Where to, Bella?

by PJ Steinholtz

Bella texted her husband a reminder of her arrival time and unfaltering love, then settled as dignified as possible into her cramped seat for the flight home. Although they’d been married nearly seven years, she made sure she was never far from his thoughts, particularly when they were physically separated. Bella rarely left Tom, but had traveled to L.A. to attend to her suddenly ailing mother. Which explained why she was stuck in economy instead of first class, wedged in the miserable middle seat due to last-minute flight arrangements. Tom, ever so considerate, had taken the boys on a skiing trip to the mountains where they had a cabin, giving Bella a free weekend with her mother. She sighed. Her mother was finally in good hands thanks to Bella’s necessarily vigorous and authoritative interventions, and she was anxious to see her sons.

But first she had to endure the two-and-a-half-hour flight to Denver. Window Seat Guy was as broad as a linebacker, sweating and as fetid as a locker room, spilling into what little space she had like an encroaching snow drift. And he’d doused himself in patchouli, the dueling odors igniting a simmering nausea. She drew her shoulders in protectively. She dug around in her leather tote and pulled out her bottle of sparkling water, noise-canceling headphones, and Chanel compact, quickly checking her face in the tiny mirror. Satisfied, she snapped it shut and leaned back in her seat, silently cursing the ineptitude of her mother’s doctors and caregivers. “Just two and a half hours,” she repeated tirelessly like a mantra.  

The occupant of the aisle seat arrived, bustling into her allotted space. Bella did a quick assessment out of her peripheral vision. She typically avoided airplane small talk, particularly with women, and began to don her headphones as a preemptive signal when the newcomer introduced herself. Bella turned toward her to respond and froze in shock. Was it possible? Perhaps her eyes were tricking her. But no, the woman had indeed introduced herself as Anne. Anne what?

“I’m sorry,” Bella said. “I didn’t catch your name?”

Anne Wilcox.

Maiden name? Remarried? Thank God not Riley — Bella’s last name. Because Anne Wilcox had once been Riley. Tom’s former wife. Heat rushed to Bella’s face. Her hand trembled slightly as she returned the compact to her tote, avoiding Anne’s gaze.

“I’m Bella,” she tersely replied. She furtively searched Anne’s face for a sign, that micro-second of recognition betrayed by widened eyes and momentary facial paralysis. But it didn’t come. It couldn’t come, Bella assured herself. She was certain Anne never knew about the affair. Or at least, Bella’s role in it. Bella, of course, knew everything about Anne. She’d memorized her face, smiling from photos in the house Anne and Tom had once shared. Their wedding, various holidays, family gatherings, vacations. Particularly the images that were displayed in the bedroom. Bella had taken an intoxicating pleasure in making love to Tom in the bed he shared with his wife. It had become a kind of game. The excitement of claiming her territory, the potential for being caught.

“Is Denver home?” Anne asked.

“Um, yes. And you?” Bella desperately hoped the answer was no.

“Yes, I’ve lived in Denver many years,” Anne said. She smiled at Bella. She had aged, Bella noted, but looked serene and content. Bella quickly learned that Anne had married a wonderful man named Steve and had a delightful young daughter, a fulfilling job, and a quaint home in one of the city’s notably middle-class neighborhoods.

Content. How could Anne be content? She had lost Tom, after all. And the house. The big, beautiful house in Denver’s most prestigious zip code, which was now Bella’s tastefully redecorated home. Anne was, Bella recalled, ridiculously naïve. At one point, the lovers had been seen together, which had been reported back to Anne. But as always, Tom had turned her accusations around, making Anne feel guilty for not trusting him. Sometimes Bella would listen in on those phone conversations, quietly giggling by Tom’s side. Once or twice, she’d even spied on Tom and Anne in public venues.

But still. How could Anne be happy now?  “Steve sounds like a great guy,” Bella murmured. “Is this your first marriage?”

“No,” Anne answered. “I was married before Steve.”

“Oh. Divorce, or…?”

Anne made a short chortling sound. “Oh yes. My first husband was a serial womanizer. He was very handsome and charming, which worried me when we were dating. Women hung around him constantly. I wasn’t sure he could handle ’til death do you part’ with only one woman. And I was right. I found out he was having an affair, and our marriage ended.”

Bella winced. “I’m, um, sorry to hear that,” she offered impassively. “You must have been angry.” Testing the waters, sniffing out possible detonations. The plane’s engines rumbled as it began taxiing down the runway. Just two and a half hours.

“Oh, I was! But I still loved him. And I wanted to honor my commitment to my marriage, try to work things out. I even suggested counseling, but the truth is, my trust was destroyed. And if you don’t have trust, nothing else matters.”

“That’s terrible,” Bella stammered.

“Well, part of me blamed myself. As I said, I had plenty of warning prior to the marriage. You know that saying — a leopard never changes its spots? It’s true. Tom could never be faithful to one woman, no matter how gorgeous or fabulous she is.”

Bella’s gut constricted as the plane shuddered into the sky. Was Anne on to her? Did she know who Bella was, that she was the reason for the divorce? And worse, was Tom now cheating on her?

No. Neither scenario was possible.

“My best friend saw them together after a yoga class, kissing in the parking lot in broad daylight,” Anne elaborated. “So blatant! It was almost as if he wanted me to find out. My friend even recognized the woman. But I told her I didn’t want to know who she was.”

A percussive throbbing hammered Bella’s temple. Was Anne lying? Did she know Bella had been her husband’s lover? What scorned woman doesn’t want to know? Bella tried to suppress the urge to flee while feverishly devising a moral justification for why she’d been having an affair with Anne’s husband. No, not an affair. Just kissing in a parking lot, right? That doesn’t necessarily mean an affair. Some other woman could have been sleeping with him. Bella exhaled sharply. Had to calm her racing heart. She glanced at Anne again. Maybe she really didn’t know. Yes, yes, remember? Anne was seriously gullible. She and Tom used to laugh about it.

“Really? That’s, uh, pretty unusual. Most people, I think, want to know.”

“Oh, I was definitely tempted. But I would have just become consumed with rage and revenge. And that would have only harmed myself. I didn’t need the additional suffering.”

Bella’s lips formed a thin, weak smile. An attempt at false solidarity. A silent wall.

“I ran into him a few years ago, quite unexpectedly,” Anne continued. “We were at the same conference. I had since married Steve and started a new life. I was actually grateful that Tom had cheated on me! Otherwise, I would never have met Steve and would be trapped in a loveless marriage. So when I saw Tom, all the bad feelings were gone. We had dinner together and shared a lot of laughs and memories. It was good to see him and to consider him a friend. Just like before we were married.”

Bella stiffened. Her stomach coiled. Tom had never mentioned this. “That’s nice. That must have helped, um, put hard feelings aside,” she sputtered.

“Yes! In fact, we’ve remained friends and see each other once a month. We have a regular lunch date. I’ve become a bit of a confidante for him. He needs one! You know how men are; it’s hard for them to share their feelings. It helps to have a female friend to dump on.”

Bella’s face felt napalmed, sizzling and raw. “Did Tom, um, remarry or find someone else?”

“Yes, he married the woman he was sleeping with.”

Bella’s breath caught in her windpipe. She waited for elaboration. None came. She saw the bait in the silence but couldn’t resist it.

“Why doesn’t he confide in his wife?”

To Bella’s horror, Anne threw her head back and laughed, a deep, sturdy bellow. “Oh, Bella!” she exclaimed. “If you only knew!”

Bella jerked her face away as if slapped, a rush of fury and humiliation rippling outward from her solar plexus, her veins burning. “Excuse me a moment,” she mumbled as she awkwardly stood, hands twitching. “I need the restroom.” She couldn’t let Anne see her this rattled. She staggered down the aisle and into the lavatory, the claustrophobia of the cramped space and caustic disinfectant bearing down on her. She hunched her back to gaze into the spattered mirror. She looked like hell. She splashed some water on her face, careful not to disturb her makeup. Her chest expanded with a tremoring inhale and she forcefully pushed the stale air out. “Everything’s fine. You’re OK, it’s all OK. She doesn’t know.” After several minutes, she calmed down and returned to her seat.

“Are you alright?” Anne asked tenderly. “You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” Bella curtly replied. “I think something I ate didn’t agree with me.” She decided to redirect the spotlight. “Does your husband know you’re seeing your ex?”

“Yes, I told him right away. He knows my history with Tom and knows I can be trusted.” Anne lightly placed her hand on Bella’s arm. “But you poor thing, I must be boring you to death! Enough about me already. Are you married, any kids?”

Bella needed to pull it together. She coughed lightly, sat up straighter, lifted her chin a centimeter. “Yes, I am married to an amazing man. We have two young boys. My husband has taken them….” And then she stopped cold. Had Tom already told Anne about their two sons and the skiing trip? Did she already know about their — actually, Tom’s — cabin in Crested Butte? Had she seen photos of how carefully Bella had decorated the place, had she seen photos of her sons? Did she know their names? Such unique names, specifically chosen by Bella to make them unforgettable, destined even. Oh God, had she seen photos of Bella herself? 

Bella scoured Anne’s face again. So placid, guileless. Still no hint of recognition. But was that just a cover?

“I would love to see pictures of your family!” Anne interjected. “Do you have some on your phone? That’s a dumb question, of course you do! I’m sure your sons are adorable. I am forever grateful I didn’t have kids with my first husband. I can’t imagine what a horror a custody battle must be.”

Anne leaned closer to Bella, eager for a peek at her photos. Bella started to mutter something about her phone being dead, but the lie was too blatant, as it was plugged into her seat’s charging port. “I, uh. I think I need to close my eyes for a while, I’m really not feeling well after all,” she croaked.

Anne smiled graciously. “Sure, Bella; get some rest. I’ll stop bothering you, I’ve been rambling on too much.”

My name! How does she know my name? The taste of bile rose in Bella’s throat. She furiously tried to retrace their conversation — had she told Anne her name? She couldn’t remember. It wasn’t that long ago! Did Anne recognize her after all? Was this part of an elaborate scheme, some kind of twisted revenge? Bella slid her gaze towards Anne, who smiled again and turned her head into a book.

Bella desperately wanted to text Tom. After all, wasn’t that why she paid for the in-flight wi-fi? But she was terrified of opening her phone while the photo conversation was still fresh. Of course an image of Tom and the boys filled her home screen. What else would be there? She grunted — Window Seat Guy was snoring and spreading. The locker room odor jostled her queasy gut. An infant wailed somewhere behind her, sharp and shrill. She quickly placed her headphones over her ears. The plane heaved and dipped, and Bella clutched the armrests.

Anne’s face, how many years ago? Bella had followed her into a clothing store, watching as she examined various garments, her forehead scrunched in sullen appraisal. She chose a few pieces and waddled — yes, waddled was the appropriate word — into the dressing room. Bella grabbed a blouse and followed. She saw Anne assessing herself in a tri-fold mirror outside the changing booths. “Oh, that looks great on you!” Bella gushed.

“Really, do you think so? I’m not good at picking out clothes, I’m afraid.”

That’s an understatement, Bella mused. Anne stared at her reflection like a marionette with snipped strings. So forlorn.

“Is the color alright? It looks kind of bland. And is the shape too boxy?”

Good Lord, the woman had zero taste. She looked like death in it. “Oh, the color is perfect for you. And it’s not boxy at all.” Bella resisted the urge to snicker, thinking of how she and Tom would laugh and laugh over this little encounter. Indeed, she had jumped off their bed and bolted for Anne’s closet, rummaging through her things until she found the newly purchased and offensive item, tags still attached, and fell to pieces in hysterics. Tom had laughed too, of course. Maybe not as much. But he thought it was funny, too. Right?

Breathe, breathe, breathe, Bella kept repeating. She placed one hand on her ribcage and the other on her chest and tried to practice her diaphragmatic belly breathing exercises.  Rise and fall, rise and fall.

Rise.

Fall.

Did the flight attendant just materialize? Bella yanked off her headphones. Cocktail? Yes, she would very much like to buy a drink. A potent one. And text Tom. She secretively slid her phone out from under her jacket. No messages. None. How could that be? She glanced at Anne, who met her eyes and smiled. Again, too warmly.

“Are you feeling any better now?” Anne asked.

“Sort of. It’s hard to relax with all the turbulence.”

“Yes, it is. I think we’re in for some weather when we get over the Rockies.”

Oh no, no, Bella inwardly groaned.

“Do you work?” Anne asked.

Jesus, more small talk, Bella thought. “No, I’m a very happy stay-at-home mom. My husband is the breadwinner. He’s in the medical field.”

“So was my ex. He’s a surgeon. I thought I would miss his income when we divorced, but I was relieved to walk away from it and his ridiculous McMansion. How I hated that house! I suppose I could have fought for more, but you can’t put a price on your sanity. I just wanted to put everything behind me, all the pain and lies and, well, quite frankly, shame. I was ashamed I had fallen for it all.”

Bella remained silent. The plane bucked again. How many more hours now?

“Oh, but there I go again, dumping all my ex-husband baggage on you! Why is it so easy to unload to strangers?  My apologies. What are you doing for the holidays?”

Bella swallowed, suppressing a rising reflux while stalling for time. Keep it short. Don’t over-divulge. “We have a place in the mountains. We’re staying there for Christmas. And you?”

“We plan to celebrate Christmas at home, but might go to Crested Butte for New Years. My ex and I had a cabin there. The last time I saw him, he said he was thinking of selling it and wanted to offer it to me before anyone else. He said he’d give me a good price. It’s kind of bittersweet, you know? We had some great times there. But I suspect he was bringing other women there when I wasn’t around. It was just so convenient. No cell phone coverage, romantic and secluded. I thought about asking him if he ever did that, but didn’t want to rip off the scab. So I’m on the fence about buying the place. I want to take Steve and my daughter there to check it out. Tom warned us though, that his wife has decorated it to look like something from a Pottery Barn ad! So artificial and curated.” Anne’s eyes suddenly sharpened, boring into Bella’s. “Fakey, you know?”

The flight attendant arrived with their drinks. Bella grasped the plastic cup in a quaking death grip and downed the fiery mix in one slug.  Tom was going to sell the cabin? Without discussing this with her? And to Anne?! And what the hell was the Pottery Barn comment all about? Anne’s searing eyes replayed in Bella’s mind. She must know. She’s toying with me, Bella mused, like a cat with a mouse.

The plane wobbled and blood rushed to Bella’s head. Alcohol had been a bad idea. The seat belt light illuminated and the pilot announced that, due to a snowstorm, they would be circling DIA in an indefinite holding pattern until cleared to land. Nononono, Bella silently moaned and bowed her head. She needed to text Tom, let him know about the delay. And ask him what the fuck? No, save that part for later. She opened her messaging app and punched out a text, threw her head back, and inhaled great gulps of air.

Anne patted her arm again. “Bella, you don’t look good. Should I call the flight attendant?”

Bella started to protest, but realized she desperately needed the restroom. Miraculously, the seat belt sign went off with an announcement to freely roam the cabin. Bella clumsily rose as Anne stepped aside. She nearly fell into the aisle and tottered toward the back of the plane, dismayed at the pack of people waiting. Which wouldn’t have been an issue if she was in first class, like she should have been. Once again, she cursed her mother and the doctors and the timing and now, even her husband. Her stomach swayed with the plane’s unsteady movements. She just needed to get inside that coffin of a room before being sick all over the aisle.

Finally, the door shimmied open and Bella lurched inside. She slammed the door, slid the lock, and dropped to her knees. Discarded paper towels erupted from the trash receptacle, stuck to dollops of moisture on the dirty floor. She stared into the jiggling metal toilet bowl. Her body heaved but nothing happened. Please, just get this over with, she beseeched. The plane plunged and the contents of her gut tore through her esophagus, spewing into the bowl and dribbling down her chin with a violent gurgling. Her core convulsed with the effort and expulsion. She wanted to rest her head on the bowl but didn’t dare. She waited, tears streaming down her face. Was that it? No. Another surge exploded through her torso, this one more ferocious than the first. Someone banged on the door. “Just a minute!” she screeched. Done now? Yes, maybe. She slowly stood, legs quivering, throat flaming as if she’d swallowed a thousand thumbtacks. She flushed the toilet and braced her arms on the sink, steadying her buckling frame. She scrubbed her hands ragged and wiped the spittle from her chin, mascara from her cheeks, vomit from her hair. More pounding on the door. She shoved it open and, head bent, slunk out of the room trailing a piece of wastepaper on her heel. She slumped onto her seat like a sack of wet socks.

“Oh hon, are you OK?” Anne cooed.

Don’t call me hon, Bella quietly fumed. But she smiled wanly. “I think so. The turbulence has been rough on me. I’m going to try to rest some more.” And don’t ask to see pictures of my family, Bella murmured silently under her breath.

“Would you like an antacid? I always carry some, especially when I fly.”

Bella considered this offering. A balm from the enemy. Trustworthy? Perhaps. “Thanks, I’ll try that.” She accepted the chalky lozenge and placed it in her mouth, which felt crammed with wads of gravelly wool. She shut her eyes and collapsed against her headrest. Window Seat was practically in her lap. She thrust a pointy elbow into his spongy expanse. He flinched but continued snoring. That smell! She covered her mouth with a napkin. Anne’s words reverberated in her mind: “He doesn’t confide in his wife — if you only knew!”

Anne was messing with her.

Bella’s eyes flashed open. She glared at Anne. “Did you say you work for the airlines?”

“What? I never said that. And no, I don’t. Are you sure you’re OK?”

Bella was convinced Anne was hiding something. “What about your husband, any family members?”

“No, no one in my family works for an airline. Hon, why do you ask? Are you feverish? Do you need help?”

Oh, that overly compassionate, furrowed brow! Such fake kindness! There had to be a reason Bella got stuck next to her on this interminable flight. And Window Seat Guy. And why the plane was now a zillion hours behind schedule. This had to be a conspiracy! No way this was all a coincidence.

No. Possible. Way.

“Consumed with rage and revenge.”

Bella grimaced. Again she closed her eyes, which began incessantly flickering.

“Trapped in a loveless marriage.”

No! Tom loved her – loves her!

“Fakey.”

Clearly, Anne made that up. Tom would never disparage her.

“Other women. We have a regular lunch date. If you don’t have trust, nothing else matters. I was ashamed I had fallen for it.”

No. Tom was committed. Her marriage was solid. And she had borne Tom’s children! That counted for something. That counted for everything!

The plane pitched, churning Bella’s gut once more. She pressed her hand to her mouth. Oh no, not sick again! The antacid. That had to be it. Surely, Anne had poisoned her.

Of course not! What was wrong with her head? Breathe, breathe. Her imagination was getting away from her. Anne was oblivious, Tom was happy and loyal, her marriage was strong. Suddenly her text app pinged. She frantically opened it and sighed with relief: A message from Tom. Finally. Nothing to stress about! But her body calcified as she read his words: “Hi. Frozen pipes in the cabin. Staying in CB a few more days. Went to town for supplies and to let you know. Sent the boys home with the Johnsons. Sorry can’t pick you up at DIA. Just Uber home. About to lose service. Talk later.” She slammed the phone down on her lap, seized with a fresh, enfeebling terror. Was he leaving her?

“What a horror a custody battle must be.”

No, Bella mumbled. He wouldn’t take her boys, would he? She flashed back to their last vacation, just a month ago, teaching her sons to ski. Watching as they dutifully followed their father down the easy runs, so trusting and eager, snowplowing little turns as she filmed from behind, marveling that she had birthed and nurtured such precious, flawless humans. Marveling over her perfect husband, their inviolable union. She choked back a sob and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to repress her tears and the raucous pounding of her heart.

The pleasantly sharp scent of citrus jolted her from her melancholy. She peered at Anne and saw that she was peeling a tangerine. Tiny bursts of juice erupted like fireworks, releasing an enticing aroma into the parched cabin air.

“Here,” Anne whispered, wrapping the naked fruit in a napkin and setting it on Bella’s tray table. “This might help.” Bella declined, wary of another offering, but Anne was resolute. “Please, take it. Don’t worry, I have another one.”

Bella met Anne’s gaze, saw the kindness. Why, Bella wondered, skeptical, formulating a refusal. But she desperately wanted the tangerine. “Thank you,” she stuttered. She removed a wedge and cautiously bit into its plump flesh. Her mouth flooded with an explosion of sweetness, which she savored for several moments before swallowing, the juice soothing her ragged throat. The tightness in her chest decompressed. She ate another wedge, and another. Finished, she tilted her head back, the tangy aftertaste calming her nerves. A tear slipped onto her cheek. She took the napkin and dabbed at it, wiped her nose. He’s leaving me. She exhaled forcibly. She felt Anne take her wrist, turn her hand over, and place the second tangerine onto her upturned palm. This time, Bella didn’t resist. She wrapped her fingers around the smooth, cool sphere, let it rest in her hand.

“They’re heavenly, aren’t they?” Anne enthused. “Fresh from my sister’s yard this morning.” Bella could hear the delight in Anne’s voice and simply nodded, too weary to speak or even think. Exhaustion dragged her into a thick and uneasy lassitude, her head gauzy and remote as if lodged under water.  

“How are you getting home tonight?” Anne asked as Bella began clawing at the peel.

“Uber,” Bella quietly replied.

“Where do you live?”

When Bella mentioned her neighborhood, Anne said, “Oh, that’s a lovely area. I lived there once myself. My husband is picking me up. We’d be happy to drop you off, we’ll be driving through there, anyway.” Bella objected but Anne insisted, prattling off a meandering rationale Bella barely registered in her growing stupor — how she shouldn’t wait in the frigid blizzard for a stranger in Lord knows what kind of car who most likely has no idea how to drive in snow when Steve is so careful and conscientious and has a reliable and comfortable four-wheel drive and it’s really no problem not out of the way at all….

Bella was so weary. So very tired. Too tired to protest, even, flitting in and out of consciousness. She didn’t notice the change in cabin pressure, the plane’s wheels bumping along the ground, the strenuous and clattering deceleration, people crowding the aisle. She gathered her things as in a trance and tottered after Anne up the freezing walkway and into the concourse, robotically following her into the overstuffed train, up the escalator, through the terminal, and into the cold and dark arrivals pickup area. Bella waited, stiff and indifferent as a fencepost, while Anne scoured the swarming vehicles. Home. Bella just wanted to go home. See her boys. Hold them.

“There!” Anne exclaimed, and scurried toward an idling SUV. She opened the back door. “Go on, Bella,” she softly urged. Bella stepped into the warm car and crumpled onto the empty back seat.

Anne’s husband turned around. “Hi, I’m Steve,” he said. “You must be Bella. Where to?”

BIO

PJ Steinholtz honed her observational and expository skills as an environmental planner, conveying complex scientific issues in comprehensible and legally defensible prose. With a BA in Writing and Communications, an MaS in Natural Resource Management, and an AA in graphic design, she now focuses on creating stories and images that reflect the beauty and complexities of being alive.