Loss of Control

Terry swept into the department store pushing a baby stroller with an over-sized diaper bag dangling from the back. The baby was hidden by a blanket tossed over the seat. A furtive glance confirmed her objective. No sales person in sight. She wasted no time hustling over to the children's department and surveying toddlers' clothes. Her soundless search continued until she located her bounty. A table full of garments to fit her six-month-old baby girl.

She bent down, pretending to remove a toy from the diaper bag to entertain her child, and at the same time her arm swooped across the counter, encompassing all the clothes, and pulled them to the floor.

She shook the baby's rattle. "Don't cry. Mommy will put it away." Even if someone was watching, her actions appeared harmless. She bent to return the toy, scooped the clothes off the floor and piled them into her diaper bag. It zipped closed with a ratchet. She smiled and strolled to a display where over-priced preteen dresses hung.

Using the same charade, Terry eased open the zipper, leaned over and pulled a bottle from her diaper bag. She fussed around as if comforting her baby. A virtuous mother. "No bottle for you? Okay." Before she returned the bottle, Terry snatched three dresses from the rack, hangers and all. Empty hangers looked suspicious.

Next, the boy's department, where she procured clothes for her eight-year-old son, and then headed for the exit.

"Stop right there, Miss."

The young mother continued walking, lengthening her stride, congratulating herself for parking her car in a strategically placed position, an easy getaway. Her leg muscles tightened, her heart rate accelerated, and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She looked up and saw an armed security guard blocking her escape.

"No need to make a scene," he said. "Follow me to the security office so we can discuss your activities."

The guy looked and sounded friendly, not threatening in the least. "No problem," Terry said, and fell into a companionable stroll next to the guard. She slowed her heart rate and prepared her defense. I'm sorry. I've never done this before. Please, take my credit card and let me pay for everything. Terry remembered her dog's death and tears sparkled. Classic innocence.

The guard held the door for her, and after she entered, he turned around and locked the door. Her breath quickened and she sat on her hands to disguise the trembling. Or should trembling be part of the act? She placed her hands in her lap and exaggerated the shakes.

"Please open your diaper bag, Miss."

Terry complied, and looked up with a horrified expression on her face. The heated flush was not an act. "I can explain—"

The security guard pulled a calculator from his desk drawer. "Place all the contents on my desk, please."

A substantial pile lay in front of her as she watched the man tally price tags on the clothes.

"Four hundred and fifty dollars. Fifty dollars more and you'd be facing a felony charge."

In the hollow of her throat, a pulse jumped. She raised hands to her neck and bit her lip.

Security man picked up a phone and started punching numbers.

"Who are you calling?"

"The police, of course."

"To . . . to arrest me?" Terry reached across the desk and lay her hand over her booty. "I said I was sorry and will pay for everything." The leather of her Gucci bag unfolded in soft layers when she opened it to remove a credit card. She held up her Visa, but the security man waved it off.

Too late." He settled back in his chair, crossed his arms and glared, as if daring her to attempt another escape. He offered an ugly smile.

Terry dropped her head in her hands and cried genuine tears. Within a few minutes, a rapping on the door announced the arrival of real police officers, not rent-a-cops like the man who stood to unlock it. She hoped they sent a woman officer who might sympathize with her.

Two officers crowded in, one with a belly constrained by a cinched belt, the other, a man of graying hair and experienced eyes. They introduced themselves as Officer Maloney, belly man, and Detective Pritchard, gray guy.

Gray guy read the arrest rights, before sliding police bracelets over her wrists and adjusting them. The clacking sounded like a jail door locking. The steel cuffs smelled metallic. Arrested. She pictured the betrayal on her husband's face. Experienced her mother's scorn. Knew her brother would not even bother to call.

The belly cop sat in the chair behind the desk, powered up his laptop and started asking questions. Her name, date of birth, social security number, were all entered into the police data base by a man who typed with one finger. The time drawled out.

"You're a first-time offender." Officer Maloney's voice was cold, curt, unforgiving.

Terry nodded and leaned forward to deliver her sob story, but the old guy pinned her shoulders. She looked up at him. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"Can't be too careful these days," he said without making eye contact.

Terry wanted to ask questions—what will happen next, are you taking me in—but her dry throat choked her. She tried to swallow.

Rent-a-cop offered water, and Terry began to hope. Was that a demonstration of compassion?

Satisfied with the results, belly cop snapped closed his laptop and nodded to gray hair, who released the hand cuffs. Terry rubbed her reddened wrists and waited. A document spit from a nearby printer. Detective Pritchard handed it to her.

"We're letting you go, this time. Your court date is set six weeks from now. Don't miss it."

A half-sob, half-choke burst from Terry's throat. She entwined her fingers and stilled her jumping knees. A sigh escaped from her chest, releasing the breath she held while she waited. "I'm free to go?"

"For now," Detective Pritchard said.

"What happens next?"

"That's up to the judge."

"I have to keep this from my family."

The detective smirked. "If no one reads the crime section in the newspaper, your theft will pass unnoticed."

"Oh, God." Terry's hands covered her face. Her shoulders shook. "My brother owns the town's newspaper." She looked up, hoping for an alternative, but the two cops had left. The security officer excused her, and Terry stumbled out to her car. She carried the folded stroller—an accessory no longer necessary—and a diaper bag, minus clothes her children did not need. Three years shoplifting and never apprehended. Why today?

The following morning, Terry went through her daily routine. She woke the children, made breakfast, and kissed her husband goodbye.

While she supervised her kids, Sylvia, the baby, David and Chastity—home for summer break—she clutched her cell phone and waited for the ring. She startled and jumped up when it vibrated, turned around the corner so she could talk without being overheard, but still able to keep an eye on the kids.

The caller ID identified her husband.

"Terry, your brother called me a few minutes ago." Her husband, Donovan, skipped the preamble. "Is it true?"

She answered with silence.

"Oh God, Terry. Why? I give you more than enough money to buy whatever you want. I don't understand."

Terry thought of all the things she could not say. Of course you don't understand. You didn't sacrifice your career to raise children. You don't spend boring days mitigating battles and entertaining babies. You've no idea what it's like not to have your own money. She shook her head free of the thoughts.

"I . . . I don't know why I did it, Donovan."

"That's not an explanation, Terry. You've done this before?"

"No, never," she said. Her cell phone pinged, indicating a call waiting. Her mother. Donovan seemed to read her mind.

"You better make up a plausible story before your parents call." She listened to his fingers drumming against his desk, pictured him looking out the windows in his downtown posh office suite. "You should have called me, immediately. I'm a lawyer, remember?"

Terry looked at her jeans, spotted with drool and spilled food, focused on feet still in slippers, patted hair fastened into a pony tail with a rubber band. She remembered her own posh office. A familiar feeling of self-loathing flooded her mind. "How could I forget?" Terry dusted the frame of a photograph, where she stood smiling arm in arm with the state senator.

"Think of my humiliation." Donovan said. "All my colleagues, and fellow members of Knights of Columbus will ask."

"I . . . I'm sorry." Terry thought about The Knights of Columbus, an elite group of Catholic businessmen who gather every Tuesday to hear a guest speaker. The members supported community activities., the most renowned, The Soap Box Derby. Terry was proud of her husband, and her arrest stained his well-deserved standing in the community. .

"I'm anxious to hear what you're not telling me."

"My mom's calling now. Gotta go." She disconnected the call, but didn't answer her mother's ring. She had no plausible story. She trudged back to the room where her children were arguing.

"Mom, Chastity took my remote car."

Terry contemplated her fate. Her son already looked like a stranger.

Chastity smacked her brother's arm. "David, I so totally did not touch your car." Terry's twelve-year-old daughter glared at her brother who made a rude gesture.

"Mom, did you see what David did?"

"No." Terry scrubbed her eyes.

"You never see him do anything wrong. It's always my fault."

"Now, Chastity—"

"And," Chastity interrupted her mom, "Sylvia drooled on my book. Do something."

"Work it out. I'm tired of patching up disagreements." She walked away, no longer her children's guardian.  The cell phone pinged again; Terry clenched her jaw. "Hello, Mother."

"Terry, darling, is it true?" Her mother continued in her usual manner, not waiting for a response. Resentment burned hot in Terry's throat. "Donovan is unable to provide for you? Stealing clothes? Your father will be home shortly. Shall I ask him to send money?"

"Mother, no—"

"I can only imagine how you're getting by on one income. I never went to work, you know. I was happy to stay home with my babies." The tone of accusation never abated. "You and Donovan have too much; your house is too big, you own a BMW, a Mercedes and a Porsche. Three cars? I traveled with five children on the bus in the pouring rain."

Terry prayed for patience.

"I waited for your father to buy a car for me."

"Mother—"

"Sell your house and cars if you have money issues."

"That's not—"

"Your father and I don't mind helping once in awhile, but not in excess. Whatever possessed you to commit a crime?"

Terry's suppressed turbulent thoughts burst out of her mouth. "To get even with the people responsible for my diminishment. I was more than a mom. I used to be in control. It felt good to steal and not get caught. Are you happy, now?" She depressed the end button until the cell turned off.

The kids were screaming—no worse than any other day—when Terry turned and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

In the back of her nightstand drawer, she kept a stash of anti-anxiety pills prescribed by her doctor. She closed her fingers around the bottle and shook the contents. After a few moments of contemplation, she flushed them away. A grin creased her face.

Donovan arrived at exactly six o'clock; he never deviated from his schedule. Terry hated his preciseness, his squared shoulders, his lifted chin. As if he was superior to her. She opened the door before he inserted the key.

"Terry—"

"Don't say one word." She reached around the corner and dragged out two suitcases. "I'm leaving. You deal with this mess." She brushed past him and slammed the door behind her.



w/c 1962

written for

SURVEY

What a Character! : Official WDC Contest  (E) Create a memorable character using the given prompt for huge prizes! #1679316 by Writing.Com Support

Thank you Leger~ for selecting my story for the October 16th Edition of the Short Story Newsletter.