Page 77 of Gone Tonight
I pass her bedroom first. Everything is just as it was last night, when she finally texted me to say she was staying over at a friend’s and I felt so alienated from her that I went into her room simply to be near her things.
I step into the bathroom and gasp. Catherine is curled on the mat, her eyes closed. Her skin appears waxy and for a split second, I start to tip into a bottomless terror.
I drop to my knees. She’s breathing.
“Catherine.” My voice sounds odd. I clear my throat and try again. “Sweetheart?”
Her eyelids flutter. “I don’t feel well.”
I rest my hand on her forehead. It’s cool. I wonder if she has a bad hangover from her night with Ethan, or whether she’s coming down with the flu.
I tuck my Mace into my pocket as I ask, “Can I help you to bed?”
She nods and slowly gets up, holding on to the arm I offer. We shuffle down the hallway together and when we reach her room, I see she has been cleaning out her school backpack on her bed. I use my free hand to push aside her old notebooks and pens, then I pull back her covers.
She eases beneath them, moving like a very old woman.
It sounds awful, but I’m almost grateful she is sick. It means she won’t be going anywhere.
I collect her school supplies from the foot of the bed and place them atop her bureau, then set her backpack on the floor of her closet. She still has some stuff in there, but I’ll leave it for her to deal with when she’s better.
Catherine’s eyes are closed. She looks so vulnerable right now, like she’s a little girl again.
“Do you want to change into your pj’s?” I ask.
She doesn’t reply.
As I bend over and smooth her soft hair, she startles. I withdraw my hand.
“I’ll be right back,” I promise.
In the kitchen, I make a mug of chamomile tea and sweeten it with a spoonful of honey, then find a few crackers. I bring this to Catherine along with two Advil I shake out of the jar in the medicine cabinet. I set everything down on her nightstand and move to the window. It’s open a few inches, which makes me uncomfortable, even though we’re four floors up. I close it and fasten the thumb lock.
When I turn around, I see Catherine’s eyelids are cracked apart, like she’s watching me. She closes them so fast, though, I might be wrong.
I watch her for a long moment. She’s a still, silent form under the covers.
I finally step out of the room, but I leave her door wide open. My purse is still slung over my shoulder, so I put it on my dresser and takeoff my work clothes, sliding my Mace back into the pocket of my purse. I don’t plan to go out again today, so I pull on sweats.
When I walk through the living room to make myself a late lunch in the kitchen, I see one of Catherine’s legal pads on the floor by her computer. I pick it up and set it on her laptop.
I open a big can of Progresso vegetable soup, enough for two in case Catherine feels up to eating.
It’s hard to swallow it, but I force myself to finish a small bowl. I cannot let myself weaken in any way.
After I return the full Brita pitcher Catherine left in the sink to the fridge and finish washing the dishes, I slip on my topaz ring and go check on her again. It looks like she hasn’t moved a muscle.
I know I should elevate my sore feet, so I lie down on my own bed. I feel too agitated to focus deeply, but I force myself to pull out my journal.
Now that James is free, I need to write down everything for my daughter as quickly as I can. If something happens to me, I want her to at least know who I was, and why I did what I did.
By the time I’d been living in the Target for a week, the old me—Ava Morales—was morphing into someone else.
From the office supply aisle, I borrowed a pair of scissors and cut my waist-length hair to my jawline. In the accessories section, I tried on sunglasses until I decided the oversized rectangular ones provided the best camouflage.
I used to love makeup, but this version of me only wore Maybelline pressed powder, which I applied over my dark eyebrows to make them more subdued. A black-and-gold Pirates baseball cap completed my new look once I’d cut off the price tag and stomped on the brim so it didn’t look brand new.
I considered trading in my sneakers for shoes that would add a few inches to my height, but I discarded that idea quickly. It’s hard to run in heels.
