Page 24 of The Last Road Trip

“I was never yours, Buck. I was merely someone who loved you.” I lift my chin. “I’m done with that. I’ve moved on and realized my true feelings. I’ll take accountability for myself, in that I haven’t been in love with you for a very long time, but just as I ignored your abuse, I turned a blind eye to how our love faded long ago.”

Buck stays on his knees, one hand still reaching. “The girls,” he says, his voice rough. “They’ll never view me the same.”

“They’re adults,” I reply, frankly disgusted by his continued refusal to take complete accountability. Not that it would change anything. “They can make their own choices. Just like I’m making mine.”

I step around him, careful not to get close enough that he could grab me again. The kitchen tile is cool under my feet, and I’m aware that this may be the last time I walk them. I’d rather hire movers.

“The bedroom’s this way,” I say to Officer Brown, already walking to the hallway. “The ring’s in the closet safe.”

We walk through the house in single file—me first, then Officer Brown, then Kwemby bringing up the rear. I suspect it’s because we left Buck behind in the kitchen, and Kwemby wants to be closest to him. The living room gives way to the hallway, the hallway to the bedroom door.

Behind us, Buck calls my name—once, twice, his voice breaking on the third try.

Finally, Officer Brown speaks up, “Sir,” she calls without leaving my side. “Your wife allowed you to speak and has declined speaking further. I’m going to ask you to leave us alone and let us conduct our business.”

“Ex-wife,” I mumble, though I understand her position. Our paperwork was only filed this morning.

“Please,” he’s saying. “Just let me talk to her for five more minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Officer Brown replies, her voice firm. “She said no.”

The bedroom closet smells like cedar and old shoes. I push aside the hanging clothes and step into the narrow space. The safe sits on the top shelf, a small metal box with a combination of the twins’ birthday.

After I unlock it, my mother’s voice filters through my memory. “It’s not the value,” she’d said, pressing the ring into my hands on my eighteenth birthday. “It’s the history.” The ring may be only a thin gold band with a small oval garnet, the metal worn smooth on the underside from years against my ancestors’ fingers.

I close my hand around it, feeling the ring dig into my palm.

From the hallway comes the sound of Buck’s voice, louder now. “Harriet! Please! I’m begging you!”

I stand, the ring still clutched in my fist, and move to the door. Kwemby steps aside, giving me room to pass, only because Officer Brown steps between me and Buck, whose hand is already reaching for her radio. His face is streaked with tears, his shoulders slumped beneath his ridiculous apron.

“Harriet, please. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but please! I’ll cook every meal, I’ll play your trivia games and listen to you talk.”

Thank my lucky stars, Officer Brown’s radio goes off. “Unit 873, Officer Brown. Unit 873 Officer Brown, you there?”

The officer holds up her finger to us as a way to get us silent. “Copy, Unit 873 here.”

“Judge Powers signed a no-contact order restraining Buck Dallas from having any contact with Harriet Dallas.”

“Copy that,” Officer Brown says into her radio. Then to Buck, “You heard them. One more word, and I’ll arrest you.”

“We’re leaving, officer,” I say, though if I was vengeful I’d ask the officer to remove him from the home. Let him find a new place to stay. But I want to exit out of this marriage completely, and that includes from the house.

I walk past him without stopping. The front door opens with its usual creak, the spring air cool against my flushed face. I step onto the porch, Kwemby just behind me, Officer Brown bringing up the rear.

Kwemby steps up beside me. “You okay?”

“Yes. I’ve got my ring and a protection order, and the divorce is already in process. I’m as good as I can be given the circumstances.”

We walk to the cars: Kwemby and I to his sedan, Officer Brown to her cruiser. The afternoon sun cuts across the driveway, highlighting the particular pattern of cracks in the concrete where the twins learned to ride their bikes, the particular spot where Buck backed into the mailbox three years ago and never got around to fixing it.

Chapter 16

Harriet: Two Months Later

The box is labeled KITCHEN in my handwriting. I’m already on my knees when I run the utility knife along the top seam, pressing hard enough that the blade catches and drags. The tape splits. Inside are mixing bowls and other baking tools.

The cream-colored walls of my apartment are filled with potential. All decor will be my choice. The apartment is quiet. I’ve stayed with my college friend for the last two months and today is finally a move-in day for my apartment. I’m paying for it with my personal savings, the equity from Buck’s buy-out of the house, and the part-time income from the shelter after they had an opening. I applied and got it.