He Started It

‘What are you doing?’

Felix.

Goddamn Felix.

‘Jesus Christ,’ I say. ‘You scared the hell out of me.’ Truth.

‘I heard you get up and thought you needed to pee, but you didn’t take any toilet paper,’ he says.

‘So you followed me out here instead of saying something back there?’

He nods, like he doesn’t understand the problem, and it’s so irritating. All I want to do is see what Portia hid out here, but I can’t get away from my husband.

Who is probably awake because he wants to smoke.

I do not get to check what Portia left in the woods. Instead, I have to pretend to pee and then go back to my sleeping bag, where I’m afraid to move. Almost like I’m being held captive by my overprotective husband.

And I don’t like it one bit.

The music. I hear it again, that same song by Garbage. In the middle of the wilderness, that music wakes me up.

It’s not loud and booming like it was last time. Now it’s faint, like an alarm clock ringing in another part of a house. I glance around. The moon gives off enough light so it’s not pitch dark. Everyone else is asleep. I slip out of my bag and stand up, checking to make sure I can see everyone’s head and not just a lump in the sleeping bag. No one is missing this time.

The music stops.

It starts again.

When I move, I step on a rock. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from screaming.

I put on my shoes and grab the flashlight Felix bought.

At the edge of the woods I turn it on, scanning through the trees. Nothing. No one is there, no movement, nothing but the music. I take a step forward because, yes, I can be an idiot. An idiot who wants to find her sister.

The music grows louder with each step. The same song, over and over, on a never-ending loop – sort of like this road trip. Appropriate. Ironic. You know what I mean. It still doesn’t stop me from going into the dark woods alone.

Because at some point, we have to know. We have to find out.

So I move forward, clearing the leaves with my toe before I step down. Making as little noise as possible to not wake the others. I can’t hide from whoever is out here, because I’m carrying a damn flashlight.

About thirty feet in, the music is loud enough to know I’m close.

‘Nikki?’ I say. Not a whisper, but not too loud.

No answer.

No movement, no breathing other than my own. I’m alone. I know this, I can feel it. All I have to do is find whatever is playing the music. A little digging through the bushes is all it takes.

A phone, the generic prepaid kind. The same song, the only song, plays on a loop. It’s the alarm going off again and again, not stopping until someone turns it off.

I should’ve known Nikki wouldn’t just step out and reveal herself. She’s not done playing yet. But at least I know she’s still right here with us.

I turn off the phone, making the music stop.

Now I have a chance to see what Portia hid, but first I look back to make sure Felix is still in his sleeping bag.

I go to the tree and kneel down, rummaging under the bush at the base of it. This takes longer than I expect. It seems Portia was shoving something into the dirt, burying something, not just placing it on the ground. Eventually, I find something that doesn’t feel natural. Well, not anymore. It feels like leather.

A wallet.

A billfold, actually – the kind men often carry in their back pockets. This one isn’t empty, either. It’s stuffed so full of credit cards it barely folds in half. I pull the first one out and look at the name.

Ian P. Welton

No idea who that is. I pull out the next one.

Johnathan Ricker

One by one, I take the cards out. All the cards have male names, and I wonder if she stole them back home, from customers at the strip club, or if she’s been doing it on this trip. Not that it matters. She needed to get rid of them, and the woods are a convenient place to make something disappear.

Portia really is a thief, and she steals more than candy bars now.

And if she gets caught, she won’t inherit a thing.

Two Days Left

Felix is up in time to see the sunrise. I’m up at the same time, which is a surprise to me, considering how little sleep I got after my walk through the woods.

At home, this is normal for us. Most mornings we get up at the same time to go walking, then we get ready for work and drive together to International United. This is our routine, our way of life.

Now everything feels different.

For example, the day before we left on this trip started like any other. Felix was up first. He was already changing into his walking clothes when I woke up.

‘I’ll come, too,’ I said, sitting up in bed.

‘You don’t have to. Get some extra sleep, if you want.’

I sat there, knowing I should walk because I would be sitting in a car for the next two weeks, but also wanting to sleep. And here was my sweet kind husband telling me to stay in bed, like he knew that’s what I wanted to do.

Wrong. I was completely wrong. My husband wanted to go out alone because he wanted to smoke. He didn’t give a shit about what I wanted or if I needed more sleep.

And what about all those times he offered to go out when we needed something? A run to the store, to the cash machine, to get gas … was he being nice? Or was he trying to find a moment alone to feed his nicotine habit?

Then there’s the big question, the one I still haven’t been able to answer. What else is he hiding? Besides, apparently, a temper. It’s so clear to me now, ever since that slam of his fist. Maybe I’ve missed all the signs that spouses miss, but everyone else can see.

Jesus Christ, I’ve become the worst kind of wife. The stupid one.

This is what’s going through my mind as I heat up the kettle and make us some instant coffee. Portia and Eddie sleep right through it.

I motion toward the woods with my hand and whisper, ‘Want to take a walk?’

He shrugs, as if he doesn’t care, but I bet he does. He wants that morning cigarette.

‘We can take a quick swim, too,’ I say. ‘At least get clean.’

He nods.

We sip our awful coffee as we walk in the dark, though somehow the fresh air makes me think it’s better than it is.

‘Best sleep I’ve had on this trip.’ He says this like I asked him about it. ‘I love sleeping outdoors.’

I don’t answer that. Even I have limits about lying.

‘I never realized how much of the country I haven’t seen,’ he says. ‘We can see a lot more when this is over. On our own, I mean.’

‘On our own?’

He puts his arm around my shoulder. ‘I mean, once all the bills are paid off – the student loans and the mortgage. We’ll have a lot more money for vacations.’

Student loans. His student loans. I worked three jobs every summer to not have student loans, and he wants to use my inheritance to pay off his.

On top of all that, the cigarettes. Bet he thinks I’m going to pay for those, too.

‘Sounds great,’ I say.

We cut through the trees on our left, to another small clearing next to the water. Felix has a small bag with him so we have fresh clothes after our bath. It’s nice that he remembers things like that. Most men wouldn’t, I don’t think. Although how would I know?