Page 7 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

But now, when those memories weren’t as sharp and TV didn’t equate to loneliness, I found the mindless entertainment soothing.

I watched John Wick first, finally understanding the fuss about Keanu Reeves. I cried through Beaches, knowing I was lucky to have a similar friendship with Gemma. And I stayed up until three in the morning, laughing at a rom-com about bridesmaids.

The next morning, I slept in again, leaving before noon checkout. Then, instead of rushing for the road, I drove to a local café. For hours, somewhere in Pennsylvania, I sat at a window table watching traffic, eating lunch and eavesdropping on other conversations. I left long after the smell of the café’s fresh pastries had seeped into my blond hair.

Even after driving for hours, the scent was still in my hair. I picked up a lock of it, bringing it to my nose to inhale the lingering yeast and sugar. I’d always

been conscious of smells—mostly my own.

Was I spoiled? Probably. After sleeping in a rusted-out, junkyard Cadillac for two years, did I deserve to be a bit spoiled?

Maybe so.

One thing was for certain, running away was much easier with money, and for that, I was grateful.

I could pay for hotel rooms and café lunches. I would never fear the charge at a gas pump. I could stop for a decent meal in a sit-down restaurant instead of scraping together enough change for a dollar-menu cheeseburger.

The money I’d earned working had been considerable for a woman with a fresh GED and no higher education. A perk of being married to the boss. I’d saved it all, minus what I’d spent on the Cadillac. Everything else—our household budget, clothes, shoes, the spa, vacations—had been paid for by Thomas. I could live off my savings for years. Designer garb wasn’t in my budget these days, but I’d had enough of labels to last a lifetime.

The interstate cut through the countryside and signs flew past every now and then. I reached for my purse, ready to dig for my phone and check a map.

“It’s not there,” I reminded myself. How long would it take to break that habit?

And I didn’t need a map. I was on the East Coast and had to get to the West. How I traveled didn’t need to be charted. I was driving. The road beneath my tires would take me there eventually.

A large truck roared past, its diesel exhaust leaving behind a black cloud. I scrunched up my nose and slowed, but the stink clung to the car. I’d been dealing with the same all afternoon.

“To hell with the interstate.” I flipped my blinker at the next exit, seeing a sign for a gas station. I wanted to go a few miles without passing another car.

I refueled the Cadillac and washed the windshield. Then I went inside and bought a couple bottles of water and a bag of chips.

“Thanks,” I said to the clerk. “I don’t suppose you have a pay phone anywhere?”

“Sure do. Just go out the door and take a right. It’s around the corner.”

“Thanks again.” I collected my things and took them to the car, dropping them in the open seat. Then I fished out some quarters from my purse and found the phone. It was old and the keys dirty. I pressed the black receiver to my ear and propped it against my shoulder as I dialed Gemma’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Gem.” I smiled.

“Lonny?”

“Yes, it’s me. See? I told you I’d call. I figured I’d get your voicemail.”

She laughed. “Perfect timing. I’m in between meetings and alone for once. How’s it going? Where are you?”

“Still in Pennsylvania, according to my receipt from the gas station. And it’s good. I’m taking it slow.”

“I figured you’d be across the Mississippi by now.”

“Soon enough. How are you?”

“Fine.” She blew out a long breath. “I miss you already.”

“Miss you too.” Though I was glad she’d declined my offer to come along. As much as a road trip would have been fun with my best friend, I needed to do this alone. This trip was for me.

“Listen, I need to tell you something. I hate to do it on your first call, but I don’t want you calling Thomas.”