<< Go Back

Finding Freedom

By Colleen K. Snyder

Order Now!

THURSDAY
Dash stared at the check in her hand. Her gut flipped. Her knees went weak. Her heart slammed in her chest. Four thousand dollars. Possibilities peeked above the dark morass which marked her world. Four thousand dollars. Dreams became wishes, became hope, became… reality? Could she say for one hundred percent certain this was the sign, the seal of approval, she longed for and prayed for and needed?
Her hands trembled. Her breath caught. She held the back of her hand to her mouth to keep from crying. Her escape, her run to freedom, could happen. She had the funds. Funds he wouldn’t know about. The match to light the fire. Dash could fan it into the conflagration which would end her bondage and set her free. But it would also tear her from friends, break apart a family, destroy a marriage. Once she walked out the door, there would be no coming back. Was she ready?
Dash picked up the phone. Kelsie needed to know. Plans needed to be made; and fast. Her fingers trembled as she punched in the numbers.
“Dash. How—”
“—I got the check. Four thousand. I need to get to the bank and set up an account. I’m…” Dash hesitated. Thought. Prayed. “I’m doing it.”
The cheer from the other end acted as a balm to her soul. “That’s fantastic, Dash. I’m so happy you’re finally going through with this.”
“Yeah, I am. I have to. Roy pulled out his gun last night.”
“He what?”
“Pulled out his gun. Said he wanted to settle things one way or another.”
“Did you call the police?”
Life drained from her. “No. He said he hadn’t loaded it, and he just wanted to make a point,” she whispered.
“Do you know how many people get killed with an ‘unloaded gun’? Does he? What point did he think he made?” Kelsie’s voice writhed with disgust.
Dash clamped down with both her lips. Her whole body shuddered. “He wanted me to know he meant business about us fixing the relationship.”
“And you didn’t call the police?” Anger laced her friend’s voice.
“No, Kels. I didn’t. What good would it have done? Roy spends a night in jail. He comes home, we see a counselor, he says all the right things to the right people, and nothing changes. Ever. We’ve been down that road.”
Dash’s tears burned her eyes. No crying. No more wasted tears. “I’ve got to get to the bank before it closes.”
“You need me to be there?” Kelsie’s tone became soothing.
“No. I can do this part alone.”
“Okay, honey. Call me when you’re done.”
“I will.” Dash went in search of her backpack. It should have been on her makeshift desk in the dining room. The only space allotted for her writing had been stuffed in the corner, out of the way of the massive oak family table. The one which only saw dinners at Christmas. Sometimes.
Dash tightened the hatch on the hold of memories. Time. Already two-thirty, and Roy would be home at four. Dash looked beyond the dining room to the family room. Her sewing table with the pillow project for the school had been pushed to the side so it wouldn’t interfere with the TV. Priorities. “You can sew while I’m at work. When I’m home, it’s my room.” No sign of the backpack. Not on the kitchen counter. Not hanging in the hall. Which left…the bedroom?
Why would it be in the bedroom? Because he moved it. Dash found the pack hanging on the master suite bathroom door. She picked up the pack and searched for her wallet. It had been opened, the cash removed. She ground her teeth in frustration. Again? How many times did we have this argument?
“Roy, if you’re going to take cash out of my purse, please tell me, so I don’t get to the gas station or the store and find out it’s gone.”
“Eh. If I need it, I’ll take it. I’m the one working. It’s my money. I’ll take it if I want to.”
“Take it, fine. But please tell me so I don’t go out thinking I’ve got cash when I don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear the wind blowing.”
Dash checked for her credit cards, debit cards, license… All present...except the keys. Where were the car keys? She didn’t have time for this. The alarm clock said two-forty-five. Dash emptied the backpack onto the bed. Wallet, shopping lists, grocery receipts, pictures of the grandbabies…used tissues, two throat lozenges whose wrappers were now indistinguishable from the lozenges themselves…no keys.
Dash closed her eyes in frustration, feeling the fear rising. Where? Where would he hide them this time? In her mind, she could hear the minutes ticking away. She frantically searched his usual hiding places—under the pillows. Under the bed. In his sock drawer. Jacket pockets? Briefcase? The safe? It took her precious minutes to locate the combination, twist the ancient tumblers to just the perfect spot, wiggle the handle, and open. No keys. The safe held plenty of things she needed, but not today. Not now. Now she needed keys.
Dash slipped out to the garage. As long as she didn’t move or touch anything, her intrusion into the sacred space would go unnoticed. She looked around the drill press, the table saw, the air compressors, on the workbench…
Paydirt. Her keys hung from a nail driven into the window needing to be replaced, but Roy didn’t have time, and no, we can’t hire someone to do it. Roy would do it. He wouldn’t pay someone to do something he could do himself. When he got around to it.
Dash took the keys off the hanger, noting which direction they had been turned. She pocketed them, went back into the house, retrieved her backpack and coat, put the dogs in their crates, and raced out. She checked the gas indicator and groaned. Half a shade above empty. Enough to make it to the gas station.
“I’m taking your car instead of my truck. The truck’s nearly out of gas, and I don’t have time to fill it. Your car has half a tank, right?”
“Yes. Will you fill it when you’re done? I don’t want to get stranded.”
“You’re never gonna let me forget, are you? I forget one time, and you won’t quit harping on it. I always leave you with enough gas to get to the gas station. You can fill it yourself.”
And she would. Dash pulled out of the driveway, turned right at the corner, left at the light, and into the gas station. She pumped the gas, making sure to use the card which got the most points. Didn’t matter if it cost more. The points were the important part. Look at all the free stuff he got with them.
Dash stuffed that memory, too. Every memory had to wait. Maybe there would be time later, but not now. Now, she had to move quickly, and leave no trail. She drove to the closest branch bank. The one he hated. The one he swore he would never go back to when they refused to cash his mom’s social security check without her present. Of course he didn’t have any authorization in writing. He’d been banking here for twenty years, and if it didn’t mean anything, he would take his business somewhere else.
The teller had the backbone to tell him no. The supervisor backed her up. So did the bank manager. Sorry, but it’s the law, and we won’t break it.
Dash went inside, told the receptionist she wanted to open a new account, sat, and waited to be called by a banking associate. She began writing her list. But only in her head. Never on paper. Not and have him find it. Birth certificate. Service discharge papers. Marriage license. Name change. College transcripts. Copies of all credit card bills. Copy of mortgage. What else has my name on it? What else do I need?
“What brings you in today?”
The woman’s voice interrupted Dash’s checklist. She smiled. “I need to open a new account. In my name only.”
“Certainly. I’m Connie. I can help you. Come to my cubicle.”
Dash followed the young woman who she would have described as “perky” but knew the word had become offensive to some. It painted the correct picture in her mind, so she went with it.
They were both soon seated in a corner cubicle. Connie pulled out her booklet of “perks” you can receive for opening an account, and at which level. Dash listened attentively and handed the check to Connie. “It’s a gift from my friend in California.”
Connie’s eyes widened. “That’s a huge gift. She must like you a lot.”
Dash laughed. “We’ve known each other since junior high. She’s a great friend.”
“I can tell. Okay, how do you want to deposit this? All in checking? Checking and savings? Savings only?”
“I need it all in checking. I’ll open a savings account later.”
“We can take care of it for you today if you like. It will save you a trip later.”
Dash shook her head. “I’ll do it later. Just checking. Please.”
Connie smiled. “Of course. If you’ll fill out this card, we will open one for you. Will you be wanting an ATM card?”
“Of course. And I’d like to apply for a credit card in my name only. But can you use the credit history from the joint account to back it?”
Connie raised her hand as a more senior teller walked by. “Jules? A moment, please.”
Dash looked at her phone. Three-thirty. She had half an hour. She could make it. She could. If Jules and Connie agreed on company policy.
Jules looked at the joint account history and balances. “I don’t see a problem. Go ahead.” He smiled at Dash. “We’re always happy to help.” He paused. “When it’s something we’re legally allowed to do.”
Dash’s cheeks warmed. “I apologize for Roy. Sometimes he doesn’t think—”
“—No apology from you is necessary, Mrs. Warren.” Jules’s eyes twinkled a bit. “We’re accustomed to customers who want their way regardless. Happens all the time.” He nodded to Dash, smiled at Connie, then left.
Connie finished the necessary computer entries, handed Dash an ATM card and some blank counter checks. “Your real card will come in the mail next week. Since you were approved for the credit card, it will come next week as well.”
Dash stood and smiled. “I’ll watch for it. Thank you for your help today, Connie.”
“Glad to be of assistance. Have a good day.”
Dash checked her phone as soon as she got in the car. Three-forty. Still time.
But he’d know she’d been out. The engine would be warm, and there would be gas in the tank. How would she explain? Without lying to him? She needed gas for…for…Share Group. Except he hated her Share Group. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe for once, he wouldn’t check.
She pulled the car into the driveway. Dash slipped the keys back onto the nail in the garage, hung her backpack on the bathroom door, and made sure to hide all the paperwork the bank had given her. She placed it in her writing portfolio. Roy never looked in there. He hated her writing.
Not true. He loved it when she made money with it. Otherwise, it was useless. It produced nothing, added nothing to the bank accounts. But so long as she only did it on her time and not his, he didn’t care.
Dash stared in the refrigerator and debated dinner. Would he come home hungry and ask for a meal? Or would he come home having eaten an hour ago and not be hungry? She couldn’t tell until he walked in the door.
The truck pulled into the driveway. Dash heard a whine from the dog crates. She forgot to let them out. She rushed to the kennels in the living room and hurriedly threw the catches on the doors. Lewis and Clark, their shepherd-mix rescue hounds bounded for the kitchen and began scratching at the door. Dash let them. Keep everything normal. No surprises. Nothing different.
Roy walked in, greeted the dogs with hugs and kisses. They jumped all over him, barking and whining and generally greeting him as the long-gone sovereign. He pulled sandwiches—the lunch she’d packed for him—out of his coat pockets and fed them to the dogs. He looked at her and smiled. “Farron bought lunch. We ate it late.”
“When you get hungry, let me know. I’ll fix you something.”
He pecked her on the cheek as he headed for the bedroom to change clothes. Dash poured his glass of iced tea, set it beside his chair in the family room, and took her place in her appointed chair. Roy came back dressed in his sweat pants and a t-shirt. He dropped into his recliner. “I want potato soup.”
Dash rose, returned to the kitchen, and began peeling and slicing potatoes. Roy turned on the TV. Dash continued her lists. Who do I tell? Who can I tell? Who won’t feel obligated to warn Roy? All the counseling, all the friends who had tried to talk to him year by year. But nothing changed. Nothing ever changed.
Except… “Changed my mind. I don’t want soup. Make me macaroni and spaghetti sauce. It’s faster. Not as much trouble for you. Just fix it.”
Dash covered the potato slices with water, put them in the fridge for later. She boiled the macaroni, drained it, poured spaghetti sauce over it. As she went to pour it in a bowl he called, “Don’t bother with the bowl. Just bring me the pan. Make it easy on yourself.”
Dash carried the pan and a fork to Roy. He smiled. “Thank you.” He stuck out his tongue at her.
Played again. Her heart dropped. I’m done. I am done.
Roy ate the pan of mock spaghetti, called for Lewis and Clark. He set the pan on the floor and let the dogs lick the sides. Once they were done he smiled at her. “Clean as cold water could get it.”
Dash picked up the pan, carried it to the kitchen, and set it to soak in the sink. Roy held up his tea glass. “I need more tea.” She refilled his glass, sat down in her chair again. Roy turned channels on the set. “You should have seen the filth they expected me to work in today. Residents were all supposed to have cleaned out the pantries, but there’s always one who doesn’t get the memo. This place smelled like a dump. I told Maggie I wouldn’t do the job until it got cleaned up. I don’t care if they fire me. I won’t work in those conditions.”
He scowled. “Maggie wants to get rid of me. I know she does. Owners have been trying to fire me for years.” Roy walked to the fridge and pulled out a beer. He drank about half of it, walked to the medicine tower standing on the kitchen counter. He pulled out two allergy capsules, one anti-anxiety pill, a muscle relaxant, and three ibuprofen. Dash watched him wash it all down with the beer. And she said nothing. She felt nothing.
Roy tossed the remote to her. “You find something. I’m going to go lay down. I’ve got a headache.” He called the dogs to follow him, went to the living room, and stretched out on the couch. He turned on the TV to the Crime Network, placed a pillow over his head, and promptly fell asleep.
Dash turned off the TV in the family room. How do you pack thirty-six years of marriage into the back of a Honda Pilot? She began to look around the room. She could pre-stage things. Would he notice? Did he ever notice anything she did?
Only when she didn’t want him to. But if I tell him I’m getting rid of things to make more room for his projects…so he doesn’t have to do them in the kitchen anymore…he’ll appreciate the thought. If I shift things, move the ones I want to take to a specific place…he won’t notice. I’ll get some plastic boxes.
No. Not boxes. Boxes take up too much room. I’ll put them in bags. He won’t notice bags. Trash bags will work.
Snoring rattled the walls. Dash rocked in her chair. She pushed away all thoughts of what would happen if Roy found out. She’d lived the scenarios too many times to have to wonder. Anger. Fists pounded through doors. Threats to break everything. Shouting. Bruising. Black eyes. Maybe a broken bone. But nothing Roy couldn’t explain away. At least not after a week of isolation to “think about it.”
She’d finished thinking about it. Now, finally, she could do something. Freedom waited.

Order Now!

<< Go Back