Just One More Thing

Just One More Thing.

by

John Crawley

Susan packed her bags for the third time that month.  She had not told him of her plans, obviously, or he would have beaten her up again.  But Thursday night had been the worst. Sure, he was drunk. Sure she had set him off with something she said, she couldn’t remember what, but he tore into her with vengeance. Her right arm had just gotten out of cast for “falling down the basement steps.  I slipped.” That was the story she told the doctors, who called the social worker anyway, who finally broke through to Susan and said, “Look its you life – watch out. Get out. While you still can.” But even with a healing arm he flung her about the living room and pounced on her with fists flying.  She kicked at him and finally brought a lamp down on his head and knocked him unconscious.

That’s when she decided she really did need to run. She had had enough.

So the next morning, after his apologies, she packed her bags and placed them in a closet off the hall that lead to the guestroom and then she made her way to the bank and withdrew two thousand dollars. Robbie was in the sixth grade.  She called his school and told them a relative had passed and she needed to get him. When she came by to get him Robbie asked, “Are we leaving for good this time?” It shocked her that a sixth grader could be so perceptive.  “Mom don’t go back. Please.”

She stopped at the house, placed her bags in the back of the SUV while Robbie gathered his stuff quickly and silently.  He later had told her that he had been over and over this in his head while he lay in bed listening to them fight and listening to him beat her downstairs. He knew exactly what to pack and where to put it and how much to take. He was ready in no time.

She started the car in the driveway as Robbie closed the front door. He hurried to the SUV and got in. “Seat belt,” she reminded him and she began to back out of the driveway. 

“Turn on the radio, mom.” Robbie requested as he settled in. He wasn’t concerned about where they were going, just that they were finally going. She started down Ross Ave. heading toward the Target Super Center. She suddenly stopped.  “Just one more thing.” She turned the black SUV around and returned to their house.

“Mom. Hurry.”

“Just one more thing. I promise. I’ll be right back.”  Susan entered the front door and ran upstairs to her closet.  A small jewelry box was on a shelf at eye level. She took it down and started out of the bedroom. On the floor next to their bed was a smallish brown box she had never seen before. She stopped and picked it up. Inspecting the outside it had a small latch, which opened freely at the insistence of her shaking fingers.  Inside was a handgun. She had never known him to have a handgun. And yet, there it was on his side of the bed peering out at the world – and she was the one who saw it. A shiver went up her spine. A handgun. He had never told her about the weapon and she had never suspected. They had both been anti-guns in college.  Didn’t want firearms in the house while Robbie was a child. Too man accidents.  Too many accidental deaths, they both had said. And yet, there it was. A small, innocent looking piece of metal and plastic: a handgun he had hidden away. Another box nearby held ammunition.

She put the box back under his side of the bed grabbed her jewelry box and hurried down stairs. Doris Wright was talking to Robbie through the SUV window.  She hoped Robbie had not told her what they were about to do.  Susan just hoped it was friendly banter between the neighborhood busybody and her son.

But it wasn’t. Robbie had said they were leaving. Doris was bright enough to know it wasn’t vacation time nor was it spring break. This was far more sinister. This action looked far more permanent that a weekend scouting excursion. This had family trouble written all over it. There had been rumors. Oh yes. Lots of rumors.  From the cuts and bruises and black eyes and then the cast.  The neighbors knew. The kids knew. And the kids had told their parents that Robbie’s dad was crazy and hit Robbie’s mom all the time. So Doris knew what was going on.  And she was making Robbie feel that it was okay and he would soon be safe.

Doris looked up at Susan approached. “You need to go and go fast. Don’t tell anyone, none of us where you are going. And don’t use your cell phone. Stop somewhere out of town and buy one of those temporary ones. Throw yours away. Don’t use credit cards and don’t call him. Don’t give him a chance to find you, Susan.”

Susan caught Robbie’s eye in the rear view mirror. “Look, we all know what was happening.  Here, I’ve got a hundred dollars on me. I was going to the store later. Take it.”

“No. I couldn’t, Doris.”

“Take it, for God’s sake. And go. Go. Get out of here before he gets home or before someone else sees you. Go now.”

And with that Susan backed the SUV out of driveway for the last time. She again guided the black vehicle down Ross to Coldwater Drive and then onto I 70. They would be out of Ohio by dark. Go west. That was what was in her mind. She wouldn’t even stop by her parents’ house, she would call them later. As she turned on I-70 she looked onto the front seat and noticed her purse was not there. “Is my purse back there, Robbie?”

He looked around. “No. You took it back into the house when you went in, I think. Are we going back?”

“Once more. The last time. I promise you. The last time.”

Joe got off work at four that day. A client had cancelled a call and he was heading home. There was a wreck on State 57 and traffic was back up a mile or more. To his left, Joe saw a small tavern. A quick cold one before heading home sounded like a deal. Yes that would be just the thing. Something to settle his nerves.  He needed desperately to talk to Susan. To hold her. To tell her how sorry he was for flying off the handle.  He knew he needed help. He would confess that to her as well. But first a beer. A cold beer or maybe a whiskey. He pulled off the congested highway onto the gravel parking lot, got out and went inside. He was there until midnight, when he had to be driven home in a taxi.

The house was dark and empty. Susan was not there nor was Robbie.  He became violent. He tore the place apart looking for clues. He yelled and screamed and threw a vase through the Samsung flat screen TV in the family room. By two in the morning he was exhausted and fell asleep across the bed. He slept until almost noon the next day. His boss called and awakened him. He feigned an illness and said he was too sick to come in that day. It was about the tenth day so far in the young year that he had missed work. Joe was on the ropes and he knew it. His boss told him so. “Joe you are on thin ice here. I’d pull myself together if I were you. I can’t keep covering for you, understand me?” Joe said he did and told his boss how appreciative he was of helping him out of this tight spot he was in: “Family problems” he called it.

Joe felt around under his side of the bed and found the small brown box. He opened it and discovered it was empty. He went into a rage. Not only had she taken his son, but now she had taken his way out of this torment.  Damn her. Damn her to hell.

He went downstairs and found that every liquor bottle in the bar was empty. She had made sure he was not going to get drunk and kill himself. He was so mad he nearly missed the note she had left when she went back inside the house to get her purse.

“Get help, Joe. Get very good help. Robbie and I love you and want to see you get better.  But you need help.”

It was the last time he ever heard from her or about her. And that was twenty-seven years ago. He’s sober now and has a new family and his eldest is graduating from Ohio State in the spring. Robbie must have graduated by now, he thought one day. then he let the thought past.

They were gone.  That part of his life was gone.