He nodded, lost in the show in just a few seconds.
She put the jar on the coffee table and retreated to the kitchen. She realized that she’d forgotten to defrost the chicken—or was it supposed to be hamburger tonight? Because she kept picturing the man with the truck, it was all but impossible to remember.
“Is it chicken or hamburger tonight?” she called out.
“Hamburger,” Tommie called back.
Oh, that’s right, she thought. They’d had chicken the night before, with beans and carrots, and she’d nibbled on the carrots that Tommie hadn’t finished…
From the freezer, she pulled out two servings of hamburger, hesitated, then put one of them back. With her stomach clenched like a fist, there was no way she’d be able to eat a full meal. Nor, she realized, was she even hungry.
She found a ziplock bag, slid in the serving of hamburger, then placed it in warm water to thaw. She sliced carrots and cut a few florets from a stalk of the cauliflower. All went onto the baking sheet. She turned on the oven, knowing it would take a few minutes to reach the desired temperature, and saw that her hands were trembling.
She couldn’t stop looking out the window to scan the gravel road out front. Were they safe here? And if they weren’t, where could they go? She didn’t have enough money for another escape, for bus tickets and rent and food, and as she put the baking sheet in the oven, she wondered how much time she had if Gary really had sent the man with the pickup truck.
Minutes? Hours?
Or was she allowing her thoughts to run away from her again, just as she’d done with Peg?
She went to the front door and, after opening it, stared again at the dusty footprints on the mat and on the steps. This wasn’t like Tommie and his dream that someone was on the roof, not in the slightest. And it wasn’t like Peg, who’d said something she probably said to every single stranger who showed up at the store.
This was real, no doubt about it.
From the living room, she could hear the cartoons; every now and then, Tommie laughed. She cooked the hamburger in a frying pan, conscious of the knot in her stomach. When the vegetables were soft, just the way Tommie liked them, she put most of the food onto Tommie’s plate and called him to the table. They ate their meal largely in silence, Beverly picking listlessly at some of the cauliflower. She felt jumpy, poised for sirens and flashing lights and a sudden angry pounding on the door.
But no one came.
As she put the dishes in the sink, she reflected that if Gary had sent the man, he wouldn’t waste any time coming for them. He wouldn’t risk the chance that she’d run again; he wouldn’t risk losing Tommie. Last year, after he’d punched her, he warned her that if she ever tried to leave or take Tommie from him, he would track them to the ends of the earth and, after he found them, she would never see Tommie again.
But all remained quiet.
“How about we let the tadpoles go?” she said to Tommie, and the two of them made the walk back to the creek. As she watched her son open the jar and release them, she was certain that their house would be surrounded upon their return.
Still, other than the sound of frogs and crickets, there was nothing. Back at the house and too wearied from her day to play a game, she allowed Tommie to watch cartoons again, until he began to yawn. She sent him upstairs to take a bath and brush his teeth, and she set out the shirt and pants and sneakers she’d bought earlier in the day. She tried to figure out how many hours had passed since she’d first seen the man with the truck at their house. If Gary couldn’t get here promptly, he would order the local police or sheriff to do his bidding, so where were they?
She read Tommie Go, Dog. Go! and kissed him on his cheek and told him that she loved him. Then, downstairs, she sat on the couch, waiting. She watched for flickers of headlights to flash on the walls, waited for the sound of approaching car engines.
More time passed. Then even more hours, until it was long past midnight, and the world outside remained dark and still. But sleep was out of the question, and when she finally went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, the walls still struck her as depressing. And if, God forbid, it was their last day in the house, then there was no way she was going to be stuck with gray and gloomy walls.
Opening the can, she stirred until the yellow paint resembled summer daisies, then poured it into the pan. She used the roller and brush she’d allowed to dry near the water heater, coating the grayish gloom on the walls, taking her time, and even before she finished, she knew she wanted to add a second coat, which she started right after finishing the first. While she was at it, she decided, the cupboards could use another coat, as well, and she was still painting after the sun came up and Tommie wandered down the stairs for breakfast.