Sisters in the Wind(52)
Daunis doesn’t prompt my concern. Cheaters do not deserve my respect.
Why do I care about them? They were helpful. Generous with their time and money. I’ve expressed my gratitude. They’ll be fine. What more do I owe them?
Keep them safe, says a voice that sounds like Nancy’s.
I’m not a person who swears. That’s just not me. But here I am, silently reciting every curse word I’ve ever heard.
They’re expecting something Saturday. Easter weekend. Six days away. I figure the messenger will intercept me at the ice arena again, while Jamie and Daunis skate and kiss. While TJ Kewadin waits for her nightly phone call, unaware that she is betraying him. Poor chump.
Focus on the problem, not the distraction.
I won’t give them what they want. My only option is to get as far away from Jamie and Daunis as possible before the deadline.
I’ve received three paychecks. The new pay period just began. I need more money but decide against asking for a payroll advance. Jamie would know something was up.
Daunis doesn’t carry a lot of cash. She uses an American Express platinum. I could swipe it … but then what?
Risk and reward: Daunis alerts law enforcement. The cops check my spending footprint, using her credit-card information to find me. It’s not worth the high risk of leaving a trail of bread crumbs without a huge cash advance. I never even tried to learn her PIN.
Devery never would’ve been this sloppy.
Jamie watches as I hand-wash the dishes from breakfast. I like the warm, soapy water and the satisfaction of rinsing, drying, and putting everything away. A job well done.
“Anything you want to do today, Sparky?” he asks.
What I say in my head: I want to plan my escape.
What I say out loud: “Raven Air. On the clock, boss.” I add a salute.
“All right,” he says.
When we break for lunch, Jamie fixes buttered mushrooms, bok choy, canned salmon, and sardines. I stick with the salmon. Slimy sardines have bones that are a good source of calcium but are gross. Daunis loves sardines. Slimy loves slimy.
He asks where we should go for our after-dinner walk. I stick with one of our usual locations: the IET building on campus.
My mind races all day and into the night. I have such a hard time falling asleep that I consider taking a codeine pill to help me relax. Risk and reward: Daunis will notice one pill is missing; I’m fairly certain she counts them every so often. If I told her I needed it for my leg, she’d be on alert and note any departure from my normal patterns of behavior.
At 2:19 a.m., I decide the risk is worth the reward. I tiptoe to the kitchen, where Daunis keeps the medicine—both my prescription vials and the glass jars of her Ojibwe medicines. Opening the cabinet, I use the light from the combination microwave and range to find the correct vial behind a jar labeled KINNIKINNIK TEA. Daunis says it’s a mild pain reliever.
I halt, thinking I heard something. After remaining still for a half minute, I reach for the vial.
There it is again.
Closing my eyes, I wait for the sound to repeat. It feels like an eternity, same as when a smoke detector chirps, and you stand beneath them all, waiting for the guilty one to reveal itself.
It’s a low sound, an intermittent hum. I put an ear against the door to the hallway.
Not there. Behind me. Toward the connecting door to Jamie’s room.
I don’t wander in the night, so I have no idea if he uses a sound machine to sleep. Steven Sterling used one, but I figured out it was to muffle the sound of his masturbating.
It’s deep rumbling. No. It’s chuckling, soft and low, and … slurping?
Daunis moans.
I clasp a hand over my mouth, praying my surprised gasp was inside my head and not out loud. Instead of running to my bedroom, I remain frozen in case they heard me.
Her voice hitches and rises.
I don’t want to know this. I retreat stealthily.
Back in my room, I pull the blankets over my head. I take deep breaths, imagining the ebb and flow of angry waves crashing against the shore.
* * *
The next morning, I am determined to function normally. I follow the routines developed over the past eleven weeks, but now with escape on the brain. Wash face. Brush teeth. Do morning stretches. Count money. Make sure burner phone is charged. Repack backpack. Fill the kettle with fresh water and put it on simmer after it boils. Read on the sofa until Jamie emerges from his room. Chat and drink tea while he drinks coffee before starting breakfast. Remove watch and wash dishes. Take shower. Put watch back on. Report for work. Midmorning workout. More work. Lunch with Daunis. Load dishwasher. Read for fun. More work. Midafternoon workout. Jamie’s 4:55 p.m. ritual. Read for fun. Help with dinner prep. Dinner with Jamie and Daunis. After-dinner cleanup. Go somewhere to walk. Hide zippered pencil pouch with money, phone, and watch in the bathroom vanity cabinet. Evening swim. Shower. Read. Put watch back on. Bed.
* * *
On Thursday, I notice Jamie acting differently. He’s on edge, practically snapping to attention each time his phone rings. He keeps the door to his room closed. The housekeepers haven’t arrived yet. Maybe he doesn’t want me in his room because I’ll find evidence of Daunis’s overnight visits. Or he knows I heard them in bed—although why would he act strangely today instead of yesterday?
It isn’t until Daunis says something about the investigation that I realize Jamie has more information. Her back is to him; I’m the one who watches him cook. He drops a wooden spoon on the range top. Reaching for it, he’s distracted and accidentally touches the scorching pot.