Escape

FICTION Escape_____________________________ Deirdre H. Gage FAY STOOD IN THE KITCHEN, her hands immersed in soapy breakfast dishwater. She had cleaned up the kitchen and taken a shower, as she usually did after Bob leftforwork. Notthat they spoke much to eachother these days, but she'd been going through the motions of her life without really thinking aboutwhat she was doing. Waking up at seven, measuring out a scoop of French Roast into the coffee maker, waiting for the solid thub ofperking that signaled morning had officiallybegun. Meticulously wiping up stray coffee grounds from the countertop, cleaning dirty utensils inher sink, Fayneatly separated everythinginto its ownpartition. By the time Bob came down for his coffee, she'd be halfway through her first cup, writing out an errand list, organizing into precise categories everylittle item she needed tobuyor do. The grocerylistwas writtenfrom a mental inventory ofthe refrigerator, plus anything she knew she needed to cook for dinner. Then she'd recopy the list according to which section ofthe grocery storyshe'd find eachitem—produce first, followedbymeat, dairy, canned goods, spices, then frozen. She'd compiled her grocery list in this fashion for years, though she'd had at most three people tobuy for, save during the holidays. It wasn't that she needed to put order to a massive amount ofchaotic information. Itwasjust the way she did things. When she finished with groceries, it was time to list errands: 1) Bank; 2) Grocery; 3) Dry Cleaners; 4) Clean bathrooms. Always in order, always a time slot for every detail of her life. Fay could remember when she was first married and at home with a squalling Katie Drew. In those days, she never understood what she needed to do. She'd spend what seemed like hours trying to get the baby to sleep, and then realize she had nothing to fix for dinner but franks and beans. But that seemed a different life now. She'd never go back. No thank you. Out of messiness, Fay had created a lovely home—a clean, pretty place where she'd raised a clean, pretty, smart daughter. Bob had made the money. She'd give him credit for that without blinking. But it was she who had taken those resources and stretched them, elevating household management into a smooth running business. But now, on this chilly morning in January, as she finished up her dishes, Fay realized she hadn't made her chore list yet. More troubling, she hadn't spent the time between making coffee and Bob's leaving 49 writing out errands. So what had she done? She couldn't remember. She knew she'd made coffee, because she could smell it, but she had no recollection of even drinking a cup. All of a sudden, Fay felt so dizzy she thought she might faint. She dropped the rag into the gray water, and sat down hard into one of the brown, wooden kitchen chairs. She could picture walking up the stairs last night to her bedroom, what used to be their bedroom, and slipping out of the gray and white wool socks she wore around the house in winter. Bob had bought those socks for her last Christmas. He ordered them from L.L. Bean. She could recall reading in bed. It was one of those legal mysteries she liked. Katie Drew had ordered up for her a whole slew of them from that Internet book place, and had them sent right to the house. But after the book, there was nothing. A blank space between reading and washing that threw Fay into a panic. Lord, she wondered. How could that happen? I must be going through the change or going crazy or maybe even having a heart attack, she thought. With trembling fingers, she touched her face. She could feel above the smooth surface of her forehead a light misting of perspiration. Patting her cheeks, she felt the soggy texture of her skin, and it nauseated her. Lord, I must be sick. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself to get out of the chair. She walked over to the halfbath off the kitchen and looked into the mirror...