She now remembered what she had been going to say to Mrs. Ramsay. “Oh, I left an extra bag of cat food in the garage. Leroy’s picky about what he eats. Thanks again for taking care of him.”
Her neighbor smiled and nodded her curly gray head. “You’re welcome! Don’t worry about him, he’ll be a good boy.”
Nora grabbed her bags and headed for the door. Leroy sat on the end table, his large green eyes scrutinizing his mistress. She scratched behind his ears and he pushed his head against her hand as he purred.
“I’ll miss you, buddy,” she said. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Walking out to the waiting cab, she turned and took one last look at her house.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to herself.
She gave the cabbie the address and sat back to watch the scenery. Her vision blurred as tears prickled her eyes. Her lip began to tremble. She wrung her hands together and repeated the words over and over in her mind, Everything’s going to be fine. It had become her mantra over the last few days, as if she said it enough it would be true. Just as she felt herself coming back in control, she thought, Nothing’s ever going to be fine again, and the tears sprang loose and fell down her cheeks.
“You okay, miss?” the cabbie asked.
“Fine,” she said, tilting her head just so to let her black hair fall across her face and hide her features. Her puffy eyes not wearing their customary dark eyeliner closed their red swollen lids, keeping the tears back. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
He nodded and went back to mouthing the words to the song on the radio. The song ended and the sports news came on. The Red Sox had won last night.
Mike will be happy, she thought, an auto-response reaction to Boston’s win. Her gut cramped as his face flashed across her imagination: first him smiling and laughing, his baseball cap on backward, no shirt to show off the tattoos on his well-built body; then his vacant eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his cold skin against hers in their bed. She never wanted to sleep in that bed again.
She examined her hands and picked at the chipping black nail polish on her fingers. It was a distraction, something to concentrate on other than Mike, other than her destination.
The cab pulled into a long drive, its tires rolling across the gravel pavement. It stopped in front of the portico and the cabbie got out to help with Nora’s suitcase.
“I can get it,” she said. She didn’t want him walking in with her.
“That’ll be $24.97,” he said.
She gave him thirty. “Keep the change.”
She picked up her bags and walked into the rehab center.
“Hi, I’m Nora,” she said. “I’d like to check in.”
Her neighbor smiled and nodded her curly gray head. “You’re welcome! Don’t worry about him, he’ll be a good boy.”
Nora grabbed her bags and headed for the door. Leroy sat on the end table, his large green eyes scrutinizing his mistress. She scratched behind his ears and he pushed his head against her hand as he purred.
“I’ll miss you, buddy,” she said. She took a deep breath and opened the door. Walking out to the waiting cab, she turned and took one last look at her house.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to herself.
She gave the cabbie the address and sat back to watch the scenery. Her vision blurred as tears prickled her eyes. Her lip began to tremble. She wrung her hands together and repeated the words over and over in her mind, Everything’s going to be fine. It had become her mantra over the last few days, as if she said it enough it would be true. Just as she felt herself coming back in control, she thought, Nothing’s ever going to be fine again, and the tears sprang loose and fell down her cheeks.
“You okay, miss?” the cabbie asked.
“Fine,” she said, tilting her head just so to let her black hair fall across her face and hide her features. Her puffy eyes not wearing their customary dark eyeliner closed their red swollen lids, keeping the tears back. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
He nodded and went back to mouthing the words to the song on the radio. The song ended and the sports news came on. The Red Sox had won last night.
Mike will be happy, she thought, an auto-response reaction to Boston’s win. Her gut cramped as his face flashed across her imagination: first him smiling and laughing, his baseball cap on backward, no shirt to show off the tattoos on his well-built body; then his vacant eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his cold skin against hers in their bed. She never wanted to sleep in that bed again.
She examined her hands and picked at the chipping black nail polish on her fingers. It was a distraction, something to concentrate on other than Mike, other than her destination.
The cab pulled into a long drive, its tires rolling across the gravel pavement. It stopped in front of the portico and the cabbie got out to help with Nora’s suitcase.
“I can get it,” she said. She didn’t want him walking in with her.
“That’ll be $24.97,” he said.
She gave him thirty. “Keep the change.”
She picked up her bags and walked into the rehab center.
“Hi, I’m Nora,” she said. “I’d like to check in.”
