I planned to tell the driver I was going on a business trip if he asked. I thought of my sister with what I imagined to be fancy clothes and all the makeup she wanted and expensive shoes on her feet. I could act like I was important and fantasize that I would be wowing some room with my business savvy later in the day. Maybe it wasn't too late for that life for real. Maybe I could take some business classes in Denver and eventually find my way to a job like that. This was the new me.
Carlos was a heavyset guy whose unkempt hair made me wonder if he had just woken up, but he was chatty, asking me lots of questions. I started in on the lies. Why was I flying? "Business trip." What did I do? Channeling my sister: "I work for a pharmaceutical company." Where was the trip? I didn't want to say Denver, just in case Glenn somehow tracked this man down, so I picked my sister's state too: "New York." I figured there had to be plenty of conventions and meetings there. Deftly, I turned the conversation to him, and he started droning on about his kids and their extracurriculars. Perfect. Zoning out, I stared out the window, making only small comments of affirmation when I felt I should be responding.
Carlos pulled up to Delta departures. As he was retrieving my bag from the trunk, I had a sudden flash of fear. What if I saw someone I knew at the airport who happened to be flying the same day? Someone from the bar or from my other previous jobs around town, including gas station attendant and maid at several places? I had a plan, but it didn't feel very foolproof.
A blue Los Angeles Dodgers baseball cap from a thrift shop sat in my purse. That, plus those fake round glasses, would be my partial disguise. I could also hide in a corner chair or even in the women's bathroom for as long as I needed to before the flight took off.
Quickly, I slipped on the cap and tucked my hair up into it as best I could, keeping my eyes low as I made my way to the ticket counter. A perky woman with a flawless bob and way too much eyeshadow greeted me.
"Good morning! Checking in today?" How could she be this awake at 5:30 a.m.?
"Yes, I actually have to buy my ticket. It's OK to pay cash, right?"
"Sure is," she answered, but I thought I could also feel her eyeing me. What woman shows up in a baseball cap and pays cash? "And where are we headed today?"
"Denver," I replied and mustered up fake enthusiasm. "Bachelorette party. Girls just want to have fun, right?"
"Yes, they do," she said, taking my driver's license and typing in the information as I carefully reached into my purse and removed some of the cash. Not enough for her to see the wad that remained, of course. I didn't want her to get suspicious. I set the bills on the counter and added, "I've been saving up tip money for this. I can't wait!"
"Do you need a return ticket too?" she asked.
I hadn't anticipated that question. I had to think fast.
"Uh, no...I'm driving back with one of my girlfriends Monday."
She nodded and counted the bills, then hit a few buttons and a ticket started spitting out, the whir of electronic printing sounding like further freedom to me. My shoulders began to relax just a touch.
"You're here awfully early." She cocked her head slightly to the side. "Your flight doesn't leave until this afternoon."
My shoulders tensed again. I tried to act as if I were laughing it off.
"Oh. I have some work to do, so I thought I would just do it here." I gestured toward the carry-on. "My laptop is in my bag. And another girlfriend is joining me for lunch before we board."
She handed me the boarding pass. "Terrific. I hope you have a great girls' weekend!"
"Thanks." I smiled and wheeled my carry-on filled with mis-matched socks and dirty clothes to the security area, picturing Glenn, still deeply asleep. But what would happen when he woke up? Nervous energy began to settle in, and I started to chew my fingernail. He might or might not report me as missing. I was pretty sure he wouldn't because he wouldn't want to be the center of a police probe. They could find out he never paid taxes and got paid mostly in cash from his construction buddies. Nor would he want the feds to see the pot plants he kept in the window by the sink. Marijuana was still illegal in Wisconsin. Would he care enough about me to file a missing person's report? Or would he chalk it up to "oh well, the bitch is gone" and move on to find someone new? I guessed the latter. I figured I had maybe a week before he would do anything too big. In the meantime, he would be calling me, texting me, trying to track me down across town, threatening me, telling me I had better fucking get home. But after a week, I could imagine him reaching a decision point. Would he inform the police, or would he think that was too risky on himself? Continuing to mull this over as I got through security and found the gate, I slid into one of the black vinyl chairs and found a different nail to chew.
Squeezing my eyes tight, I thought of my grandma, the one person in life who I had felt truly close to. Grandma had died right before I hit high school. Mom later said that Grandma would roll over in her grave if she saw how I had turned out, but I didn't believe that. The Grandma I remembered brought me presents and candy and let me sit on her lap as long as I wanted as a young child, the smell of her patchouli perfume comforting me. She used to tell me I was smart and pretty, in that order, and not to confuse the order. That was even after my struggles with schoolwork, and those words meant so much to me. Now I needed her to look down from heaven and help guide me. I wasn't the praying type, but I shut my eyes and sent one up to Grandma anyway.
