Page 5 of Peaches & Pistols

Izzy meets my eyes and must see my hesitation. “Maybe sometime! But right now, let’s get you and your mom to the library!”

I mouth “thank you” to Izzy and she winks in reply.

It’s cooler here than in Missouri, being at a higher elevation, tucked away in the Rocky Mountains, but still warm enough to remember it’s the end of August.

“Are you looking to check out some books?” Izzy asks, as we stroll down Main Street back toward the library.

“Maybe…I also need to use the internet for a few things.”

Her frown is deep and doesn’t disappear quickly enough.

“We have decent cell service up here. Your phone should work just fine,” she says, growing wary of my odd behavior.

Everly skips ahead and ring-around-the-rosy’s the trees in the library lawn.

“My phone died, it’s okay. A computer will be easier anyway.”

“I should have spare chargers in my car, let me go get one for you,” Izzy says, turning back.

“No! I mean, no thank you. I have one, I can plug it in at the library.”

The old plastic sign on the door is flipped to OPEN, and I’m desperate to get us inside and away from the questions I’m not prepared to answer.

“Well, thank you for the hospitality and the walk. Have a good day,” I say quickly, turning my back to Izzy, guiding Everly by her upper back to the entrance.

We disappear into a small building that’s always been a safe place. The scent is instantly comforting and nostalgic. Growing up in an unpredictable home led to countless hours spent in the library with Charlie.

The familiarity of the space calms my nerves. I’m able to see the kid section from the middle computer, so I set Everly free to enjoy herself.

I don’t have an email address, or social media, or the log-in to any of our joint accounts. Carter never allowed it.

Google will be fine for what I need. I spend over an hour scrutinizing bus routes and schedules, trying to decide if we need to keep traveling before we find a place to settle.

The longer I research, the more overwhelmed I become. I grew up just a few towns over from Kansas City, where I lived with Carter. I’d never crossed state lines until our honeymoon, and even then we only drove a few hours north and spent a weekend in Omaha.

We’ve already traveled over eight-hundred miles, zig-zagging on major interstates and local highways, to throw Carter off our trail, should he try to look for us.

In my mind, I wanted to make it to Phoenix. He despised the dry heat of the southwest and is narcissistic enough to assume I’d hate it as well. So, it was the perfect landing place to hide in plain sight.

Everly’s such a little trooper, but I could tell she was antsy and uncomfortable on the bus. She asked questions about the places we stopped but never asked why. I’m waiting for her to ask where her dad is—frankly I’m shocked she hasn’t yet.

But my baby needs to sleep in a bed tonight, not a creaking bus seat. I’ve been awake for…over forty-eight hours. A full day of cooking and cleaning through my grief bled into a sleepless night on the floor of the guest bathroom two days ago.

I forced myself to stay alert and awake the entire duration of our multi-state tour. I couldn’t risk falling asleep and missing a stop or something scaring Everly. I’ve never been so wired but exhausted at a cellular level. Hysterical giggling or crying is imminent.

A quick search online and on the community board yields no free lodging like a women’s shelter. The town’s so small they don’t even have a recreation center for us to shower. We could go to the market I saw down the road, but we’d have to buy and eat things that’re already prepared and don’t need to be cooked.

“Mama, where’s the park? You promised there’d be a park.” Everly tugs on my shirt sleeve. “Did you bring my chocolate milk?”

“Uh, no, baby. We left our drinks at the coffee shop, we aren’t allowed to bring them to the library.”

The bottom lip starts to tremble, and if I don’t get control over the situation, I’m going to have a mega meltdown on my hands, in the silent library. She’s already in a foreign place, without the comforts of home, and now disappointed.

“I’m almost finished on the computer and then we can walk to the park, okay?”

“Can I check out a book?” she asks, lip still wobbling.

Damnit. I didn’t think this through. We always check out a bag’s worth at the library. I can’t risk a paper trail, and we aren’t staying here anyway.