Page 16 of Traces of Kara

Now or never. Kara bolted toward the darkened exit, her hands in front of her, screams tearing from her chest, her voice echoing off the walls. She’d done it! She was free! She huffed as she ran, afraid to look back.

She hit the wall running at a full sprint. Her hands could not stop the momentum of her body weight thrusting her forward, face first, into the concrete. Her chest smacked the wall—she crumbled to the floor in a heap of ringing ears and pain so great she passed out cold.

Kara came to in a fog of pain and confusion. She opened her swollen and bruised eyes and fluid dribbled down the sides of her cheeks.

“Why’d you have to go and run?” Roland’s tone was pointed, angry.

Kara stared at him, unable to think clearly. She reached for the Dixie cup that Roland held out to her, and desperately brought it to her lips, sucking down the last of the sweet liquid. She was so thirsty. Why was he giving her so little to drink? Her chest ached with each breath. Her limbs felt as if they’d been broken at the joints.

“Don’t pull that shit again. You’ll ruin everything,” he demanded.

The tinny tick, tick, tick of a clock filled the cold, dark room.

“Look at yourself.” He ran his hand through his hair. He pushed to his feet and paced. “You’ve done it now. Just look at yourself, you’re hurt. Damn it, Marissa.”

Kara closed her eyes. Even that small movement hurt. Her eyes opened involuntarily. The sound of gears clicking into place drew her focus to Roland. He was crouched before a clock. She watched Roland set the hands of the clock in place. It was 8:50.

“Friday morning,” he mumbled. “Born together, die together.”

Somewhere deep in the fog of Kara’s mind, she heard her mother’s younger voice whispering to her, Play Sleeping Beauty. A memory from when she was just a little girl played out like a dream in her mind: her mother, in Kara’s bedroom at night, her arms around Kara. A presence lingered in the room, someone she couldn’t place with her mind so foggy from pain. Play Sleeping Beauty and he’ll go away, her mother had whispered.

Kara’s eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Fourteen

Mimi checked her phone again; no messages. She ignored the growling of her stomach and instead, paid attention to the lonely ache in her mind. Kara would be arriving at school in the next fifteen minutes and all she had to do was meet her in the parking lot and apologize. Easy. Why was she having such a difficult time? She wrung her fingers together, pacing the kitchen floor. Her purse and keys were side by side on the kitchen table. Grab them and go, she told herself. What if Kara accused her of intruding? That was the last thing their relationship needed, especially when she was just trying to make things right. Mimi gnawed on the edge of what was left of her fingernail. A quick hug. I’ll apologize and leave. I’ll tell her I’m sorry for not standing up for her, then I’ll turn around and leave.

Gathering her resolve, she headed out the door.

Mimi drove through the parking lot of Hagerstown Community College looking for Kara’s blue Toyota Corolla, or The Beater, as Daryl had called it. She knew there was only a slim chance Kara had picked up her car, but she had to look. The Beater had been all they could afford when they were first married. Mimi thought of Daryl, the way he’d worshipped Kara when they’d first dated. He’d asked Mimi for Kara’s hand in marriage, instantly endearing him to her. Mimi couldn’t imagine him doing anything to hurt Kara. Surely Kara was mistaken. Everyone lies at some point. That didn’t make them bad people. She’d lied to Ted on more than one occasion to cover for Kara, hadn’t she? She’d made up excuses for her daughter’s nonchalance about leaving her belongings behind. “She just needs time to get her head together, we’ll take care of the boxes another time,” she’d said. It had been common for Mimi to cover for Kara when she was younger, too. “She’ll get to her chores, she’s overloaded with homework.” Mimi took a deep breath, thinking of Kara’s insistence that Daryl had lied to her about another woman, and believing that Kara was wrong. Mimi’s shoulders curled forward. There she goes again, doubting Kara’s worry, negating her own daughter.

Kara’s car was not in the parking lot. The bus pulled up to the curb and Mimi parked behind it, waiting for Kara to step off. Maybe she should have offered to drive Kara to the garage. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t talking to her. Guilt filtered through Mimi. I suck as a mother.

The last of the people stepped from the bus and Kara wasn’t one of them. Mimi furrowed her brow. Was Kara sick, she wondered. She never missed class. She drove toward Kara’s apartment thinking of all the motherly things she’d do to help her daughter feel better. She’d pull out all the stops and bake something wonderful so the apartment smelled good, watch a Lifetime movie cuddled on the couch with her. She’d be a good mother, no matter what it took. It had been so long since she’d been in the role of caregiver to Kara—and accepted as such—that she just hoped she remembered how.

After five minutes and several unanswered knocks, Mimi thought about her key to Kara’s apartment. She flipped the keys in her palm. Should she use it? Was she overstepping her bounds? For emergencies, Kara had said. This was an emergency, wasn’t it? Mimi crossed and uncrossed her arms, contemplating the situation. She had to make things right. Mimi’s stomach was tied in a knot over Kara’s increasingly annoyed tone when they spoke, and now, Kara’s avoidance of her. She took a deep breath, pushed the key into the lock, and let herself into Kara’s apartment. “Kara?”

Silence.

She walked back toward the bedroom. “Kara, honey? It’s me,” she said in a sing-song voice.

Kara’s bedroom was empty, her bed made. Mimi looked in the bathroom, then backtracked to the kitchen. “Kara?” she said aloud.

Mimi whipped out her cell phone and called Kara. After five rings, her voicemail answered.

“Kara, it’s Mom. I’m at your apartment.” She instantly regretted her words—just another reason for Kara to think she was nosey. “You didn’t answer my texts, and I didn’t see you at school. Are you okay?” Before pressing End, she said, “Call me. I love you.”

She then called the garage—Kara’s car hadn’t been picked up. Mimi furrowed her brow. Where did she go without her car? She looked at Kara’s calendar hanging on the refrigerator; scrawled in red ink were the words class and work. “Well, you’ve already missed class,” Mimi said aloud. A pang of worry settled in her gut. She turned to Kara’s answering machine, feeling a little too much like she was invading her daughter’s privacy. Who was she kidding? She was in her apartment, looking through her calendar. She was invading her privacy. Sometimes a mother just had to do what she had to do, and this was one of those times. Mimi looked around the silent apartment, wondering where her daughter could have gone. The answering machine sat on the countertop, nestled between the wall and the toaster oven. The red message light flashed on and off. Mimi remembered how Kara had teased her for buying an “old-fashioned” answering machine, and yet, it was what she herself had chosen to use. The realization warmed Mimi’s heart. She pushed the flashing red message light.

“Honey, it’s Mom.” Mimi pushed Skip. That message was from two days ago. Didn’t her daughter ever listen to her messages? Daryl’s voice came from the machine. “Hey, Kar. I need to swing by Thursday morning. The attorney said we have to sign this paper—something about the separation stuff.” A short silence pulled at Mimi’s heartstrings. “Be there around nine.”

Mimi wondered if Kara had changed her mind and given Daryl a second chance. She envisioned them together at Daryl’s house, falling back in love with one another. The thought made her smile. The reality that Daryl would probably be at work made Mimi’s heart quicken. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Daryl’s cell phone number.

“Daryl, it’s Mimi. Have you seen Kara?”

A sigh came through the telephone line. “She’s not returning my calls.”

Mimi leaned against the counter. “You haven’t heard from her at all? When was the last time you spoke to her?”