Don't Look for Me(14)

“I’m so sorry,” I say. But I don’t ask questions. Alice peeks out from where she’s buried her face. “I’ll just leave the clothes in the laundry room.”

I walk toward the door slowly, thinking they will clear a path. But they hold their position. They hold me in place with their bodies, trapped in this room.

“They’re still a little wet,” the man says. “Give it a few hours. You’ll be more comfortable staying in dry clothes. Sorry if it feels strange—the house, the clothes.”

Again, he apologizes. I pause long enough to think.

“I suppose I can wear these to town,” I say.

He looks at me now, curious. “Town?”

“To make the call on your cell phone. We talked about that last night—about driving to town where there’s a signal. I need to call my family. I need to let the police know that I’m safe—I left my car … and my phone…”

“Oh, right,” he says. But he does not say yes. He does not move toward the door and the truck and the road that will take us to town.

I feel apprehension now. I won’t call it fear. I can’t.

“Can we go, then? To town?”

My voice is firm. He can’t keep me here. He can’t make me stay one second longer. He can’t just take my clothes, and she can’t just crawl into my bed while I’m sleeping. They can’t …

“I can go to town,” he says now. “But I really need you to stay here with Alice. It’s not safe without the phone working or the power. Lots of trees still weak. Some are close to the house.”

No, I think. I am going to town! I am going home!

I shake now, head to toe. It’s in my cheeks and on my tongue as I try to shape words in my mouth.

“We can bring Alice with us. Like last night…”

“She has allergies, remember?” He says this like I should feel ashamed. Like I have been inconsiderate of this poor little girl. “She gets sick when she goes outside. I had to bring her last night because no one was here to be with her and I needed to fill the tanks and get the water. There’s no need to take the risk today.”

I struggle with this information. It comes at me fast. I cannot get my clothes. I cannot leave this house. I cannot call my family. Disbelief bleeds into acceptance and acceptance triggers fight or flight, adrenaline. I feel my skin flush and burn. My vision is unclear, muddled now with floating white circles. I breathe.

I breathe.

He turns to leave and Alice steps into me, clinging to my waist. She looks up at me with that smile and those wide eyes.

“You can make me breakfast!” she says cheerfully.

My hand reaches out before I can stop it and grabs the man’s shirt. I look at him, pleading.

He pulls away and walks to the dead phone. There’s a notepad next to it, and a pen on the counter. He grabs them both and brings them to me.

“Here,” he says. His tone is now cheerful, just like Alice’s.

“Write down the names and numbers of everyone you want me to call.”

Yes!

I write furiously—names and numbers. John. Nicole. Evan. A few close friends from my grief support group. I rip the paper from the pad and give it back to him.

He looks it over. “Can you write your name?”

“It’s just Molly,” I say. “They’ll know.”

“Write it anyway,” he insists. “Just in case. I forget things sometimes.”

I write my full name. Molly Clarke. I hand back the paper.

“Can you call them as soon as you get a signal? Tell them where to come get me? That I’m safe?”

The man’s face softens. It melts into a smile that is friendly and warm.

“Of course! It’s going to be just fine. I promise.”

I feel like crying now.

“And maybe you can check on my car? Let the police know?”

I think about my phone in the car, how it must be sending out a signal. How John will know how to find it online. We share an account.

Maybe they are already on the way!

Something about this thought feels strange. I don’t want it to feel strange and I fight against it.

They will come, won’t they?

Oh God … how it feels strange, a sudden alarm as I wonder about the log on the fire, and Nicole’s words and Evan’s behavior.

The man folds the paper carefully into the pocket of his flannel shirt.

“Sure thing!” he says with enthusiasm.

I feel relief, though it rests on shaky ground.

I talk myself through it. The man will go to town and call my family. He will check on my car and tell the police where I am. Maybe later today when he feels better about the trees we can leave Alice and he will drive me to town to get my car and fill it with gas from his tanks. Maybe I can drive home myself.

Alice pulls a chair up to a cupboard.

“Do you like tea?” she asks me.

It takes me a moment to process her question. I am still adjusting to this new situation—not going to town. Not calling my family.

“Yes,” I say, finally.

“Look at all the kinds we have!” she says, opening the cupboard to reveal several canisters of loose leaf tea.

“Come here and pick one!” she demands.

And I obey.