Chapter 1
Vanessa Beacon's hands shook as she stared down
at the California driver's license she'd had her gardener purchase
for her several months ago. The photo was hers, along with the
physical characteristics. Hair:Bld; Eyes:Bl; HT:5-06; WT:120.
The name, birth date and address, however, were not. The name
read, Emma Wright. Vanessa had chosen "Emma"
because it was her mother's middle name. "Wright"
she'd selected as a reminder. She was doing the right
thing. She had to believe that wholeheartedly or she would never
have the courage to take such a risk.
The clock ticked loudly on the wall of her expansive
chrome and marble kitchen, seemingly louder than Manuel's new
plasma television, which she'd turned on in the living room
to occupy their son, Dominick. She'd gone through her and Dominick's
suitcases, checked for Dominick's new birth certificate, her
driver's license and the two credit cards she'd purchased as
additional identification, and the teaching certificates in
her new name. She also counted her cash and packed her maps.
But she couldn't help worrying that she'd forgotten something.
God, she couldn't make a mistake. Dominick's life
might depend on what she'd forgotten.
Mumbling a silent prayer that she could think
straight despite her racing heart, she once again sorted through
the backpack she'd hidden in the attic for the past several
weeks. A small, hand-held cooler contained three types of insulin--NPH,
Regular and the fast-acting Humalog. Outside the cooler and
loose in the backpack she'd packed 200 Ultra-fine needles for
Dominick's three or more daily injections; two blood-glucose
monitors; arm and finger pokers with plenty of test strips;
two boxes of extra lancets; a Biohazard Sharps collector, which
was so large and bulky she'd almost taken it out a number of
times but didn't in the end because she had to have somewhere
safe to toss the needles; Keto-strips to test for protein in
Dominick's urine; an emergency Glucagon kit, in case he ever
passed out--God forbid; and a tube of oral glucose gel for use
in smaller emergencies. Besides all that, she'd included his
logbook to record his blood sugar readings, and plenty of carbohydrates
disguised as granola bars, trail mix, fruit and individually
packaged chips for her son's mid-morning and mid-afternoon snacks.
It nearly required a small suitcase just to transport his diabetes
supplies. But every item was absolutely essential. One missed
insulin injection could quickly result in ketoacidosis, a life-threatening
condition.
I have everything. There's nothing to worry
about.... Vanessa closed the bag. But a glance at the clock
made her weak in the knees. It was after ten. Juanita should
have been here fifteen minutes ago. Would she come at all? Or
had Manuel gotten to her?
Vanessa cautioned herself against the paranoia
that threatened. Manuel watched her closely, but she was certain
he had no idea she was about to disappear. She could trust the
gardener. Carlos had proven himself with his secrecy on the
false ID and the car he'd gotten for her. Juanita would come
through, too--if her loyalties were what Vanessa believed
they were, and if she understood what Vanessa wanted
her to do as well as Vanessa thought she did. Manuel had insisted
upon hiring a nanny who could speak only Spanish, so his son
would learn his native tongue, he said. But there were plenty
of bilingual nannies, especially in San Diego where they lived
so close to the Mexican border. No, it wasn't solely for Dominick
that Manuel had selected Juanita. Manuel liked the idea that
Vanessa wouldn't be able to communicate with her. Isolating
Vanessa gave him that much more power and control.
Fortunately, it wasn't quite that simple. He didn't
know it, but during the four years they'd been living together,
she'd taught herself enough Spanish to speak and understand
most of what she heard. At first, she'd done it to help wile
away the empty hours of her day--Manuel refused to let her return
to school or get a job. Later, she'd wanted to be able to understand
the meaning of the strange phone calls he received in the night
and to decipher what it was the Sanchez family discussed during
the frequent meetings they held in the conference room off Manuel's
home office.
But she didn't want to know about Manuel's business
dealings anymore. Or his family's. His family was the main reason
Manuel had never married her, even after she had Dominick. His
mother refused to accept her, ostensibly because of her nationality,
but Vanessa knew it went a little deeper than that. Mama Sanchez
couldn't tolerate the thought of another woman in her favorite
son's life. Period. It was a fact Vanessa had once lamented,
but no more. She'd learned enough about Manuel's mother, his
whole family, to appreciate their rejection.
Dominick came in from the living room, his round
face a picture of impatience. He'd just turned five two months
ago and would've been starting kindergarten in a few weeks.
Hopefully, she'd get them situated soon, so he could go to school
this year. "Mo-om, I thought you said we were going to
leave!" he said.
Vanessa attempted a reassuring smile, even though
she was sweating profusely and feeling as though she might faint.
Juanita had to come. She had the car Carlos had bought.
And if she didn't appear soon, it meant Manuel had figured out
what was happening. Then he'd take Dominick to Mexico and Vanessa
would probably never see her son again. Manuel had certainly
threatened that often enough--whenever she tried to establish
some independence. He'd made his point quite clearly when she
tried to leave him the first time. Although her father had passed
away several years before she met Manuel, and her brother had
been killed in a motorcycle accident not too long after, her
mother and married sister lived in Phoenix. She'd gone to them,
and wished she could do so again.
But she wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
Manuel had tracked her down and dragged her back--then let her
know, in no uncertain terms, that he wouldn't tolerate her leaving
in the future.
Don't think of that. Don't remember....
"We're waiting for Juanita," she said,
itching to pull her child into her arms and never let go. She
didn't know what she'd do if she could never hear Dominick laugh
or tell her how much he loved her. But she knew a clingy, desperate
hug wasn't what he needed at the moment. She didn't want to
communicate her anxiety to him any more than she already had.
"You said she was coming a long time ago,"
he complained. "Where is she?"
Vanessa had no idea. Juanita had worked for them
for nearly a year and was never late. Where could she be today?
Without her support, and the car, Vanessa and Dominick would
never get away....
"Maybe she had a flat tire." Please
let it be that. "I'm sure she's coming."
The phone rang. Vanessa quickly gave Dominick
some markers so he could write on the dry erase board attached
to the fridge and approached the desk in the corner.
Talons of anxiety stabbed through her when she
recognized Manuel's cell phone number on the Caller ID. He was
supposed to be on a plane to Mexico. He left the country often
and stayed, sometimes for several days, sometimes for a couple
of weeks. He claimed to import marble from Culiacán,
but Vanessa had long suspected that he imported more than marble.
The steady bursts of noise jangled her already
frayed nerves. Should she answer it?
She wasn't sure she could keep her voice level.
Hoping that his plane had simply been delayed, that he'd be
gone soon, she decided to let it go to the answering machine.
But she should've known she couldn't avoid him so easily. Her
cell phone, which was sitting on the counter, started ringing
only a few seconds later. Manuel hated it when he couldn't reach
her. She knew he'd keep trying, again and again and again, until
she finally picked up, even if it meant missing his flight.
She couldn't let him miss his flight....
When she didn't answer, Dominick glanced up from
his drawing. "Mommy?"
Spurred by the curiosity in her son's voice, Vanessa
schooled her expression into a blank mask to hide the fear and
loathing Manuel elicited and retrieved her cell. "Hello?"
"What's going on?" Manuel demanded without
a greeting.
"Nothing. Why?"
"You didn't answer the house phone."
"I told you last night that I might run a
few errands this morning."
"You haven't left the house."
A prickly unease crept up Vanessa's spine. He'd
spoken so certainly. Too certainly. "How do you know?"
"A good guess."
She didn't believe it was a guess at all, and
by his flippant tone, he didn't care whether he'd convinced
her. Somehow he always knew where she was. She'd scoured every
inch of the house and been unable to find any type of listening
device or video camera, so he must have hired someone to watch
her. Which made Juanita absolutely integral to her plan.
Dominick went back to drawing, and Vanessa moved
to the sink to stare out the kitchen window at the perfect summer
day, wondering for the millionth time who was out there....
"Why didn't you pick up?" Manuel pressed,
unwilling to let the subject go regardless of how tiny the infraction.
"I was..." she swallowed to ease the
dryness of her throat "...in the bathroom."
"I had a phone installed there, remember?
For your convenience."
Not for her convenience. So she wouldn't have
even the bathroom as an escape from him, if he wanted her. "I
refuse to answer the phone while I'm in the bathroom,"
she said. "I haven't used that extension since you put
it in. You know that."
He chuckled softly. "Querida, you can be
so stubborn."
Manuel had no idea. But he was about to find out--if
only Juanita would arrive as promised.
"What do you need?" she asked.
"I'm calling to check on you."
Check on her? Certainly not in a loving way. Vanessa
could hardly tolerate the sound of Manuel's voice or the pretense
of his caring. When she first met him, at twenty-two, she'd
just graduated with a teaching degree. He'd been older, twenty-five,
and had seemed energetic and ambitious--but loving and kind,
too. Or so she'd thought. He'd changed so fast....
Maybe she'd never really known him. Maybe the
man he used to be was simply a character he adopted when it
suited him. In any case, she barely recognized him anymore.
His eyes, once the color of melted chocolate to her, watched
her too closely, frightening in their obsessive intensity. And
the thick black hair she used to love to see falling across
his brow he now slicked back in a dramatic style that added
to the impression he gave of being as hyperaware as he was hypercritical.
She pressed a hand to her chest, preparing herself
for the answer to her next question. "Aren't you going
to Mexico today?"
"The trip's been postponed."
Her muscles tightened. No! Not when I'm so
close.... "Until when?" The knocking of her heart
against her ribs made it difficult to speak.
"Come on, mi amor. You know better than to
bother your pretty head with business."
A dodge. Typical of him. As was the condescension
in his voice. He didn't like her knowing his schedule. Except
for the odd occasion, he typically sprung news of an impending
trip on her only the night before.
But Juanita still wasn't here, and Manuel hadn't
said why his trip had been postponed. Did he know she was planning
to leave him?
"Will you be home for dinner, then?"
she asked.
"Of course. I always spend my evenings with
you, if I'm available."
Bile rose in Vanessa's throat at the thought of
postponing her escape until Manuel's next trip to Mexico. She
knew holding out until he was far from home would be the wisest
course. She and Dominick needed the lead time. But everything
was already arranged. And staying meant she'd have to suffer
through who could say how many more interminable nights in Manuel's
company, nights that always ended, at some point, with her lying
beneath him. Manuel had an insatiable sexual appetite and demanded
she perform some kind of sex act for him daily, often two or
more.
"Maybe you could mention to Juanita that
I'm in the mood for meñudo," he said.
Even the prospect of sharing another interminable
dinner with Manuel made Vanessa ill.
She stared at the cigarette burn her husband had
inflicted on the inside of her wrist four days ago. Manuel loved
to deal out little reprisals for anything that displeased him--
Dominick rounded the kitchen island. Quickly hiding
the injury, she rubbed her son's back as he came over to hug
her leg.
"What's wrong, Mommy?" Worry clouded
his innocent eyes.
She pressed a finger to her lips to indicate silence.
She didn't want Manuel to overhear.
"I'll tell her to make it for dinner,"
she said into the phone.
"And I'm going to need those suits I had
you take to the cleaners," he added. "Can you pick
them up for me while you're out?"
Her life was closing in on her again.... "Of
course."
"Thank you. You're such a wonderful wife."
"I'm not your wife," she said.
"As far as I'm concerned you are. Every man
should be so lucky."
Vanessa's nails curled into her palms at his assumption
and false praise. He threw her a few compliments from time to
time--enough, in his mind, to keep her happy. But he didn't
trust her or love her enough to let her be truly happy. Or to
stand against his family and marry her. Or to treat her as an
equal instead of some kind of chattel property.
"How do you want me to pay for it?"
she asked, because she knew he'd expect this question. Their
gated, ten-thousand-square-foot mansion provided proof of his
wealth. But he kept such a tight rein on their money that it
had taken her nearly two years to save the funds she'd given
Carlos for the car. She'd only managed to garner that much by
returning small items she hoped Manuel wouldn't miss, even grocery
items, and hiding the money between the insulation and the wall
in the attic.
"I'll call the bank and add an extra hundred
to your account," he said.
"Fine." She grimaced at his stinginess.
He allowed her no standing balance. He waited until she had
a specific need, one he could easily verify. Then he called
and transferred enough to cover the expense. One hundred bucks
would barely pay his dry cleaning bill; Manuel clothed his lean,
sinewy body almost exclusively in the finest hand-tailored suits.
"Thank you, querida," he said. "What
else do you have planned for the day? What is my hijito doing?"
She glanced at their son. Dominick was so unlike
his father, so much more similar to her side of the family--especially
the younger brother she'd lost the year she moved in with Manuel.
Large for his age, Dominick had sandy-blond hair, an unusual
color of green eyes and golden skin that still retained the
softness of a baby's. "He's standing here, waiting to go
to the store."
"He needs to be reading, Vanessa. You know
I want him to read."
"We'll read when we get back."
"Let me transfer the money to the credit
card I've given Juanita. She can do your shopping and pick up
my dry cleaning. I don't know why you insist on doing such menial
tasks."
Maybe it was because she had nothing else to do.
Manuel insisted that Dominick needed every moment of her attention,
but she believed there should be more to life than following
her son around, watching over his every move, correcting all
his mistakes, stealing the same privacy and independence from
him that Manuel had already taken from her.
"I like to get out once in a while,"
she said. If you only knew how badly I'm dying to disappear
right now.... "It's good for me."
"So you're always telling me." She had
to leave. Right away. She couldn't survive the helplessness
any longer....
"But today...today you might be right,"
she said. "I'm getting a headache. Why don't you go ahead
and put the money on Juanita's card. I'll have her take Dominick
to run errands while I lay down."
"Fine."
"I'll see you tonight," she said, eager
to get off the phone. Tears burned at the back of her eyes,
tears of disappointment and bitterness toward the man who had
used her son to systematically cut her off from all previous
friends and family.
At least he didn't know what she had in store
for today, she thought. If he did, he would have said something
about the way she'd set him up...wouldn't he?
"Te amo," he said.
She couldn't say it back. She hadn't been able
to for years.
"Good-bye." She hung up, then slumped
over the kitchen sink, afraid she was going to be sick.
The sound of keys jingling in the lock at the
front door brought her head up. Dominick dashed off and, a moment
later, he marched into the kitchen ahead of Juanita, who met
Vanessa's eyes with a fearful expression.
"Are you ready, my friend?" she asked
in Spanish.
"Where have you been?" Vanessa replied.
"I had a neighbor check the engine of the
car. I couldn't let you go without knowing you and Dominick
would at least have a reliable vehicle."
Vanessa feared the car might be stolen. It should
have cost a lot more than it did. But Carlos hadn't said as
much, and she hadn't asked. What was the point? She had to take
what she could get; she didn't have a choice. "Why didn't
you tell me? Or call?"
She scowled and moved closer, gazing around the
kitchen as if looking for the camera Vanessa had searched for
repeatedly. "I thought of it too late to mention it yesterday,
and we agreed never to discuss this over the phone." She
lowered her voice. "He called me last night, you know.
He asked how Dominick was doing in his studies, but he also
asked me many questions about you."
"Like what?"
"What you do while he's gone, where you go,
whether you try to communicate with me."
"What did you tell him?"
"Nothing." She removed the long heavy
coat, sunglasses and headscarf Vanessa had asked her to wear.
"Put these on and go. Right away. It isn't odd for a little
old lady like me to dress so warmly, even in the summer. And
the engine of the car is good, strong. You should be fine."
Vanessa hesitated as she accepted the clothing,
wondering whether she should tell Juanita that Manuel hadn't
gone to Mexico. She definitely would have told her,
if not for the news of his call last night. Manuel must sense
something amiss. She didn't know how much longer she could hide
her plans.
Taking a deep breath, she covered her head with
the scarf and pulled on the coat. It was now or never. She was
leaving; she would never look back. Somehow she'd provide a
life for herself and Dominick that had nothing to do with the
man who tried so hard to own her.
A few magnets on the fridge had momentarily distracted
Dominick, but he scowled at her now. "Why are you dressing
up like Juanita?"
"This is the game we've been practicing for,"
she told him as she added Juanita's sunglasses and dark lipstick
to her disguise. "We're going to see if anyone can tell
who I really am."
"Am I going to dress up, too?"
"No, you're going to pretend I'm Juanita,
remember? When we step outside, you'll hold my hand and walk
to the car like you do whenever Juanita takes you shopping or
to the library."
"That's not how it goes. We always pretend
I'm a boy called Max, and you're a lady named Emma."
She smiled, although it was difficult to concentrate
on anything except what was going to take place in the next
fifteen minutes. "We're going to do that, too. Just as
soon as we drive away."
"Oh, I get it! You're going to be Juanita
first, then Emma," he said and seemed excited--until
he followed them into her bedroom and noticed, for the first
time, the two suitcases she'd packed. He watched Juanita cover
one with a big black garbage bag and take it out to the back
veranda.
"Why are we throwing away our suitcases?"
"We're not," Vanessa said, doing the
same with the other one. "Carlos is going to get them for
us."
"Who's Carlos?"
"He mows the lawn and takes care of the plants,
remember?"
"Is he playing the game, too?"
Vanessa bagged the backpack in the kitchen and
put it outside, too. "Sort of. We're going to meet him
down the street."
"But why do we need suitcases? Are we going
somewhere far away?"
"Yes," Vanessa said, feeling such relief
in the word that she reached out to squeeze Juanita's hand.
"Where?" Dominick asked.
Across the country, as far as I can take us....
"You'll see. It's a surprise." She stood at the entrance
to the living room to make sure that Carlos saw their luggage.
Surely he'd noticed Juanita pull up outside.
The gardener came almost immediately. Good. He'd
been paying attention. Glancing inside the house, he nodded
as he picked up the first bag and carried it around to the front
as if he was only loading more clippings into the bed of his
truck.
Fear turned Vanessa's legs rubbery as she gave
her nanny a tight hug. "Carlos is going to give you a ride
home in a few hours, right?"
"Si."
"And you'll be okay?" she asked in Spanish.
"Of course. We have it all planned out, remember?
I'm just the housekeeper. I know nothing. I'll tell him you
were gone when I got here."
"What if someone's watching the house? What
if they tell Manuel that you left with Dominick and never came
back?"
"Calm down. We've talked about this before.
I'm just the housekeeper. No one pays attention to me. If someone
says something like that, I'll say they're loco. I never went
anywhere. Obviously, even if I did, I came back, eh? I'll be
right here. How can Manuel argue with that?"
"And if Manuel wants to know why you didn't
call him when I didn't return?"
"I'll say Dominick's library books were gone,
that I thought you went to the library. Then I started feeling
ill and went home so I didn't get Dominick sick as well."
"That's good," Vanessa said, nodding.
"He doesn't even think we speak the same
language," Juanita added placatingly.
"Right." He'd never suspect Juanita,
Vanessa told herself. He trusted her. Everyone trusted Juanita.
"I could never thank you enough," she
murmured.
Juanita squeezed her arm. "Just be safe,
my beautiful friend. And be happy."
Vanessa waited while Juanita said good-bye to
Dominick. Then she took her son's hand and, keeping her face
down and stooping a bit like the older woman, she led him out
the front door into the mellow sunshine of a clear August day.
The nondescript white sedan she'd asked Carlos
to purchase sat in the circular driveway, representing the freedom
she'd craved for so long. She wanted to race toward it, buckle
Dominick safely inside and put the metal to the floor as she
tore away. But she forced herself to walk very slowly, like
Juanita. She'd be away soon. Then she wouldn't be Vanessa Beacon
anymore. She'd start over as Emma Wright, and Dominick would
be Max.
