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Grace, springy brown curls showing around the edges of her white cap scowled. Gold eyes squinted. “That’s not my name.”
“For now it is . . . My new name is Elle, and you’re Grace.”
“You’re not Elle. You’re Lucy.”
“Lucille–Elle is the last part of my name. And Grace is your middle name.”
Her child glowered at her.
“I told you, it’s a game.”
“It’s a dumb game. I’m Renee,” she asserted, her face red with the cold.
There was no use arguing. “Just hurry up, Whatever-your-name-is.”
Keep it light, she’s just a child. She can’t possibly understand. And it was a little over-the-top. Each of them with an alias, so if and when they came across someone, their names were not immediately recognizable. “Tell you what, when it’s just the two of us, I’ll be Mom or Lucy and you be Renee, but if we see anyone, you’re Grace. Got it?”
“Got it.” Renee wrinkled her nose but didn’t argue and trudged along after the sled, keeping to the path her mother was breaking through six inches of snow. As she plowed on, Lucy eyed the sky, saw only white, the clouds indistinct through millions of tiny flakes. Bring them on. The more they fell and covered her tracks, the more likely they could escape.
But for how long?
He will never let up, never let you go.
She couldn’t let herself go there.
One day at a time.
That was her mantra.
And for now, the cabin, whatever shape it was in, would be a place to hide for a while, just to regroup. Hopefully it would be a haven.
Oh God, please.
“Come on,” she said, hating the snap in her voice.
“Where’s Merlin?” her daughter called, searching the veil of falling flakes for the dog.
“He’ll keep up. He’s part Malamute. They love the snow and the cold. Come on, now.” Lucy marched forward, up the hill, dragging the sled of necessities, enough food for two weeks, clothing and sleeping bags, her cell phone and iPad, not that there was wireless at the cabin. The electronics were for an emergency if they were to work. Only then.
Who are you kidding? Your whole life is an emergency!
“Can I ride?” Renee asked, eyeing the already full sled.
If it would make the trek go faster, then fine. “Sure.”
Renee hopped on, and Lucy put all her weight into dragging the sled uphill to the cabin to which she had no legal access, a place she’d only discovered by eavesdropping on a private conversation.
“ . . . it’s my uncle’s,” one of her coworkers at the junior college had confided to a friend while Lucy had been taking pages out of the printer. As the machine had hummed, spitting pages into the tray, Lucy had listened to Cindy, the blond. They knew each other a little, had worked together for a couple of years. Cindy, though married, had kept her maiden name. “It’s an empowerment thing,” Cindy had confided when they’d attended a conference together and had ended up roommates at the Holiday Suites in Reno. “I like the sound of it. Cynthia Jacoby. Sure beats the hell out of Cynthia White–I mean, how Disney does that sound? My husband didn’t seem to mind. He’s kinda new age, I guess you’d say.”
“Where did you say the cabin is?”
“Up in Oregon. Near Mount Hood, but it’s like, so remote you almost have to hike into it, and there’s nothing up there, and I mean nothing. It’s a decent-size and got running water, I guess, and electricity, but barely. My uncle says the power’s always going out in storms. He said I could go up there any time. Even left a key up there. Get this.” She’d laughed. “It’s hidden, like nailed to a tree or something. A tree with a split trunk, I mean, as if . . .”
And then Lucy hadn’t been able to hear the rest of the conversation as the two coworkers had walked away from the printer area to the cafeteria. Later, at her desk, Lucy had done more than a little research on the internet, checked county and state records, along with personnel info that she shouldn’t have had access to, and zeroed in on this place, the owner being Winston Jacoby, which, now that she had dragged her daughter and dog up here, she seriously hoped was correct.
What if you’re wrong?
What if the cabin isn’t where you think it is?
