The Opportunist (16 page)

“No one said anything about not liking the girlfriend. What might have been my taste then is not so now.”

“So the amnesia
made
you a different person?”

“Maybe or maybe the amnesia revealed that I’m not the person I was pretending to be.”

He is right. The years that he went missing from my life, he’d morphed into a professional bachelor, right down to his cheesy, silk sheets. It wasn’t my Caleb. The one who had put that purple blob of paint on my ceiling.

“Do you love Leah?” The words are out of my mouth before I have the chance to swallow them.  My mouth tastes bitter.

“She’s lovely. Very kind and sophisticated. She always says the right thing at the right time. But I can’t seem to summon the things that I’m supposed to be feeling for her.”

“Maybe those feelings were never there in the first place.”

“Do you ever think that maybe you’re crossing the line?” He puts down his silverware and rests his elbows on the table.

“Hey, we’re just two strangers getting to know each other. There are no lines yet.” I push back from the table and cross my arms. My mood had soured like old milk and I wanted to fight.

“Truce,” he says holding up his hands. Before I can agree, he grabs our dinner plates and hustles into the kitchen.

I help him stack the dishes in the washer and then Caleb retrieves some ice from the kitchen and holds it on my finger.

 I watch his fingers work through languid eyes. His next move almost makes me faint. He is trying to explain the rules of football to me, which I am pretending to care about, when he reaches for my finger and gently puts it into his mouth. The ring slides off easily this time. He takes it from his lips and replaces it in the box without another word.  He carries it back into the bedroom and I clench and unclench my fist.

“I need to go,” I say, standing up.

“Don’t,” he says.  

My phone starts ringing and I let go of his eyes to dig around in my purse. My phone hardly ever rings. I only have it for emergencies and Cammie. I expect to see her number when I look at the screen, but instead it’s Rosebud’s.

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and look at Caleb. “Someone broke into my apartment,” I repeat Rosebud’s words. Caleb grabs his car keys.

“I’ll drive you,” he says steering me towards the door. He drives faster than I would and I am grateful for it. I think about Pickles, who I had forgotten to ask Rosebud about. I silently pray that she is okay. Caleb walks me to my door where two police officers are waiting.

I check to make sure Caleb is tagging behind me and step over the threshold. I don’t know what I am expecting to see. But, it wasn’t this. Everything a thief would want to steal is still there; television, DVD player, stereo. I blink confused and then my eyes catch the chaos formerly known as my home. Everything is smashed. Everything. Pictures, knickknacks, lamps. My sofa had been slashed open and the stuffing is pooling out like white vomit. I hear myself make a noise that is part sob—part wail. Caleb takes hold of my hand and I cling to him. I move from room to room my eyes bleeding tears as I survey the damage, or rather the annihilation of everything that I own.  My coffee table is the only piece of furniture that remains unbroken; however, the intruder has taken the time to carve the word “SLUT” into the wood.

“This doesn’t look like a robbery,” I hear Caleb say to one of the officers. I slip into the bedroom before I can hear his reply. I step over my mutilated clothes and into my closet. 

  My memory box is laying topsy-turvy on the floor. I drop to my knees and begin rummaging through the bric-a-brac, running my fingers over each object in relief as I recover it. Almost everything is there. Almost. I press my palms to my eye sockets and rock on my haunches. Why? Why? Only one person would have a use for what is missing. She is the devil’s spawn, evil, with red hair and motives as big as Ursula the sea witches’ ass.

My head automatically turns in Caleb’s direction. Time. I was out of time. She was on her way to his condo now, no doubt, the evidence clutched in her hands. I start shaking. I am not ready. I can’t say goodbye yet.

“Miss?” the police officer is standing at the closet door, looking down at me. “We need you to fill out a report, to let us know what they took?”  I see Caleb push past him and walk carefully around my ruined belongings. He lifts me from the floor and leads me back into the living room, his hands are like anchors on my arms. 

I feel anger bubbling beneath my eyes, my nose, and my mouth. It is coursing through my limbs and doing a tap dance across my abdomen. I want to grab that bitch by her skinny little chicken neck and squeeze until she pops. I grope with my calm and turn to the policemen.

“They didn’t take anything,” I say waving my hand at the television. “This wasn’t a robbery.”

“Do you know anyone who would want to do something like this, Ms. Kaspen? An ex-boyfriend perhaps?” he says stealing a glance at Caleb. 
Did I?  
I grind my teeth. I can tell him everything right here, right now—beat the bitch to the punch.

  Caleb is looking at me intently. I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it.

“Tell them about Jim, Olivia,” he says gently.

Jim?
No—Jim would never do something this precise. No, this was a woman’s work. The detail impeccable.

“It wasn’t Jim,” I say. “Let’s go get Pickles.”

After they leave, Caleb takes my hand and tenderly says, “I want you to stay at my place tonight.” 

I have no intention of doing any such thing but I am on mute until I can stew up a plan. We lock up and go over to Rosebud’s apartment, where Pickles throws herself at me with rabid hysteria.  Rosebud clucks around me like a mother hen, touching and prodding until I grab both of her hands and assure her I am fine.

“Wait here,” she says disappearing into the kitchen. I know what is coming. The moment she first laid eyes on me, Rosebud decided that I needed taking care of. Her first gift had been a tarnished hunting knife that belonged to her dear, dead Bernie.

“If someone breaks in, you use this,” she jabbed the knife in demonstration, slicing at the air, and then handed it to me, hilt first. I was honored and mortified, but ended up stashing the knife underneath my bed.

Now, every time she sees me, she runs back into her apartment to fetch some half-eaten or lovingly used item she had set aside for me. I don’t have the heart to refuse.

She stumbles out of the kitchen carrying a massive bag of oranges and pushes them against my chest.  Caleb raises an eyebrow in question and I shrug.

“Thanks Rosie.”

“No proby,” she winks at me. And then in a very loud whisper, “You steal this boy’s heart. Make him marry you.” I glance up at Caleb who is pretending to study Rose’s framed needlework.  He is trying not to smile.

 We climb into his car and ease onto the highway. I count the streetlights tying to think of a way to steer him away from Leah.

When we pull off at his exit, I am swearing under my breath. We are blocks away from his high-rise and if I don't want to be caught. I have to do something—and fast.

After we get a Frosty? I add in my head.

Caleb’s brow furrows and I wither in my seat. He is going to say no, tell me I am weird and crazy.

“Please,” I say closing my eyes, “I just want to be far, far away…”
from Leah and the truth
.

He is rolling things over in his mind, I can see it in the slow movement of his eyes-he looks at his hands, at me, at the steering wheel, and then he nods.

Caleb turns the car around and I lean back in my seat wanting to cry.
 A little while longer—please God, just give me a little more time.

The highway spreads out like licorice before us. Caleb opens the windows allowing the wind to rush in, frisking us with her fingers. We are leaving Florida. Leaving my vandalized home and leaving Caleb’s vindictive lover. I am safe…for now.

We drive the eight hour trip to Georgia in seven.  For most of the trip, we remain in a comfortable quiet. I fret over Leah and the mess I left behind in my apartment. I take to biting my nails but Caleb keeps swatting my hands away from my mouth. I look for something to harp at him about, some bad habit or annoying vice but he is all smooth edges.

I fall asleep and when I wake up Caleb is gone.  I lift my head to peer out of the window and see that we are at a rest stop. I snuggle back down and wait for him to come back. I hear him coming, walking in a quickstep along the asphalt. He takes care to be as quiet as possible with the door and keys, so as not to wake me. He doesn’t start the car right away and I can feel his eyes on my face. I wait, wondering if he will wake me up to ask if I need to use the restroom. He doesn’t. Eventually the engine hums to life and I feel his hand shifting the gears near my knees.

We arrive at Quiet Waters Park, just as the pink tinged sun is lifting herself out of her slumber. The trees are wearing their fall coats, clashing oranges, reds, and yellows. We bump roughly on the gravel as he steers us toward the park entrance. I feel the full skosh of my deceit when I see the park—just as it was the last time we were here. I wonder in dismay if someone will recognize me from our last trip and dismiss the idea as absurd. The last time we were here was three years ago and the chances that the same employees would still be manning the campsite is silly, not to mention the fact that they saw hundreds of faces each year. Caleb parks outside of the rental office and turns off the radio.

“Go!” I instruct, pointing at the office. Caleb takes a few faltering steps backwards—still looking at me in mock surprise, then turns around and jogs into the small structure.

I settle back in my seat, proud of my crassitude.

Caleb exits the building about ten minutes later with an older woman trailing behind him. When he reaches the car, she throws up a hand and waves at him like he’s an A-list celebrity. Her jowls flap around like pillowcases and I snicker. He is forever making friends…or fans.  Amnesia apparently does not change everything about a person.

“They don’t allow tents here,” he tells me, but they have these structures that they rent out. Looks like a tent, but bigger and it has wood floors.”

I already know this. The first time he deceived me into coming here, he told me that we would be staying in a luxury cabin. I packed my bags, excited to be leaving Florida, something I had never done before, and wondered whether or not our ‘cabin’ would have a fireplace. When we pulled up to the camp grounds, I looked around for the cabin in anticipation.

“Where is it?” I had asked, craning my neck to peer into the trees. All I saw were tepee-like tents. Maybe the cabins were further back into the woods. Caleb had smiled at me and parked his car in front of one of the tepees.  He laughed when my face turned white.