Time to go

Her:

He slid in next to me, quietly, trying not to disturb me. I often pretend I am asleep to avoid the question and answer game of where have you been? A game I dreaded, as his answers resemble a child’s lie, long and full of holes. I try to sound like I am sleeping, realizing tonight, for the first or maybe it was the hundredth time, he knows I am not asleep. It has become a repetitive act, amplifying my insomnia, leaving me dreadfully forgetful.

In the early morning light, I find myself staring out the window unsure if I fell asleep at any moment in the night or not. The days seem to run together. As I sit up, my memory has a flash of clarity: I have forgotten my appointment with the psychologist the day before, for the second time this month. This solidifies my decision to purchase a journal, another trusted little black book to capture my displaced thoughts. This has become a pattern of my life and I rely on these books to keep me in check.

There is a stack of them in the closet reminding me daily that I need them; carriers of secrets and short windows into my life.

I gather myself out of bed in a slow and quiet fashion, so as not to disturb him. I tie my messy hair up in a bun, slip on a comfortable pair of jeans and an oversized yellow sweatshirt to ward off the spring's cool morning air.

I head to the coffee shop on the corner. The radiance from the sunrise lights up the door with pink and yellow hues inviting me in. It’s my favorite place to lose track of time. It carries the things I need and don’t realize I need, and an overall level of comfort I can’t find anywhere else.

The inside is set up like the lounge in an old boys' club. The décor is oversized, stuffed leather chairs, a stone fireplace, obscure paintings, and books shelves to the ceiling. The smell of books, coffee, and muffins mixes the right level of earthy aromas and sweetness.

I walk the aisles looking at the selection for something new, that doesn’t stand out too much. I don’t want my private thoughts announced by bright colors and distracting designs. I drag my hand across the shelf of books to feel and smell the familiarity. It calms me. Similar to my previous visits, I pick up other books thinking I will change it up and find something new but in the end, I always land on the little black book.

Today there are a few different sizes to choose from but one stands out to me. The spine of this book looks a bit worn like it has been opened a number of times to see if it is the right fit but its mere existence proves otherwise. I am drawn to this type of book every time because the size is easy to tuck into my purse or bag without drawing attention.

I walk up to the counter grab a new pen and place it down with the book and ask “may I have a dark roast coffee, black, and these”. The cashier's smile is warm, she replies “will that be all”, I nod yes and pay for my things.

I walk quickly to the recently relinquished chair next to the fireplace. It is the most coveted spot in the shop for privacy and has the right shade of darkness to hide in the shadows from the morning coffee rush.

I start filling in a couple of things I wanted to remember this week, I pause, struggling to recall the rest. I sip the coffee slowly and promptly decided it is still too hot to drink, I place the cup down and know the rest of my forgotten thoughts will come to me eventually.

As with my other books, I start to make sections to organize my treasure. I skip through the pages marking them accordingly: appointments, dates to remember, things to do, new passwords, and boundary-free pages. I usually mark the center of my book with a fresh start in case the first half goes off the rails. Near the center of the book, I stumble upon a fine print note in black ink. As I bring the book closer I read, “I have hidden the money in the 6th blue flower pot across from the waterfront”.

I quickly flip through the pages to see if there are any other notes. Nothing other than the tables and lists I have created.

I began musing on this location, as it sounds so familiar if only I could remember. I place the book down, enjoy the warmth and glowing coals of the fire and my coffee that is now a reasonable temperature to drink.

My mind wanders to a list of dinner ideas for the week, I pick up the book to write them down. Then it strikes me, The Park Restaurant and Bar by the waterfront has blue flower pots.

Ironically this was the location of the last romantic dinner I had with him. Monumental as it was the first time I caught him in a lie. I found a folder days before with notes on a woman. In my gut, I was sure that woman was me. At dinner I confronted him. He passed it off, saying “you’re mistaken. That file was for a client I am investigating. You do remember I am a private eye right”? I know my past, it was me.

I swiftly got my coffee to go and headed in the direction of the restaurant. Quietly I say aloud, “this may be a mere joke” laughing lightly at the thought; I was glad not to return to the apartment for a little while longer.

Upon my approach, I shift into a Nancy Drew mode as I scope out the scene. I have become well versed in this investigative state. My life could be a Nancy Drew novel. I lost both parents, then discovered they adopted me, I am still working on that one. Married to a man involved in a money-laundering business with one of the city’s largest banks, I have escaped for now. Then four months ago, I meet him at the right but almost too right time and place. With nowhere to go, I moved in. Those inconspicuous black books hidden in plain sight hold riddles only I know.

This mystery at least had promise and potentially freedom attached to it.

Noticing the couples on the patio, I decided to go inside and ask to be seated by the flower pot that I suspected to be the one. I order the thirty-dollar breakfast, the cheapest option on the menu. I continue to drink my coffee and write in my book, providing purpose to my solo presence at a romantic couples brunch.

I begin to write why I should or shouldn’t take the money but it was one-sided. I need a new start, in a new city, maybe a new country, so I can distance myself from my past and stop looking over my shoulder. I am at the bottom and this would give me a chance to start over, no matter how much it was. I closed the book with my decision made. A new start.

The flower pots are cobalt blue, made of plastic with a glossy finish, which I determined will be lighter to move. The flowers are vibrant and spill over the sides of the pot like a cascading waterfall, an excellent cover to conceal its contents. For a fleeting moment, I wonder who this money was for, are they here, or is it already gone? Then I concluded that my situation is as dire as any. This gives me the courage to carry on. My breakfast arrives and I plot my strategy to move the flowers without drawing attention to myself. After a few bites, I decided that dropping my pen and brushing it with my foot to the base of the pot is the easiest option. I bump it off the table, casually announce my “where is my pen”, then “there it is stuck by the pot”. The other two couples ignore me, carrying on with their meals. I managed to move the pot six inches closer to the edge allowing access outside of the restaurant.

I request the rest of my breakfast to be packed up, pay, and thank the waitress. I head around the corner for a brief walk to eat the rest of the meal on the hillside.

I double back about twenty minutes later to the pot. By this time new customers were seated near the front but not in view of the flower pot. I reach my hand down the side of the pot through the rich dark soil. To my surprise and excitement, I can feel a plastic bag. I gingerly pull it up, trying not to disturb the flowers too much. The bag has a decent weight and I decide to lift the base of the plant so I can extract the bag without damaging the flowers too much. Fear slowly creeps in that I will be noticed. I give the bag a swift tug and it comes out and so does a mound of dirt. I quickly stuff the bag under my shirt and scoop the soil back into the pot. I push the pot back, turn away from the patio and lightly jog up the block.

At the end of the block, I pause, check behind me, the street is empty with a view to the waterfront. With relief, I announce to myself “thank goodness no one noticed”. I glance at the waterfront and decide Seattle is a beautiful place, just not the right place for me. I quickly wipe my hands on the freshly cut grass and head back to the apartment.

I arrive at the door of his apartment and slide inside. Looking around I see he has gone to work already. At least that’s one less excuse to navigate. I unload the money and quickly count it: twenty thousand dollars. I count it again, still twenty thousand.

The excitement begins to build, I gaze around the apartment and decided this is the sign I needed to leave. I pull out the suitcase with my books all intact, pack my clothes, some toiletries and the money in less than an hour. Who knew my whole life would fit in a suitcase and a backpack again for the third time?

I leave out the front of the building as it is closer to the taxi stand down the street. The trees hang heavy with the early spring growth, creating an archway. I take a deep breath in and soak up the image one last time, knowing I will never be back.

An overwhelming feeling of change takes over me and I start walking with no final destination in mind, just an intention to move forward. Not for a second did I consider looking back. I wouldn’t be missed. I was never really there.

Little did I know he was there to see me walk away.

Him:

I knew she would leave if she had the means to.

Finding twenty thousand wasn’t easy but it's done. I am thankful she always went with the same book every time or that could have proven to be problematic. This assignment was the hardest emotionally,

I cared for her but I wasn’t paid to show that. She was catching on so it was time for her to go, regardless if it meant breaking my contract.

I hope the Jane Doe I called in this morning is similar enough to buy her some time. I wish I could have done more.

Everyone deserves a new start and today she is getting hers.