Poker Face

The morning after Carol commits the crime, she has to work to swallow. The tightness of her throat is so intense, it feels locked. She makes short, shallow breaths. Her hands shake. She is sure if she lets anyone near hear, they will hear her heart pounding. 

The morning after the crime, Carol drives her Kia on I-5 north toward Bellingham, speeding to catch the ferry to Alaska, knowing that if she misses the Friday sailing, the next won't leave until Monday. And by Monday, Carol wants to be reunited with her children, hunkered down in the dark, remote environment she calls home. She wants to close her cabin door behind her, start a fire in the woodstove, unplug the radio, turn off her phone, pretend it didn't happen. 

Driving on I-5, scanning the sky for helicopters, Carol's thoughts ping-pong back and forth between wondering how she could ever have been so stupid to have committed a felony, and wondering if the life she'd always known, a life of boundless freedom, will soon end.

A few miles short of Bellingham, she pulls over in a rest area and Googles "is mailing two pounds of marijuana across state lines a felony?" After reading the potential charges-- "up to five years in prison and a maximum fine of $250,000" -- she pictures federal agents discovering her phone's search history in real time, and immediately Googles "the value of doing research when writing fiction," then, "top five felony crimes in US today," then, "my Northern California wine tasting vacation." She pees, avoids looking in the restroom mirror, buys a coffee in a styrofoam cup at a vending machine, gets back on the road. 

At the ferry terminal, police dogs surround Carol's car. This is standard procedure for boarding. While they sniff and search, she fights with herself to not cry. The dogs are called off, and an attendant approaches. Trembling and sweating, she hands over her license, passport and boarding pass, sure that this will be the moment she is apprehended. 

"Are you carrying any explosives or highly flammable materials, guns or ammunition?"

Carol's face seems to want to twist in new directions like an eel let out of a bucket. It takes all her might to meet the attendant's gaze, hold her mouth in a straight line, breathe. 

"No, sir." 

Waved on, she creeps her car onto the deck, parks in place, kills the ignition and bursts into tears. 

The morning after the crime, the hum of diesel engines drowns out Carol's sobs, as she rocks and wails inside her Kia aboard the Alaska State Ferry. Never again, she vows to herself. Never again. 

Minutes pass while Carol unravels.

Suddenly a loud, urgent rap on her window causes Carol to jump with a yelp. She sees a tall, poker-faced man in uniform looking in at her. He gives no indication that he notices her sobbing. Carol's heart stops. She straightens, stiffens. Like a gambler rolling the dice one last time, she takes a big breath, concentrates, repeats her internal mantra, 'act normal, act normal,' and fixes her face to match his: expressionless. Turns the key, rolls down the window. 

"Excuse me, ma'am, you'll need exit your vehicle immediately and make your way to that elevator. Right now, ma'am."

The officer points to a set of metal doors about ten yards from the Kia. Carol nods. Heart pounding, thoughts racing, she places the long strap of her purse over her head, hanging it across her chest like a girl scout. Her thoughts are running wild now, out of control. 

My kids, my kids, how will I tell my kids? There's no way to explain myself that will make sense to them, they're so young, it's so not fair to them, so not fair...

She climbs out of the driver's seat, glancing at the officer to see if he has handcuffs, but he is simply waiting, watching her. She presses "lock" on her key fob and drops the keys into her purse, wondering for a split second what will happen to her car and belongings while she is in jail. 

I had everything, and threw it all away. Oh my God, I'm a cliche. I'm so stupid. Stupid. Stupid! How could I be so stupid?

She looks at the officer again. He just looks back at her, blank as dead air, waiting. She makes her way toward the elevator, feeling his eyes on her back. 

Of course he doesn't need handcuffs. We're on a boat. I'm so stupid. I can't believe this is happening. Carol, pull yourself together, this is happening, this is really happening, they caught up with you. They caught you.

They caught you.

Why did I listen to Leonard? He made it sound so easy. Just stuff the weed into an airtight bag, hide the bag inside a double boiler, pack the double boiler into a cardboard box, take the box to the UPS store, send it to this address.

Easy peazy.

I'm such an idiot. How could I think I would get away with it? I'm not a criminal. I'm stupid.

The space between the cars and the cold wall is so narrow, Carol is forced to walk sideways, her back to the wall. She keeps her eyes set on the painted white floor ahead of her, pushing forward, her face now streaming tears. She doesn't look back.

It doesn't matter anymore, if I cry. Let them see me cry.

She senses the officer continuing to follow her movements from behind, as her shoulders heave and she wipes one of her coat sleeves across her wet face.

My fingerprints all over that box. 

The packing tape had gotten stuck on one of Carol's rubber gloves while she was taping the box. In her haste, she had pulled them off, threw them across the motel room. She remembers seeing some of her fingerprints smudged into the adhesive of the clear tape. At the time, she was in a hurry. At the time, she was out of her mind.

I was out of my damned mind.

When she reaches the elevator, its doors are wide open. Carol enters the metal cubicle and turns around to see the officer standing back in the general vicinity of her Kia, writing on a clipboard. He is copying down the license plate number of a Ford van with its headlights on. 

Carol is confused. She waits for him to say something, but he isn't even looking at her. 

"Do I go up alone?" she calls out.

The officer looks up from his clipboard. "What?" 

"Do I go up alone?"

The officer chuckles at this. His face, homely until now, turns beautific for an instant. Carol is stunned.

"Do I just go up? Where do I go?"

"Anywhere but here, ma'am. No one's allowed to remain on the car deck while the vessel's underway." He swiftly touches his forehead in a sort of mock salute, then turns to inspect the next row of cars.

Carol stares at him in disbelief. The realization that she is still free washes over her in a pulsing, delirious rush. She hits a button beside the word "solarium," pulls a tissue from her pocket, blows her nose. As the doors close and the elevator begins to lift, she erases any hint of emotion from her face with all the strength she can muster.

A few moments later, the doors open to reveal an innocent, smart, law-abiding, normal woman. She is on her way home to the seclusion of her one-room cabin, where two small children, looking for gum, will find a huge wad of money in her purse, and their screams of excitement will ring out in the darkness like sleigh bells.