Dancing with the Devil

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Turned out Harry, her latest cabbie, was a roadie too, and Mac was distracted enough not to keep checking the time. Two and a half hours later, Harry and Mackenzie had talked about cycling until they had covered every ride they’d taken, every bike they’d owned, the Tour de France, and the latest doping scandals. He distracted her rising panic when they hit pockets of holiday traffic as they passed through New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island and finally, into Massachusetts.

Her whole life, whenever they drove out to the Cape, Mackenzie searched for the familiar markers signaling the finish line to the seemingly endless ride. It was always a relief knowing she was about to be released from the prison that was her father’s car.

Now, as they passed the billboard for the Massachusetts Maritime Academy, four miles before the Bourne Bridge, it felt more like a danger sign. She still had no idea what she was going to do when she got to the house.

They swirled around the traffic circle that leads to Route 6, and Harry saw the same Dunkin’ Donuts where her father always stopped for a bathroom break. 

“I know you’re in a rush, but I gotta make a pit stop.” Harry asked. “I’ll get us some Munchkins, too. My treat!”

He pulled off the roundabout and parked. As she waited for him to pay for the donuts, Mac’s mind wandered to Charlie, when they were still on the bus, and recalled how excited he got about going to the Dunkin’ Donuts Center in Providence. It seemed so long ago. So much of what she felt and thought had changed since then. She didn’t even consider Charlie an asshole anymore, she realized. And if he did act like a jerk sometimes, who wouldn’t, getting beaten every day? It occurred to her that if she believed him, maybe someone would believe her, too. But who could she tell? What if Barb wasn’t there? What if she had to face her father alone? What if he were with Lily?

They filled up on coffee and donut holes as they drove, whizzing past the scrubby pines toward the Sagamore Bridge and Mid-Cape Highway. When she saw the big green exit sign for Brewster/Chatham, she knew they were getting closer and Mackenzie felt the donuts in her stomach weld together.

She still had no plan, and though it wasn’t dark yet, Mac knew she had to figure this out sooner than later.

Finally, they got to her exit. By the time they pulled up to the house the sun was almost gone. Golden beach time, her dad called it, when he and Barb would be breaking out the plastic cups and wine.

If they were here.

If Barb were here.

“Could you wait and just make sure I get in okay, Harry?”

“Not a problem. It’s not like I’m dying to get back on the road on the Fourth of July. Take your time,” he said.

Once again, Mackenzie stood in front of her house, this time smelling the sea breeze coming from down the sandy lane. “The Douglas Family” sign hung on the fence right in the middle, advertising a normal, happy home. The whimsy and scrolling vines proved it; the flowers punctuated their joy.

She opened the latch on the fence, and headed up the walk. The grass was lush, and the garden around the front had been weeded. She squinted against the bright white of the house. The front door had gotten a fresh coat of red, and it coordinated perfectly with the roses growing up the porch posts. It looked so pristine.

She reached for the knob, knowing it wouldn’t be locked, and opened it, peering into the cool dimness. “Hello?” she said. Clearing her throat, she raised her voice and called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”