Before Natalie opens her eyes, she is awake and thinking: I will leave and I will not tell anyone where I’m going until I am back over the border. It is a serious thing to consider, but it excites her too. Natalie brews the last of her chai tea-bags and brings in those boys: Onion, and Fish. Only Fish comes back in to lap the wet food in his bowl. Natalie checks her watch. Gerald is never back before five-thirty. There is still time. Her skin feels tight with elation.
Even the gray and green Dollar Tree in town looks better to her after the fine thought she has had this morning. Natalie even finds the beets she wants on discount, cold to touch. Perfect. She keeps her budget in mind and buys menthols, a scratcher, and a bottle of beer. She gets back in the small blue Volvo and could have kept driving the roads but for Onion. Beyond the burnt down mill, where the land gets flat, she watches the paint horses running in their corral for a long time. She checks her small watch.
At home, Onion is missing, even after she calls out the back door for him. Fish watches her with golden saucers. She sets the quarts of water to simmering, thinking about her grandmother’s recipe, which has always made her feel better. But when she finishes the beets in her soup, Onion is still missing and Gerald isn’t home. Five-forty.
In Gerald’s slack pocket there is a crumpled piece of paper that seems blank except for a faint waxy slither when she tilts it in the golden light while the sun sets.
El Golpe Avisa 