k, Ella texts back. how do we make sure you can’t get out?
Chelsea considers the door. The person on the inside can put a chair under the doorknob—she showed Ella that trick a while back, a thought that now floods her with shame. She should’ve done something about David a long time ago, but that’s an easy thought when the thing has been done and the fear isn’t pressing down like a boot on your neck. But to keep someone inside a room?
Barricade me in, she texts. Couch, chairs, table. Whatever you can drag over.
k. love you.
Love you, too.
As tentative footsteps stutter down the stairs and the quiet shushing of disinfecting wipes moves around the kitchen, Chelsea starts opening the mail, looking for answers. Looking for something, anything she can control.
14.
Patricia places the perfectly rolled cocktail dress in her suitcase, nestling it carefully between two cashmere cardigans. Sure, she could give Rosa a list and have her do the packing, but she knows that even with the sternest reminder, Rosa won’t do it as neatly as she will. These things don’t belong to Rosa, so of course Rosa wouldn’t give them the attention that they deserve. This dress costs more than they pay Rosa in a month, but Rosa doesn’t care.
Just now, Rosa doesn’t really care about anything. She’s leaving food in the disposal to rot, ignoring streaks on the windows, letting blooms fall to the yard and turn brown. It will be good for her to be alone for a while, and it will be pleasant for Patricia to be somewhere she won’t have to watch her housekeeper sulk. Ever since the police dragged Miguel away, the whole house has felt like a funeral.
It’s no way to live.
“Any word, Mrs. Lane?” Rosa asks, peeking in nervously from the hall.
She’s lost weight, Patricia notices, and it will serve her well once she gets her cheerful attitude back.
“I’m afraid not,” she responds, rearranging things in her suitcase so she won’t have to see the tears in Rosa’s eyes. “The judge still doesn’t know where he’s being held. We’ll let you know the moment we hear anything.”
“Thank you. I worry for him. I just…we’ve never been apart…” Patricia looks up sharply, and Rosa cuts herself off. “Thank you, Mrs. Lane.” She scurries away, and Patricia sighs and zips the suitcase shut.
She can’t wait to leave, can’t wait to be somewhere fun again, somewhere people still go shopping and out to dinner without wearing masks and acting terrified when anyone gets too close. They don’t know much about the Violence yet, but they do know one thing for certain: It’s only happening in tropical places. Any incidences up north can be easily traced back to travelers who’ve recently come from sunny climes. Dr. Baird suggested that if they wanted to get out, they should hurry before the airlines get picky about that sort of thing. And so they’re headed to Deer Valley in Utah, where Randall will see her installed in a luxurious suite and enjoy a long weekend of golf and hot toddies before heading back to the office next week. She may stay a week, she may stay a month. Who knows? So much is up in the air just now.
She almost calls Rosa back to roll all her cases to the foyer, but, honestly, Rosa is exhausting right now. Of course they don’t know exactly where Miguel is, but Randall knows he’s not in a county holding facility. Like so many immigrants, Miguel has disappeared, and he may resurface one day in Mexico, but then again, maybe he won’t. It’s an ugly system, but there’s nothing they can do, even if they were willing to spend the bribe money to find him. And Patricia will not be the person to tell Rosa that, and so she’d like very much to be out of Rosa’s presence.
She is also not unaware that if Rosa, like her husband, has the Violence, she herself is at risk of being brutally beaten to death. Rosa is a much larger woman, and Patricia has felt more comfortable out of her orbit these past few days. With Randall at the office from dawn until dusk, the women are often alone in the house together. Over the past ten years, Patricia has gotten into the habit of ignoring the help, but that’s hard to do when the help feels like a looming threat.
There’s a list downstairs of everything that will need taking care of while they’re out of town. Rosa will have extra duties, with Miguel gone, and Oscar can help pick up the slack. The Lanes travel frequently, so this is old hat.
Soon the town car will come, and Randall will hold open the door for her, and she’ll climb daintily inside and accept whatever wine he offers her, and it will taste like blessed relief.
There’s no reason to stay behind when Florida feels like the epicenter of the pandemic, the beating heart of the Violence, where it began and where it continues to spread and kill. With her friends likewise fleeing and the auction on hold, there’s no excuse to remain. What’s the point of Randall’s millions if they can’t avail themselves of an escape?
When she considers whether she’s forgotten anything, not a single thing comes to mind.
She has to get out while she can.
She has to take care of herself.
15.
Days pass, then weeks, then months. Chelsea feels like she’s twenty years older. Her bruises heal and her teeth tighten back up in her jaw, just like the EMTs promised. She orders groceries online and watches movies with the girls on FaceTime and texts constantly with Ella and orders workbooks with David’s Amazon account to keep Brooklyn occupied. It’s a relief when school ends and Chelsea no longer has to direct the girls’ remote learning from the other side of a door. Ella’s grades fall, but she has the credits she needs for when the pandemic subsides. Together they decide to keep Brooklyn on the same schedule but call it Learning Camp—she needs the routine, and they need to keep her occupied.
Stuck in her bedroom, Chelsea is bored and exhausted and anxious. She has her own daily schedule to keep from going insane that includes yoga, online aerobics, walking on her treadmill, and strength exercises with a towel around the doorknob. Exercise makes her feel conflicted—she needs it for her mental health, but she hates that in getting stronger, she makes herself a more dangerous predator for the sickness hiding inside her.