Margaret's Ark, page 24
That day Ozzie had waited for whatever abuse Clay had in store. To his astonishment, the prick was semi-decent. “Listen, Shaw,” he'd said, constantly looking around the warehouse for any lurker he could fire if they looked like they were listening. “I'm going to make you an offer, and you're going to accept it, and you're not going to tell anyone? Got it?”
An offer you can't refuse , Ozzie had thought glumly. “I guess,” he said. “Sure, Clay. Name it.”
Ozzie made Clay repeat the offer, thinking he had to have misunderstood. Sure enough, for the past four days he was being paid for forty hours work, plus another ten at time-and-a-half, to sit in his car in the center of Lavish all day and night to watch the crazies build their boat. Of course he couldn't leave, no matter what, except twice a day at staggered times to get food and go to the bathroom. If he couldn’t wait for the latter, he was to use an empty milk jug. He usually waited until his appointed break.
Bizarre as the request was, the offer made some sense. All Ozzie had to do was read his magazines, listen to the radio, and observe who visited the ark.
As soon as Holly showed up – and Clay was convinced she would – he was to call Clay on his cell and report in. Then came the tricky part, one that Ozzie thought was at least better than being paid to sit around all day. If Holly left before Clay got there, Ozzie was to follow her and learn where she was staying.
Ozzie Shaw, Private Dick . He smiled at that. If he carried this off, who knew? A new career on the horizon. He was pretty sure Clay was sending other folks to other sites for the same reason, leaving a diminished crew on hand but, in Clay's words, “They can all take a flying leap with a spoon if they don't like it.”
Clay the poet , Ozzie thought. Seriously nuts, that one.
Al l four windows in the car were open. The breeze kept things cool. The weather so far had been a miracle in and of itself. Ozzie only needed the A/C a couple of hours a day, just before and after lunch. Nice weather, but a little bizarre for California. Still, it wasn't raining. He could tell that this fact was slowly irritating the arkies as they finished their boat.
He was almost disappointed when he saw Holly walk across the grass. She kept looking around, expecting Clay to jump out from behind one of the shrubs. He supposed that wasn't far from the truth. She looked haggard, even from this distance. The kid wasn't with her. He wondered how she managed to find a baby-sitter and still keep hidden from her boyfriend. Ozzie didn't dwell on it, as he was listening to Clay's cell phone ringing after dialing the number.
“What?” came the answer.
“Hey, Clay. Your girl's here.”
“Who's this?” The guy sounded way too wound up.
“Um, it's Ozzie. You told me -”
“Ozzie,” Clay's voice interrupted. “Ozzie... Lavish town square?”
Was he drunk or just nuts? “Yeah, Man. She's talking with the Queen loony right now.”
“Where are you?”
“What? The Lavish to-”
“Where are you parked?” Clay sounded out of breath, like he was running.
“Red car, near the corner before the fire station.”
“Keep an eye on her. If she leaves, follow her, and call me.”
“That's the plan, Stan.” But Clay had already disconnected.
* * *
What am I doing?
Holly asked herself that question with every step across the town square. She was in the open where everyone could see her. Clay was looking for her. He’d gone to Dorothy Lang's door once every day for the first few days, demanding to know where she was hiding. Gratefully, Holly hadn't told Dot where she’d really been going that day, and Dot could truthfully say as much. When Holly finally talked to her on the phone this morning, her friend explained that it hadn’t been until her husband threatened to beat him senseless that Clay finally backed off. Not that he hadn't kept calling on the phone, but at least he stopped darkening their porch. When it came to someone standing up to him, Clay lost his nerve pretty quick.
She’d stocked up with supplies when she first picked up Connor eight days ago, stopping at the closest supermarket and ringing up a major hit to Clay's credit card for diapers and food. She got extra baby clothes at Wal-Mart then drove three towns over, paying for the motel room with the cash she’d built up over the past few days by maxing out the ATM withdrawals from their joint checking account.
There she stayed, going out each morning to drive the half hour to a Williamson ATM to take more from their account. Clay must have gotten wise and eventually changed the PIN. The rejected transaction was enough to keep her indoors after that.
Eight days of feeding and playing with Connor. Eight days without Clay, of relishing the joy of spending so much solo time with her baby. Connor kept babbling, trying out words only he understood, but which filled Holly with such happiness to hear. She'd lift him into a standing position, walked him around the small, single-bed room, and he'd smile and smile! According to all the books, ten months was a good age to start training him like this.
Eight nights of terror when Connor slept and there was nothing but the darkened television staring back at her. She didn’t watch TV, except for late night news to keep up on what was happening with the ships. That was the limit of her interaction with the world. She didn't want anything else but that one small room and her little boy all to herself. Sometimes, she'd pull up a chair beside the Pack 'N Play and watch him sleep.
Every slammed car door, every raised voice outside sent her jumping to the window. She couldn't live that way much longer. She couldn't stay, and she couldn't leave.
But she had to leave. Time was running out. During her stay in the motel, Holly had time to think about why she left him. The risk of Clay finding her.... Why did she do it?
She knew, and it took until today to finally admit it to herself. She believed what was happening. She believed Margaret Carboneau when she said the flood was going to come. Staring down at Connor, at his perfect face, the slightest bubble of spit coming from his lips as he slept, she knew. Clay would see them all die before he’d let her save her son. Now, it was probably too late. She had to try.
When she called Dot to say where she was, the woman burst into tears.
“Oh, my God, Sweetie. How long do you think you can just hide out there? You’ve gotta let me come with you to the police. God knows, I'm not big on getting them involved in domestic stuff. I mean they usually screw things up worse, but it beats living in a motel the rest of your life!”
“I know, Dot. I really do. I have a plan, but I need your help. Do you think you can watch Connor for a little while? Here, I mean, while I sneak out?”
“Of course, I will. You got a car, Hon, or will you need to borrow mine?”
Her car . The thought had suddenly struck her with so much force she had to sit on the edge of the bed. Holly’s car had been in the motel parking lot for eight days, right out in the open. Then she realized, no one had seen it. Eight days and they hadn't found her. She smiled at herself in silent congratulations. She’d done something right for once.
“I have a car,” she said, “but now that you mention it, maybe I'll borrow yours. Mine’ll get recognized.”
Dot laughed. “Girl, you're starting to sound like James Bond. It's a deal. And if I can find you an exploding fountain pen on my way, I'll pick one up.”
Dot's car, thankfully, was an automatic. Holly had never learned to drive standard. She watched Connor smile and drool as Dot lifted him overhead in a joyous reunion.
Now Holly was in public amidst a hundred faces, wondering if coming had been a mistake. Margaret Carboneau was standing on a short ladder, shouting to someone inside the ship through a porthole set high in the hull. The ship was clunky, and big.
“Ms. Carboneau?”
The woman turned, her expression dark for a brief moment. Then she brightened and climbed down off the ladder.
“You work at the supply store, right?”
Holly tried to smile, failed, and began to scan the cars parked around the common. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, turning back. “I'm sorry; I won't take up your time. You look busy. I'll come back -” Then she caught herself being the pathetic weak thing that had gotten into this mess to begin with. She wouldn’t be able to come back. “No, I'm sorry. I need to talk to you now.”
Margaret folded her arms across her chest and smiled, warily. “I'm all ears.”
Holly stumbled over her words, talking quickly so as not to let the woman interrupt until she got her say. “Can, can I join up? Sign up? Whatever. I don’t know what I can do, but, actually, I wouldn't be able to. I can't leave where I'm staying. Someone's looking for me, and if he sees me –” She stopped, realizing she sounded like a raving lunatic.
“It's okay,” Margaret said. “Are you asking to join us here on the ship?”
It was as if she'd lost a hundred pounds. “Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, that's right. My boy, Connor, he's just a baby. But he's real good. Him and me. Just the two of us. Really only one if you combine us.” She laughed.
Margaret's face darkened again. Not an angry expression, but there was sadness in it. Pity. The weight that had fled Holly a moment ago poured back, centered in the middle of her chest and stomach, threatened to pull her to her knees. “I'm sorry,” Margaret said. “I really am. But we're full up, and I can't take any more passengers. It's not allowed. If I could, I would. Please believe that.”
Holly wanted to cry, to beg and fall to the woman's feet. But the realization of where she was came back to her. Vulnerable. More so now that she was being turned away.
Margaret continued, “There are others being built, though. They might have room. I have a list. Here, let me get it.”
“No,” Holly sobbed. Tears were blurring her vision. “They'll all be filled, too, won't they? Filled or just never going to be built. Right?”
“I'm sorry.” How many times, Holly wondered, had this woman had to turn people away? She wiped her face with her arm, but it didn’t work. She lifted her shirt partway up and dabbed her eyes.
Connor was with Dot. She had to get to him. Think of what to do now, where to go.
“We have a waiting list,” Margaret said. She pointed to a red-haired woman in a wheelchair across the way. “Please, go over to Estelle and give her your name and number. There are others on the list before you, but people do leave now and then. There's always a chance.”
Holly heard the words but could not respond. After having dried her eyes she instinctively scanned the common looking for Clay. What she saw instead was Ozzie, watching her from behind the wheel of his car. When Ozzie realized he'd been spotted, he gave her a little wave, then shrugged his shoulders. His hand hovered there a moment, then he looked around.
Clay’s with him , she thought in panic. Oh, my God. He's looking for Clay.
Ozzie reached down and lifted up a cell phone. He was saying something. She stared, ignoring the questions from the woman beside her. Ozzie’s face took on a nervous urgency. As she tried to see what he was saying, she took a couple of involuntary steps forward. Then she understood what he was saying.
He's coming .
She turned and ran. Margaret Carboneau called after her, but Holly did not stop. For a panicked moment, she forgot where she'd parked her car, then remembered she'd driven Dot's Taurus wagon. There it was, three cars away.
She bumped the car in front with the wagon when she put it in gear. Its alarm blared. Muttering nonsensical words, which sounded more like Connor's language than her own, she pulled into the street, having to wait an eternity for an opening in the traffic. She was grateful her car was facing away from Ozzie, or she'd have to drive past him.
He's coming.
The tears kept falling, but she didn't dare wipe them away. She hit the button to roll down the windows, and let the breeze air dry her face. The edges of her vision crystallized, but she could see. As she’d planned before coming, Holly veered off the main road and followed a roundabout route to the motel. The office had plenty of maps to sell her, and she'd worked out two different routes in addition to the highway.
Al l the way, she checked for familiar cars in the traffic. No sign of Ozzie's red Chevy. No sign of Clay's white Saturn. Following her at the moment was an old woman in a small Toyota, and further back a blue mini-van. Even in his current state, Clay wouldn’t be seen dead in one of those.
She had gotten away. For the time being, at least.
* * *
Ozzie pulled from the curb, chiding himself for screwing up like that. Had Clay seen him warn Holly? No, he couldn't have. She had already reached her car when Clay pulled up alongside him. In a mini-van, no less. He would have laughed if he hadn’t seen the death mask that was Clay's face.
“Where,” was all he said. Ozzie described the car he'd seen her get into, and pointed. Clay looked ahead of him, eyes darting, searching; then he pulled away slowly, in calm pursuit.
* * *
“I have to go. Here, Connor! Come here, Baby.”
“I'll say this one more time, Holly. What is going on?”
Holly's face was streaked with dried tears. “Ozzie saw me. He works at the store. He said Clay was coming.”
“Clay knows you're here?”
Holly paused. Did he know where she was? She never saw his car, never saw any flash of red to indicate Ozzie had followed, either. “No,” she said at last. “No, I guess not.”
Dot played with Holly's hair, trying unsuccessfully to untangle it. “Is this place still paid for?”
Holly nodded. “I paid up until June eighth.”
“Well, that's good. Why June... aw, Honey. You don't believe those stories, do you?”
Holly almost denied it, but what would be the point? She nodded. Her friend laughed, a heavy, tension-cutting sound and tousled Holly's hair, having obviously decided the rat's nest was beyond fixing. “You go on and believe what you want. Come June ninth, you can stay with me and Phil, OK?” She took Holly in a loose hug. Connor gleefully squirmed between them. “I'll stay here with you the rest of the day, see if Mister Big ever shows up. If not, I'd have to say you're in the clear. He's never been a very patient man.”
A shadow by the window caught Dot's attention. When she looked up, there was nothing. She'd opened the blinds while Holly was gone, then the windows to freshen the air. From here, she could see the parking lot, and as far as she could tell, nothing was different except her own car which Holly had come back with, and a blue minivan now parked across the lot. It, too, was empty.
By seven o'clock that evening, Dot prepared to leave. Holly had re-closed the windows, turned on the air conditioner and shut the blinds.
“It's like a cave in here,” Dot said, giving a kiss to baby and mother in turn. She paused by the door, talking while typing a long text into her phone. “Phil is probably calling the National Guard for me by now. The man worries too much. I'll call you tonight. You promise to stay put?”
She promised. Dot went home.
An hour later, Holly fed Conner, burped him, and laid him down to sleep. It was dark outside, and Holly lay on the bed. She couldn't sleep, but she knew she had to relax or it would affect her milk.
Twenty-five minutes later, the door to the motel room opened with a subdued thump. Clay stumbled inside. He smiled as he straightened up, then lingered at the doorway, patching up the lock. He said nothing, just occasionally turned to her and smiled. She never moved, except to creep towards the far side of the bed. She almost expected him to say something bizarre like, “Hi, Honey, I'm home.” But he never spoke.
The door fixed, he closed it and wandered to the closet, got the suitcase she'd bought at the store along with the diapers and Pack ‘N Play, methodically opened and closed the dresser drawers, throwing whatever clothes he found into the case. He snapped it shut, looked down at Connor and gently lifted his sleeping form.
Every muscle in her body tensed, ready to spring if Clay made any threat. He didn't. He smiled again and handed Connor over to her, folded up the Pack 'N Play, lifted it and the suitcase and walked to the door.
“Come on,” he said quietly. “Time to go home.”
Holly hesitated. Clay turned back. He wasn't smiling. “Now, Babe. Or I'll kill you both right here.” She looked into the two dark orbs that used to be his eyes, and knew he was telling the truth.
Holly cradled her son closer and followed Clay to the mini-van parked across the lot. They did not speak on the ride home. She tried not to think what was going to happen when he had her back in the house, in the place where he felt safe enough to act out his true nature. When he got her inside, she had to make sure Connor was safe in his crib before Clay killed her. At least then her son would have a chance of surviving. This was all she had left to cling to, as she watched the white lines of the highway ticking off their passage back home.
15
“Doctor Ramprakash!”
Neha stopped with an unexpected pang of happiness on hearing her name pronounced correctly. Over the past month, Bernard Meyers had made it a point to acknowledge her in the hall whenever they crossed paths. Aside from this small token of recognition, nothing else seemed to come of her participation in his dinner the month before.
She paused only briefly, pretending to note her place on the chart she carried for Mrs. Rondeau in room 316, then turned and raised an eyebrow, an expression of passive interest.
“Doctor Meyers, how are you this morning?”
Meyers walked quickly to her side and Neha fell into step. He didn't want to keep her from her destination, protocol for any ad-hoc hallway meeting. He seemed in a hurry himself, and she admired how the older man never looked winded as he whirled about the hospital.
“I won't keep you long,” he said. They turned the corner. “Just wanted to extend another invitation to you and Suresh.” Again, Neha was filled with hope, knowing that Meyers would have done some research to remember her husband's first name.
