Window cleaner.
Oh, hallelujah. This woman was a housekeeper! She’d be gone in a few hours! Not an Airbnber, not a stray family member, not someone staying the night, and not the police. Glory, glory. The cleaner surely would not be cleaning this loft, and if she and the dog could just stay quiet…quiet…quiet…She hummed it in her own mind over and over. Be quiet. Be invisible. And that was not so difficult. She held still until she heard the sound of a lock and a door.
—
The house creaked but lapsed back into a silence that lasted long enough for her to tiptoe out and peek down the stairs. No car in the driveway. A bit of new snow showed only the tracks of one car, coming and departing, and so she let Lady out from the closet and she went bounding down the stairs, happy to be free.
Amazing!
She snorted in delight. Amazing that she was actually, literally, wildly invisible.
She was this minimally existent!
She put her hands on her knees and bent over, laughing out the stress, laughing out the joy, as the dog circled her legs. As she stood up, she felt a wave of dizziness hit her; the room tilted ever so slightly, but she grabbed onto the counter and laughed again. She had planned for such a thing—living without much evidence of living—and it had worked!
She was a superhero, except she had to pee again! She ran into the bathroom. It was newly cleaned; she could smell it. She put her wet undies and yoga pants into a plastic bag, changed into fresh clothes from her duffel, then looked around the house. Yes, the soup and dog food were gone—damn—but that had been the only evidence. Then she saw something new on the kitchen table. It was a sign that said, Welcome, Kat. In smaller print it said, Mr. B asked me to confirm you’d arrived safely on Monday. Please text the number below when you arrive (I leave Tuesday for a vacation and want to know you’re all settled). Enjoy.
The dizziness calmed even more as her blood pressure righted itself. She had until next Monday—nearly a full week—to skedaddle. And you know what? she thought. I’m going to take advantage of every last minute.
—
She bought dog food, a dog bed, and dog toys in the first town that had a real store, which was an hour away. Then she got groceries and wine. Only then, with her car loaded, did she drive into a parking lot and turn on her phone. Her brain had been circling and circling around car break-ins. What did she have to do with that?
When she was connected to the right person, she said bravely, “So. This is Ammalie Brinks. You called me, but I was in the wilderness and my phone cut out. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “We wanted to question you about some theft from vehicles at Kenosha Pass. We’re seeking to identify owners of the cars parked there during this incident. But the person in question has been caught. With the help of some photos you took, actually. But unless you had something stolen or that is missing, we don’t need your assistance anymore.”
Ammalie breathed out, in. “Sorry, I’m…I’m feeling slow today.”
“You took a photo of a newlywed couple? In the background was your car and plate, which is how we tracked you down. Two cars down from you was a Nevada plate. The occupants of that vehicle were caught with a great deal of stolen items in their car.”
“A Nevada plate? I met a man—with a cute kid—”
“That would be the one, yes. He and his partner.”
“But no. He was out hiking with the kid. I stopped and talked to them!”
“Yup. While he hiked and kept watch, the woman was going through people’s cars. She’s a pro. Knew which car doors opened, had the latest in technology. Just so happens one of those cars was my daughter’s car—she was out hiking with her boyfriend—hence my extra interest. Not only that, but they stole some meds, nearly killed someone. Bad situation. Heart trouble. Consequences. There are consequences to actions.” She said this fiercely; it was clear that no one should mess with this woman’s daughter or people’s health. “Thank you for your time. Sorry to bother you.”
“But, wait,” Ammalie stuttered. “You don’t need me to—you don’t need me? For…anything?”
“Not unless you’re missing anything.”
She found herself laughing. “I guess my car looked too shabby to bother with.”
“Or you might have just been too visible from the road or something. Anyway, we have all the evidence we need. The women you’d photographed? They are the ones who first called it in. A whole bunch of wedding gifts missing, some very expensive. They showed us the photos on their phone. We had four license plates to go by, one being yours, one being the thieves—”
“But,” Ammalie rambled on, “it’s just that…a woman breaking into cars while people were hiking? She just…it’s just so brazen.”
The officer burst out in a hard, bitter laugh. “Well, not all criminals are hardened-looking men, you know. Too many cop shows! Some are women. Young women with a kid and a husband. And bad ethics.” She made a tsking noise. “Breaking in, stealing stuff.”
Ammalie suddenly felt quite dizzy again—one of the worst sensations ever to be invented by the body, and clearly brought on by stress. She pushed her hand into the dog’s fluff and then steadied herself on the steering wheel. “But…were they homeless? Did they need the money for the trip? Maybe they needed gas money?”
The woman snorted. “Doesn’t matter, now does it? Stealing is stealing. Taking from someone else is wrong, now isn’t it? I personally think many Americans have forgotten a few basic rules on how to live. Have yourself a nice day. Thanks for taking those photos,” and before Ammalie could stutter out any more confusions, she’d hung up.
—
“Mari,” she blurted into the phone. “Mari, Mari, Mari, I’m having a real adventure here!”
Mari blew her nose in a surprisingly loud honk. “I know, I know. We discussed this. A hero’s journey. Frodo after the ring! Odysseus! Luke and the Death Star! Ammalie and the American West! But just admit it. It would be easier to be home, watching TV, and getting take-out, and then, well, dying, as we all do. Why are you calling? You said it would be weeks.”
Ammalie laughed. “I’m having fun and I wanted to tell you. I’m sitting in my car, watching a horse galloping across a field, and every once in a while it just bunches to a halt at the end of the fence, as if objecting to the fence, then it turns around and goes the other way. Poor thing! But also, so beautiful. All these snowcapped mountains. It is kinda wild. Wild and glorious.”
There was a stretch of silence. “I wish I wasn’t sick. Maybe I’d cancel all my appointments and come visit you. You’re starting to convince me. And after all, don’t heroes have companions fated to go along? Wise counsel? Yoda? Princess Leia? Mari the Great? Didn’t we learn that in Dr. Henze’s class way back when?” Then she added, with a bit of nostalgia in her voice, “That was the best class.”
“Exactly, exactly! Mari, I’m on a heroine’s journey and that means it’s an internal journey for self-actualization and that frankly is far more exciting than hiking across Antarctica and I have a dog and the most amazing views of the nighttime sky and I sorta tried to chop wood unsuccessfully but I did save a tree!” Ammalie could hear the delight in her voice. She was so relieved she could nearly cry. The police were not after her.
“So many questions have I,” Mari said dryly. “And I’m glad you didn’t go weeks without calling me. And yes, we all know that women are more interesting. Obviously. Enough with the battles and the rings, who the fuck cares! We need new stories! How about wise living on Planet Earth?”
“Exactly!” Ammalie watched the horse trot up and down and fling itself into the occasional rear. “But you? How are you?”
“As you know, we all get bitter or better as we age—and I am hoping for better. Maximo has moved quietly into the basement. No big fight. No big objection. Which made me think: I don’t think I’m getting bitter or better. I feel…flat. We feel flat.”
Ammalie watched the horse, the mountains, the horizon. “Exactly. Me too. Mari, I have a serious question here. You’ll be single again soon. You ever think about falling in love again? A man giving you that look? That look that makes you feel not-flat? And then you realize it’s not gonna happen? Because we’re not thirty?”
Mari paused. “Maybe.”
“Maybe, or yes?”
