple ambled down West Cliff Drive, out for an evening stroll. I felt guilty about the horrible sight they were about to witness, even though it wouldn’t be real.
The stone arches of Natural Bridges came into view. I slowed to a stop. Climbing over the guardrail, I looked to my left and to my right. The couple in the distance had noticed me. My heart began to pound as I walked toward the cliff’s edge. The ocean roared in my ears. I gasped as I looked at the choppy water below, my saddle shoes sending a cascade of pebbles toppling over the brink.
A yellow triangular sign with the words WARNING, NO ENTRY, HAZARDOUS CONDITIONS stood to my right, clearly marking the spot. The road was empty of automobiles at the moment, but a car could round the corner and pull over if I were spotted. Taking a step closer, my breath hitched. Waves crashed against the rocks like a battering ram, relentless and strong. I could feel the couple watching me as I leaned over the edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the sandy shelf below.
The sun dipped toward the horizon, taking the last rays of light with it. I stared into the dizzying depths of the cold, swirling blue water below. Voices called in the distance. I had no time to deliberate.
I thought back on Ricky’s words, and the sincerity in his eyes that fateful night when I drove Harry Goodman’s Oldsmobile through the fog.
If there’s anything you need, I’m always here for you. You promise you’ll come to me if you’re in trouble?
I had come to him. I couldn’t see Ricky, but I trusted he would save me. With my heart pounding, I shut my eyes.
And then I jumped.