Megan Hart - Precious And Fragile Things

They’d been late to Gilly’s doctor appointment. On any other day being on time would’ve meant a fifteen-minute wait. Today, the sour, scowling nurse informed them they’d almost forfeited their appointment. Arwen pinched her finger in a drawer, and Gandy fell off the rolling stool and cracked his head. Both children left the office in tears, and Gilly thought she might just start to cry, too.

The day didn’t get better. There was whining, there was fussing, there were tantrums and yelling and threats of timeouts. And of course, though she’d spent hours in Wal-Mart the night before, she’d still forgotten to buy milk. That meant a trip to Foodland. That meant children begging for sugary cereals she refused to buy. More tears. Pitying looks from women in coordinated outfits without stains on the front and well-behaved children who didn’t act like starving beggars. By the time they’d finished their grocery shopping, Gilly was ready to take them both home and toss them into bed. She’d made one last stop at the ATM.

One last stop.

“Mamaaaaaa!”

The whining rose in intensity and persistence. The kicking continued, ceaseless. Like all of this. Like her life.

Count to ten. Bite your tongue. Keep yourself together, Gilly. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.

Gilly made herself the Joker. She wouldn’t have been surprised to feel scars rip open on her cheeks from the smile she forced again. “Ten more minutes, baby. Just ten. Let Mama do this, okay? Now listen. I’ll be right back.”

She turned in her seat to look at both of them, her angel-monsters. Arwen’s eyes had gone squinty, mouth twisted into a frown. Gandy had snot dribbling from his nose and crusted goo at the corners of his lips. He’d spilled a juice box all over his pale blue shirt. They looked like the best of her and Seth combined. This was what she had made.

“I’ll be right back,” Gilly said, though frankly she wanted to start running down the highway and never look back. “You both stay here and keep your seat belts on. You hear me? Seat belts on. Do not get out of your seats.”

Good mothers didn’t leave their children in the car, but the ATM was only a few feet away. The weather was cold enough that the kids wouldn’t broil inside a locked vehicle, and she locked them in so nobody could steal them in the five minutes it would take her to finish her task. Besides, she thought as she slid her ATM card into the machine and punched in her PIN, dragging them both out into the freezing, early evening air would surely be worse than leaving them warm and safe in the Suburban.

Frigid wind blew, whipping at her hair and sending stinging pellets of winter rain that would’ve been less insulting as snow against her face. She blinked against it, concentrating on punching in her PIN number with fingers suddenly numb. She messed up. Had to cancel, do it again.

Slow down. Do it right. One number at a time, Gilly. It’ll be okay.

She deposited the check, withdrew some cash, shoved her receipt and her card into her wallet and got back in the car. The kids had been silent when she opened the door, but within thirty seconds the whining began again. The steady kicking. The constant muttering of “Mama?” Gilly swallowed anger and tried desperately to scribble the amount of her withdrawal from the ATM in her checkbook, because if she didn’t do it now, this minute, she would forget and there’d be another overdraft for Seth to complain about, but her hands shook and the numbers were illegible. She took a deep breath. Then one more. Willing herself to stay calm. It wasn’t worth losing her temper over any of this. Not worth screaming about.

Five minutes. Please just shut up for five minutes, or I swear I’ll…

Not go crazy. Not that. She wouldn’t even think about it.

Gilly put the truck in Drive and pulled slowly out of the parking spot. The strip mall bustled with activity, with Foodland getting its share of evening foragers and the office supply store just as busy. Gilly eased past some foron in a minivan who’d parked askew, brake lights on, and mentally threatened them with violence if they dared back out in front of her.

This part of the strip mall had been under construction forever—the promise of a popular chain restaurant and a couple upscale additions had made everyone in Lebanon salivate at the thought of getting some culture, but in the end poor planning and the economy’s downturn had stalled the project. They’d only gotten as far as building a new access road, slashing like a razor on a wrist through what had previously been a tidy little field. Gilly stopped at the stop sign and looked automatically past the empty storefront to her left, though all that lay at the end of the road in that direction were dirt and Dumpsters.

The passenger door opened, and Gilly looked to her right. She blinked at the young man sliding across the bench seat toward her. He slammed the door and grunted as he kicked his duffel bag to the floor. For one infinite moment, she felt no terror, only confusion. “Where did you—?”

Then she saw the knife.

Huge, serrated, gripped in his fist. She didn’t even look at his face. And she wasn’t confused any longer.

Cold, implacable fury filled her and clenched her hands into numbness. All she’d wanted to do was go home, put the kids to bed and take a hot bath. Read a book. Be alone for a few precious minutes in peace and quiet before her husband came home and wanted to talk to her. And now…this.

The tip of his knife came within an eyelash of her cheek; his other hand gripped her ponytail and held it tight. “Go!”

There was no time for thought. Gilly went. She pounded her foot so hard on the accelerator the tires spun on ice-slick ground before catching. The Chevy Suburban bucked forward, heading for the traffic light and the road out of town.

He has a knife. The press of steel on flesh, parting it. Blood spurts. There is no smell like it, the smell of blood. That’s what a knife can do. It can hurt and worse than that.

It can kill.

Gilly’s hands moved on the steering wheel automatically. With little conscious thought, she flicked her turn signal and nosed into the line of traffic. Night had fallen. Nobody could see what was happening to her. Nobody would help her. She was on her own, but she wasn’t alone.

“I’ll do what you want. Just don’t hurt my kids.”

No smile this time, but it was the same voice she’d used just minutes ago with her children. It was her mother’s voice, she thought. She’d never noticed. The realization sent a jolting twist of nausea through her.

“Mommy?” Arwen sounded tremulous, confused. “Who’s that man?”

“It’s okay, kids.” This was not her mother’s voice, thank God. It was the one Gilly used for things like shots and stitches. Things that would hurt no matter what she said or did. This voice broke like glass in her throat, hurting.

Gandy said with a two-year-old’s wisdom, “Man, bad.”

The man’s gaze shot to the backseat as if he only now noticed the kids there. “Shit.” He moved closer. He gripped the back of her seat this time, not her hair, but the knife stayed too close to her neck. “Turn left.”

She did. The lights of the oncoming cars flashed in her eyes, and Gilly squinted. Slam on the brakes? Twist the wheel, hit another car? A checklist of choices ticked themselves off in her brain and she took none, her fury dissolved by the numbness of indecision and fear. She followed his barked orders to head out of town, away from the lights and the other cars. Away from safety. Away from help.

“Where do you want me to go?” The big SUV bounced with every rut in the road, and the knife wavered that much closer to her flesh. She’d bleed a lot if it cut her. She didn’t want her children to see her bleed. She’d do anything to keep them from seeing that.