Helen
On Christmas Eve, with the temperature at thirteen below zero, a blizzard shut down the interstate in northern New Jersey. The motel at North Ridge Travel Plaza had only two heated rooms left.
My hands and feet were numb with cold, but I still walked happily toward Daniel Walker, my husband of five years, a man known for his thoughtfulness.
Instead, he walked right past me and handed the last two room keys to his first love Claire Miller, who had just ended her marriage, and her dog Buddy.
A woman stranded beside us watched enviously. "Your boyfriend is so thoughtful. He even got a separate room for the dog."
Daniel didn't correct her or look back at me. He was too busy taking off his down jacket and draping it over Claire's shoulders. "Eileen is an adult. She can take care of herself. You have depression. You can't take any more cold."
He seemed gentle and reliable, but what he truly loved was the feeling of rescuing someone vulnerable. The more helpless a person appeared, the more he gave them, even when I paid the price.
Claire eased closer to him. She apologized to me, but her eyes stayed on the room keys. "Sorry, Eileen. Buddy is too skittish to stay with strangers."
I didn't remind Daniel, point by point as I used to, that he had forgotten which of us was his wife. I didn't demand that he explain why a dog needed heat more than I did.
I only tightened my grip on my car keys and stepped back into the storm.
All his easy, considerate devotion went to Claire. All the humiliating, bone-deep cold went to me.
But Daniel didn't know that the four-wheel-drive SUV he planned to use to chase me belonged to me. Before I left the apartment, I would take my ID and keys, and I would make sure the SUV stopped somewhere he could no longer follow.
And the blizzard was only beginning.