“Of course, sweetheart. I’m happy to,” she says. “Oh, wait.” She stops.
“What?” I ask. Oh, my God, there is no turning back now. What?
“I don’t have a car seat,” she says.
“Oh, ours is in my car at the shop, but it’s okay this one time. If it weren’t urgent, I wouldn’t—”
She interrupts me, opening the garage.
“I know we have one in here. Maybe two!” She giggles and starts rummaging through shelves of toolboxes, a wheelie cooler, bikes, old sporting equipment. I think my heart might cave in. I don’t have time.
“I am waiting on grandkids... Well, not waiting, but she’s off to college in a year and a half, so it’s not too far off. I kept all of her old toys, too. Hmmm. Hold on, I know it’s in here somewhere,” she says, and I look back at our house, and I know the cameras can’t see me now. They only display all the rooms of an empty house with an escaped prisoner. It’s been at least five minutes. If he saw me leave right away. I have fifteen minutes max. If not, there is still precious little time. I don’t let on. I can’t, of course. I look at the ground and shake my leg, nervously.
“Ah. I knew I’d find it,” she says and leans into the back seat. “Now, let’s see if I remember how to do this part,” she says, and all I can do is nod gratefully. She finally buckles the car seat into place, and I put Avery inside. She seems thrilled by the adventure. I get into the passenger seat, and Cora backs out. I feel like I can’t swallow, I can’t catch my breath, but she doesn’t notice. She’s telling me a story about car seats and manufacturer recalls and how they made things better back in the old days.
And then just like that, she clicks her blinker on, and we make a left, and I see our house in the rearview mirror, and I wonder if it could really be the last time I ever see that absolute hell again.
“So where do you need to go?” she asks, headed in the general direction of the main shops and restaurants. I don’t have an address, and I can’t tell her I’m going to a pawn shop.
“Uh, you know, I’m meeting a friend. And it’s right by Spirit Pawn...uh, that Mediterranean café,” I say.
“Ephesus!” she says.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I say, looking back at Avery’s amazed face at a rare car ride. The delicious coastal air spills into the car from the cracked windows, and the western juniper are rich and green, and I could cry at the sight of something as simple as the shops and restaurants along the roadside.
“I hope your friend is okay,” Cora says.
“I’m sorry?”
“You said it was urgent. I hope everything is okay. I’m here if you need anything,” she says, taking her eyes off the road for a moment to give me a reassuring smile.
“That’s—Cora, this is so nice of you, and that’s—Just thank you so much for being so kind to me,” I say, feeling the slightest sense of relief with each passing mile, but knowing the hardest part is in front of me. I wish I could pay her back.
When she drops me off, I unbuckle Avery, take the stroller out of the boot of Cora’s car, and sit her inside. It all seems to be taking an eternity, and now I actually have to go inside the Mediterranean restaurant because she thinks that’s where I’m meeting some friend in peril.
“Thank you, thank you so much again,” I say, standing at her window.
“Do you wanna put my number in your phone in case you need a ride back?” she asks. I want to tell her I’m never coming back, but of course I don’t, and I can’t tell her that I am the only person on the planet without a phone, so I don’t take her number either.
“Oh, my friend will take me, but thanks.”
“Okay, good luck, then. Bye-bye, Avery.” She waves and then pulls away. I lean down to fuss with Avery’s safety belt and shoes, so I can wait until her car is out of sight and not, in fact, go inside the restaurant. When I’m certain she’s gone, I hike the bags up over my shoulder and walk as quickly as I can to the pawn shop across the parking lot.
Inside, a man I can smell from across the store sits on a stool behind a glass display case. His girth spills out from beneath his anime T-shirt, and he doesn’t look up when the bell above the front door chimes as we enter. I don’t waste time. I walk up to the glass counter and stand in front of him. I clear my throat, and he looks up.
“Yes?” he says very formally. “How may I help you?” I pull the watch out of my pocket and slide it across the glass.
“I’d like to sell this,” I say, and he picks up the watch and examines it in the light.
“It’s Gucci,” I point out.
“I can read,” he says, but not in a snarky tone. He just sounds like he talks to everyone that way. He peers down at me and lifts an eyebrow.
“Where did you get this?” he asks.
“Uh, I don’t remember. Why?”
“Well, I hope it wasn’t a gift from your husband or anything because it’s a fake.” He hands it back to me. “Sorry.”
