The Bottom of the Sea

Part 2: Settling In

A sudden noise sliced through the night, waking me. I bolted upright with my heart pounding. The sound still echoed in my head, a sharp, loud gasp. It took me a moment to realize it came from me.

The panic I'd been keeping at bay seized my heart with icy fingers. Oh my God. What have I done?

I swung my legs from the bed, emerging from the warmth of the covers to go to the window. It was still dark outside, but everything was silent, peaceful. One of them was open, letting in the fresh salt air and I drank it into my lungs. I thought about closing it, then considered the likelihood of Shane putting a ladder against the front of the house and climbing up three storeys to break in and kill me. He'd never be that stupid. And besides, he was thousands of miles away and didn't even know I was gone. Not yet.

I took in a slow breath and let it back out again, glancing at the clock. Just after five — I'd slept more than nine hours. It felt strange to be rested. Strangely good.

I was surprised I'd slept that long; I thought my first night in the new house would be full of tossing and turning, prowling the rooms and turning the TV on for company at 3 a.m. until I finally passed out from exhaustion. I didn't expect to feel so comfortable on my first night.

The bedroom was cold, and I shivered, rubbing my arms; I'd fallen asleep in my clothes. I wanted to get up and start the day, but I wasn't quite ready to get dressed just yet. Unzipping the duffel bag, I took out my favourite pyjamas — soft pink cotton, with little white coffee cups all over, reminding me the first order of business was to get in some food and essentials. And coffee was very essential. I wondered how early the stores opened in the tiny town.

After changing, I went to the bathroom and flicked on the light. I winced, still not used to the hair. I had hacked off my ponytail and covered my light baby blonde with a harsh box colour in the bathroom of the bus station: Natural Darkest Brown. There was nothing natural about it; it looked even darker in the severe lighting. It was dull and dirt-coloured, turning my complexion waxy. I didn't want to stand out, and with this hair I did. I looked sick. I'd have to put on more makeup than I was used to, just to make sure I didn't look like I belonged in the local hospital.

I peed, realizing I hadn't brushed my teeth the night before and was suddenly grossed out. I never skipped brushing and flossing; it was a calming ritual for me. I decided to check out the medicine cabinet and found a small tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush. "Help yourself," the note said. That was thoughtful. It was nicer than the little travel toothbrush I'd picked up at a gas station, and so I brushed and felt instantly better.

Through the windows on the landing, I could see the inky sky lightening to a soft, powder blue laced with pink. I padded downstairs, running my hand along the polished wood of the bannister, imagining joyful little children sliding down it. I surveyed the understated elegance of the living room, with its comfortable antique furniture. Aside from the big-screen TV, I could have been looking back in time to a hundred years ago. To the left of the stairs was a huge library with its softly ticking grandfather clock, I was looking forward to tucking myself in and cocooning within its walls, spending hours lost in book after book. I had time for that now.

I turned on the light to the kitchen. It had been renovated, with a mosaic tile backsplash in soft and slate grey, and peach and burnt orange linoleum flooring. Thankfully, some older pieces remained, like a mint-green fridge that looked like it was from the 1940s and a sink large enough to bathe a child. I pictured the lady of the house doing just that, or washing clothes in a large tub, scrubbing them with red hands before hanging them on the line. She watched her kids play in the yard through the window. I could see this fictional house owner from years ago pausing her work and walking with dripping hands to the back door to yell some sharp, fearful warning to the kids to stop fighting, or be careful climbing the giant crab apple tree. It was almost as though it was happening right in front of me.

I covered my face with her hands and sobbed then. The tears were a shock, but I let them come. I was hit with a wave of sadness that came from nowhere and almost knocked me off my feet. The pain was breathtaking. I don't know how to explain it, but somehow, it wasn't mine. I've had enough to last me a lifetime, but this was different. Deeper, somehow, and rawer than anything I'd ever experienced, including the sudden loss of both my parents in that car wreck.

It must have been a delayed reaction to finally leaving Shane. I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him; that we'd get married, have kids. I always wanted to have a child, but I was diagnosed with ovarian cysts and unlikely ever be able have kids. I was devastated when I first found out, now I wondered if it was a blessing in disguise. Shane would have made a terrible father.

I was scared and grieving the life I thought I was going to have. And I felt ashamed that I'd made such a poor choice in a man, I had been so stupid. That must have been why I couldn't stop crying.

I found a box of tissues on top of the fridge; I took some out and blew my nose. First things first. Building a new life for myself was going to be tough. I had to take it slow and stay one step ahead of Shane at all costs.

I took a shuddery breath, wiping at my eyes before throwing my damp tissues in the trash. No more of that. If I wanted to live, I had to toughen up. I couldn't afford to be sentimental, and there was no looking back. I had to focus on the future, and that meant staying alert, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. In the meantime, I needed to get a job. And before that, something to eat.

My stomach felt painfully hollowed out; I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten. Probably that gas station sandwich somewhere in New Brunswick, just before I reached the Nova Scotia border.

I opened the fridge, hoping for a leftover scrap of food. To my surprise, I saw a stash of groceries with another note in Missy's handwriting. "Just a few things until you get to the store." There was milk, cream, eggs, Oxford blueberries, and fresh Annapolis Valley apples. Her note also directed me to the small kitchen table, where there was a basket of cranberry scones and a loaf of homemade brown bread.

My eyes narrowed. This was too nice; way too much. What did she want?

It all seemed very weird to me, and I worried about what it all meant. Did Missy expect me to return the favour? Have her over for tea? I couldn't do that. I needed to keep a low profile, and that meant no connections. One mention or pic of the 'new girl' in town on social media, and my dangerous ex would be on a plane.

He'd kill me this time. I knew it. I saw it in his eyes that night he choked me. I'd seen the rage before but there was something else that night, something out of control. He was barely able to drag himself back from the edge and I knew next time I wouldn't be that lucky. And I planned on living.

Still, though. The scones looked delicious. Surely, it wouldn't hurt to have just one.

I took one out of the basket and bit off a corner. It was buttery and crisp, covered in a sparkling sugar coating. The cranberries lent just the right amount of tartness to balance out the sweet. I devoured it in seconds and started in on another, when a sudden, wild hope arose.

I walked to the living room and undid the cellophane wrap on the gift basket. There it was, just as I'd hoped, nestled in among the wine and crackers — coffee.

I nearly whooped with delight, taking it into the kitchen and brewing up a fresh pot. I breathed in the scent as it bubbled and dripped, allowing a tiny bit of contentment to seep into my brain along with the rich aroma. I ate every crumb of the second scone and washed it down with a cup of rich, steaming coffee with lots of milk. I sipped it slowly on the front porch, watching the sun come up and the little fishing village come to life around me.

I was meant to be there.

It was more of a gut feeling than a thought, but it felt like the truth.

Even at that early hour, the August sun dawned hot; it soaked into my bones, made my eyelids droop. After a while, I went back into the house, rinsed the cup and headed back up the stairs to the bedroom.

I felt the temperature change when I reached the landing, but I welcomed the chill. The shades were still drawn, so the room was still dark and quiet.

There was much to think about, plan and do. But for now, warm and content, I tucked back into bed. I didn't really think I'd fall asleep after having coffee, but with a full belly, the fresh sea air and gentle sounds of the sea, I felt peace for the first time in a long time. Comforted, I slept.