GREAT ESCAPE

Great Escape

The Morning the Sign Fell

The taxi driver knocked the sign down. He had been dropping Cordelia King off at home when he drove past her house and tried to back up his cab. He accidentally drove up on the curb and ran right into the sign. Cordelia was in the back seat at the time, preoccupied with thoughts of how drastically her life had been shifting when she was startled by the loud thump and the driver’s frantic scream.

“Oh, shit!” he exclaimed. “I hit the sign!”

Cordelia rolled her eyes, got out of the taxi, and followed the driver to the back of the cab. He stood with his hands in his pockets, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he glanced between the bumper and the sign, his shoulders shrugging in a way that almost seemed rehearsed.

“Ah!” he said with a heavy accent, as if to excuse his error. “Who puts a sign next to a driveway? I didn’t even see it.”

The sign outside of Cordelia’s house had always been oddly placed, right at the edge of the driveway. It read, “Hearing Impaired,” and Cordelia wondered, as she usually did when she saw the yellow, glaring obstruction, who the hearing-impaired person was on her street. She had never seen this mysterious figure.

“Well, there’s no damage,” Cordelia replied, surprised the driver didn’t just drive off.

He shrugged again and looked up at her. He pushed the sign out if the street and Cordelia pretended to help touching the dark-green dotted meter. The driver touched Cordelia on the shoulder and then with a force he managed to pull the sign and set it out of the road.

Cordelia had stepped back and turned her gaze to the street. It was early in the morning—but most of the kids had already boarded the bus, and the parents were off to work.

“I won’t mention you to the cops,” Cordelia said, her voice firm, but there was a tired edge to it.

The driver looked into the distance as though he were weighing her words, then simply nodded. She didn’t wait for his answer, already stepping away toward the house.

“Okay,” he called out, following her partway. “Here’s my information.”

Cordelia glanced over her shoulder, giving him a blank stare, then took the card without really looking at it. She gave him a halfhearted smile before turning away and crossing the driveway.

She held her head up, avoiding the cracked asphalt that had seen better days. But the driveway—this house—was no longer her problem. The foreclosure had been finalized months ago, and her family had been given six months to vacate before the sheriff’s office would lock them out.

Brandi, her daughter, had already moved into an apartment with her two kids and her boyfriend, Abdul. It was close enough for Cordelia to help but far enough for a little peace of mind. With them gone, it was just Cordelia and Jonas now, and they had found an apartment of their own. They were starting over—again.

It had taken them four months to save up for the security deposit, but they had done it ahead of schedule. They had enough for the apartment and had an appointment to sign the lease. But as Cordelia made her way into the house, she couldn’t shake the nagging worry that Jonas might renege on their arrangement. She had tracked him to his old girlfriend’s apartment just the other day, and when she called him to confront him about it, he didn’t answer.

When they’d learned they would have to move, Cordelia had made it clear that she wouldn’t be angry if Jonas chose to go back to Nicolette Johnson. But Jonas had promised her he would never go back to that woman. She wanted to believe him, but deep down, Cordelia knew better. He wasn’t exactly known for keeping promises.

Cordelia walked into the house, greeted by the unmistakable smell of burnt matches. He hadn’t been gone long. She tossed her bag onto the sofa and checked her phone. Jonas was still at Nicolette’s apartment.

Cordelia let out a dry laugh, half in disbelief, half to stop herself from crying. She popped her lips and set her jaw, forcing herself to keep it together.

The living room was a mess of reminders that their time here was up: boxes filled the hall, piled high at the foot of the stairs, closet doors stood wide open, revealing empty shelves. In the kitchen, the cabinets were bare, nothing but a skillet and a rice pot sitting on the stove. Jonas’s charger plugged into the wall outlet, his cereal bowl sat half-dried in the sink, and next to it was the pack of chicken he had taken out of the freezer for dinner.

He was coming back. She could feel it in her gut, her muscles loosening, the tension melting away. Cordelia’s lips curved upward into the faintest smile.

She went upstairs. The bedroom was still the same. His things were in their usual places—old Nike boxes stacked high with sneakers, his jar of weed on the nightstand, and a blunt resting in the ashtray. It was all just waiting. Waiting for Jonas to come home.

Cordelia sat on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs as she lit the blunt. The smoke spiraled in the air, a fleeting distraction from the burning frustration in her chest. For a brief moment, she thought things might settle—order restored, maybe—but deep down, she knew Jonas had to pay for what he’d done.

She picked up the phone with determination, her thoughts racing on how best to confront him. First, she’d confront him—let him know she’d caught him. Then, she’d kick him out. Back to the projects, even though she knew he’d never leave.

“Good morning,” she said into the phone when the dispatcher answered.

“Say again?” the dispatcher asked.

“Someone knocked the street sign down in front of my driveway,” she explained. “I didn’t see a car, but I heard a thump. I came out, and the sign was on the ground. I pulled it out of the road myself.”

They said an officer would come out to take a report, and Cordelia hung up, the phone buzzing in her hand. Her fingers hovered over the screen, calling Jonas again, but it went straight to voicemail. She tossed her phone onto the bed and stared out the window.

Her mind drifted, but then an unsettling thought crept in. She got up, crossed the room to Jonas’s dresser, and began rifling through the pile of mail. She knew exactly what she was looking for—two checks, two fake checks, from the day before.

Jonas had been so nonchalant when he brought them to her, asking her to deposit them into the bank. Use the money for new furniture, he’d said.

“Use the security deposit?” Cordelia had asked, brow furrowed.

He’d shrugged, pretending it was no big deal. “Yeah, write a check for the security deposit. They take checks.”

She stared at the checks again. Her heart sank into her stomach. There was $8,000 there. If these were real, she thought, we could make it work. But they weren’t real, and Jonas didn’t get it.

“Jonas,” she’d said, her voice flat. “These checks are fake.”

He didn’t listen. “They’re not, Delia,” he said with such confidence, it made her head spin.

She couldn’t believe it. “Where did you get these from?” she snapped.

He hesitated, but then shrugged it off. “Applied online. You know, technology.”

She stared at him, disbelief all over her face. “With your credit? They approved you for two unsecured loans?”

His attitude shifted, defensive. “Yeah, so what? Just deposit them! We need furniture.”

Her frustration flared. “No, Jonas. We can’t do that.”

He snapped. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He kicked the box, knocking it across the room. “Every time I have an idea, you shut it down. Every time!” He stormed upstairs, muttering curses under his breath.

Cordelia let out a long breath, the space between them growing more distant by the second. When Jonas dropped her off the next morning, there were no apologies, no explanations. Just a curt, “You’ll need a taxi home. I have a doctor’s appointment.”

She didn’t reply, just watched him go. The silence felt like the only truth between them now.

Moving Day

Cordelia spent the rest of the evening in the living room next to the window. She rocked back and forth between the sofa and the chair, waiting for Jonas to come home. Whenever she heard a vehicle, she moved the curtain and stared as bright lights crept up the street and disappeared. At 11 o’clock, she gave up and went to bed.

She didn’t fall asleep right away. She flipped onto her back, then onto her side, and sat up, staring into the darkness. She tried to count sheep, but nothing brought on the sleepiness of night—except another blunt. She rolled one and poured herself a glass of vodka. She smoked in the dark, toasting to Jonas, and swallowed the drink, mostly vodka with a little orange juice for color. She waited for the burn in her throat and stomach. It wasn’t long before she fell into a deep sleep, not waking until she heard his voice.

“Delia,” Jonas whispered.

She opened her eyes and gazed at him.

“Get up,” he said. He had a pleasant tone, as if he hadn’t stayed out all night with his ex-girlfriend. Cordelia didn’t respond. She just turned and faced the window. She was relieved to see him, but she squeezed her stomach to stop the flutter of butterflies trying to coagulate. Beneath the blind, she could tell it was a bright day.

“Get outta here, Jonas,” she said.

“We’re getting outta here,” he said with certainty.

The bass in his tone caught her attention. She turned around, her curiosity piqued. She had fallen asleep in her work clothes, and her white shirt was stiff and wrinkled and uncomfortable. Jonas turned on the light, and as he walked back to the bed, he said in a flirtatious tone, “I called the guy about the apartment. He gave me the keys last night.” He held up a set of silver keys and flashed a cunning smile as he jiggled them in front of her face.

Cordelia sat straight up. As much as she wanted to be mad at him, all the emotion—the hurt and pain—subsided with the sight of those keys. When he put them in reach of her grip, her eyes followed them back and forth. When they were close enough, she gently took them from his hand and smiled.

“Remember the checks?” he asked.

“Of course,” she said, glancing from the keys to Jonas. “I remember the checks. Don’t tell me Nicollete cashed them for you?” She suddenly remembered Nicolette worked in the center of town at a check-cashing joint.

“How did you know?” Jonas asked, hesitating.

“You know I tracked you,” she replied.

“She didn’t cash the checks. One of her friends who works with her cashed them for me.”

“You going back to her?”

Jonas gave her a crazy look. “If I was going back to her, why would I come home?” he said with assurance.

Cordelia curled her brows and twisted her lips. She stared at Jonas without saying a word, then got up and started packing the bedroom closet. Jonas started packing too. As he packed, he explained to her, with only the necessary details, how Nicolette’s friend was leaving the state and owed Nicolette a favor, so she cashed the checks. Cordelia’s stomach knotted as she listened. She didn’t want to be an accomplice to his insanity, but here she was, grateful he got away with the cash.

“You paid her?” she asked.

Jonas shrugged. “Can’t get nothing for free,” he said. He carried a pile of jeans in his arms and dropped them on the bed. “I gave them both a hundred.” Then he dug into his pocket and dropped a wad of cash next to the jeans. “Here’s the rest of the money.”

Cordelia stopped what she was doing and stared at the cash spread on the bed. There were twenties, fifties, and hundreds. She held up the bills to make sure they were real. Her eyes opened wide as she examined them. She wanted to jump for joy, but she couldn’t.

“That money is dirty,” she said.

“We can make it clean.”

“What if they find out the checks were fake?”

“Who?”

“The owners—the police.”

“They won’t.” He gazed into her eyes and acted nonchalant. “Besides, my name wasn’t on the checks. They were made out to Jonas King, and that girl cashed them. I never set foot into the check-cashing place.”

Cordelia had been putting her work dresses into garment bags, but she stopped and counted the cash. Then she organized it into neat piles: electric bill, cable, gas. She glanced from Jonas back to the cash and shook her head in disbelief.

By the time they figure all that out, we should be long gone,” Jonas said, triumph in his tone. “They won’t know where we moved, and it’s not like we’re forwarding our mail.”

“Won’t she know where you’re moving too?” Cordelia asked.

“She don’t know where I live,” Jonas snapped. “And she doesn’t know I’m moving.”

Cordelia made every attempt to conceal her excitement, but it was impossible. She beamed, glancing around, grateful they could leave everything behind—except for their clothes and the pots and pans. Satisfied, she started to window shop.

“It would be nice to have a new leather living room set,” she said.

“Yup, and a big-screen television,” Jonas added.

“For sure,” Cordelia said with enthusiasm. “We should put $500 up for the kids’ Christmas,” she said, counting out the money and setting it in a pile.

Jonas agreed. “We can splurge a little and get the NBA League Pass.”

“Oh yes, that would be nice,” Cordelia said. She loved basketball and was about to say they could invite her sisters and their husbands over to watch the games, but her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the front door.

They hesitated. A second knock came, louder than the first. Cordelia and Jonas stared at each other without speaking, aware that early morning knocks usually brought bad news. Another knock. She jumped to her feet. Jonas stood still. Cordelia went to the window. Their neighbor was warming up the car, and in the distance, she saw children walking to the bus stop. A U-Haul was in the driveway, and behind it, a police car.

“You got a U-Haul?” she asked, not mentioning the police.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going to tell you. Brandi and Abdul helped me get it last night.”

“Well, there’s a police car behind the U-Haul,” she said, her brow raised.

Jonas tiptoed to the window, moved the curtain, and peered out cautiously. After a few minutes, he turned back to Cordelia. She stood with a disappointed gaze on her face. In the back of her mind, the words I told you so echoed, but instead of saying them, she remained silent.

“They found out already?” he said, upset.

“How long do you think it takes, Jonas? That was eight thousand dollars,” Cordelia said, her tone harsh but measured. She glanced at the money with frustration. “Someone probably looked at those checks, realized they were fake, and sent the police over here to get the money back.”

“We should act like we’re not home,” Jonas whispered. He had a habit of biting his fingernails, and he chewed on his middle finger as he paced back and forth between the bed and the window.

Cordelia tried to think of what to tell the police, but she drew a blank. Finally, she spoke, her voice nervous but steady. “I’ll go talk to the cops. I’ll say you left a few weeks ago.”

Jonas agreed, and he followed her to the steps, but he stopped at the banister and watched as she slowly descended.

Cordelia reached the door and decided to compose herself. She didn’t want to appear nervous. Her heart beat heavily, and her mouth went dry. She walked past the door and into the living room to formulate her thoughts. She still drew a blank. She stared at the wall of boxes that stood like a barrier, with no idea of what lie she could tell to throw the police off the trail. For some reason, she was reminded of their first days in that house. She remembered how it smelled of glue and hot wood, how everything was new and fresh. Now, the house smelled of destitution and desperation, age had settled into the walls and floors, like the nasty, dirty carpet. She wanted more than anything to leave that place, to have a nice home with nice furniture. That money would have been their saving grace. But now, they’d have to give it all back and hope Jonas wouldn’t go to jail. She just wanted to cry.

There was no time for tears. Another knock came, so she went to the door and cracked it open. The sun beamed inside, and a cool breeze, accompanied by the aroma of new beginnings, greeted her. It was a brisk September morning. The police officer lingered on the railing, but stood at attention when she emerged. Cordelia smiled at the officer, and although she was nervous, she felt as if she had stepped outside into tomorrow. With ease, she faced the officer.

“Someone called about the sign?” the officer asked.