Chapter 6 - The Gray Bag by the Open Door
The blue front door was still open when I heard tires on our driveway, and for half a second my body believed it was Blake. I leaned against the kitchen counter with both hands and listened, counting. Six minutes had collapsed to something shorter. I didn't have a watch on. I had the dark phone pressed between my palm and the laminate and the air coming in cold off the sidewalk.
Then a knock, quick, and a voice I knew through the screen. "Claire? It's me." The front door creaked wider and my neighbor Dana stepped in, coat half-zipped, her car idling behind her in the driveway where Blake's car should have been. She took one look at me and didn't ask if I was okay.
"You're not doing this alone," she said. "How long has he been gone?"
I tried to answer and couldn't get air around it. "Forty," I said finally. "Maybe more." It sounded worse out loud.
She crossed the entryway in three steps. The gray and navy duffel was still right where I'd packed it that morning, zipped and standing against the wall by the door. She grabbed it by both handles without asking, like she'd already decided. "We're going. Now."
I nodded and reached for the counter. My car keys were there, the small dark keys Blake had left behind, next to where my phone had been. I stared at them. They meant he couldn't have gone far, and they meant he hadn't planned to come right back. I left them where they were and picked up my phone instead.
"Coat?" Dana asked.
"Closet," I said, and she got it while I breathed through another tightening that rolled from my back to my front. I gripped the edge of the counter until it passed. When it let go, my sweater was damp at the neck.
Dana held my coat open and I got my arms in. She didn't rush me, but she didn't waste time either. She slung her purse over her shoulder and lifted the duffel again. "Lock up after we get you out. You got your ID and charger in here?"
"Top pocket," I said. "Outside."
We moved toward the door together. The daylight outside looked too normal. The lawn, the mailbox, Dana's silver SUV running with the exhaust smoking a little in the cold. No Blake. The empty side of the driveway hit me harder than the contraction had.
On the porch I stopped. Dana was already down the steps with the bag. "Keys," I said. "Front door."
She turned. "I got it. Get in the car."
"No. I need to do it." I held out my hand, and she tossed me my house key from her own ring where I'd given her a spare last summer. My hands were shaking so bad I missed it once on the stoop. The metal was cold and too small. I got the key in on the second try, turned it, pulled it out, checked the knob twice. Locking my own house felt strange, like I was locking myself out of the morning I'd planned.
Dana had the back door of her SUV open. "Back seat," she said. "You'll be more comfortable. Recline against the side."
I climbed in sideways, awkward with my belly, and she set the duffel on the floor by my feet. The car smelled like coffee and kid crackers. She shut the door and came around to the driver's side, and then we were backing out, my house getting smaller in the window.
Halfway down our street, on the way to the county road, it hit again. I curled forward with my hands braced on the seat in front of me and breathed out loud through my nose. Dana glanced in the mirror and slowed.
"Talk to me," she said. "How far apart?"
"Don't know anymore," I said when I could. "Close."
She turned onto the county road, past the church parking lot, empty on a weekday, past the gas station with the flags snapping. The ride smoothed out. I sat back, sweating under my coat, and pulled out my phone with both hands.
I stared at Blake's name for a long moment. The headlights of a passing truck swept across the back seat. Then I typed it with my thumbs, plain and short so he couldn't misunderstand it.
May you like
hospital now
I hit send and watched the screen. Delivered. No dots. No call back. The duffel shifted against my ankle as Dana took the curve toward town.
