Between Two Doors, page 20
He quickly opens the envelope, pulls out a sheet of paper and starts reading.
“Considering the meeting with Mr. Ecklund, Child Protective Services has decided to allow you to be the legal guardian of your unborn child if the following conditions are met.” Jan stops reading and looks at me with sad eyes. For a second, I think he’s about to burst into tears.
“What, Jan? What are the conditions?”
“There’s only one condition.”
“What is it, Jan?”
“The legal guardian has to be in a domestic partnership with a mentally stable person. The domestic partnership is to be stated and proved to the Child Protective Services with an official and mutual mortgage or rental agreement over the last five years of time. Domestic partnership can also be proven with a marriage certificate.”
My head spins and the adrenaline rush takes over my whole body. The gray woman would come after my baby. She would knock on the door and demand me to hand the bean over. They would not give me a second chance, and my ex is not going to fake-marry me, yet alone move in with me.
“Jan, could you please feed the rest of the horses? I need to go.”
“Of course I can, but can’t you wait for Har—”
The IKEA bag full of hay makes a dull thump when it drops to the floor. The adrenaline rushes in my ears, sounding like an ocean while diving. In addition to that seething sound, there’s only one clear thought, revisiting me after years of denying its present. Run.
My cozy and colorful apartment by the barn now mocks me with the happiness it brought me only a moment ago.
“Did you really think you could have all this? Did you think you deserve to live a happy life, after all the shit and terrible things you have done to other people?” The voices make me shake my head. The small living room is filled with moving boxes we hauled in earlier this afternoon. I rip open one cardboard box after another, trying to find one specific item to toss into my backpack. The duct tape makes ripping sounds, and one of the boxes falls over on the floor, breaking at least two of my ancient porcelain dinner plates. I kick the fallen box out of the way, hearing another sound of glass breaking. The last unopened box has big letters written on its side with a black Sharpie: Office Supplies. I rip open the box and toss it upside down on the living room’s colorful rug. Underneath an endless supply of old school papers, notes, and official papers from the funeral home and hospital, I find my purple-covered passport stuffed between piles of bank account statements.
The taxi drops me off by Terminal 2, and I toss cash onto the driver’s lap. We have quickly stopped at the nearby gas station for an ATM. With shaky hands, I emptied my savings account, stuffing the thick stack of bills in between my passport. For a second, I feel bad ignoring Harri yelling my name from the barn parking lot, where he had stood and cursed me when I got into my Opel, slammed the door, and drove off. After ten minutes of driving, I realized I wasn’t only putting my own life in danger, driving around in a full-on panic attack, but I was a threat to others on the highway as well. The coffeehouse by the highway was a great resting place for my old crappy Opel. The taxi driver picked me up less than five minutes after my call.
The airport is almost empty. The speakers play a cheerful tune of birds chirping and singing. All of the help desks are empty, and there’s not a soul at the airline check-in counters. I start running, trying to find someone who works at the annoyingly peaceful and quiet airport. Finally, I see a lady dressed in a blue suit walk behind the check-in desks.
“Excuse me, ma’am!” I yell, making the lady stop and look around.
“Miss, the check-in doesn’t open for another hour,” the lady says and smiles formally.
“Where does it go to?”
“Excuse me?”
“What is the destination for the next flight?”
“It’s Boston, United States, miss. Have you lost your ticket?”
“I don’t have one. How do I get one?”
The lady tries to hide her surprise and stay professionally cool and distant.
“You can book the flight online. I can write down the flight number for you. There is still space onboard.”
The lady finds a sticky note and a pen with the letters “KLM” printed on its side. I grab the note out of her hand and run toward the plastic bench by the security checkpoint. Once I fire up the old Nokia, it instantly blinks for an incoming call from Gaylord.
Cursing myself for not having a smart phone like every other human being on the planet, I speed dial for the operator.
“This is the operator, how may I help you?”
“Give me a company that books flights around the clock.”
“Any company? I have an airline broker that works twenty-four-seven.”
“Yes. Connect me.”
The raging anxiety has made me forget all good manners, but I don’t care. I need to get on that plane and never come back. They wouldn’t find me overseas, and I would be able to live for at least two years with the money I inherited from Dad.
“Cheap Flights twenty-four seven. How can I help you?”
“Yes! I need a ticket for a flight number AY5908.”
“Miss, this flight departs in an hour and a half. Are you sure you—”
“Yes! Just fucking book me!”
The line goes quiet and I can almost hear the customer representative holding her breath.
“I’m sorry. Can you make it happen? Please?”
“Yes. You are in luck. There are still a few seats left. Would you prefer a window seat?”
The plastic row of chairs feel uncomfortable under me, and I keep pressing the red phone icon on my Nokia. Gaylord keeps blinking on the cracked screen, making the battery run low. It doesn’t matter if the phone dies. I would be boarding any minute now. Holding my backpack tight, I rock back and forth on the chair, knowing very well that I’m making my fellow passengers extremely uncomfortable. Staring at a small crack on the terminal floor, I feel the phone stop vibrating.
Running away had been my first instinct when I first found myself sitting in Sigmund’s waiting room, staring at the colorful fish tank and an idiotic poster of planet Earth. My first option was to run, to get out of the bleach-scented office building, jump on a train or an airplane, and never come back. I’d start my life over, running from the snoring man, my depressed mother, emphatic Harri and the betrayal of my ex and Anna. They won’t miss me for too long. After all, I’m not fun to be around, always sulking and rotting in numbness. It’s not too late. Maybe I can find a bartender job in Boston. My bean could live upstairs over the bar, with an overpaid nanny, leaving me working double shifts with minimum pay. Why not? There are worse options in life, like someone coming and stealing your first-born away.
Chapter 13 – The Final Run
“Wake up, love. You need to get up!”
Rose’s voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. For a second, I think I’m back in my old bed, in my old apartment that always faintly smelled like cigarettes and dog piss. I look around and see paintings of sailboats, sand dollars, and anchors resting in the bottom of the ocean.
“Why are all the lights on?” I mumble to Rose who shakes my whole body with her strong arms.
“You need to move, love. Now!”
The smell of smoke is faint, but it’s enough to make me jump off the bed in a split second. I run to the open window and start coughing. The flames have engulfed our side of the log house and the fire is spreading. Downstairs at the barn Bill leads three horses out all at once, running with them toward the paddocks behind the woods. The barn is fairly far away from the log house, and the ground is still soaked from all the rain we had the other night. The fire wouldn’t reach the barn any time soon, but the smoke is just as bad for the horses as it is for people.
“We need to go help Bill!” I say and start pulling my barn clothes on in panic. The smoke tickles my lungs, and I cough like someone who just inhaled a puff of their first cigarette.
“We need to get you out of here. It’s Dionyza.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes and no. She started the fire. She’s sitting in her truck with a shotgun.”
“Is she... looking for me?”
Rose’s face twitches before she turns away and pulls out my duffle bag from under the bed. She empties her backpack and starts tossing in my clothes, make-up bag, Discman, CDs, old Nokia phone, and whatever else she can fit into her small bag. She’s about to close it up when I remember my secret money stash.
“Wait!” I say and nearly fall down, trying to pull on my jeans and jump toward the bags at the same time. I open the zipper and pull out my passport, the money envelope and the half-empty pill organizer. I pull out half of the money from the envelope and hand it to Rose.
“You’ll need this. All of your stuff has burned.”
Rose snaps the envelope and the money from my hands, shoves the money back into the envelope and tosses it on top of my belongings inside my new backpack.
“Love, you need it yourself. Now take the back door and run through the woods. Call Matt once you’ve reached the big road. But stay hidden in the bushes. We’ll try to keep Dionyza here.”
I nod at my best friend, hug her quickly and toss the backpack on my back. I dive into my mucking boots and run down the stairs. The horses neigh at me in panic, and I feel a pressing urge to stay and help get them to their paddocks and into safety. The barn is half empty and I see Bill running back from the woods to get more horses. As he reaches me, he grabs me, and pushes me toward the woods.
“Go now. I’ll make sure she doesn’t follow you. If you stay here, she’ll shoot you.”
He pushes me to a full run and I head toward the woods. It’s so dark I can barely see anything, and the only way to know I’m running in the right direction is to keep looking back, making sure I’m gaining distance between my mucking boots and the flames. The woods are quiet, my heavy breathing sounds deafening in my ears. I run and hold onto my backpack as if it were a life belt, keeping me from drowning.
The sudden sound of a shotgun freezes my running feet and I fall down on my face onto the moist, muddy blueberry bushes.
“Rose and Bill,” I mumble in panic and strip off my backpack, still lying on the muddy ground. I open the bag and look for my phone with my left hand. It’s too dark to see anything and I’m afraid my fall will make me lose sense of direction. I can’t see the flames anymore, but I need to go back. I can’t let Dorothy hurt my friends. I’ll stop her, even if it’s the last thing I do. My hand finds the Discman and my passport, but the phone hides somewhere in between all the clothing shoved inside the bag.
“Come on, come on,” I say out loud and feel the tears burning my eyes. A faint vibration makes a light go off inside one of the T-shirts Rose has tossed in, and I grab my phone quickly, letting the backpack fall onto the ground. 1 new message from Rose.
“Please let Bill be alive....” I close my eyes and take a deep breath while tapping the “read” button.
Do not come back. She shot into the air. Keep going.
After running for what seems like hours, I finally see the streetlights in the distance. There are no cars on the road and everything is quiet. I listen for truck sounds and stay away from the cone of light. I squeeze the phone in my hand and speed dial a number I’ve never called before. It rings on the other end for an eternity.
“Hello?” Destiny’s voice is sleepy but worried.
“Destiny, it’s me. I know it’s two o’clock at night, but... but....” My thick accent returns, making my stuttering so bad it’s impossible to finish the sentence.
“I’ll come get you. Where are you exactly? Don’t move, girl. It’ll be okay,” Destiny says calmly, losing all sleepiness in her voice. I hear a rustling sound and car keys jingling while I read the street signs at the crossing, telling Destiny where I’m hiding, in the wet and muddy bushes.
Destiny stays quiet, driving under the speed limit and resting her left elbow on the driver’s side window. After I told her about the Homeland Security letter, she entered a new destination into her GPS: Logan Airport.
“Girl, there’s no way for you to stay. You’d need to find a new job in twenty-four hours, or get married. You are a pretty little thing, but no one will hire you without a visa, and I assume marrying my eighteen-year-old punk-ass son is not an option either.”
Two fire trucks fly by us on the highway. My stomach flips upside down when I think of my friends, stuck in the middle of nowhere, trying to save thirty horses from fire and smoke, at same time hoping not to get shot by a mentally ill woman. If Rose and Bill had run with me, I’d feel a lot better. Having to go back home is the least of my worries. I keep waiting to hear from Rose, for her to say that the fire is out and that the police have come to take Dorothy away. Seeing Bill devastated and terrified made me feel sorry for him more than I’ve felt sorry for anyone in a long time. He isn’t responsible for his mother snapping, but I know Bill well enough to know that he’ll take the blame.
Another set of headlights fly by us and I recognize Grete’s white convertible. Bill must have texted her and told her what happened. Seeing Grete risking her own life and well-being to help the horses and my friends makes me respect and appreciate the old German lady even more than I already do. The pressing feeling in my gut eases off an ounce, knowing that Bill and Rose have help coming their way.
I hold the old Nokia, trying to text Matt with my shaky hands. Tears flow down my muddy face when I think of never seeing my pit bull-loving, mesmerizing friend ever again. Calling him a friend sounds wrong in my ears, but we have never specified what we are. Can someone you’ve only met once be your soul mate? I’ve always hated the phrase “soul mate.” It sounds tacky and worn, like someone talking about how they were “meant to be” with their spouse or partner. But soul mate is the first word that comes to my mind as I think of Matt and his friendly, loving green eyes. He won’t keep writing to me, not if I move back to my home country. We’ll live on separate sides of the world, a seven-hour time difference between us. I read the text before tapping the send button. I feel like I’m watching myself perform on a movie, not really living my own life but someone else’s.
Dorothy went nuts. Fire and shotgun. Cannot stay in USA. No visa, no job, no will to marry Destiny’s son. I’ll miss you.
Chapter 14 – One New Message from Gaylord
The phone vibrates in my sweaty hands, making me jump. The airport speakers announce my flight to Boston is now boarding. People line up, impatiently waiting for the airline representative to scan their tickets and passports. The battery icon blinks red but the old Nokia is hanging on, being the faithful and loyal servant it’s always been. The cracked screen displays a message: 1 new message from Gaylord.
Chapter 15 – One New Message from Matt
Destiny’s car radio is on, quietly playing classical music. Approaching Logan Airport, we are finally able to see other cars and people around, making the eerie ghost town feeling ease off a bit. Rose texted me, saying the firefighters were able to save the log house. Only our apartment and things were lost in the fire. Police took Dorothy into custody, holding her in the mental hospital until further investigation. I sigh in disbelief when I see the first airport signs. The last thing I want is to leave. The old, cracked Nokia screen blinks for a new message. 1 new message from Matt.
Chapter 16 – The Promise
The phone feels burning hot, like it’s slowly melting the fingerprints off of the left hand wrapped around it. The screen blurs and then becomes focused, like a zoom on a professional photographer’s camera. The small print seems to have lost all its meaning. The letters are not written in a strange language, nor are they too small for reading, and there are no typos in the short text message. If anything, the words are too big to comprehend. One short sentence, filled with hope, promise and a brighter, happier future. A future where anything and everything is possible. The strength this message brings is beyond measurable. The phone shakes slightly and two teardrops fall onto the cracked and smudgy screen.
I’ll marry you, Dee.
—-THE END—-
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CHAPTER 1 – CALIFORNIA
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“Shit! I think that was our exit.”
Matt hits the steering wheel with his fist and then calms down to wait for the GPS to recalculate our route. Watching him move makes my stomach twist. I feel as I’ve been on a rollercoaster for days. How can anyone be so full of passion and reassurance, all at once?
“Should I drive?”
Matt looks at me and gives me an amused grin. Then his eyes fly back to the towing mirrors, placed on both sides of his old Ford F150. He nods approvingly after triple-checking that the U-Haul trailer is still attached to the truck. The fully loaded trailer wobbles and shakes every time Matt steps on the gas paddle and tries to go a tad faster than fifty miles an hour.
“Sure thing, Dingalee. Why the hell not?”
Our massive moving load slides slowly by an enormous road sign. The green sign presents junk food chain logos, conveniently at our service, only two miles away. I remain fascinated by the endless options of different brands of burgers and other wrapped goods in this country. No matter where you go, you’ll have the option of delicious, greasy food, in all its varieties.
