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I sigh in relief, my anxiety fading back to a somewhat normal level. “Of course, sir. Let me go get that pie, and your check. I will be right back.” I still want him gone, but this time my smile is genuine as I hurry to the counter to box up the dessert.
When I turn back toward the register I’m surprised to find him standing there waiting for me. He hands me a credit card with a company name on it. K&S Securities—maybe that explains his watchfulness. I have heard of the company, advertising on the radio, so he must be some kind of bodyguard.
I feel much better now. It wasn’t me personally he was focused on—he probably watches everyone like that.
I give him another small smile as I settle his bill, and as he turns to leave he meets my eye again. “The tip on the table is for the server who helped me earlier. You will hold on to it for her?”
I nod my agreement; we have tip cups in the back for just this reason.
He tilts his chin up in acknowledgment and slips his hand into his pocket before setting a folded bill on the counter between us. “This one's for you,” he says, and takes his box of pie, striding out the door into the evening light without a backward glance.
I pick up the cash and unfold it. It’s a hundred-dollar bill! No one has ever left a tip that big for any of us girls at this dump. It must have been a mistake, or his way of trying to proposition me. I didn’t get that kind of vibe from him, but you never can tell. I hurry to the door to see if I can catch him before he leaves, to return the large amount of money, but he’s nowhere in sight. Guess it’s my lucky day.
I’m still going to have my spray in hand when I leave tonight, just in case I need it.
Tucking the folded bill back in my pocket, I smile to myself. I get to go to the cabin this weekend! It’s been a while, and I’ve missed it.
The remainder of the evening goes by uneventfully, and I make it to my pickup without any trouble or unexpected visitors. I keep my mace held tightly in my hand, ready to be used, until I slide behind the wheel and lock myself in the cab. I check to make sure I know where my bat is and turn the key to start the engine.
I sit for a few minutes, letting the old engine warm up a little bit. The dirt lot behind me is full, and I can see a couple women climbing out of trucks before going to the next one and knocking on the door. Again, I’m struck with a wave of gratitude that I have been able to keep my head up enough that I have avoided that fate.
Turning onto the highway, I drive the few miles toward town and my little apartment. Double shifts suck, but I did okay in tips, even if I don’t count the hundred from the big stranger. I’m exhausted and smell like greasy diner food, but I have tomorrow off so I don’t need to wash out my uniform in the sink before I can take a shower and go to bed. I can just drop it on the floor and take a quick shower. Maybe I will go to the laundromat in the morning.
Yawning, I pull in behind the garage. It’s pretty dark in the alley, and I don’t live in the best area, so I take my bat in hand before hopping out of my truck and jogging up the rickety flight of stairs and letting myself in. I turn both locks behind me and I release the breath I didn’t even realize that I was holding. I don’t work at night very often for just this reason. I don’t feel safe being out after the sun goes down, but I’ve been in this little space long enough now that it feels like home and is comforting to me in its familiarity.
I strip down to my threadbare bra and panties, kicking the ugly uniform toward the laundry basket. I hate that thing. It’s scratchy, and no matter how much I scrub, it always smells like grease and makes my skin blotchy. I dream of the day I can burn it, but that day is so far into my future that I can’t even imagine when it might come.
I’m up early, as usual. I don’t think I’ve gotten quite enough sleep in the last four years. I’m so tired this morning that I don’t even open my eyes. I just nestle into the warm comfort of my cocoon and pull the covers back over my head trying to force myself to relax enough to fall back to sleep. But it just won’t come no matter how many slow breaths I count. I’m too tense. My thoughts returning over and over to the man from the diner and the way he stared at me so intensely.
Who called me Francesca like he knew it was a lie.
I really don’t want to run again. Just the thought makes my stomach tight. I know it’s not much, but I have made something resembling a life here. I like my apartment; it’s cozy and I have fixed it up so that it’s a reflection of who I want to be and not the worn-out person I have become. It’s clean and tidy, with colorful curtains that hide the bars on the windows and soft blankets on the threadbare sofa and bed in the corner. I have a library card dammit! And a small stack of books that need to be returned on the small table beside the door. If I have to disappear they might not ever be returned, making me a book thief!
I know I’m being ridiculous. I just can’t help myself right now.
Giving up on the idea of sleeping anymore, I sit up in bed surveying my small space. My eyes on my small tank of goldfish. Their brightly colored bodies make me happy and their slow movements help calm me down. They are the first pets I have had since I was a little kid, and I will not give them up unless there is no other way.
My dark mood lingering, my thoughts wander and I think about the dog I had before we went to live with Brad. He was just a little dog, some kind of terrier, I suppose. My mom took him to the pound right before we moved in. Brad, she said, didn’t like dogs. Brad didn’t like anything, but mostly I think he didn’t like me. I have always believed that the only reason my dog had to go was because it was mine. If mom had said he was hers I’m sure we could have kept him.
I’ve considered adopting a dog, but I’m so afraid I will have to run eventually. It would break my heart to have to abandon my dog, but it wouldn’t be fair to a dog if I ended up living in my truck. At least Chuck, the old guy who owns the auto shop and my apartment, likes my fish. I know if I have to disappear again, he’ll just move them downstairs to his office and take over feeding them. Sighing dramatically, even though I’m alone, I flop back against my pillows. I need to get over it. I’m sure everything is fine.
I’m still telling myself that as I slip out of bed and open my mismatched curtains, letting the early fall daylight stream in the windows as I water my small pots of fresh herbs and feed my fish. Instead of going out to do my laundry, I decide to wash a few things in my small tub and hang them to dry from the shower rod. It saves me time and money that I’d rather not spend. The few other chores I have don’t take long either, and I drop wearily onto the sagging cushions of my sofa with a cup of coffee and a book I picked up from a yard sale over the summer.
Yeah, this is just what I need. A nice, quiet day alone to relax and recharge my batteries. I might even take a nap later. I can’t even remember the last time that I indulged in a nap.
Chapter Five
Travis
The whiskey was a mistake.
There are multiple reasons why I rarely drink, and the pounding behind my eyes, nausea, and the vile taste in my mouth are a few of them. I thought for a minute last night, as I tipped that bottle back, that I would be able to purge Faye from my thoughts and dreams.
It’s unsurprising that I was wrong.
I sat on the hard, narrow bunk imagining her here, cold, scared, and so young while I sipped at the bottle in my hand. The guilt eating at me even more viciously than usual. Eventually, I fell into a drunken sleep where she haunted my dreams.
Crying. Always crying, calling out for me. I don’t know why she is always that little ten year old when I sleep. Never the strong teenager that I know she had become by the time of her disappearance. My mind’s way of fucking with me, I suppose.
