Brenda Novak - Every Waking Moment

She brought a hand to her chest, preparing herself for the answer to her next question. “Aren’t you going to Mexico today?”

“The trip’s been postponed.”

Her muscles tightened. No! Not when I’m so close. “Until when?” The knocking of her heart against her ribs made it difficult to speak.

“Come on, mi amor. You know better than to bother your pretty head with business.”

A dodge. Typical of him. As was the condescension in his voice. He didn’t like her knowing his schedule. Except for the odd occasion, he typically sprang news of an impending trip only the night before.

But Juanita still wasn’t here, and Manuel hadn’t said why his trip had been postponed. Did he realize she was planning to leave him?

“Will you be home for dinner, then?” she asked.

“Of course. I always spend my evenings with you, if I’m available.”

Bile rose in Vanessa’s throat at the thought of postponing her escape until Manuel’s next trip to Mexico. Holding out until he was far from home would be the wisest course. She and Dominick needed the lead time. But everything was already arranged. And staying meant she’d have to suffer through more nights in Manuel’s company, nights that always ended, at some point, with her lying beneath him. Manuel had an insatiable sexual appetite and demanded she perform some kind of sex act for him daily, often two or more.

“Maybe you could mention to Juanita that I’m in the mood for meñudo,” he said.

Even the prospect of sharing another interminable dinner with Manuel made Vanessa ill.

She frowned at the cigarette burn her husband had inflicted on the inside of her wrist four days ago. Manuel loved to deal out little reprisals for anything that displeased him—

Dominick rounded the kitchen island. Quickly hiding the injury, she rubbed her son’s back as he came over to hug her leg.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Worry clouded his innocent eyes.

She held a finger to her lips to indicate silence. She didn’t want Manuel to overhear.

“I’ll tell her to make it for dinner,” she said into the phone.

“And I’m going to need those suits I had you take to the cleaners,” he added. “Can you pick them up for me while you’re out?”

Her life was closing in on her again. “Of course.”

“Thank you. You’re such a wonderful wife.”

“I’m not your wife,” she said.

“As far as I’m concerned, you are. Every man should be so lucky.”

Vanessa’s nails curled into her palm at his assumption and false praise. He threw her a few compliments from time to time—figuring that would keep her happy. But he’d never trusted her or loved her enough to let her be truly happy. Or to stand against his family and marry her, as she’d once wanted. Or to treat her as an equal instead of chattel.

“How do you want me to pay for it?” she asked because she knew he’d expect this question. Their gated, ten-thousand-square-foot mansion provided proof of his wealth. But he kept such a tight rein on their money that it had taken her nearly two years to save the funds she’d given Carlos for the car. She’d only managed to accumulate that much by returning small items she hoped Manuel wouldn’t miss—even groceries—and hiding the money between the insulation and the wall in the attic.

“I’ll call the bank and add an extra hundred to your account,” he said.

“Fine.” She grimaced at his stinginess. He allowed her no standing balance. He waited until she had a specific need, one he could easily verify. Then he called and transferred enough to cover the expense. One hundred bucks would barely pay his dry-cleaning bill; Manuel clothed his lean, sinewy body almost exclusively in the finest hand-tailored suits.

“Thank you, querida,” he said. “What else do you have planned for the day? What is my hijito doing?”

She glanced at their son. Dominick was so unlike his father, so much more similar to her side of the family—especially the younger brother she’d lost the year she and Dominick had moved in with Manuel. Large for his age, Dominick had sandy-blond hair, eyes that were an unusual shade of green, and golden skin that still retained the softness of a baby’s. “He’s standing here, waiting to go to the store.”

“He should be reading, Vanessa. You know I want him to read.”

“We’ll read when we get back.”

“Let me transfer the money to the credit card I’ve given Juanita. She can do your shopping and pick up my dry cleaning. I don’t know why you like doing such menial tasks.”

Maybe it was because she had nothing else to do. Manuel insisted that Dominick needed one hundred percent of her attention, but she believed there should be more to life than following her son around, watching over his every move, correcting all his mistakes, stealing the same privacy and independence from him that Manuel had already taken from her.

“I like to get out once in a while,” she said. If you only knew how badly I’m dying to get out right now. “It’s good for me.”

“So you’re always telling me.”

She had to leave. Right away. She couldn’t survive the helplessness any longer.

“But today…today you might be right,” she said. “I’ve got a headache. Why don’t you go ahead and put the money on Juanita’s card. I’ll have her take Dominick out to run errands while I lie down.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll see you tonight,” she said, eager to get off the phone. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, tears of disappointment and bitterness toward the man who had systematically cut her off from friends and family.

At least he didn’t know what she had in store for today. If he did, he would’ve said something about the way she’d set him up—wouldn’t he?

“Te amo,” he said.

She couldn’t say it back. She hadn’t been able to for years.

“Goodbye.” She hung up then slumped over the kitchen sink, afraid she was going to be sick.

The sound of keys jingling and the front door opening brought her head up. Dominick dashed off and, a moment later, marched into the kitchen ahead of Juanita, who met Vanessa’s eyes with a fearful expression.

“Are you ready, my friend?” she asked in Spanish.

“Where have you been?” Vanessa replied in the same language.

“I had a neighbor check the engine of the car. I couldn’t let you go without knowing you and Dominick would have a reliable vehicle.”

Vanessa feared the car might be stolen property. It should’ve cost a lot more than it did. But Carlos hadn’t admitted anything, and she hadn’t asked. What was the point? She had to take what she could get; she didn’t have a choice. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or call?” she asked in English.

Juanita scowled and moved closer, gazing around the kitchen as if looking for the camera Vanessa had searched for repeatedly. “I thought of it too late yesterday, and we agreed never to discuss this over the phone.” She lowered her voice so Dominick, who’d started using the dry-erase board again, couldn’t hear. “He called me last night, you know. He asked how Dominick was doing in his studies, but he also asked many questions about you.”

“Like what?” Vanessa whispered.

“What you do while he’s gone, where you go, whether you try to communicate with me.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing.” She removed the long heavy coat, sunglasses and head scarf Vanessa had asked her to wear. “Put these on and go. Right away. It isn’t odd for a little old lady like me to dress so warmly, even in the summer. And the engine of the car is good, strong. You should be fine.”

Vanessa hesitated as she accepted the clothing. “But he didn’t go to Mexico, Juanita. He’s still here, in town. He wants you to make meñudo for dinner!”