Page 81 of Gone Tonight
At one point during the night, she rolled over and curled on her side, facing me, and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe. Like she was suffocating me by stealing all the oxygen out of our shared air.
You’re not Ruth Sterling, I’d thought as I’d watched her out of the corner of my eye, slowly inching as far away as I could on the mattress.
Then I’d thought,So who does that make me?
I’ve never been so grateful for the faint glow of the sunrise lightening my room.
When my mother finally got up, I kept up my charade of being sick. There was no way I could act normally in front of her, but I figured I could pull off being ill. If I outwaited her, I knew I’d eventually get a chance to escape.
I just had to be patient.
My chance comes sooner than I expect.
At around 9 a.m., she calls to me, “I have to run out for a minute. Be right back.” Then the front door shuts behind her.
For a terrifying moment I worry it is a test and that she is waiting by the door to pounce when I leap out of bed. I push aside that fear and fling back the covers.
My backpack, my purse, my phone, my legal pad, my laptop, my sneakers.
I’m already dressed, and I just used the bathroom and brushed my teeth, so I’m ready to go in less than sixty seconds.
I open our front door and hold my breath as I peer down the hallway. It’s empty. I creep to the stairwell and slowly pull the heavy door toward me, listening hard. I can hear someone several flights down, but I’m not sure if it’s my mother or a neighbor. Whoever it is, they’re moving slowly. I wait until the sound of footsteps recedes and finally disappears. Then I descend, holding myself back from running. If I trip and get hurt, it’ll be a disaster.
I reach the lobby. My mother isn’t anywhere to be seen.
I just pray she hasn’t taken the car.
I hurry to the door that leads to the parking lot. My fingers are already scrabbling in my purse for my set of keys.
Just as I reach the side door and begin to pull it open, an elderlycouple I vaguely recognize from the building approaches, each of them carrying a paper bag of groceries.
What kind of person would I be if I rushed through, letting the door close in their faces?
I hold open the heavy door and stand to the side and wait, my body clenching tighter with every passing second.
They seem to take forever to shuffle through, and once they’re finally clear of the door, they thank me profusely.
“No problem!” I say, my voice shrill.
I force myself to walk slowly across the asphalt at first. But I’m not even halfway across the lot when my legs pick up speed, propelling me faster and faster.
The Bonneville is in sight now. No one is blocking me in.
I’m actually going to get away.
I slip behind the wheel and jab the key into the ignition and peel out, not bothering with my seat belt.
At the first stop sign, I turn off my location services and dictate a text to my mother, letting her know I’ll be gone for a few days.
It isn’t until I’m another few miles away, speeding down the highway, that I finally feel like I can breathe normally.
I have no idea where to go, or what I’m going to do next. But as long as there is distance between me and my mother, I feel safe.
I pull into a Wendy’s parking lot and lean back, my heart rate finally beginning to slow.
Then a message chimes on my phone.
I flinch and instinctively look down. I don’t know if I want to read whatever my mother has texted back.
