Unintended Consequences

“Here, I got you a going-away present.” Our eyes meet and I force a smile. I take the gift and put it in my purse. “You’ll be fine,” he said, gently taking my hands and looking straight into my soul. “I promise you, you’ll be fine. If you need anything ever...ever, you call me.” He draws me in and gives me the most deliberate hug I’ve ever received.

I walk out of his office and put on my hat, coat, scarf, and sunnies, and walk down the all too familiar brick corridor. This time he doesn’t see me crying. As if it would matter.

I force the back door open and lean forward, determined to overpower the unrelenting winter headwinds. These damn bloody cold July days! I wrap my coat tighter around me and rush to the car. A truck backfires and I shriek - reminding me to stay vigil.

I get in, only to stare and shake, then frantically open the door again to hurl. The wind blows a few chunks onto my coat sleeve. Christ. Will I ever feel normal again?

The dogs bark as I walk to my flat. “It’s just mummy.” I unlock the door and step in from the cold. Roo stands on his hind legs and rests his paws on my shoulders to greet me nose to nose. “How’s my boy?” I ask, rubbing his ears. K9 waits his turn, wagging his entire behind in anticipation. I toss my purse and sunnies onto the counter and bend down to ruffle his head. “And how was your day, mate? Mummy is so happy to see you!" My dogs. The only saving grace in my life now.

I hang up my hat and scarf and walk into the bathroom to clean my sleeve and rinse the disgusting taste from my mouth. How can there be any vomit in me? I’ve hardly eaten for weeks.

I put my coat over the chair, sit on the floor and turn on the tv. The dogs come over to be loved some more. I snuggle each of them, their fur warming me. ‘You need German Shepherds,’ Liam said to me. ‘They’re loving dogs and very protective. If you get two, they’ll be playmates when you’re at work. And please name one K9.’ And so, here we are. He was right, as usual. Hopefully they do well on the planes - such a long trip. We leave tomorrow, after the funeral.

“The Federal Prosecution has called its last witness.” I look up and listen. Everyone has been following the murder case of two undercover Australian Secret Intelligence agents. A deal with a brutal drug cartel gone terribly wrong. Such a tragedy, in more ways than one. I change the channel. The energetic game show host asks, “Have You Been Paying Attention?” Comedy. Yes, I much prefer comedy right now. Tomorrow will be a gut-wrenching day.

I walk through the Sydney terminal, tears blurring my gate number. Travelers stop to ask if I’m ok. No, I’m not ok, the funeral was this morning. I finally find my gate and board. The flight attendant points me to my pod. I’m exhausted and thankful to have a bed for the long flight.

I put my luggage in the corner and settle in to read, but my mind drifts to the funeral. She left family and friends, and never even got to say goodbye. I pull the newspaper clipping from my purse and read the obituary again. FIERY CRASH KILLS LOCAL DOCTOR, AVA ROBINSON. I touch her picture and sob into my pillow.

“G'day, Miss. Miss?"

My eyes struggle to open. “What?” Saliva oozes from my mouth.

“Here's your breakfast. Your brekkie?"

People are talking, trays clanging, a baby crying. A violent sneeze silences the commotion for a split second. I lift my head and look around to make sense of my surroundings. Is that coffee I smell? I’m in bed. Brekkie? My brain finally wakes up. I’m on a plane to the United States. Twenty-two bloody hours, not counting the flight from Melbourne to Sydney. We make a stop in Los Angeles, land in Milwaukee, and drive to a place called Wauwatosa, Wisconsin - a name as strange as Maribyrnong, Melbourne. A job is waiting for me at -

“I’ll put your tray right here.”

“Right. Yes, thanks.” Then I realize I slept. I slept! The first restful sleep in months.

“Excuse me, Miss, but there’s something on your cheek.” I reach up… “Enjoy your brekkie. If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.” I nod.

Paper? There’s paper on my cheek? I peel it down. The obituary. The obituary I was reading, now smeared and mangled, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I can read it a million times and never change what happened. She’s gone.

I’ve eaten, gotten dressed, and am reading SKY magazine by the time the flight attendant returns to retrieve my tray. She tells me I slept through the Los Angeles stop and we’ll be in Milwaukee soon.

I return to my magazine and an ad for a Bon Voyage Cruise Ship reminds me of Liam’s going-away gift. A bright spot on the trip! I stuff the magazine back into the seat pocket, grab my purse and pull out a small package wrapped in shiny blue and green foil with a pink bow. I untie it and gently tear open the paper. Oh my. The endearing little black book. He remembered. I touch the soft cover with my fingertips and open to the first page.

May this help you blend into your new world, while never forgetting your Aussie home. Liam

My throat tightens.

Turn to any page for a wealth of American knowledge!

I thumb a quarter way into the book and open it.

GREEN BAY PACKERS - WISCONSIN’S PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL TEAM

“Oh My God.” I roll my eyes and laugh out loud - a sound so rare that it even surprises me.

• Aaron Rodgers – the quarterback.

• Cheesehead – buy one and wear it proudly during games. You will impress everyone around you.

• Tailgate Party – similar to ours - when people have a giant picnic in the parking lot (carpark). Bring food for the barbie, (NOT VEGEMITE) and wear your cheesehead.

Green Bay Packers. Got it. Boring. Next page.

MILWAUKEE BREWERS - WISCONSIN’S PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL TEAM

“Oh, Crikey! Get me out of here!” I turn several more pages – hopefully past the sports section.

HOLIDAYS THAT AMERICANS DON’T CELEBRATE

• Australia Day - obviously.

• Anzac Day - delicious biscuits!

• Boxing Day - a day Yanks should celebrate.

“Thank you for flying Delta Airlines.”

Oh - we’re landing. I pull the book to my chest and close my eyes. Thanks, Liam, this was very sweet. I’ll read everything another day, promise.

“The temperature in Milwaukee is 82 degrees. We hope you enjoy your stay and have a safe fourth of July.” 82 degrees? Jesus Christ! How hot does it get here? Oooh, Fahrenheit, not Celsius. And today is the fourth of July? Again? I sit up and tighten my seat belt for the landing. I look out the window and see a rooftop welcoming me to Cleveland. Cleveland? My brain is going haywire.

As I exit, a young woman is at the gate holding a piece of cardboard with a name on it, waiting for someone to claim her. I’m in line at Starbucks when she touches my arm. “Excuse me, but I believe I’m picking you up?” I recoil. Who are you? Her eyes try to reassure me that she can be trusted. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Olivia. Here’s my card. I’m here to pick you up?” I read the card and nod.

“Please, order your coffee, then we’ll get your bags and the dogs, and I’ll drive you home. I’ll wait for you over there.” Home? She doesn’t know where my home is. I just came from home. She may know where my house is, but it will never be my home.

We get in her Ford Explorer and roll the windows down for Roo and K9. They entertain drivers as their giant heads blow in the wind. “Welcome to the United States. I can’t imagine your trauma, but I’m here to help any way I can. I’m sure you’ll love it here.” She’s right about one thing - she can’t imagine my trauma.

“Here we are.” She parks in front of a quaint stone cottage. Pink and yellow rose bushes are in full bloom under the windowsills...an odd sight for July. A large tree shades the front lawn. We get out, walk up the front steps, and she hands me the keys. “These are yours. The deed is in your name.” I unlock the door, step inside, and see that it’s even furnished.

“I took the liberty of baking you a napoleon lamington. I wanted to make you feel at home. I hope you like it.” I look at her stunned. She baked me a lamington.

She points to the living room. “Please, let’s go sit down.” It’s a tastefully decorated room with slate blue walls and white trim. We sit on the couch.

“I let Detective Kelly know you arrived.”

“Detective Kelly?”

“Detective Liam Kelly?”

“Oh, of course.”

“It’s going to take some time to get acclimated – especially remembering to drive on the right side of the road. You should be adjusted to our time zone and familiar with the area by the time you start your job at Froedtert Hospital. I would be happy to show you around. And I can recommend a veterinarian if you want. I have a dog myself.” Right side? Time zone? Job? Vet? My brain is overloading.

"Someone will be picking me up in an hour, so here are the keys to the car. It’s already registered in your name.” What? She’s leaving me here alone? My heart starts racing.

“And you should go to a bank soon and open an account. Here’s a check that should get you through until you start getting paid.” She hands me a check made out to Laura Highsmith for $20,000.

My fists start to spasm. A house? A car? Twenty thousand dollars? NO! NO! This can’t be happening! My brain detonates. I leap to my feet and throw the check back in her face. “SCREW YOU! KEEP IT! KEEP THE MONEY! KEEP THE HOUSE! KEEP THE CAR - I DON’T WANT IT! I DON’T WANT ANY OF IT!”

The woman stands to console me. “But this is the only way…”

“NO!” I push her down. “THERE MUST BE ANOTHER WAY! THERE MUST BE!” I cry hysterically. “WHY AM I EVEN HERE? WHY?” I frantically search her eyes for the answer.

The woman had become deafeningly silent - my heaving sobs the only sound in the room. Finally she stands and approaches me, gently taking my hands and looking straight into my soul. “You’re here because you cared. You tried to save two lives…the lives of the undercover ASI agents. I’m sorry, Laura.”

I jerk my hands away repulsed. “I’M NOT LAURA! I’M AVA - AVA ROBINSON! I didn’t die in a fiery crash and I want to go home! To Maribyrnong, Melbourne, Australia - to live a normal life like I have been for the last 37 years! Why did I have to stop and help? Why did I have to CARE? I paid dearly for caring – losing my family, my friends, my home, my identity – only to gain paranoia – because I saw the bastards who shot them, and now they’re looking for me. I just want my life back! MY LIFE!” I collapse in her arms and grieve.

“I’m so, so sorry. I wish there was another way, but I promise you, we’ll keep you safe.”

Sure. You’ll keep me safe. The Witness Protection Program will keep me safe. It’s working - so far.