Valka tightened her hands around the steering wheel. “If I die I’m going to kill you.”
And then the snow stopped and it was fine, I could see everything clearly ahead of me. The cornfields were empty, it was just snow everywhere. There was not another car on the road. I was too excited to be done. I had never been done with anything before. I wanted to feel good. I wanted to feel right. I wanted to feel.
We parked in front of the home I used to share with my husband. There was a light on upstairs, and downstairs it was dark except for the flickering light of the TV. Jenny stopped singing and Valka tapped her hand on the window. The dog from next door came out with his limp, barked once, and then ran back behind his house. It was too cold out for even the animals.
“You’re sure you want to do this?” said Valka.
“I’ve never been surer of anything,” I said. Which was not really the truth but I was caught up in being a hero. It was my big dramatic moment. The end of my story in Nebraska.
There was no more waiting in cars for me. I got out of the car and opened the trunk. I pulled out the suitcase full of money. The suitcase from my honeymoon. A present from my mother. A goodwill gesture to get me out in the world, but also to make sure I was thinking of her while I was gone. Everything was rewiring in my brain all at once.
I slung myself into the snow, one foot after the other, until I reached the path Thomas had cleared. I held the suitcase tight in my arms. This is what I needed to do to be free. I laid the suitcase gently in front of the front door. I stared at it for a moment. I nodded to myself. I would never darken this door again.
I walked back to the car and got in and slammed the door shut and it sounded nice and firm and final to me.
“Do you feel better now?” said Valka.
“Yes,” I said.
“Did that give you the closure you need?” said Valka.
“I think so,” I said. I took a deep breath. “Yes. I feel free.”
“Good,” said Valka. “Now, can you please go get that money back? Because otherwise you are flat broke. And if you’re going to move to Los Angeles, you’re going to need some cash.”
“But—” I said.
“I mean, really,” said Valka.
“That’s a lot of money,” said Jenny.
“Right! And what about that unborn child back there?” said Valka. “Who’s paying for the baby food?”
“But what about closure?” I said.
“Oh, screw closure,” said Valka. “I’ve got a good therapist you can call. Get your closure that way. Take the money and run, kid.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I said.
A light turned on downstairs. Valka pointed at the house.
“You better do it now or forever hold your peace,” she said.
I bolted out of the car, leaped through the snow, and grabbed the suitcase. Another light turned on, and the outdoor light, too. The last thing I wanted was to see that husband of mine. Like ever again. I ran back to the car, and when I slammed the door that time, it sounded even better.
“Okay, I get it now,” I said.
“Must I teach you everything?” said Valka.
“Just shut up and drive,” I said.
And so she did.
Epilogue
We all watched that show. Not a person alive in the U.S. of A. missed the series every Tuesday night at 8 P.M. EST for the three months it was on. Rio: Undone. How she almost died from driving under the influence in the early morning. How she wounded four Mormon parishioners visiting from Utah with her white Suburban. How she got off scot-free from jail because of the testimony of two people: a preacher and the head of a major studio. And there was the doctor who claimed she would never survive in jail because of her wounds. Rio could not remember a thing before the accident. There was talk of a lawsuit against another doctor who had given her prescriptions for a variety of medications that she did not technically need, but that faded, just like Rio’s looks.
Because then there was the “undone” part. This miracle of modern technology could never have plastic surgery or another injection again. It would kill her, the doctors said. So everything she had ever done to herself started to undo itself, and she decided to let cameras film it. One week there were wrinkles around her forehead, the next around her eyes. Her lips shrunk down to thin purple lines. Her chin dropped into a jowl. The episode where she begged to get her hair colored had everyone laughing along. “I wouldn’t want to go gray either,” said Valka, whose hair had just started growing back in, baby soft brown and fine.