“Here we are.”
“Where?” I see my escape routes, but I see my defense, too. She’s smaller than you are. She has a lot of hair. She is too Zen to move very fast.
“If we lift the fence up”—she bends down to show me—“we can walk down to the lake.”
“I don’t want to.” My heart is pounding. I know it doesn’t make sense. I am panicking unnecessarily, but I need to. I need to panic sometimes and my brain says, Why not now?
I have flashes of forcing the bag under the rocks and it’s filled with body parts, when it didn’t seem that way, not in the moment. You’re not a murderer; you’re a survivor. There’s a difference.
“But I thought you said—”
“I should really go back.” I need to leave. I am having a panic attack.
“It’s totally safe,” she says. “There’s nobody around. You said it was beautiful. You said it was inaccessible. Don’t you want to go there? Just to prove you can?”
“We’ll get caught.” I don’t mean for this.
“I never get caught.” I believe it. “You first. You’re smaller.” The fence squeals as she wrenches it up. “Hurry! It’s heavy,” she snaps, and I’m breaking a sweat. But she doesn’t know, couldn’t possibly know; this is just a coincidence. A terrible collision, like the kind that happened that night when two lives happened to overlap, almost as if they were living in the same world. “Stop being so paranoid.”
It’s all right.
“Fine. Hold it up.” The metal creaks as she holds it and I pass through. This is not what I imagined at all. I thought we would go shopping. I thought we would have drinks. If I wanted to break and enter, I would have stayed on the streets.
I face her on the other side of the fence. It feels so much like a trap that I know it can’t be.
“Shit.”
“What?” My heart is pounding.
“I have to change my tampon. I’ll be right back.”
“But!”
“Stay there; I’ll be right back!”
This is a setup, my paranoia roars. You were right. You’re always right. Everyone is out to get you.
I feel exposed standing next to the fence where anyone walking along the path could see me. There is no formal trail on this side, but the weeds are flattened in a line and I follow that into the brush. I am gazing out over the nervous water when I gasp, cover my heart with my hand.
Six deer are standing on the shore, with one lone buck watching over them, antlers lifted like benevolent hands. And behind them, a black trash bag laps gently against the shore, clamoring with teeth and hands and feet.
I am blessed. God really does look out for people with money.
LYLA
The security guard passes me over to the police. They Breathalyze me. The security guard seems disappointed when it comes up clean. He won’t look anyone in the eye and he keeps muttering phrases like “criminal damage,” “attempted bribery” and “I’m supposed to be on my lunch.”
The officers look too ordinary to be cops. They have no necks. Their hair smells oily. They seem distracted and confused by their own roles.
“Should we book her?” one says.
“She broke the law,” the security guard points out.
The other officer looks at me. I think they’re uncertain about booking a rich white woman, like they might get punished for it. “I guess.” He shrugs.
I try to convince them to let me off too late. Now that they have decided to “book me,” they are righteous with it.
“But you just asked him if you should even book me!” I say. “It’s obviously not a big deal!”
The officer seems not to remember. “Put your hands behind your back.”
“You’re going to cuff me?”
“You’re resisting arrest.” He is getting more into it now, like I am just making it more fun.
“I’m not resisting arrest. I’m just not thrilled about it.” I huff and put my hands behind my back. He cuffs me and escorts me to the back of his cop car. I pull against the restraints. I might as well get some good handcuff bruises.
“You guys having a good day so far?” I ask the officers. “Busy?”
The driver’s eyes flick back at me in the rearview mirror. His partner grunts. “Ma’am, this is serious.”
I laugh once. “Sorry,” I say. “Serious.”
I am so distracted by the booking process—Mug shot! Fingerprints! Blood test!—that I forget about my phone call. I remember on the way to my cell and stop in my tracks.