Chapter 7
The clock on the microwave said 6:22. I could see it from the bedroom doorway. Outside the living room, the light had gone flat and gray behind the sheer curtains, and the air smelled like coffee that had been sitting too long on the glass table with the gold frame.
Leo sat on the edge of our bed. He'd stopped crying but his breathing was still hitched, that little catch kids get after. His shoes were on. I hadn't taken them off when I picked him up from the floor.
I pulled our duffel from the closet. Not the big suitcase. The navy one with the broken zipper on the front pocket. Marco got it for a weekend in Galveston we never took.
I didn't say I was leaving.
I folded. Two t-shirts for Leo, his dinosaur one on top. Socks. His inhaler, though he hadn't needed it in months. I put my own sweater in, a toothbrush, his picture book with the bent corner. Every movement was deliberate. Slow enough they could hear the zipper pull tick against the fabric. Slow enough that Marco would have time.
Vanessa appeared in the doorway first. She'd followed me. Arms crossed, shoulder against the frame the way she'd stood behind Marco on the sofa.
"Seriously?" she said. She let out a short laugh through her nose. "You're doing the bag thing. Again."
I kept folding. My hands didn't shake until I reached for Leo's pants.
"It's not even packed right," she said. "You think that scares anyone? You think he doesn't know you'll be back by morning?"
Gloria came up behind her. Phone in both hands, screen dark now, but still there. She looked past me to Leo.
"You always run, Elena," she said. Her voice was quieter than Vanessa's. Not cruel, just tired, like she'd said it before and been right. "You run and then Marco has to clean it up. And Leo pays."
Leo looked at me. His eyes went to the bag, then back to my face.
"Are we going somewhere, Mama?" he asked.
I knelt in front of him. The duffel was open on the rug between us. I smoothed his hair back. It was damp at his forehead.
"No, baby," I said. "We're just getting ready. In case we need to. Okay?"
He nodded, but he clutched the edge of the bedspread.
Behind me, I heard Marco's shoes on the hardwood. He hadn't moved since I'd stood up from the living room floor. Now he was there, filling the doorway, black suit, black shirt, grey tie still knotted tight. He looked at the bag, then at me on my knees.
"Elena," he said.
I stood up. I zipped the duffel halfway and lifted it. Not heavy, not full enough to actually go anywhere. I carried it past Vanessa, past Gloria, into the hall that led back to the living room. The front door was at the end of that hall, next to the arc lamp.
I set the bag down right by the door. The sound of it hitting the floor was soft, but it echoed in the quiet. I didn't open the door. I didn't reach for the handle. I just left it there, navy against the pale wood, and turned around.
Marco had followed me. He stopped halfway down the hall. Vanessa stayed by the bedroom door. Gloria hovered near the sofa, phone lifted slightly, like she was going to document this too.
Marco looked at the bag, then at me.
"Don't," he said. His voice cracked. "Don't do this to him."
He stepped forward and then stopped, his hands at his sides, palms out a little. He didn't touch the bag. He moved to the side of the doorway instead, blocking it. Not with his body pressed against it. Not with force. He just stood there, in the frame, between me and the door.
"I'm not trapping you," he said quickly, seeing my eyes go to the space he blocked. "I'm not — Elena, please. Stay. Just stay and talk to me."
The hall was too narrow for all of us. I could hear Leo's soft breathing from the bedroom. I could hear the faint tick of the microwave clock: 6:31.
"You want me to beg?" he said. His eyes were wet now. He swallowed. "Fine. I'm begging you to stay. Right here. Tonight. Don't make me choose after you've gone."
Vanessa made a small sound. "Marco, she packed a bag in front of your son. She—"
"No," Marco said without looking at her. His eyes stayed on me. "Primero ella."
It wasn't loud. He said it in English this time, rough and low.
"Her first," he said. "You first. Both of you. I've been saying it wrong all day. I know."
Gloria's grip tightened on the phone. She glanced at Vanessa, then at Marco's back, then at me.
May you like
I left the bag by the door. I didn't pick it back up. I walked past Marco — he stepped aside the second I moved — and went back to the bedroom where Leo was waiting on the bed.
The duffel stayed there. Zipped, packed, visible from the living room. A question nobody had answered yet, sitting by the door while the clock pushed toward seven.
